Garrett raised his hands and pressed the earphones more tightly to his head. He listened for a moment and then turned to Matt. «Lookout has the Catalina in sight, Skipper.» Matt nodded calmly enough, but inside, he felt a supreme relaxation of tension. He hated it every time the plane flew out of sight for two reasons. First, it always carried a crew of bright, talented, and irreplaceable people whose chances of survival were poor at best if the plane was ever forced down. Also, dilapidated as it was, the PBY was the only airplane in this world, and it represented the greatest intelligence-gathering asset he had. It was an asset only if he used it, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. The radio usually worked — and that helped a little — although it was strange to talk in the clear without fear of the enemy listening in! But radio or not, he couldn’t shake his near-obsessive desire to preserve not just the crew but the plane itself. Important as this campaign was, he knew it was just a single campaign. Maybe it was a reflection of his still-smoldering bitterness over the lack of air cover for the Asiatic Fleet that reminded him you could take nothing for granted. But he couldn’t throw off the premonition that if they used up the Catalina now, the day would come when they would really wish they hadn’t.

In the meantime, he contented himself with a surge of relief over its safe return from this scout, at least, and he looked forward to hearing what Ben Mallory had seen. «Very well,» he said. «Ask Lieutenant Dowden to close Big Sal and signal the fleet for all captains to repair aboard her for a conference. Please inform Captain Keje, with my respects; we’ll come alongside as soon as they’ve hoisted the plane aboard. Ask him to rig hoses as well. I want to keep the bunkers topped off.»

«Aye, aye, sir,» Garrett replied and spoke into his mouthpiece.

Matt watched the PBY grow larger as it neared, its thundering engines loud and reassuringly smooth. Mallory waggled his wings as he roared by the destroyer and began a wide, banking descent that brought him down alongside Big Sal. Matt dropped down the ladder to the wooden strakes below and stepped into the pilothouse.

«Captain on the bridge!»

«As you were,» replied Matt and smiled as the ship heeled into a tight turn toward the fleet. Juan, the diminutive but supremely dignified Filipino officer’s steward, had just arrived with the midwatch coffee, and he was desperately attempting to stabilize the serving tray so the coffee wouldn’t slide off onto the deck.

«Juan, Mr. Dowden and I will be crossing over to Big Sal at eighteen hundred. Would you present my compliments to Mr. Bradford and Lieutenant Tucker and ask them to accompany us?»

Juan finally got control of the carafe with an exasperated sigh as Walker steadied on her new heading. «Of course, Cap-tan Reddy. Might I recommend formal dress?»

Matt thought for a moment, then nodded, a grin stretching his face. «By all means, Juan. As formal as we can manage, at any rate. We must set an example.» He glanced around at the quizzical expressions. «We are the flagship, after all!»

Lieutenant — now Lieutenant Commander — «Spanky» McFarlane stood in the aft fireroom with his hands on his skinny hips and his eyes closed. He was feeling the ship and her machinery around him. The Mice watched expressionlessly, but two of the new «monkey-cat» snipes stared at him with reverential awe, as if they were in the very presence of some diminutive but allficulty staying awake.

It had been a long day for Ben and his crew. They’d flown out of Baalkpan early that morning to make a final aerial observation of the objective. For the first time, Mallory was allowed to fly directly over the city — and the enemy forces. His observations weren’t reassuring. Almost forty Grik ships were now in the bay before Surabaya and they’d dispatched a sizable landing force. Unlike Baalkpan, the defenders had a sturdy wall all around their city, with what appeared to be formidable defenses. But the Grik army was more than large enough to encircle most of the settlement. The only exception to complete investiture was a stretch of waterfront and a portion of the bay between the city and the island of Madura, about three miles from the mainland. A large assemblage of native small craft was concentrated in the passage, and another fortification, as yet unengaged, was constructed on the point of land on the island closest to Surabaya. A dense cloud of smoke from burning buildings — probably set alight by what everyone was calling Grik Fire — hung over everything, and Mallory couldn’t see much detail. But this time there was no question whether the Grik saw the PBY.

Matt disliked allowing the plane to be seen by the enemy, but they had to know what they faced. Perhaps the unnatural thundering apparition that swooped low overhead had unnerved the Grik, Matt consoled himself. In order to avoid doing the same to the Aryaalans, Mallory’s crew had dropped hundreds of «pamphlets» over the defenders’ main position. These pamphlets consisted of light wooden shakes etched with a Lemurian phrase that said: «Your brothers to the north will aid you. We bring powerful friends. Do not fear.» It was all they could do to assure the defenders help was on the way. With his mission complete, Mallory returned to join the task force. Tomorrow, he would fly back to Baalkpan, since they dared not risk the plane in the fight to come. Once there, he’d stay in radio contact with Walker.

Sandra Tucker sat primly at Matt’s side, also on one of the stools, and showed no discomfort whatsoever. He wondered what she was thinking. He’d come to rely more and more on her intuition as time went by, but he had to admit he also just liked having her around. They’d evolved an unspoken understanding after they declared their love for one another. Aboard ship, a wall of strict propriety always stood between them in spite of their mutual attraction. They thought they hid it well. But sometimes when they were alone, a more. comfortable. familiarity existed between them. They both felt compelled to restrict any further exploration of their feelings, and Matt felt almost guilty that they shared as much as they did when the rest of the men had no prospects at all. unless you believed Silva and Risa really. He shook his head. Perhaps someday they’d find more people; even the Lemurian legends hinted at the possibility, but right now there was a war to fight. Terrible as it was, at least it had released some of the pressure-cooker tension caused by the «dame famine.»

In the meantime, for the sake of the men, Matt and Sandra must control their passions. That didn’t mean Matt intended to ignore her excellent insight. He leaned over and whispered in her ear: «What do you think of that Anai-Sa?» he asked, referring to the High Chief of the Fristar Home. The black-furred Lemurian had arrived at the conference late, as usual, and now sat hunched on a cushion in sulky disdain while the rest of the attendees finished the refreshments that were a prerequisite to any council.

«I think he only volunteered so he could get the cannons that were promised to the Homes that take part in the campaign,» she whispered back. «I don’t trust him. Iiv>

Matt nodded. Anai-Sa had been the most outspoken proponent of just packing up and sailing off, but to possess the power of the guns was a mighty incentive to hypocrisy. «Do you have any less vague impressions about our other commanders?» he asked with heavy irony.

A quiet chuckle escaped her, but she nodded. «They seem pretty solid for the most part. You know you can count on Rick, on Revenge, and Keje, of course.» She paused, considering. «I really like Ramic-Sa-Ar of Aracca and Tassat-Ay-Aracca of Nerracca.»

«They’re father and son, aren’t they?» Matt asked, referring to the pair of Lemurians who sat close together talking animatedly among themselves. There was certainly a strong resemblance. The younger one seemed a virtual replica of the older.