Until recently, great flocks of Grikbirds (or dragons, as Impies called them) had ferociously defended the Pass of Fire—for the Doms—from any incursion. The things were about the size of a Grik, looked like them—except for their colorful plumage—and they flew. They were also at least intelligent enough to obey their Dom masters who raised, fed, and trained them. Other flying predators on this world moved in swarms but not cooperative packs, so the Doms had probably taught them their massed, “dash and slash” tactics as well, along with other ways to knock down planes. They’d even carry and drop small bombs. They weren’t as fast as Allied planes but were a lot more maneuverable. They could be absolute hell on Nancy floatplanes, even when they were armed and their observer/copilots defended them with SMGs. When Orrin tirelessly begged for more and better planes and pilots, he never failed to point out that, savage as losses had been in the west, they’d lost more aircrews here, in air-to-air combat, than First Fleet had to the Grik, Japanese, and League combined. That was myopic and overlooked the hundreds of flyers and aircraft lost to ship and ground fire in the brutal fighting on the other side of the world, but his point was well taken.
The problem was, though recon flights still got bounced and Orrin’s pilots still had to watch their comrades fall with shredded wings or tangled props—sometimes Grikbirds cooperated to dive in and pitch nets at unwary or preoccupied planes—attacks had grown less frequent and a lot more careful. Orrin was tempted to credit his pursuit pilots and their little P-1 Mosquito Hawks, or “Fleashooters,” which were hell on Grikbirds, but even considering many of his Impie pilots were new and excitable, they hadn’t claimed enough kills to account for the decreased numbers. Something was up.
Lelaa had proposed that the Doms pulled them out, unable to feed them. They were under blockade, after all. Nothing could reach El Corazon by land or sea from the west. But even though Nussie raiders were catching a lot of Dom merchies, the Pass of Fire wasn’t closed from the east. And Dom cities on the north side of the pass had secure supply lines from local sources and were close enough to support plenty of Grikbirds. Besides, as they’d learned in the Enchanted Isles, if the Doms had trouble feeding their air power, they just gave them people to eat.
Jenks, perhaps overly optimistic, suggested the Doms knew they were licked and had pulled the Grikbirds back to defend their capital and the Templo de los Papas at New Granada. Or maybe most of those they’d already seen came from there originally and events had convinced the Doms they couldn’t afford the losses anymore. That didn’t add up either. During Orrin’s occasional static-laced conversations with cousin Matt, they’d both agreed that Doms were basically human Grik and would never abandon territory uncontested. And even if they did pull out, they wouldn’t leave any inhabitants behind. The experience of the NUS back in the 1840s, when the Doms razed a fair percentage of a continent because “heretics” had trod upon it and to create a barrier against their return, was an extreme example. But massacres of civilians ahead of the Allied army’s advance—and the fight at Dulce itself—confirmed the mind-set persisted. Mayta knew he couldn’t save Dulce but he’d wasted a token force—and a large chunk of the local population—solely to contest it. And to decimate any inhabitants who might be corrupted, of course.
“Honestly?” Orrin continued, “I think the Grikbirds’re still around, somewhere. Maybe something else that’ll bite us on the ass too.”
“Like what?” Tex asked.
“No idea. But I’m with Shinya and Her Majesty, and I’ve got a bad feeling. If what I’ve seen in the air wasn’t enough, I’d go with Blas’s gut. Not only does she have a pretty good track record, she’s got all those Vengadores and Ocelomeh in the Sister’s Own to ask what they think.”
“Which might be riddled with spies,” Jenks murmured.
“No,” Rebecca denied. “Certainly not as many as watch the rest of our army so casually. I’d wager half the local teamsters, sutlers, even scouts we rely on, are in league with the enemy. But the Vengadores are true believers in Sister Audry and her Benedictine Christianity. And the Jaguar Warriors in Blas’s Second Marines all know each other. You can be sure they ruthlessly police their ranks.”
“So let me be perfectly clear,” Jenks said rather irritably, inclining his head toward the gathering of officers waiting for them to finish. “Are you suggesting we delay the assault on the Pass of Fire? Again?”
