Walker shoved off from the dock, flying the Imperial ensign beside her own once again, as well as Imperial signal flags so no one would fire on her. Matt was taking Admiral Rempel to the main fleet shipyard across the bay. His ship was also towing barges full of Marines past the Company ships moored away from the docks. A barge was released near each vessel so the Marines could take it into custody. After that, the ships were to move to the Navy wharves for uparming and recrew-ing as necessary. Small swift sloops darted in all directions from the “Nav HQ” in search of the gunboats deployed around the bay, and one would go upriver to find the gunboat serving as the Governor’s “camp yacht.”
Jenks remained at HQ, commanding the Imperial land forces. In addition to the Bosun, Matt left him Sonarman Fairchild to operate the portable comm gear, and gunner’s mates “Stumpy” and “Pack Rat.” Both’Cats had ’03 Springfields and a full load out of twenty, five-round stripper clips full of smokeless. 30-06. Gray had his Thompson. All were members of the Captain’s Guard, but until further orders, they’d protect Jenks with their lives. Bradford also remained at HQ, ensconced with his new “naturalist” buddies, racking their brains to come up with some scientific or even anecdotal “dragon” repellant. So far, they hadn’t come up with much.
The last barge released to secure a large Company steamer that reminded Matt of Ulysses, Walker turned for the primary colonial shipyard. Even from a distance of several miles, Matt could tell it was larger than all the yards in New Scotland combined. It made sense. There was plenty of timber here, and endless other resources simply not available in the Isles. Several ships were out of the water, undergoing hull repairs. Others were alongside the docks with men and women working in the tops. A few seemed to be taking on cargo and supplies. Almost a dozen ships, in various stages of construction, stood naked or skeletal on ways from which they’d ultimately slide into the sea. Matt realized then with absolute moral certainty that no matter the cost, this place must not fall. He looked at Rempel, standing behind and to the left of Kutas at the wheel.
“Don’t fool with that, Admiral,” he said, “if you please.”
Rempel snatched his hand away from the engine room telegraph. “A most amazing vessel, Captain Reddy,” he said sincerely. He pointed at the telegraph. “If that device does not lie, your ship is only making a third of her potential speed-yet she’s already swifter tan any ship I’ve seen.”
“It doesn’t lie.”
Rempel nodded. He hadn’t thought so. “How came you to be in the service of the Empire?” he inquired. He gestured about. “Your people and all these other… creatures?”
Kutas snorted, and Minnie chirped in shock.
“You misunderstand, Admiral,” Matt said tightly. “I wish we’d had time to explain. We don’t serve the Empire; we saved it from the Doms and its own homegrown traitors. Now we’re allied for the purpose of destroying your enemies… and ours. As for the ‘creatures’ aboard, you can call ’em’Cats, Lemurians, Mi-Anaaka, or Americans, but if you call them ‘creatures’ again, I’ll have you thrown to the fish, and I guarantee your Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald won’t even blink when I tell him why.”
“Then please accept my most abject apologies,” Rempel gushed.
The yardmaster was equally impressed by the old four-stacker, but he was also sensible to the extent of the emergency on a level Matt doubted Rempel had yet reached. “There’re two steam frigates and a sloop of war now ready for sea,” he reported. “Another frigate can steam, but her masts were sorely damaged in a recent storm and repairs aren’t complete. They shouldn’t be stressed.”
“If she can steam, she can fight,” Matt said. “Make sure all commanders understand they must make all preparations for getting underway immediately. We’re sending some Company ships over to you, and we need them officered and crewed as necessary as well. Do whatever you like to them that you and the officers who’ll command them think will improve their combat readiness. Oh, and under no circumstances will you leave any Company officers or officials aboard them. Elements of the Company are allied to the Doms, and we don’t have time to sort out which ones are or aren’t right now.”
The yardmaster looked at Rempel, but the man said nothing. “Very well, Captain Reddy. It’ll be as you say. Plenty of Imperial officers on the beach here, waiting for a ship.”
“Good. Send each ship over to the Naval Headquarters area as it’s ready. We’ll muster the ‘fleet’ there.”
