Alden spent several moments reading it, absorbing the implications. Keje’s unease was well founded. “Goddamn,” he said flatly. “Tolson, Donaghey, and Revenge all survive a giant Grik bomb, then Revenge gets sunk by a fish!” He shook his head. “I swear, every time we try to throw a normal war around here, and it looks like something might finally be going our way, it all drops in the pot.”
Keje scratched his reddish brown furry ears, and nodded grimly. “So it seems. So it always seems. But bad as that is, the implication of Mr. Garrett’s report is even more troubling than it first appears. Without coming right out and saying so, his evaluation of the current, tide, and prevailing winds, coupled with his position, suggests a real possibility Donaghey and Tolson might well be driven upon enemy shores! By the Heavens above! With the crew of Revenge aboard, there are more than a thousand souls on those ships! Somehow we must assist them!”
“Do you think they’ll go ashore?” Alden asked.
Keje held out his hands. He’d taken on many human mannerisms, just as humans had reciprocated. “Much depends on the damage to Donaghey, and whether it can be repaired in time. Honestly, I’m not hopeful. By the description, Tolson is helpless, and I cannot imagine Mr. Garrett abandoning her even if he could.”
Pete was shaking his head. “Greg won’t deliberately sacrifice his ship and crew. He’ll take as many off as he can and cut Tolson loose if he has to. He knows the stakes, and they all knew the risk of blockade duty in those seas. They volunteered.”
Keje blinked. “I agree Mr. Garrett would not deliberately sacrifice his people, but I know the man’s character as well as you, I think. He’ll do everything in his power to save Tolson, and he might try too hard, too long. With much of the crew of Revenge aboard already, he’ll be hard-pressed to get everyone off Tolson. If he takes any, he will feel compelled to take them all.” Keje shook his head. “I fear they will go ashore. We must plan as if they will, regardless.”
An insistent knocking in the passageway interrupted them. “Enter,” Keje said distractedly. Marine Captain Risa-Sab-At, commander of Salissa’ s Marine contingent, led General Lord Muln Rolak and GeneralQueen Protector Safir Maraan into the compartment.
“Is it true?” asked the old, scarred General Rolak. “We hear Revenge has sunk and the rest of Gaarrett’s squadron is in distress!”
“Word sure travels fast,” Pete observed.
“It does,” confirmed Safir Maraan. As usual, she was resplendent in her silver-washed armor that contrasted so strikingly with her almost blue-black fur, but so complemented her flashing silver eyes. “Every ship in the fleet has a receiver after all, and besides, as large as Salissa Home is, she is not nearly large enough to frustrate anything so powerful as the ‘scuttlebutt,’ as Amer-i-caans say.”
“I asked you here to tell you this news myself,” Keje said, “but as usual, I suppose the scuttlebutt has its place—so long as it does not distort. I dislike keeping secrets from our people. I doubt the general nature of the information you received could have fully conveyed the implications of this tragedy, however.”
“The blockade is broken,” Rolak said, “and surely we must extend whatever assistance we can.”
“Surely,” Keje agreed, “but USS Tassat is already nearly back here from mapping potential points of attack. We have absolutely nothing close by to send.”
“Dreadful news indeed,” Queen Maraan said. “Is there nothing we can do?”
“We’re obliged to think of something,” Keje said. “Obviously, we must rescue them from the terrible end they face at the hands of the Grik, but also, honestly, they know too much to be taken. The language barrier might once have provided some protection for us and our plans—if not for our poor people the Grik might capture. But now we know many Grik ‘Hij,’ their ‘elevated’ class, at least read and write the ‘scientific tongue’—and the Jaaps have told them we use it. There may even be Jaaps on Saa-lon and . . . well, we know they communicate with the enemy—and some speak ‘Amer-i-caan.’ ”
“We must rescue them!” Rolak agreed.
“Yeah,” Pete said, “but what Keje’s getting at is that we can’t just send a ship or two, since the Grik’ll probably pull out all the stops to get our guys. A rescue will take a lot of resources; air recon to find the ships, or air strikes to keep the Grik off the survivors, for example. We’d hoped to keep those resources—particularly the planes—secret until we’re ready for the big show.”
