Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  Massive sharks and a few gri-kakka shadowed the wounded train. It must have been the bloody water trailing behind that drew their attention. Slowly, as the trickle decreased and diluted, most veered away, back to where they knew an endless meal awaited-but a few continued dogging them. One massive creature, bigger than any shark had a right to be, with a fin as high as a killer whale’s, cruised effortlessly past Donaghey, just under the surface. Its back was a mottled grayish blue-black, and while maybe a quarter Donaghey’ s length, it looked nearly as broad. Garrett suppressed a shudder. In a moment, the fish was gone, outpacing them, apparently intent on examining the other ships forward. Saaran appeared on deck, a bulky wrap around his head, and glistening smears of the curative “polta paste” applied here and there across his chest and shoulder.

  “What’re you doing here?” Garrett asked. “You look like hell.”

  “Doc Miller told me not to sleep,” he said. “If I work, I won’t sleep.”

  Garrett grunted. “Okay. If you’re determined to run around, see if you can put a detail together to sway up a new main-topmast and a few yards. Get some sail on her.” The mizzen looked okay, but the remnant of the mainmast didn’t have much support left. “We’ll have to rerig the shrouds and ys as well. See if we can do anything to get a new foremast stepped.” He looked around. “I don’t know what we’ll use… . Anyway, Revenge’ ll have enough worries dragging just one ship behind her.” Suddenly, Donaghey seemed to slow, and Tolson began to slew to starboard. “What the devil?” As Garrett watched, Tolson continued turning, until she was almost beam-on to the following Donaghey.

  “Hard a’port!” Garrett cried, hoping they had enough steerageway to miss the other ship. At the moment, they were aimed directly at her, amidships.

  “Hard a’port, ay!” replied the helmsman. Slowly, slowly, Donaghey wallowed left, edging more and more aft of her sister. It still looked as if they might hit her in the stern, and everyone tensed, expecting an impact. Somehow, they managed to clear the other ship, but only by a few feet. Garrett shouted across to Chapelle. “What’s going on?”

  “Beats me,” came the wind-muffled reply. “Revenge just stopped all of a sudden! I don’t know what’s up! We had to turn to keep from hitting her, just as you did!”

  Clancy ran up the companionway. “Skipper,” he cried, “something hit Revenge! She’s taking water aft!”

  “What? What hit her?” Greg demanded.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think they do yet. That’s all I got so far.”

  “Well… get back down there and find out!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Garrett could see Revenge now, as Donaghey eased past Tolson. The steamer looked odd, dead in the water, and low by the stern. Before long, the tow cable grew taut, and Donaghey began to turn to starboard, pulled around by her attachment to Tolson. To Greg’s amazement, he saw boats starting to slide down Revenge’ s quarter davits into the sea. “What…?”

  Clancy ran back on deck. “Skipper!” he said, shock in his voice. “Cap’n Barry has broadcast a distress signal! He says something ate his ship’s screw! With it all new and shiny, he thinks something hit it like a Heddon Zig Wag lure! His words. They didn’t see what did it, but there’s blood in the water aft. Anyway, her shaft is warped all to hell, and the packing and all the support timbers were shattered before they managed to secure! He-he says whatever happened, it couldn’t have been much worse if they’d taken a Jap torpedo in the ass, and they can’t stop the flooding!”

  With a tight chest, Garrett suddenly remembered the huge shark he’d seen. He’d often wondered what some giant denizen might think of a ship’s turning propeller-especially when it hadn’t yet turned dingy and green… “What can we do?” he asked.

  “Well, Pruit-I mean Cap’n Barry-asks if we can stand by to take his crew aboard-us and Tolson.”

  “My God. We’re going to lose Revenge? He’s sure?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  Greg thought fast, considering the wind and current. The tightness in his chest became a vise around his heart. “Tell Revenge we’ll stand by and any boats we have in one piece’ll be over as soon as we can send them.” He paused. “Tell him also that we’re going to need every musket and every last round of ammunition they have time to save. Make sure he understands that. Bring every single weapon he can grab! Make sure HQ knows what’s going on”

  “Aye, sir,” replied Clancy, looking at him strangely.

  Garrett pointed at the distant coast of Ceylon. “Don’t you get it?” He laughed, the slightest hint of hysteria in his voice. “If we can’t get enough sail on this wreck, this ship and Tolson both are going to wind up on the beach… over there! It looks like the invasion of Ceylon may start a little early.” He turned to Saaran. “Of course, our invasion’ll be like dropping a bug with no legs right in the middle of an ant mound!”

  Not a soul was lost when Revenge finally went down. The semiwater-tight, compartmentalized design kept her afloat longer than anyone had a right to expect, and not only was the entire crew saved and distributed between the other two ships, but all the small arms, ammunition, and a large percentage of her other supplies were salvaged as well. Captain Barry came aboard Donaghey with a little less than half his crew- Tolson needed the extra hands more-and he was horrified by the loss of his brand-new, beautiful ship. All he could do was stand by the quarterdeck rail, knuckles clenched white, and watch while Revenge slid under the sea by the stern.

