Jenks just stared, incredulous, but Orrin was turning almost giddy from the crazy scheme bubbling up inside him. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “A way to maybe stop all the Dom ships before they add their weight to El Corazon or get out to sea. It’s gonna take all our Nancys and probably DDs too, and our guys fighting in the city’ll be on their own for a while. Probably little or no air cover at all.”
“What do you have in mind?” High Admiral Jenks demanded, glancing from Orrin to Lelaa as if wondering if this was something they’d discussed before. Lelaa only blinked surprise, but her swishing tail betrayed her interest.
“Just something Seepy and I talked about a long time ago, and might’ve been simmering in my skull ever since.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll even work.”
CHAPTER 23
////// El Corazon
The push to the temple dissolved into a chaotic, house-to-house brawl. In a way, it was some of the most nerve-racking fighting Blas ever participated in. She and Sister Audry never caught up with Garcia, Ixtli, or the bulk of the division, and were mainly forced to battle over the very same ground against Doms it bypassed or missed and who continually swept in through side streets. C Company of the 2nd of the 2nd Marines, about half Lemurian and half human Ocelomeh, a few of Audry’s Vengadore guards, and an increasing number of 9th Division Impie Marines became Blas’s entire direct command. The 4th and 21st Divisions were still slogging forward to the right, but that was probably pushing even more Doms in front of them. Only their breechloading Allin-Silvas and Blitzerbugs—and a profligate expenditure of ammunition—gave them a chance. For the first time in this war, Doms could still shoot with bayonets fixed and the Allies had lost an edge they’d taken for granted.
They shot and stabbed their way into buildings, following grenades until they ran out. A lot of Marines died doing that, since these Doms were mostly Blood Drinkers and were always ready for them, waiting at the door. All but four of Sister Audry’s little group of Vengadores were killed. The survivors quickly divided the ammunition of the slain and continued on. The street fighting was more one-sided. Allied weapons weren’t just breechloaders; they were rifles, far more accurate than smoothbore muskets. Every time Blas’s men and ’Cats saw Doms trying to get in positions to oppose them in the open, they shot them down with almost contemptuous ease. It got really nasty only when they had to bust down doors and go face-to-face with Blood Drinkers.
Blas rushed through another shot-up doorway, whipping her rifle up horizontally in front of her and slamming into a pair of Doms loading muskets they’d just used to kill an Ocelomeh Marine. Blas wouldn’t give them time. Both men tumbled back and Blas bayonetted one to the floor. Twisting her weapon, oblivious to the screams, she pulled it out and shot the other man in the jaw. His head whipped back and he fell flat, the gory wreckage of his head bouncing with a sickening crunch. First Sergeant Spook ran in behind her and hosed a couple more Doms with his Blitzer. They fell kicking on the floor. A six-man squad raced past and up a stairway where there was more shooting. Blas opened the breech of her Allin-Silva, ejecting a smoky cartridge, and inserted another. Sister Audry and her guards dashed in next, the guards almost shoving Audry in a corner and forming a semicircle around her.
“Clear!” came the shout down the stairs, and Spook called outside. Moments later, amid a flurry of musket shots from across the street—answered by the booming crack of Allin-Silvas—Captain Aakon’s ’Cat gunners ran inside and up the stairs, carrying the pieces of two mountain howitzers. It was his last section. The rest of his people had been killed, wounded, or swept along with the bulk of the division. Impie Marines from the 9th thundered after them with crates of ammunition, followed quickly by a Lemurian artillery lieutenant Blas vaguely recognized. More balls smacked against the stone walls or whizzed through broken window shutters, and one of Sister Audry’s guards went down, crying out.
“I got two more Naa-po-leons comin’ up!” cried the lieutenant, stumbling slightly on a jumble of shattered chairs. The two guns Koratin fired had advanced with the first charge.
“Good,” Blas gasped, “but much as I’d love to, we caan’t shoot ’em down the street. Don’t know how close our people are.”
“If they were thaat close, they’d turn an’ clear the Doms in front o’ us, wouldn’t they?” Spook demanded through teeth clenched in pain and blinking frustration. He’d taken a wafer of lead from a flattened ball in his side, under his armpit, two or three—or ten?—buildings back. He was starting to feel it.