“General Alden is right,” Keje declared. “Certainly that is part of what I was getting at, but there’s another element.” He paused. “We planned to begin offensive operations against Saa-lon and Indi-aa within weeks, depending on the weather and the arrival of Arracca‘s battle group. The weather is currently less than ideal for combat operations, but it should soon improve. If we don’t wait for Arracca, however, Salissa’ s battle group can sail by late day tomorrow. Geran-Eras affirms that her Humfra-Dar battle group can likewise be ready. Arracca’s group could arrive here, refuel, and join us at the objective within a week or two of our arrival there. My question to you generals is whether the ground forces can be embarked and prepared by then.”
“By tomorrow afternoon? Now wait just a second, Admiral,” Pete said. “Are you proposing we set out with the whole damn fleet on the biggest operation of the war, and invade, willy-nilly, wherever the hell our damaged ships wash up? That’s nuts! We don’t have any known strategic ‘objective’ right now for Arracca to join us at. All the planning and preparation we’ve spent months on would go up in smoke! Alan Letts just got here, after surviving the longest flight in the history of this world, most likely, in one of those new three-engine, up-size ‘Nancy’ kites Mallory dreamed up. They had to land and refuel I don’t know how many times in some of the creepiest places imaginable. . . .”
“It was your idea to establish those fueling depots,” Safir pointed out.
“So? We need ’em. But Letts is kind of . . . delicate—and he’s a brand-new father. He’s also the closest thing to a real logistics guy we have. He volunteered to leave a cushy berth and come out here to help us straighten out the kind of screwed-up mess we had at Rangoon. If that happens on Ceylon, we could lose everything! He needs time to do what he came here for, and damn it, we need him to do it! If we don’t even know where we’re going and what to do when we get there, it’ll be a logistical nightmare, and even Letts won’t be able to save us.”
“But you have been working on ‘logistics.’ So have the executive officers of all the ships. Progress has been made. I’ve seen it,” Rolak said.
“Sure, we’ve made progress on the basics, but it takes a guy like Letts to figure out all the angles nobody else ever thinks about—stuff we might need in any situation. Thanks to Rolak’s pet Grik, we actually have a rough map of Ceylon. We know where their troop concentrations and population centers are, and we’ve been making our landing plans based on that. If we just go ashore at some arbitrary place, without a plan, it’ll be a circus.”
Keje looked at Alden for several moments, contemplating. Finally, he sighed. “There is no choice, General Alden. We must prepare as if the fleet will move tomorrow. You have already designed multiple plans for various landing sites. Perhaps we can modify one of those.”
“But . . .” Alden began, but Keje held up his hand.
“You still think in terms of your old war,” he said, “when all things happened so very quickly. You’ll have sufficient time to form or revise a plan. Consider: Saa-lon is more than a thousand of your ‘miles’ from here. The fleet can move only as quickly as its slowest ship, and many of our transports rely entirely on sails, so we cannot count on more than an eight- or ten-knot average. The voyage will take five, perhaps six days. We should have communications with Donaghey at least until she is driven ashore—if she is—so we’ll have a good estimate of her position.” He paused again. “If the worst happens, it will likely occur late tonight or early tomorrow. That should leave you sufficient time to
form a plan of battle while we are underway. You have done more with far less information before. So has Mr. Letts.”
Pete nodded resignedly but shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “Okay, Admiral, you’re the boss. But I guess you’ve figured that if the ‘worst’ does happen, those guys’ll be on the beach, all alone, for those same five or six days, no matter what we do. You really think they can hold that long against the whole damn Grik army?”
Keje sighed. “I suppose not. They may not even survive the grounding. At this stage, all we can do is speculate and hope Donaghey makes enough sail to pull herself and Tolson clear. We should learn that soon. If Mr. Gaarrett and Mr. Chaa-pelle save their ships, we will happily stand down and resume awaiting Arracca’s arrival, and you may continue to plan a landing anywhere you desire.” He frowned. “If that doesn’t happen, we must pray our people can hold out long enough for us to arrive. Gaarrett, Chaa-pelle, and Mr. Baarry are some of our most resourceful officers, commanding veteran crews. If anyone can do it, they can. Perhaps we will arrive to find a ‘beachhead’ already established for us!” He looked at everyone present in turn. “We will issue an alert order and prepare to move the fleet. Consider it a drill. If we must rescue our people, however, we will do so with no half measures. If it is required that we deploy our new weapons, ‘tip our hand’ so to speak, it will not be in sprinkles here and there, like a late-day squall that briefly comes and goes, but as a Strakka storm that will not pass until the enemy is scoured away!” He glanced at Pete and knew the Marine’s mind was already racing; examining, evaluating, and discarding tactical scenarios. “We will make all preparations for getting underway, but as soon as we get final word from Donaghey, we will have a meeting here, of all ship and field commanders.” He paused. “That is all.”