  “God!” he gasped when the waves closed over the stars and stripes still fluttering at the masthead, and he burst into tears.

  “I’m awful sorry, Pruit,” Garrett said, a little uncomfortably. He could imagine how the other man felt, but couldn’t stand to see him bawling like that. “Come on, pull yourself together. We’ve got to sort out this mess and get your guys working with mine to bend as much canvas as we can. The current’s running strong and the wind’s picking up out of the southwest. We’ll lose everything and everybody if we can’t claw away from that shore.” He pointed at the coast of Ceylon, growing noticeably closer. Barry wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded.

  “You bet,” he said roughly. “I’ll do whatever I can. So will my guys.”

  “Thanks, Pruit. Let’s see if we can get them helping out with the divisions they’re accustomed to.” He nodded toward Tolson, wallowing aft. “And not only do we have to save this ship, but we’ve got to save her too. She doesn’t even have anything left to jury-rig.”

  Barry nodded, looking at the repairs already completed. So far, Donaghey had close to a full spread on her mizzen, a course on the main, and a pair of staysails rigged to the bowsprit. Alone, it wasn’t enough to keep Donaghey off the beach. “Okay,” he said. “My exec went to Tolson, but I’ve got my bosun and a lieutenant. How can we help?”

  By nightfall, Donaghey had a new main-topmast, a topsail, and another staysail rigged. The repairs had been unbelievably perilous, with the ship pitching and wallowing in the mounting seas. There’d been injuries, but amazingly, no one was killed or lost over the side. Still, their last glimpse of Ceylon before it was swallowed by the gloom showed it disconcertingly close-less than ten miles away, according to Smitty’s best guess. Garrett’s long experience at estimating ranges as a gunnery officer put it at just over eight. The wind continued stiffening, and the sea grew more determined to break the battered ships. On Tolson, Chapelle was pushing his crew to the breaking point, rigging a pair of short masts out of spare topmasts, but the only canvas she had yet was a shortened course and a couple of staysails. It took a little strain off Donaghey, but the staysails on both ships, while necessary, were pushing them farther to leeward-ever closer to shore.

  Together in the wardroom, beneath the light of a swaying lantern, Garrett and Saaran scrutinized the charts they’d worked so hard on, throughout their deployment. With sinking hearts, they realized that no matter how they calculated it, Donaghey couldn’t clear the southern coast of Ceylon with Tols
on in tow. Realistically, it was almost certainly too late for Donaghey to make it alone.

  “So that’s it,” Garrett said as quietly as he could over the wind, the tumult of labor on deck, and the increasing noises of the working ship. He took a deep breath and looked at Saaran almost helplessly. “What now?”

  Saaran scratched the fur on his forehead. “The sea is rising, and so is the tide. If we have no choice but to run ashore, perhaps we can choose where we do it.”

  “What difference will that make?”

  “If we are not forced ashore among jagged rocks, but drive ashore at high tide, on a soft, sandy beach…”

  “We let the wind and heavy sea carry us as far up on the beach as it can,” Garrett interrupted with dawning hope.

  “Yes,” Saaran continued, “and the flashies will not be active in the nighttime shallows, particularly with the sea running high.”

  Greg nodded. “If the ships don’t break, and we make it until low tide, we off-load the ship’s guns, supplies… If we fort up, maybe make it to some better ground… we might have a chance.”

  “A slim chance,” Saaran agreed, “if we can hold until rescued.” He met Garrett’s eyes and blinked determination. “And if we can’t hold that long… at least we will die killing Grik.” Saaran coughed a laugh. “We may be a bug with no legs falling in an ant mound, but we do still have our teeth!”

  Greg blinked back in the Lemurian way. “Pass the word. We’ll have to coordinate with Russ on Tolson; keep our ships as close together as we can, when we make our run in.” He sighed. “I’d better get Clancy to inform HQ.” He smiled and shook his head. “God help us.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Aboard USNRS (United States Naval Reserve Ship) Salissa (CV-1) First Fleet HQ, Andaman Island

  Pete Alden, once a sergeant in doomed USS Houston’ s Marine contingent on another earth, and now General of the Marines and All Allied Armies, looked at the message form in his hand with a sick, sinking feeling. It had been given him by an intensely staring, silver-shot, brownish red Lemurian, who sat perched on a decorative stool like a brooding bear, his long tail swishing in agitation behind him. The Lemurian was “Ahd-mi-raal” Keje-Fris-Ar, overall commander of First Fleet, and all Allied forces in the West, or CINCWEST. Keje had grown more (outwardly, at least) unflappable as the war went on, but he was clearly concerned about the contents of the message.

  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 scratche 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. anguage 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.”

  Keooked 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.”