River of Bones_Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  Finally, Pete stared pointedly at some of the other officers, his gaze lingering on Safir Maraan before it passed. “Mainly, I want to make damn sure everybody’s still on the same page regarding our objectives. We’re here to relieve TF Bottle Cap, establish a firm beachhead with defensive depth, and choke off the Grik Swarm in the Zambezi for good. If anybody gets any bright ideas, they better keep ’em on the tactical level or run ’em by me first. Is that understood? This’ll be the biggest contested landing we’ve ever made, way bigger than Grik City. We have three corps on paper, but the numbers are more like four. That should be enough to accomplish our mission.”

  He glanced at Matt, acknowledging the curt nod to continue, and his expression turned hard. “I can finally tell you all that the Republic Army in the South is about to get off its ass and try to force a crossing of the Ungee River. Granted, they’ve kinda been waiting on us to get off our ass, but things are startin’ to jump. More troops and weapons are on the way, and we will continue the assault toward Sofesshk when we have sufficient forces, but let me be clear: We’re not gonna win the war tomorrow. We can lose it tomorrow if somebody screws up by the numbers, or gets wild-ass notions an’ starts makin’ shit up as they go . . . again. We’re about to park our big, fat, bristly ass right on the Grik’s front porch, and they ain’t gonna like it.” He shrugged. “My guess is, they’ll pull out all the stops to boot us out, and there’s a helluva lot more of them than us, so we gotta do this smart, see? That’s the only way. And we can’t risk massive casualties. We’re gonna lose a lot of people,” he conceded grimly, “no getting around it. But once we get in, get dug in tighter than a tick, we’ll start pilin’ their dead asses up in heaps just like we all did together at Flynn’s Lake.” He nodded at Matt. “Except this time, with secure supply lines, we won’t have to count every shot we take.”

  Safir Maraan knew exactly who Pete was most concerned about when it came to slipping her leash. He hadn’t been at Grik City when she’d almost single-handedly turned what was supposed to be a destructive raid in force into a full-scale invasion, but he knew what happened. Her ambitious redefinition of their objectives worked, but it had been very costly. Worse, it left their entire long-term strategy against the Grik in almost unsupportable disarray. She’d learned her lesson the hard way and was through trying to win the war by herself, on the fly. “Fear not, Gener-aal Aalden,” she said. “I will behave.”

  Pete suddenly grinned. “Not sure I’d ever expect you to go that far. As General Rolak inferred, and Silva always says, plans are for shit. But even when they go in the crapper, we gotta keep the reason for ’em in mind, and keep fighting as a team.”

  Safir grinned back and there were a few nervous chuckles, but Matt, at least, was sure Safir Maraan would never just run wild again. “Okay,” he said lightly, breaking the tension. “Great. Let’s get this over with.” He yawned again. “But chow first.” He looked at Keje and raised a brow. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of Courtney’s real coffee aboard, would you?”

  CHAPTER 24

  ////// Battle of the Ungee River

  South Soala Riverfront

  December 30, 1944

  Regardless how long Legate Bekiaa-Sab-At had yearned for this attack to begin, she was nervous. She feared they’d waited too long, and so much depended on success! If they were badly defeated, the Grik army at Soala could immediately march north and add its weight to the Swarm battling TF Bottle Cap on the Zambezi. If Bottle Cap was overwhelmed, Madagascar was next. And the situation on the Zambezi had reached such a critical point that no matter how gallantly her friends—and family!—had held, failure would mean not only the loss of Madagascar, and probably the war, but also a virtual avalanche of Grik descending back on Soala. The Army of the Republic would be destroyed no matter how the battle went today. She shook her head. One thing at a time. I can’t think about that. I have to focus on the fight here, now.

  She glanced right and left. There was no moon, and the stars were hidden by a high, thin overcast. The riverfront where they’d quickly (with considerable chaos) launched hundreds of boats and barges to carry ten legions of men and ’Cats across a quarter mile of open water was utterly steeped in darkness. Even better, though no lights were ever allowed on the south side of the river, the Grik side practically glowed in the night vision–destroying glare of hundreds of cookfires. And General Kim had wisely forbidden his troops to fire on the Grik at night, precisely so they’d continue this moronic practice. They might even think it made them more secure, and nothing like what was about to occur could ever happen in the dark. Surprise was everything, not least of which was the prevention of many casualties during the long, slow river crossing.