“Yes, sir. Ah, sir? How long do I have? I mean, when do you need them?”
“We’re waiting to find that out now. Did you see the flying machine that took off at dawn?”
“Yes, sir. Astounding!”
“It’s our scout. Everything depends on what it finds, but proceed as if you have only hours to complete your task.”
“Hours? God help me!” the man blurted.
“Let’s hope so,” Matt agreed.
“Monterey Bay” was just below, and Reynolds nosed the plane down and banked slightly left for a better view. Columns of smoke rose from the stacks of transport steamers; he counted sixteen. There were no warships. He was tempted to bomb them, but he had only two bombs on board, to save weight and extend his range. Besides, all the troops and supplies had probably been off-loaded. Better to stay high, quiet, and hopefully unobserved.
“Send to Walker that the transports are here all right,” he shouted through his speaking tube. “A few more than reported, but still no sign of the main fleet. We’ll swing out to sea a bit and head south.”
“Wil-co!” Kari replied, and Fred grinned. A few minutes later, Kari’s voice reached him again. “Mr. Paal-mer say ‘Roger,’ an’ be careful. You hear that? Careful is order!”
“Yes, Mother,” Fred answered, but despite his flip response, he meant to be very careful. Not only had he learned his lesson about being too aggressive on his bomb runs, but there were those damn giant lizard birds to consider. He didn’t think they were nearly as fast as he was in level flight; they’d actually had trouble keeping up with Walker in a sprint. But he’d seen them dive like bats out of hell. He shaded his eyes and scanned the sky above.
There were plenty of “ordinary” lizard birds, and other flying creatures, but so far nothing bigger than gulls or pelicans. The midmorning sun made it tough to watch inland very closely, but what he saw of the “California” coast gave Fred the creeps. Beyond the bay, dense forests of mighty trees marched right up to the water’s edge, teetering on the edge of sheer cliffs. He’d never flown over this coast “back home,” but he’d seen it from sea level and it was utterly unfamiliar. The… wrongness of it all probably went a long way toward preventing the somewhat shocked disorientation and melancholy he’d experienced when he first saw the “Hawaiian” coast. Of course, he hadn’t reached the San Diego area yet-his childhood home. He wouldn’t either, not this trip. The PB1-Bs had better range than the prototype, about six hundred miles one way-but he had no intention of making this a one-way trip. He had just enough fuel to (probably) spot the Channel Isles in the distance before he had to turn back. He was surprised by the sudden relief that caused.
“Too bad these Imperials don’t have a telegraph system,” he muttered to himself. There were Imperial outposts at both “Los Angeles” and “San Diego,” although they called them something else. A telegraph line would have given some warning if the Doms were in those places. A line of semaphore towers dotted the coast, but it had been cut at “Monterey.” Of course, a telegraph line would’ve probably been cut as well. There was nothing like a pair of eyeballs on the scene. He was struck again by how people-of every race-chose many of the same ports here that folks had back home. The subject had been often discussed. Bradford or the Skipper (he couldn’t remember which) once said, essentially, a good place for a harbor or a city was still a good place, no matter who or where you were. It made sense. He wondered briefly if any towns or settlements existed in any of the really stupid places humans had established them where he came
from.
He shrugged and glanced at his gauges. He was flying at about three thousand feet. Fuel was… okay, but oil pressure and cylinder temps were nominal. The wind was currently out of the east, and the air was dry, cool, and refreshing. He looked in his mirror at Kari and saw her scanning the sea below with an Imperial telescope. So far they hadn’t seen any ships at all, besides the Dom transports, and that was an ominous sign. He’d been told to expect quite a few ships and coastal luggers-if the ships were free to move. Apparently they weren’t. That meant somebody was preventing them.
An hour later, they were nearing the extreme limit of their fuel, and sure enough, the overlarge, misshapen forms of the Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel islands appeared hazy on the southern horizon. They’d have to turn back within ten or fifteen minutes if they wanted any return cushion at all, but they decided to push just a little farther. Fred used a lot of rudder, and Kari scanned as far forward as she could bring her glass to bear.
“I see some-ting,” she ddenly announced excitedly.
“What?”