Orrin seemed to consider that but shook his head. “We really can’t, can we? We’ve put it off and built up as much as we can. And unless Matt finally breaks things loose with the Grik in the west, we’ve pretty much reached the peak of what we’re going to get. We have all the ships and planes and people that’re available and they’re all trained up for the job.” He shook his head again. “Starting to lose their edge now. Especially the Impie Marines cooped up aboard ships or in camps at Manizales. Just as important, the Nussies are waiting—and getting edgy about what the League’ll throw in, given time. We have to go now, no matter what the Doms are cooking up.”
“Then whaat are you suggesting?” Lelaa asked.
Orrin shrugged. “Raids, I guess. Deep, destructive ones. Not just recon.” He waved his hands. “We’ve got the planes: three carriers with full complements and the equivalent to more than four, with what we’ve got on AVDs and ashore. We’ve even—finally—got four PB-Five-Ds, configured as bombers. We’ve been holding all that back, but like you said, the Doms know we have ’em. Let’s use ’em. Kick the hornet’s nest and see what stirs up.”
“We’d been counting heavily on the element of surprise,” Jenks objected.
Orrin laughed. “What surprise? They know we’re coming. And I’m not suggesting weeks of raids, only a few days, and that we don’t focus on El Corazon. We knock ’em around all along the pass.”
Lelaa was nodding. “And if the fuel and aammunition tenders from our friends in the Republic of Real People arrive in the Caar-ibbean quickly enough, we caan send planes on to them to resupply and hit the Doms from both sides at once.”
That had seemed a dream at first. The NUS could manage light bombs with contact fuses, but though their ships burned oil, they didn’t have gasoline. On the other hand, the Republic still hadn’t completed their first oceangoing warships and was afraid to risk lightly armed vessels in seas where Dom warships, or even modern League vessels, might lurk. But the Republic was all in now, with more reason than most to oppose the League. Kaiser Nig-Taak and the NUS president had quickly realized how dependent they were on each other in preventing the League from gaining control of the entire Atlantic. If the League and Doms had the Pass of Fire, they could choke off all Allied assistance to the NUS from the west and it would be on its own. That would leave the Republic’s Cape of Africa the only avenue for Allied support—a stormy, dangerous passage at best, on this other earth—and a prime target for the League to focus all its attention upon. The NUS had finally dispatched some powerful steam frigates to protect the Republic tenders—from Doms, at least—and they were optimistically expected within weeks.
Months, more likely, Orrin suspected. “Swell,” he said, “and Fred and Kari are over there to help ’em organize refueling, rearming, and basic repairs. And the Repubs’ll have a few planes of their own.” They’d come up with capable biplanes called Cantets, but also copied the Allies’ Nancy floatplanes. Direct parts interchangeability probably wasn’t an option, but they might completely re-engine an Allied plane if they had to. “Sounds like a plan. At least a little addition to the big plan everybody’s here to go over. We’ll tear shit up, raise some hell, and maybe make ’em show us what they’ve got up their sleeve.”
Jenks looked troubled. “If you’re right and they do have something, your raids might be dreadfully costly in planes and people,” he warned.
“Could be, but we’ll keep plenty back to cover your assault. And if we keep it quiet”—he looked significantly at them all—“we might still throw
one surprise at Mayta and shake him up. If he takes the bait and shows his hand, it can’t be as costly as whatever he’s waiting to spring on us.”
“All right,” Jenks concluded, “we’ll do it.” He smiled vaguely. “Or, rather, you will, I suppose. I take it you’re ‘volunteering’ for this as well?”
“In for a penny . . .”
“Very well.” He straightened his coat. “Let’s get on with this, shall we? There are a lot of people here with a great deal to do. Please, all of you remain beside me.” He looked at Rebecca and Saan-Kakja, a sad smile forming beneath his mustaches. “I know how painful it will be for you, but after General Shinya and I are finished, with all still assembled, it might be an excellent time for you to say your farewells.”
“Of course.”
