«Yes,» she confirmed, «and Tassat is actually younger than Anai, even though you could hardly tell by the way they act.» She sniffed. «As far as Geran-Eras of Humfra-Dar, it’s hard to say.» She was referring to the only female High Chief present. «She’s been a vocal supporter of the expedition from the start,» Sandra continued. «You may even remember her showing rather. energetic approval of your plan?»

Matt did remember then, and cringed. Even Lemurian females had surprising upper body strength, and Geran-Eras had actually embraced him after he made his pitch for the relief of Surabaya. He was sure she’d almost cracked some ribs.

«I think, as your Mr. Silva would say, ‘she has more than one dog in this hunt.’ Adar told me her mate and one of her children were killed in a Grik attack right before they came to Baalkpan. Might’ve even been one of the ships we destroyed, so she really likes you. Also, I imagine she sees this expedition as a chance for revenge. You might need to keep an eye on her.»

Matt nodded soberly and glanced around. The refreshments had been consumed and Keje was looking at him expectantly. «Better get started,» he said to Sandra, and cleared his throat. «Ladies and gentlemen,» he began aloud. «We have a battle to plan.»

Standing on Walker’s bridge with his binoculars raised, Matt reflected that his return to Surabaya wasn’t altogether unlike his departure so long ago. Once again, the clouds above the distant city glowed and flickered with the reflected light of fires caused by an enemy bombardment. This time, the spectacle was all the more surreal. Walker’s blowers roared at a pitch consistent with her ten knots, but in spite of that, even at this distance, the loud whump and overpressure of Japanese bombs would have been felt and heard. Instead, only an eerie silence accompanied the distant battle. They’d opened the bay from the east at 0120 and picked their way carefully through the Sapudi Islands, which were scattered haphazardly there. The last time Matt traversed these waters, Walker had had the services of a fat Dutch pilot, and Matt wondered suddenly where the man was now. Had he even survived? He banished the thought. All Walker had this time was a waning crescent moon. Of course, this time there was no minefield either.

As they drew closer, they could discern the stern lanterns of dozens of Grik ships moored in the bay, close to the city. All were ablaze with light and all rode secure at their anchors, never suspecting any threat might descend from the sea. A few, closer in, kept up a continuous desultory bombardment with their catapults, flinging «Grik Fire». Usually, a red gout of flame mushroomed upward into the sky. The festive, brightly lit ships in the bay provided a stark contrast to the suffering inside the city beyond.

Matt carefully refocused the binoculars dead ahead, watching one Grik ship in particular. Alone among its identical sisters, this one was under plain sail, creeping slowly among its brethren on a light southerly wind. Apparently accepted without fanfare as yet another reinforcement, the ship with the unusual blue glass in its lanterns moved deep into the enemy formation. Matt marked its progress by that blue light that identified it as Revenge.

He stepped onto the bridgewing and glanced aft. The Homes were hanging in there, totally darkened, as was Walker. He could see the occasional flash of white water alongside them as the hundred mighty sweeps propelled each huge ship forward at close to the ten knots Walker was making. He marveled yet again at the strength and determination that took. Fristar was lagging behind the others, leaving a small but growing gap between her and Humfra-Dar, but otherwise his «battle line» was holding together. The shoal of feluccas brought up the rear. He stepped back into the pilothouse and resumed his post beside his chair.

The bridge watch was silent other than an occasional whispered command, and he felt a tension that was different from any he’d sensed since the battle of the Makassar Strait. Like that night, there was fear and tension, but there was also a certain. predatory eagerness. A realization that they’d caught their overwhelming enemy with his britches down, coupled with a determination to make him pay. General quarters had been sounded long ago, and all stations were manned and ready except the torpedo director. Sandison’s «torpedo project» to repair the two condemned torpedoes they’d filched from a warehouse in Surabaya was still on hold, and they wouldn’t be using any of the three «definites» tonight. Sandison and his torpedomen had filled out the crews of the numbers one and four guns.

Matt turned to Lieutenant Shinya, who was in quiet conversation with Courtney Bradford. «Assemble your riflemen amidships and hold them as a reserve for any point of contact if the enemy try to board,» Matt instructed. Virtually everyone topside had a rifle handy, but at their stations, the crew was too spread out to mass their small-arms fire. Shinya saluted him with a serious expression and turned to comply with the order. It would be the first time he’d commanded any of the destroyermen in action, and his self-consciousness was evident. He was directly in charge of close defense of the ship and had half a dozen Americans assigned to his reserve. Matt doubted there’d be any friction. Most of the destroyermen still didn’t like him, but his abilities were evident. Some had even begun to consider him just another part of Walker’s increasingly diverse extended family. They never would forgive the Japanese, but Shinya wasn’t just a Jap anymore. Besides, they were all on the same side now. It even seemed as though Dennis Silva kind of liked the former enemy lieutenant, and if Silva would put up with him, the rest of the crew certainly could.

«Be careful, Lieutenant,» Matt cautioned as Shinya departed the bridge.

«Not long now, I should think,» commented Bradford when they were alone. Matt nodded. He hadn’t really wanted the Australian on the bridge during the action. He would have preferred that Bradford stay in the wardroom with Sandra, but the man had practically insisted. Chief Gray had just as «practically» offered to force him to go below, but the captain allowed him to remain. It was probably better this way. In spite of his peculiar manner, Bradford ofn awe-inspiring. A number of ships continued burning furiously, and many more Grik were so involved in preventing their own ships from catching fire, they were unable to contribute to the fight. Matt knew Walker had savaged them and he had no idea how many Grik she’d sunk. The number of burning ships was surprising even so, and he realized some of them must have set fire to each other, flinging their bombs haphazardly in the midst of battle.

The battle line was almost through to them now, their massive guns spitting hate at the Ancient Enemy, blasting great gaping holes in hulls and smashing masts and bodies on any vessel that dared draw near. Some still did, regardless of damage, in the predictable Grik style. The very waters of the bay burned with Grik Fire as bomb after bomb exploded against the stout, scorched sides of the Homes or spilled their burning contents onto the sea. Any fires that were started on the great wooden fortresses were quickly extinguished, and very little had been left exposed that would burn. The decks were soaked before the battle and the huge fabric wings had been stowed, leaving only the massive sweep-oars for propulsion. One by one, the blackened and smoldering but otherwise unscathed leviathans crashed through the final obstacles separating them from Walker and Revenge and slowly took up positions lengthening the line with their port batteries bearing on the bay.

Even then they continued to fire, without nearly as great an effect at the increased range, but with just as much determination. The surviving Grik that could began to flee. At least half the enemy’s fleet of forty ships had been destroyed, and most of those remaining afloat were damaged to varying degrees. Matt was tempted to allow Walker’s main battery to continue firing, but he knew he had to conserve ammunition. This was but the opening stroke, and he inwardly cringed at his expectation of what they had expended.