“Maybe ships between them two big islands! Yes, ships! Some smok-een, others not.” She paused. “That them! It must be them!”
Fred still couldn’t see, but he took her word for it. He glanced at his fuel gauge and cringed. “Well, we need a better look. Make a report with the position of the sighting, but we’ve got to get closer to make sure it’s the enemy and not just a few Imperial ships snugged up, hiding from them.” Soon, however, Fred could make out the distant shapes for himself. There were a lot of ships coming through the slot between the islands, and more were appearing west of San Miguel.
“Okay,” he said a little nervously. “No luggers, just full-grown ships-and I see a few red sails. That confirms it. Make this report.” He glanced at the chalkboard strapped to his right leg, comparing his calculations of flight time, air speed, wind speed, etc., with rough, remembered distances. Except for the looming islands, he’d had no real landmarks. “Ah, we’re approximately two hundred and fifty miles, almost due south of Saint Francis. Probable enemy fleet sighted about fifteen miles southeast of our position on an apparent course of three, three, zero degrees!”
A large, dark, winged shape suddenly plummeted past the starboard wingtip, missing it by inches.
“Shit!” Fred screeched, his voice many octaves higher than usual. He looked up and saw many more shapes dropping toward them. “Get that off right now!” he shouted, pushing the stick forward and advancing the throttle to the max. “Then see if you can keep those devils off us!”
The sudden dive had left them less helpless, but the giant lizard birds had tucked themselves into an almost-perfect aerodynamic shape and were still gaining fast. Kari slammed out the message and ended it with a “Mayday! Lizbirds!” Then she grabbed one of the two shortened muskets stowed in the plane. One of the creatures was right above her, beginning to flare out and extend its claws. “You hold steady,” she shouted. “I get this one!” She fired. The heavy load of buckshot impacted across the hideous thing’s chest and throat, and with a croaking cry, it tumbled away. Kari pitched the musket into the compartment at her feet and retrieved the second one. The “Nancy” had begun to accelerate away by now, and the closest monster was maybe twenty yards back. She aimed as carefully as she could at its face and squeezed the trigger. Fire and smoke trailed aft along with two ounces of shot that shattered the thing’s head. Kari began reloading the second gun but looked over her shoulder, forward, at Fred.
“What you do?” she demanded. Fred was leveling off, just above the water, but he pointed up. High above, another flight of the creatures was nosing over into the attack.
“I’m trying to get us closer to shore. If those devils knock us down, I don’t want to land in the water! Too many flashies!” Ahead was a narrow strip of beach. On the one side were the near-vertical cliffs; on the other, a boisterous surf. He risked a look upward. “Here they come!”
Kari never got the musket reloaded. Even without the wild gyrations, buffeting, and evasive maneuvers of the plane, she was just too scared to make her hands obey the complicated orders she gave them. One mon- ster plunged into the sea directly ahead of them. Another missed aft, almost tearing the tail off with its outstretched claws. The whole plane shuddered and nearly flipped into the sea when one of the creatures-that had to be lighter than it looked-slammed into the port wifasnd just clung there, slashing at the fabric with its teeth. Another lit right next to it and went for the blurry, spinning prop. With a horrifying Splack! Smack! Whack! Crack! the prop shredded the creature’s head and sprayed blood and gore and shards of bone all over Kari. Of the prop itself, little remained but spinning stumps. Horribly out of balance, the crank likely sprung, the valiant little engine tore itself apart, and all Kari could do was hunker down and hope most of the pieces would miss her.
“That’s done it!” Fred shouted, his voice tight with tension. The first beast had probably been torn apart by fragments of the engine, propeller, or its comrade, because it no longer tore at the wing, but the damage was done. Fred struggled against the loss of thrust and lift to coax the plane onto the beach, but they’d never make it. Forty or fifty yards short, the “Nancy” stalled, then pancaked into the surf. Kari screamed when a marching swell caught the tail and flipped the plane onto its back. There was a kaleidoscope of images: rushing bubbles and surging foam. Her eyes grew dim and her lungs felt as if they’d burst. Then, even through the seething waves, she heard the wing drag against the sandy bottom and with a terrible, rending crunch, the “Nancy” began breaking up.