Jenks walked to the lectern and called for the great map to be displayed. A hush swept through the temple as everyone present recognized the features on the map and knew High Admiral Jenks was about to begin at last.
“All right,” he said loudly. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. Pay close attention to what General Shinya and I have to say. The basic plan of attack isn’t complicated; the enemy position is well prepared and leaves little opportunity for imaginative maneuvers. Still, in the interests of security, I’m afraid you’ll have to commit a great deal to memory. You needn’t memorize everything, however,” he quickly assured them, “and individual assignments will be issued immediately prior to the operation. If, when this briefing concludes, you discover you’ve seen opportunities or concerns we failed to address, please feel free to bring them to our attention, but keep them to yourselves for now. I know many of you are used to speaking out at once”—he smiled at some of the Lemurian officers—“but I’ll not have this briefing degenerate into a debate.” He retrieved a long cane pointer from where it was leaned against the lectern and turned to the map. “General Shinya’s Tenth and Eleventh Corps are here and here, enveloping the landward approach to El Corazon.” He touched the map with the cane. “He will elaborate on their dispositions and that of the enemy momentarily.” He moved the pointer southwest of the pass. “Here is where the fleet will assemble, and where the carrier battle groups will remain throughout the action,” he stressed, “unless specifically ordered forward . . .”
CHAPTER 6
////// NUS-Occupied Cuba
It’s been a while since it was just the three of us,” observed Captain Anson as he raised a clear glass filled with a minty drink in a mock toast. Lieutenants Fred Reynolds and Kari-Faask, both in fresh new whites made by a local tailor Anson suggested, raised their glasses as well. “Other than our brief flights across the isthmus,” he qualified. “But those afforded few opportunities to socialize or reminisce.” He emphasized his toast. “To our first meeting, and”—he smiled wryly—“a most interesting time together.”
Times remained “interesting” and they weren’t at all alone, sitting in the shade around an open-air table at a boardwalk café not far from Santiago’s Government House. All the other tables were occupied by Nussie officers in uniforms ranging from white muslin, for the heat, to dark blue broadcloth, for appearances. Other than brightly colored branch-rank shoulder boards trimmed in gold and a lot of polished brass buttons, the uniforms had few decorations and nobody wore medals. There were different colored sashes under white leather sword and saber belts, but Fred and Kari didn’t know what they signified.
It was easier to tell which branches the common soldiers belonged to, surging and jostling on the crushed coral street between the bright white, generally two-story shops and offices flanking it. They were from all over the NUS, hurrying on their way or just gawking at the older, more ornate Dom buildings in the city. Some wore red stripes down the legs of sky blue trousers, others a kind of yellow orange. Most by far had no stripe at all, but their sky blue cotton jackets were trimmed in white. All wore dark blue wheel hats, but some of those boasted red or yellow-orange bands as well. Most surprising to Kari, all were men, and their faces ranged from almost blue-black to a white as bleached as the coral. Kari found that a little comforting, considering how varied Lemurian coloration could be. It was disconcerting to have so many stare at her as she watched them, however.
Fred fished the watch Captain Willis gave him out of a pocket and glanced at it. “Sure you can afford to be seen with us? Except for flying, you’ve avoided us like the measles.”
“For security reasons only,” Anson replied, clamping a long cigar between lips under a brushy mustache. He’d gone back to muttonchops after discovering beards were in style among the Impies. With a smile, he handed another cigar to Kari, who blinked appreciative pleasure while Fred rolled his eyes, and lit them both with a match that flared oddly bright and pungent. He blew out a cloud of smoke and sighed. “I’m a Ranger,” he confessed, finally acknowledging what he was, if not exactly what he did. To their surprise, he actually elaborated. “Along with more traditional activities, Rangers have always been somewhat specialized soldiers paradoxically endowed with very diverse skills that allow them to operate and survive alone or in small groups in hostile territory. Alone, we’re sometimes used as spies, even assassins,” he conceded, “which is what the Doms consider us all. And in small groups we often take more ambitious direct action. With independent assignments like mine have been, we work directly for the president, under his orders alone.”