“They may not realize the situation,” Sister Audry said, pushing through her guards. “They advanced rather . . . ardently, and may now be isolated themselves. Obviously, no messengers can get through.”
“Daamn! I wish we haad raadios! Field telephones are swell, but only work when you’re wired up,” Blas griped.
“At least we still got comm back to the gate,” Spook consoled. “Ninth Div spread out along the south waall, killin’ crews an’ spikin’ Dom guns. Met some ’Leventh Corps guys comin’ from the other waay, doin’ the same. South waall’s quiet now, an’ Shin-yaa’s bringin’ the whole aarmy in.”
“Old news, from a hour ago,” Blas snapped back skeptically. “Either waay, we still gotta link baack up with our division and reach the temple. I’ll be daamned if those Fifteenth Corps newies beat us to it!”
“But . . . then whaat can I do with my caannon?” the gun-’Cat asked almost plaintively. “We went through hell gettin’ ’em here.”
Blas laughed. “We all been through hell gettin’ here, Lieuten-aant! Join the club!”
“You can’t just blast canister down the street,” Sister Audry agreed thoughtfully. “But dangerous as Doms in the open are, the buildings pose the greatest threat and provide the most cover. Captain Aakon can only do so much on the rooftops with a single section, and all the nearby mortar teams have either been killed or stayed up with Colonel Garcia as well. Some may have advanced far enough on the flanks to join Twenty-First Division.” She looked at the lieutenant. “Do your best to destroy the buildings along the main roadway,” she instructed. “Give special attention to those on side street corners. Collapse them into the streets, if you can.”
Blas grinned. “Yeah!”
The lieutenant looked concerned. “How do I know there aren’t any of our guys in ’em?”
“If there’s a Dom flaag haangin’ in a window or doorway, put a shell through it,” Blas instructed grimly. “An’ keep it up till the building drops!”
“Ay, ay, Major Blas.”
Blas looked at the others and made for the door. “Let’s get movin’.”
Methodically, systematically, the two guns in the street started blasting the buildings on the main western north-south avenue. A lot of their crew members were cut down by frantic musket shots and replaced by more cannoneers, even infantry. All while the remainder of Blas’s small force took careful aim from behind cover and killed anything they saw wearing yellow. Two more guns clattered up and unlimbered beside the first pair, brought by a full regiment of the 9th Division that fanned out to join Blas’s Marines. Both gun sections, almost hub to hub, continued blasting that part of El Corazon into dust- and smoke-choked heaps of shattered stone and timber rubble. The rooftop howitzers were working on buildings in the side streets themselves. Men might still pick their way through debris, but they couldn’t approach in organized units anymore; the only way regular Dom infantry was trained to fight. Blas started seeing yellow-coated figures jump out from behind mountains of debris and vanish in the smoke. More astonishing—Blas had seen regular Dom soldiers flee before, but only once witnessed them surrender—some even started tossing their muskets away.
“C’mon!” she roared. “After ’em! If regulaars’ll surrender, let ’em. No Blood Drinker prisoners!” A thunderous roar answered her, and troops—mostly the fresh ones—stampeded past. Some even paused to help push the guns for
ward though they’d be lucky to get them past the wreckage they’d made. “Single ’em up!” she shouted. “Try to take ’em through one at a time.” She started to join the charge, Spook still at her side, and nearly didn’t hear her name called from behind.
“Major Blas,” the voice repeated. “A word, if I may.”
Turning, Blas saw General Shinya, General Blair, and several other officers, all mounted, surrounded by a company of dragoons. Sister Audry was already with them. The sight was so unexpected and incongruous amidst all the devastation, she could only stare. Spook poked her.
“Okaay,” Blas replied, tail whipping rapidly, dissipating nervous energy.
“Perhaps you’d like to join us,” Shinya said, indicating one of several riderless horses. There was blood on the saddle. His party had apparently taken some casualties of its own getting here.
“An’ go where?”
Shinya smiled and pointed ahead.
