Keje nodded agreement as he wrung water from his fur. «Indeed. Quite stormy.»

«Well.» Matt paused, unsure how to continue. «Shouldn’t you be with your ship?»

«Unnecessary. Both her feet are out,» he said, referring to the gi

Matt looked at his friend for a moment, expressionless. «That’s fine, Keje,» he said at last. «Glad to have you. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word, though. What’s a Strakka?»

Keje waved his hand. «I don’t know if there is a proper word to describe Strakka in Amer-i-caan. The closest I can think of might be. typhoon? Is that it?»

«You know what a typhoon is?» Matt asked with surprise. «Those are storms we only used to get in deeper waters than the Java Sea.»

«Yes. Mr. Bradford described the typhoon very well. It did sound like a Strakka, but on a different scale.»

Matt smiled. «Yeah, a typhoon’s as bad as they come. But you’re in for a heck of a ride aboard Walker in any kind of storm!» There was knowing laughter in the pilothouse.

Keje looked at him and blinked. «No. You misunderstand. A typhoon is bad, but a Strakka.» He smiled tolerantly. «A Strakka can be much, much worse!»

The Mice had wedged themselves between the forward air lock of the aft fireroom and the access-hatch ladder. Nearby, clutching the grating as if the ship itself was trying to shake her loose, Tabby continued the dry retching that had wracked her small body since the storm began. Isak’s and Gilbert’s stoic expressions belied the real concern they felt for their furry companion. The monumental cacophony of sound was stunning even to them. The blowers howled as they sucked the sodden air, and the tired hull thundered and creaked as the relentless sea pounded against it. Condensed moisture rained from every surface to join the nauseating sewer that crashed and surged in the bilge as the ship heaved and pitched. The firemen on watch weren’t doing much either, just holding on as best they could and trying to supervise the gauges and fires.

«Reckon she’s gonna die?» Gilbert Yager asked, peering through the muck that streaked his face. As close as they were, he still had to shout for Isak Rueben to hear him. Even Tabby’s soggy tail lay still — he’d never seen that before. Her ordinarily fluffy light-gray fur was almost black, and plastered to her body like it had been slicked down with grease.

«Nah,» Isak Rueben reassured him after a judicious glance. «Poor critter’s just a little seasick, is all. Must be sorta’ embarrassin’ for her to be seasick after spendin’ her whole life at sea.» He was thoughtful. " ’Course, on them big ships o’ theirs, I don’t reckon it ever gets quite this frisky. Don’t carry on so. You’ll make her feel worse.»

Gilbert looked at the exhausted, wretched, oblivious form.

«Okay. She wouldn’t want us coddlin’ her.» He paused. «Damned if I ain’t feelin’ a little delicate myself,» he admitted, glancing around the dark, dank, rectangular compartment. He could certainly feel the violent motion of the ship, but the only visual evidence was the sloshing bilge and the way the condensation sometimes fell sideways. «Now I know how those idiots who go over Niagara Falls in a barrel feel.»

The air lock beside them opened, but the «whoosh» was lost in the overall din. Spanky McFarlane spilled out onto the grating, nearly landing atopcloe="3»>«Seasick, we figger,» Isak told him.

«What’s she doin’ here? If she’s that sick, she ought’a be in her rack.» Spanky remembered then that he hadn’t seen Tabby for a couple of days.

«She was,» Gilbert confirmed. «She crawled down here today.

The roll’s just as bad, but there ain’t so much pitch. Maybe she’ll feel better.»

Spanky hesitated. «Well, try to get her to drink something. She’ll get dehydrated.»

The Mice nodded in unison. «Say, how’re things topside?» Isak asked, uncharacteristically interested in something besides the fireroom. Spanky blew his nose into his fingers and slung the ejecta into the bilge.

«It’s a booger,» he said. «It’s startin’ to taper off a little now, though. I just came from the bridge and, I’m telling you, that was a ride! It’s a miracle we haven’t lost anybody overboard. Even the lifelines have carried away!» Spanky was thoroughly soaked, but that alone wasn’t proof he’d been on deck. The Mice were soaked too. «Skipper’s been up there ever since the storm hit and he looks like hell. Lieutenant Tucker would give him a shot to put him out if she was here — and if she had one. The man needs rest, with his wounds and all. Other than that, the damage ain’t as bad as you’d think. Antenna aerial’s gone. Took the top of the resonance chamber with it so the radio’s out.» He saw their blank expressions. «You know that big pointy cylinder on the back bridge rail, right next to the main blower vent? Looks like a great big bullet?»

«You mean that’s what makes the radio work?» Gilbert asked, amazed.

". Yeah. Anyway, the launch is wrecked too. Hell, it crashed on the deck right over your heads.» The Mice looked at him and then up at the deck above. They hadn’t heard a thing. «The life rafts are gone — not that I’d ever get on one of those things on this ocean — and we’ve lost just about everything else that wasn’t bolted down.» He patted the railing under his hand. «But the old girl’s doin’ okay — on one engine too. I think Skipper’s more worried about Mahan than anything. As usual. If she got hit as hard as we did.» He grunted. «Anyway, that Keje’s up there too.» Spanky grinned. «He’s havin’ the time of his life.»

«Where are we?» Gilbert asked and Spanky shrugged.

«If we run into something big and rocky, we’ll know it was one of the thousands of pissant islands scattered around out there, but that’s as close a guess as I’d care to make.»

«You’ve been out in a ’can like this in the North Atlantic, ain’t you?» Isak asked and Spanky nodded, accustomed to the Mice’s abrupt subject changes. «Is this as bad as that?»

Spanky just looked at him. «Son,» he said, shouting above the turmoil, «I was on the old Marblehead in a typhoon in the Philippine Sea back in ’36. That storm tore up a ’can like this and a fleet oiler too, like they were paper cups. It wasn’t a patch to this one. We’re doin’ fine.» With that, he shook his head and crept away, lurching hand over hand along the rail to resume his inspection of the engineering spaces.

«Well,» Isak said, «dudn’t feel that bad to me. Maybe we ought to get out more, Gilbert.»

«Well,» said Captain Reddy as the bow buried itself under a roller, «now I know what a Strakka is.» The entire ship shuddered with effort as it came out the other side. Gray-green water sluiced down the deck, submerging the number one gun and erupting upward against the pilothouse. After Walker spent two days runnad torm they’d ever seen.

«Yeah,» said Letts, whose thinking mirrored Mallory’s. «How’s the plane doing? Engines okay?» he asked.

The pilot hesitated. «Sure,» he answered in a defensive tone. «The oil we’re getting isn’t quite up to spec, but we change it every time she flies. Other than that, she’s better now than when we got her.» He grinned and gestured at the rain. «Cleaner too.» He pointedly didn’t remind them that «when they got her,» the PBY was full of holes and half sunk on a beach.

«Good,» Letts murmured, looking carefully at the aviator. He turned to Brister. Mahan’s former engineering officer had become the general engineer for all of Baalkpan. Captain Reddy and Pete Alden had designed the city’s fortifications with an eye toward successful historical port defenses. Alden added a few things based on local conditions. Also, with an infantryman’s eye, he’d stressed additions based on the possibility that the enemy might make a landward approach. In addition to his other duties — which now included direct supervision of the massive (by local standards) foundry — Lieutenant Brister was responsible for making the dream come true. The result might very well be the most formidable defensive works this world had ever known.