  “Look who I caught hiding with the troops!” Optio Jack Meek exclaimed quietly, pushing a tall, slightly thick-bodied man close enough for Bekiaa to make out his distinctive features. It probably wasn’t really necessary to whisper—yet—but the need for silence had been impressed on everyone, and NCOs had carefully checked to make sure nobody even loaded their rifles until they were told. A single shot might cost hundreds of lives.

  “Good work, Optio,” Bekiaa said, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at the man before her. “I suspected you’d try a stunt like this,” she told Courtney Bradford harshly.

  “It’s no bloody stunt,” he replied stiffly, “and I resent you characterizing it so. I’m here on principle, and this is as much my battle as yours. I’m not entirely useless in a fight, you know.” He gestured back in the direction of Kim’s HQ. “He doesn’t need me now, and you may need every soldier”—he shifted the long-barreled Krag slung on his shoulder—“and rifle you can get.”

  Bekiaa’s anger gushed away and she felt nothing but admiration and fondness for Courtney Bradford. He’d already done so much for all of them, and he wasn’t exactly young anymore.

  “I aapol-o-gize for calling it a stunt,” she said, “and I know you caan fight. Maybe you even deserve to fight. But whether Gener-aal Kim needs you now or not, he will later. And the Aall-i-aance needs you even more!” she stressed. “There may be other Aallied representatives at Songze, even Alex-aandra now, but you’re still their superior—and Cap-i-taan Reddy’s direct representative to General Kim.” She shook her head. “I’m no diplo-maat, I’m a Maa-rine. Even if I live, I could never do whaat you do so easily.” She blinked amusement, unseen. “People like you, and thaat’s more impor-taant to our cause than one more rifle.” She nodded back toward shore. “Please return to the comm-aand post,” she pleaded. “I’ll have troops escort you if I must, and thaat will deprive me of soldiers I might need. Besides,” she mused more quietly so only Courtney could hear, “don’t aass-ume thaat Gener-aal Kim won’t desper-aately need your aad-vice before this baattle’s done. He’s come a long way, but this is only his second great aaction. The first since Gaugh-aala. You’ve seen many aactions.” She grinned. “He might still need some pointers.”

  Courtney finally slumped. “Oh, bugger all,” he murmured. “Very well. And no one needs to escort me. I know the way.” Suddenly, he embraced Bekiaa tightly. “Do be careful, my dear,” he insisted. “I’ve lost so many people I love. I don’t think I can bear to lose another. God keep you.” He turned and pushed aft through the gathered troops toward the back of the barge in the darkness. “God keep you all,” he said louder.

  “A good man,” Prefect Bele said. He must’ve joined her while she was focused on Courtney.

  “Yes.”

  “But this is not the place for him.”

  “No,” Bekiaa agreed. She pulled her new watch from a pocket sewn under her dingy rhino-pig armor and looked at it, angling the face to catch the glow from across the river. The watch, a gift from Inquisitor Choon, was Republic-made and she marveled again at its size, considering the complexity inside. It was half the size of Imperial watches and almost as small as some she still occasionally saw on the wrists of the original d
estroyermen. She could also wind it without inserting a key—another advantage over Imperial designs, and a commonplace example of the technically advanced nature of Republic industry and expertise. At the moment, however, the watch told her nothing. It was just too dark. No matter, she thought. We’ll know when it’s time. Right then, some distance away, upriver and down, twenty more legions were already crossing. It was unrealistic to expect they’d manage it without any notice at all, but the vast bulk of the Grik army was in front of Bekiaa and was about to have a strakka of confusion and destruction blow across it before it had much chance to shift troops to its flanks.

  Bekiaa and the ten legions around her waited in relative quiet for another hour while the tension ratcheted up. Rapid flashes started lighting the darkness to the east, downriver, accompanied by the long-delayed thump of heavy guns. There was no way to tell whose they were, but the wireless operators with the force would get the news to Kim, and he’d start the big show when he thought the moment was right. Bekiaa made her way to the very back of the barge, joining a group of Gentaa standing near a contraption they’d brought aboard.

  Gentaa are . . . odd, she thought. They looked like a cross between humans and ’Cats, but Courtney was sure they either were a separate species indigenous to this world or came from another so long ago they might as well have been. Their culture was just as strange. Loyal to the Republic, they excelled at support roles within its armed forces even if they didn’t—usually—directly join them. Bekiaa understood there were exceptions, primarily in the navy, but those were frowned on by the Gentaa themselves. They’d apparently—very lucratively—cornered the heavy-labor industry throughout the Republic, almost to the exclusion of everyone else. They worked on the docks, in the factories, on the rail lines, and in the mines as a highly cliquish, cooperative labor class. Courtney likened their system to something he called a racial labor union, which benefited the nation and itself. The hale enjoyed a good living, and the injured or aged were taken care of.