Blas laughed. It had a brittle sound. “Gener-aal Shin-yaa, case you ain’t aware, there’s a helluva lotta Doms thaat way.”
“I’m quite aware. More than even you imagine, I suspect,” he said. “But listen.”
Blas did. The charge she’d just unleashed was shooting and there was still sharp fighting to the east, but beyond that, in the square around the temple, where most of her division should be by now, there was almost quiet. “I don’t hear whaat I thought I would,” she confessed.
“Understandable. It’s been somewhat noisy here. And since we were already coming this way, it seemed expedient to bring you the latest reports ourselves.”
“What’s goin’ on?” She looked at Audry and blinked anxiously. “Is our division in one piece?”
“Not complete without its principal commanders, of course, but largely intact,” Blair told her dryly.
“An’ the linkup with Fifteenth Corps?”
“Already happening,” Shinya responded. “It’s through Fifteenth Corps that I have my most recent information, in fact. It remained more cohesive than Tenth Corps and maintained better comm with its forward units—though yours did apparently reach the temple first.”
Blas saw a wistful smile appear on Sister Audry’s face. “Col-nol Garcia?” she pressed.
“Alive,” Shinya confirmed, “and currently stalling, as a matter of fact.”
“Stalling?” Sister Audry asked, surprised. “What for?”
“You,” Shinya said simply. He sighed. “Right now, there is a very large number of people, perhaps a quarter of the civilian population of this city, waiting to hear what you have to say. Colonel Garcia is the messenger, but word of you has spread even here, it seems. In any event, a large percentage of those people are armed, skeptical, and very afraid.” He glanced at Blair, then down at Blas’s ragged, filthy, blood-spattered form. “And despite recommendations to the contrary, I don’t want to ‘kill them all.’” He looked back at Sister Audry. “We’re still fighting half this city. If we can get the other half on our side, we might finish this before nightfall.” He paused. “If not, we could still lose. Just as bad, we’ll be fighting here for days or weeks and it’ll all be like . . .” He waved back behind them, at the devastation and misery of the battle they’d endured so far. “Let’s avoid that if we can.”
“What do I have to do?” Sister Audry asked.
“I don’t really know,” Shinya confessed a little awkwardly. “Go to the temple, talk to the people. Tell them what you once told Arano Garcia. It’s certainly their only hope, and might be ours.”
Sister Audry nodded then, and without another word put her left foot in a dangling stirrup and swung into the saddle. She was ready.
Blas took off her helmet and scratched at the drying, foamy sweat in the fur around her ears. “Wait a minute. Still lots of Doms thaat way,” she warned. “Prob’ly snipers.”
Shinya smiled. “Possibly. But listen again; even the charge you just ordered has stopped fighting.” There was occasional firing but not much. “They’ll be clearing the buildings. You’re really not far away at all.”
It was true. For the first time in quite a while, Blas looked toward the temple and saw how close it was. They’d almost made it on their own.
Shinya was nodding ruefully. “I actually tried to get here in time to stop you. It might’ve upset everything if you kept fighting right into the square around the temple. As it is, I’m sure Garcia halted your troops, and even the civilians must understand you had to clear the Blood Drinkers out.” His expression hardened. “I heard what they did with the children, from wounded heading back. I expect Colonel Garcia told the people as well. If they’re capable of being swayed by anything Sister Audry says, that should push them over the edge.” He glanced at his watch. “Come along, Major Blas. We really must hurry. Colonel Garcia can only stall so long. Besides, I’m told the Navy has planned something extraordinary. I’d like to see it, and the temple might be the best vantage point.”
CHAPTER 24
////// Above El Paso del Fuego
USS Destroyer and USS Sword were called back and ordered to proceed north at full steam along the coast as soon as they cleared the mouth of the pass. All the frigates accompanying them, or that had survived their fight with the Doms, were told to avoid the dense archipelago of mountain fish as best they could and make for a point about eight miles out from the Pass of Fire. Every other escort or auxiliary armed with depth charges, no matter how fresh or battered, would converge there as well, in a north-south line. The carriers, including Raan-Goon, got underway, pulling farther back from El Paso, though Raan-Goon had to creep along with her engines reversed. Her fires were finally under control but weren’t out.