“That was it, Skipper,” Ed Palmer said, looking down. He stood in the curtained passageway leading to the wardroom from aft. “After that last ‘Mayday,’ nothing.”
Matt merely nodded, but he thought his heart would break. Reynolds had been the youngest kid on the ship before the Squall, and he’d demonstrated buckets of guts more times than he could count, staying at his talker’s post on the bridge throughout many major actions. Kari, a B’mbaadan and daughter of that city’s greatest warrior, hadn’t been a warrior by nature, but she’d been a sweet kid with her own share of guts, doing what she had to do. Somehow, Fred and Kari had become inseparable, and their friendship and devotion to a very dangerous duty had been an inspiration to everyone. If they had to go, at least they’d gone together. Matt didn’t think either would want to go on without the other. Selass sniffed, and Matt smiled gently at her.
“Okay,” he said gruffly, standing over the green-linoleum-topped table and peering down at the map laid out on it. Jenks was there, as were Rempel and several Imperial officers. Spanky, Selass, and Bradford were the only others from Walker. Gray had already left to join the militia so he, Stumpy, Pack Rat, and Jenks’s few Marines could try to cram some of Chack’s and Blair’s tactics into their individualistic heads. “The…‘Nancy’ didn’t report actually seeing it. They meant to overfly the lowlands on their way back here, but they did confirm the ships, so we have to assume there’s an enemy column approaching from the south.” He looked at Jenks. “You’ve got to stop it. I don’t have any mortars for you, but you should have plenty of artillery-if you can crew it.”
“We have enough professionals for the artillery,” Jenks said, “but the militia will have to hold.”
“They’ll hold, if no one else will,” Rempel said, somewhat antagonistically. “They’re ill-disciplined, and their drill is laughable… but this is their home. They’ll fight for it.”
“Good,” Matt said. “That leaves us with the enemy fleet. The forts should be able to keep most of it out of the bay, but if just one ship gets through, it can raise absolute hell with the infrastructure here; infrastructure we’re going to need to take the war to the Doms. We can’t count on the forts. We must at least whittle the enemy down befor in arrives.”
“Two hundred and fifty miles at last report,” Jenks mused. “The wind remains in our favor to a degree, so they can’t make best speed. Give them six to e
ight knots. That will put them here… day after tomorrow. Evening most likely.”
“Yeah, no faster than their slowest ships, and in this case, their slowest are their most powerful. All the same, the wind could change and we need depth-behind us, I mean-to chase anything that gets past us. I think we should meet them.”
“Chase? Meet?” Rempel said incredulously. “Are you mad? After great effort, we have the equivalent of four warships, not counting yours, to meet twenty-five or more!”
“Not four, Admiral, nine- counting this one. We’ve reestablished contact with elements of Second Fleet. Achilles, Simms, Mertz, and Tindal will arrive early tomorrow morning, along with a pair of oilers. They’d have been here earlier…” Matt’s face clouded. “Let’s just say I’ve no proof of treachery, but I’m awfully glad I gave orders for them to depart company from the rest of Second Fleet if they thought its commander was advancing too slowly. Evidently, your High Admiral McClain gave the impression he was dawdling.”
“The Lord High Admiral!” Rempel gasped. “You don’t suspect he’s in league…?”
Matt shook his head. “I honestly doubt it, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about this mission from the start. I think he believed the threat overestimated.” He snorted. “He preferred to relieve the Enchanted Isles. Evidently, he’s strung out as far south as he can manage, to intercept any word from there. In the meantime, I doubt he’ll be a factor in the upcoming fight.”
“But still only nine ships!”
“Four are the finest anyone could hope for,” Jenks stated, losing patience. “Three are entirely new and more than a match for any Dom ship of the line-and you forget Walker, sir.”
“I do not! Though… honestly, I cannot see how she can be of any great use. Certainly she is fast, but she carries fewer guns than a brig!”
“That may be so, Rempel,” Jenks said, “but they’re unlike any guns you’ve ever seen. They can destroy ships like the Dom’s-or ours, for that matter-from twice, ten times the range they could hope to respond!”
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