After the others departed to oversee the implementation of their orders, Keje and Pete strode upon what was left of Salissa‘s (or Big Sal’s, as the Americans still called her) battlement. Once a broad structure at the base of her center wing tower, it was much abbreviated now, placed off-center to make room for her “flight deck”; the old “battlement” was increasingly referred to as the “bridgewings.” Keje and Pete paused at the rail and gazed upon the broad deck below, cluttered with “Nancy” float-planes, their blue paint a dark gray-black in the gathering twilight. Indistinct shapes moved among them, checking lashings, making sure the craft were secure. Inevitably, the two leaders looked higher, to stare out across the broad anchorage they still called “Port Blair.”
It was a heady sight. Never in all Lemurian history had the people amassed such combat power. The various ships had dissolved into mere outlines now, but they were well lit while their crews made all the various preparations. Humfra-Dar rode at anchor nearby, virtually identical to Big Sal, and similarly covered with aircraft. An even dozen powerful new steam frigates ringed the massive seagoing, sailing “Homes,” turned steam-powered aircraft carriers. USS Dowden, USS Scott, USS Nakja-Mur, and USS Kas-Ra-Ar had been joined by USS Haakar-Faask, USS Naga, USS Bowles, USS Felts, USS Saak-Fas, USS Clark, USS Davis, and USS Ramic-Sa-Ar. All were considered “DDs” and, according to tradition in the “American Navy,” were named for fallen heroes. Two dozen of the fast, razeed, Grik “Indiamen” they’d rebuilt as corvettes (now almost universally considered “DEs,” or “Destroyer Escorts”) also filled the harbor, along with forty unaltered Grik “prize” transports. Almost a hundred of the largest, swiftest feluccas in the Alliance constantly came and went, loaded with supplies as well. In all, First Fleet averaged seventy-odd ships present at any given time, and when Arracca arrived, she’d add herself, four more steam frigates, and six corvettes. Grik fleets were often bigger, but without the Japanese battle cruiser Amagi, they’d never possessed a fraction of the combat power anchored in Port Blair.
The shore facilities were nothing to sneeze at either. Big wooden cranes and booms had been rigged along the new docks situated in the calmest, most protected portion of the bay. Huge warehouses and other port facilities had been established, packed with sufficient supply reserves to last the fleet for many months, with more arriving all the time. Huge tank batteries were kept topped-off by regular visits of “Indiaman” oilers and tankers from Baalkpan and Talaud, and a floating dry dock was even under construction by skilled craftsmen who’d once built the monumental seagoing Homes. Nothing as big as Big Sal would ever fit in it, but it would handle just about anything else in the Alliance. Perry Brister had hit on the scheme when it occurred to him that all the master shipwrights who used to build Homes were now resentfully toiling at jobs anyone could do in the production-line-oriented Allied shipyards. With the sophisticated Lemurian pumps, building floating dry docks would be a good way to get the most out of the highly professional artisans. Besides, with the Allied fleets scattering across the known world, it would be easier to tow dry docks to them than tow damaged ships back to Baalkpan—and soon Maa-ni-la—where the only two real dry docks existed.
Beyond the warehouses, an honest-to-goodness airfield, complete with revetments, was being built, using crushed limestone and coral. Nothing would use it for some time, if ever, but it was always better to be prepared. Finally, the various facilities of Port Blair were surrounded on all sides by heavy batteries and defensive fortifications. The allies had come to Andaman to stay.
“It’s a hell of a sight,” Pete muttered after the silence between him and Keje had stretched too long.
“Yes,” Keje agreed, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry we disagreed before.”