The Clipper was still aloft, still reporting the progress of the enemy fleet, though its escort had been severely depleted. By 1700 hours that afternoon, when the slack tide began to turn again, twenty-eight Dom liners and armored Grikbird carriers had already swept into the wide, baylike mouth of El Paso del Fuego. They quickly formed into two distinct battle groups and pressed on. The smaller of these, composed of ten ships of the line, proceeded toward the tangled, smoldering wreckage of the earlier naval battle near the convulsing city. The larger force of nine Grikbird carriers and nine liners steamed for the open sea.
All that seemed to oppose them were twenty-six much smaller ships. Some were frigates, a few—including the old Achilles—already severely damaged. Most were older AVDs, basically “scout frigates” or seaplane tenders. They retained a few guns but were no longer fit for serious combat. Their primary roles were escort duty, reconnaissance with the single Nancy each carried, and refueling and repairing other Nancys that set down beside them. None carried airplanes now, but like the frigates and assorted other armed auxiliaries, all had depth-charge racks at the stern and launchers on either beam.
Gathered in the space between the still-somewhat-distant forces, however, was the most important element of Orrin Reddy’s harebrained scheme. It was difficult to credit, viewed from the surface, but from five thousand feet, where Orrin now led every plane they could scrape up, it was easy to see hundreds of giant mountain fish, the tightest concentration of the massive monsters anyone ever heard of, rolling, basking, even awkwardly mating under the bright afternoon sun. Pushed from the mouth of the pass by all the annoying noise, they wallowed in strikingly companionable accord, waiting for things to settle down so they could return to the endless smorgasbord furnished by the pass.
There was no way to know how they’d react to what was about to happen, and every Allied skipper about to execute his or her orders probably suspected, whether the plan worked out or not, they were screwed. But there was nothing for it, and their Impie and Lemurian crews were as closely tied together and intimately committed as their comrades fighting so desperately in the city onshore. They knew this stunt, cooked up by an aviator, had quite literally been thrown together on the fly, and they were taking a des
perate gamble. But it was all they had left to try, and they would do their duty.
Orrin toggled the microphone in his new Nancy while looking out at the nearly two hundred planes around him, the ships below, the awe-inspiring herd of gigantic sea creatures, and the Dom fleet beyond. The nearest enemy had formed no line this time, content to gaggle forward in an unpracticed approximation of an Allied battle group, their liners deployed protectively around the carriers. On the south side of the pass, the battle for El Corazon seemed to have intensified, the afternoon sun glaring at the towering smoke, thick enough to cast a dark shadow on the mountains beyond.
Though not as large or impressive as the enemy’s, the Allied ships five thousand feet below were more ascetically deployed, arrayed in a roughly concave line about four and a half nautical miles long and 350 to 400 yards apart. A few smaller mountain fish, relatively slender and only two or three hundred feet long, actually swam among them. Orrin was concerned about that, but the youngsters weren’t as aggressive as the great bulls. He looked at his planes again. Thrown together as they’d been, there wasn’t time for careful flight assignments. They’d do their part as wings. Raan-Goon’s depleted wing combined with New Dublin’s. Taking a last deep breath, he spoke.
“Makky-Kat, Makky-Kat, this is COFO Reddy, over.”
“COFO Reddy, this is Makky-Kat. How’s it look? Over,” came Tex Sheider’s voice in Orrin’s earphones.
“I don’t know,” Orrin confessed. “About as good as it’s going to, I guess. Recommend you give the signal for your guys to shove off. As soon as they’ve had their fun, we’ll jump in. Over.”
“All right, Orrin,” Tex replied, abandoning radio protocol. “I’ll pass the word. Godspeed. From me, Lelaa, Jenks—everybody.”
“God help us,” Orrin replied forcefully, watching a cloud of Grikbirds start spewing up from the distant Dom carriers. “Grikbirds, Grikbirds,” he called out. “Nicoya Pursuit, stand by to intercept. Everybody else, assume defensive formations and stack ’em up until I give the word. Over.”
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