“Wow,” Kari said, blinking mild sarcasm. “I think we’d kinda figured mosta thaat, just not thaat whaat you did haad a title.”
“Yeah, and that it’s a real job,” Fred added, chuckling.
“I’m sure,” Anson replied with a raised brow. “And I’m equally sure enemy spies were aware as well. All the more reason to keep my distance from you, till now.” He pointed his cigar at their uniforms. “And it’s not as if you’re inconspicuous.”
“Lotsa folks here wearin’ white,” Kari objected.
“Not many have long, fluffy tails, my dear,” Anson pointed out dryly.
“But not now?” Fred asked, glancing at his watch again. “No more creeping around?”
Anson smiled and redirected his cigar down the street, past the milling throng, at the narrow portion of the bay they could see. It was packed with ships of every description—masts; furled sails; tall, smoke-streaming funnels most readily apparent. “It’s rather pointless to keep the secret now, particularly from my friends, though I still can’t reveal my true name. I have a family, after all.” He nodded at the bay. “But just look out there,” he directed. “The entire NUS fleet has gathered here, from Port Isabel to Mobile. Even the Atlantic coastal squadrons stationed at the tip of Florida are here. There are transports sufficient to carry fifty thousand men, horses, and guns—which this island fairly shudders under even now—and enough warships to protect them from anything the Doms have retained in the Caribbean. That we know of,” he added unhappily.
“In any event, it’s the very cream of our armed forces and almost the entire fighting-age population of our country—at least that portion not actively devoted to supporting this force.” He glanced at Kari. “Even women are fully engaged, if not necessarily in uniform. They fill the ranks of our industries, tend our crops, and ensure there’ll be another generation at the end of all this. Do you honestly think the Doms don’t already know our purpose? My only hope is that they remain unsure where we’ll strike. I don’t even know that, beyond the obvious, which is somewhere within the vast expanse of New Granada. I find some consolation in that.” He grinned. “Rangers don’t just monitor our enemies. In any event, my ignorance has rendered my person somewhat less prizeworthy in terms of information that might be pried from me. That’s yet a further consolation, a profound relief, and why I feel comfortable meeting you socially at last.”
Fred glanced at his watch again and Anson took an exasperated breath. “Really, Lieutenant Reynolds. You do seem quite preoccupied with the time. Is my company truly
so tedious?”
“It’s a gurrl,” Kari sneered. “A useless, helpless, empty-headed gurrl, who caan’t fly, caan’t shoot, an’ don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”
“She’s the daughter of Commodore Semmes,” Fred defended, glaring at Kari. Then he looked at Anson. “Kari just doesn’t like her because I spend a little time with her now and then. We have a date.”
Anson chuckled. “Of course. Young Tabitha. Quite pretty too . . . if indeed somewhat empty-headed.” He looked sternly at Kari. “If Lieutenant Reynolds has arranged a meeting with the young lady, he mustn’t be late. She has many suitors, though I suspect most are more interested in gaining access to the commodore for their own purposes.” He looked back at Fred. “Your . . . liaison might actually benefit our two nations—if it doesn’t put us helplessly at odds.” His chuckle turned to a laugh, and Fred’s ears went beet red.
Kari pointed at them triumphantly. “Look at thaat! His ears is the same unnaatural color as the fur on her head! It ain’t right. She’s prob’ly gave him some naasty islaand jungle raash!”
“She may well have,” Anson agreed good-naturedly.
Stony faced, Fred asked, “Why tell us all this stuff now? Don’t you still need to lay low?”
Just then, the crowd in the street started peeling back, scrambling to find refuge on the boardwalk and get out of the way of a troop of horsemen cantering through. Carbines bounced and rattled, suspended by buff leather straps. The men were dressed like dragoons, in dark blue jackets and sky blue trousers, but their hair was long and wrapped in furs, and they wore what looked like the skins of furry Grik heads and faces for hats. These were decorated with lizardbird feathers and other colorful items. “Comanches,” Anson said with admiration. “Even they are here. Finest cavalry in the world.”
“Are they Nussies too?” Fred asked, just as amazed by their presence as how they might’ve gotten to this world in the first place.
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