Pete shrugged. “We didn’t really disagree. I was just doing my job, pointing out problems. We’ve had a lot of them, you know, and problems on the battlefield cost lives. I never want to land on another Grik beach when all the stuff I need to accomplish my mission is still aboard ship, or already unloaded miles away. That’s the sort of thing Letts can help with, but this offensive stuff is as new to him as it was to us at first. It’ll take him time to get things sorted out. I’d have liked to let him practice up a little. You know, do a few training exercises.” Pete shrugged. “Maybe he still can.”
Keje looked at the Marine. “Well, in case he can’t, shouldn’t you call a staff meeting of your own? Begin preparations to embark troops?”
Pete shook his head. “I passed the word as soon as I heard the rumors, before I ever came to see you. That’s one thing we have sorted out; everybody knows what ship to board, with what equipment. It’s our job to make sure those ships off-load where we need them. As you said, I guess there’ll be plenty of time to decide that once we know where we’re going—if we’re going.” He paused. “No, I figured I’d hang around here until we get the word. Then, if I have to, I can hit the ground running. I’ll have my staff meeting when—if—we call everyone aboard here. I already have a few ideas, but we’d better call Letts out now. Get him figuring the angles too, and wrapping his brain around what we might have to do. Let him get a running start.”
“Agreed,” Keje said. “We will fetch Mr. Letts, and we can all wait together. Hopefully, once we know the score, we can sleep tomorrow away. If not . . . perhaps it’s more appropriate in a way. Once more we shall move to war in reaction to necessity, and those who die will do so to protect others. I confess, this cold-blooded planning for battles that we begin leaves me feeling . . . most odd.” He snorted. “I think I have been away from the fight too long!”
“Maybe so,” Pete agreed. “Your tune’s a little different than it was right after Baalkpan.” Keje looked at him sharply, but Alden continued without pause. “Remembering the way things used to be, I guess I can even understand your desire to ‘react.’ Most of your folks never used to fight anybody unless they were attacked—but you know this has gone way past that, and you ve got to forget it. You’ve seen some action and’ve got plenty of guts—everybody knows! Your rush to rescue Garrett’s task force proves it again. But one thing you have to get through your head is, bad as it was before, this war’s going to get a whole lot worse. I saw it
at Rangoon. Grik’ll eat each other if they have to, to stay in the fight, and now we’re taking the fight to their ground, it’s liable to get meaner than we can imagine. Top all that off with the fact that, even if we had a bel- lyful and decided to quit chasing them, they’d just turn around and come after us again!” Pete shook his head. “You knew from the start, way before you took your admiral job, this is a fight to the finish and it’s ‘us or them.’ I pick us.”
He looked at Keje for a moment, then stared out at the bay. “You know what the scariest part of all is? The Grik are finally starting to wise up. This stunt they pulled against Garrett’s task force is another example, and it stinks. I don’t know if they were just trying to bust the blockade . . . or get us to come a-running.”
“You think we play into their hands if we . . . react . . . as I’ve ordered?” Keje asked.
“No,” Pete answered simply. “I don’t think they have a clue what we’re about to land on them with. I do think we have to start keeping our eyes peeled, though. They sucker-punched Garrett, and if we don’t watch out, they might do it to us. Initiative’s our best asset, and we lose a lot when we react. I’d much rather they react to what we do, than the other way around. Whoever has the initiative has the edge. Besides, there’s nothing ‘cold-blooded’ about this war. The very idea of killin’ Grik always heats my blood.”
Keje looked at him. “General Lord Rolak told me you were beginning to ‘enjoy’ this war, but I did not credit it.”
“He’s one to talk,” Pete retorted. “His people used to fight wars for sport!” He scratched his bearded chin. “Although I’ve heard him admit this isn’t a ‘fun’ war a time or two.” He sighed. “No, Admiral, I don’t like this any more than you do, and I really don’t like losing people.... Given a choice, I think I’d enjoy explorin’ this world you got here instead of fightin’ my way across it. That said, I do get a kick outta killin’ Grik. The bastards need killin’. They’re ugly, mean, and vicious, and if we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us; it’s as simple as that.” Pete shrugged. “With that in mind, rubbin’ ’em out doesn’t bug me at all. Sue me.”
Firestorm : Destroyermen (9781101544556) Page 4
