Cheers and happy, good-natured jeering broke out on Walker, and even on Mahan, since the man most thoroughly inundated was Al «Jolson» Franklen. Franklen had once enjoyed a measure of celebrity throughout the squadron before the War. He did a really good Al Jolson impersonation and he wasn’t shy about performing. But even before Pearl Harbor, his act had begun to sour — for a variety of reasons — and most of his fans became distant. Then, of course, he was one of the few Mahans still alive who’d supported Kaufman’s mutiny. He only agreed to resume his duties with a full pardon — which Jim Ellis had been obliged to give because of how shorthanded his ship was. In any event, he wasn’t a celebrity anymore and the jeering continued long after he strode forward, stony-faced and soaked to the bone.
Ignoring the noise, Spanky, Laney, and Silva too were staring intently at the water. Dead flashies, belly-up, appeared at the surface. Many trailed bloody tendrils but most were unmarked. The other crewmen on both ships quickly forgot their momentary indignity or amusement and joined them in their scrutiny of the grenade’s effect. A large flashy swirled and bumped gently against the side of the ship. It twitched. It twitched again. For an instant, they thought it had resuscitated itself, but then it jerked violently and a dark cloud spread around it. Within moments, the surface of the water around and between the two destroyers’ propeller guards boiled and seethed with ravenous flashies as they gorged on the bodies of their schoolmates. Laney looked at Spanky, his face a pale, waxy green.
«Fire in the hole!» Spanky warned this time, and dropped the second grenade. The effect was similar to the first, with the exception that the Mahans had time to scramble under the aft deckhouse overhang before they were drenched again. This time, there was only the briefest calm before the roiling frenzy redoubled.
«Oh, well,» Spanky grumped, regarding Laney with deadpan remorselessness. «Back to plan A.»
«Captain, Lieutenant Mallory’s on the horn,» reported the radioman,"Clancy. «He’s crossing Madura — I mean B’mbaado — now, sir.»
«Very well,» Matt acknowledged. «Tell him to watch out for wrecks in the bay when he sets down.»
«Aye, sir,» came the reply and Clancy disappeared back down the ladder.
«Too bad we can’t just roll a depth charge over the side,» Steve Riggs said, resuming the interrupted conversation. «We still have a full load of those.»
Garrett shook his head. «A depth charge is not a hand grenade. If we did that, we’d blow the stern right off the ship.» Matt nodded agreement. He was sitting in his chair on the bridge sipping «monkey joe,» the local equivalent of coffee, which actually looked and tasted somewhat like coffee except for the greenish foam. He mostly just listened while his officers and senior NCOs brainstormed about the propeller problem.
«I can’t send a man over the side,» Spanky said. «He’d be torn to bits.»
«Maybe we could beach Mahan, take 3»>«That’s something to consider,» Jim mused. «How high do the tides run around here? The charts ought to say, but it’s awful risky this close to the equator. I doubt they run more than a couple feet. Besides, more ships than I like to think about have been lost trying to pull stranded vessels off a bank in confined waters. What was that cruiser, twenty years ago or so, that tried to pull that sub off a shoal? The line parted and the cruiser went aground. Total loss. What was her name?»
«Milwaukee,» answered Spanky.
Gray grunted. «That’s all we need. Our own little Honda Point.» He referred to the 1923 catastrophe when seven four-stackers ran hard aground on the California coast in a dense fog. «A fine stupid mess we’d be in then.»
Matt shook his head. «I have to say, that’s my least favorite option so far, gentlemen. Nobody wants to deliberately beach his ship.»
«Maybe we could build a cage of some sort,» Sandison speculated. «Lower it over the side next to the screw and let the divers take it off through the bars.»
Spanky looked at the torpedo officer with surprise. «Hey! That might work. We’ve only got the one little crane aft for handling the depth charges and it won’t lift a screw, but we could use it for the cage and then rig a boom off the main mast to raise the propeller, I bet.»
«Keep working on it. I know you’ll get it figured out,» Matt said. Then he frowned and looked at his watch. «I’m afraid Mr. Ellis and I have to leave you now. We have. a couple of funerals to attend.» He glanced at Garrett and Chief Gray. «You too. The men we lost were in your divisions. Have the burial party turned out as sharply as they can manage.» He sighed and stood carefully from his chair, groaning slightly. «I’ll meet you ashore at, say, sixteen hundred. The Lemurians have some sort of funeral planned for dusk, I believe. We may have to be flexible, but I want to bury our people as close to eighteen hundred as we can.»
«You sure we shouldn’t just bury them at sea?» Gray asked quietly.
Matt took a breath and grimly let it out. «I’m sure. I hated putting Marvaney over the side and I’ve never felt right about it. Not like I probably would. back home. Not like I did when we buried all the people we lost in the fight running away from this damn place. But that was different — at least we thought it was.» He shook his head, but his frown remained. «Besides,» he finally added, «these guys fought for this crummy place.» He didn’t continue. There was no need. The following silence was broken by the lookout’s report that the plane had been sighted.
«Sixteen hundred, Mr. Dowden,» reminded Matt as Riggs replied to the lookout. «Carry on here. Show the flag at half-mast, if you please, and I’ll want one to take ashore. I doubt we have enough to cover them all, so we’ll just have to make do.» Instead of departing as he’d intended, he remained a moment longer with a thoughtful expression. In the distance, the droning engines of the PBY could be faintly heard. «What happened to our flag they carried during the battle?»
«The Second Marines, Skipper. They have it,» Gray answered.
Matt nodded with approval. «Good. We’ll use that one instead.»
«Aye, aye, sir,» they chorused.
Freshly shaved and dressed in his less than pristine whites, Matt appeared at the place he had specified for the burial services to commence. Sstared somberly at the Marines guarding the five small graves. There might have been six as far as Matt was concerned, had the ’Cat they lost during the Battle of the Bay not gone over the side. The location of the new cemetery caused considerable controversy. Matt insisted on the flat, high ground right beside the road from the waterfront and just a short distance in front of the hasty breastworks they’d thrown up facing — and in clear view of — Aryaal’s main gate. From which, there had still been no word at all.
Lord Rolak joined them, as did Queen Maraan. Rolak had polished his armor and replaced his missing plume, but in spite of his expressionless eyes, his deep frown left no doubt he was troubled. He spoke to Captain Reddy through Courtney Bradford. «My lord,» he began hesitantly, «I am yours, as you know, and will do as you command. But since you’ve placed the burden of friendship upon me, it is my duty to counsel against this act.» Matt turned cold eyes upon him as he continued. «If we and the sea folk agree on one thing, it is that the souls of the dead belong in the heavens, where they are taken by the flames of the pyre. Not planted in the ground — from which they may never ascend.» Rolak had little experience upon which to base his perception of human expressions, but Matt’s darkening mood was clear enough. As a credit to his courage, he continued. «Pleasther intentionally or otherwise — you don’t share it at all! This ‘burying’ of souls in the ground is proof enough of that!» He stopped and glanced at Rolak. «Although, if it must be done, I find it highly appropriate for you to do it here.»