  In any event, though the Gentaa didn’t fight, there were lots of them with the army. They were the teamsters and logistical laborers every army needed, and they worked for the engineering officers. They’d built all the boats and barges the army was using now. And just because they weren’t soldiers didn’t mean they ran no risks. The ones around the small engine with its long propeller shaft, as well as others at the front of the barge with broad steering oars to help fight the current, would cross with the troops, sharing their danger. Bekiaa knew they trained with weapons to defend themselves, but she’d never seen them use them. Even at Gaughala. She wondered if they would today. “All ready?” she asked them.

  One of the Gentaa straightened and looked at her. The only thing she could tell in the dark was that he was taller than she was and had a shorter tail. Generally, however, Gentaa appeared slightly more human than Lemurian, with features less feline, and their fur tended to lighter shades. It was also shorter than that of Republic ’Cats, which, longer and thicker than Bekiaa’s in the cooler climes they called home, made Gentaa fur about as long as that of more equatorial ’Cats, like Bekiaa herself.

  “All is ready,” the Gentaa simply said.

  Bekiaa blinked skeptically at the little engine. “And you can steer with thaat?” she asked. She’d been briefed on what to expect, but had her doubts.

  “Yes, some. Once the propeller is lowered, we can shift the thrust from side to side a short distance”—he glared around them—“if your soldiers will stay clear.”

  “They will,” she assured, but remained unconvinced the little motor could move the big barge. Fixed engines and protruding propellers would’ve made the barges too heavy and vulnerable to quickly move, however. This had to work.

  “Then move them,” the Gentaa said. “We will soon be underway.” His tone wasn’t particularly impolite, but there was no deference to her rank. She was used to that from Gentaa. Before she could turn and give the command, the entire Republic side of the river suddenly lit up with a vision-searing flash, accompanied by the earsplitting, staccato concussion of more than two hundred 75-mm guns, the nearly seventy 105-mm howitzers they’d gathered, and untold numbers of light Allied pattern mortars.

  “Take in the lines!” she shouted, as the hawsers holding the stern of the barge to the dock were already coming aboard. “Shove off, and clear a space around the shaaft,” she added. “Get us underway as soon as you have space to drop the prop,” she told the Gentaa, then turned to stare forward. The higher-velocity 75 mms were already impacting the distant shore or snapping brightly in the air above. Mortar and howitzer shells exploded behind the enemy breastworks, and even as she watched, the rumble behind and ahead became continuous. The noise was so great, she never even heard the little engine start. All around them, hundreds of narrow boats with many oars—much like she’d seen in the harbor at Alex-aandra—dashed ahead, filled with lightly armed troops. They’d be the first ashore to secure a landing area for the more heavily armed troops on the barges before the enemy could get their “shit in the sock.” Judging by the hellishly destructive firestorm falling on their positions, the Grik should have a hard time with that.

  Imperceptibly at first, the barge Bekiaa shared with two hundred troops of her 23rd Legion began to move. The rest of her legion was crammed in other barges nearby. Bekiaa unslung her ’03 Springfield and pushed her way to the bow, where Prefect Bele waited.

  “Jesus,” Bele murmured, staring at the maelstrom of fireballs, flashing detonations, jetting earth, and swirling smoke. Amid it all would be searing shards of iron and tumbling body parts. Bekiaa looked at her tall companion, remembering he was a Chiss-chin of some kind. She’d never asked for details of his faith and didn’t care. Her own belief in the Maker of All Things had wavered from time to time, in the face of all she’d seen, but that internal struggle was hers alone. Bele was a great soldier, becoming a great friend, and how he chose to worship the Maker couldn’t have mattered less.

  The barges, their linear formation starting to bulge as they battled the growing strength of the current, crept slowly closer to the inferno ahead. Bekiaa raised her telescope and saw that the fast boats were more jumbled, but already surprisingly close to shore. A cannon blast blossomed in the opposing breastworks, quickly followed by another. Can’t get ’em all, Bekiaa told herself. The artillerymen behind her must’ve thought otherwise, and showered the positions with shells—even as more Grik cannon opened up. Some were starting to find their mark. One longboat suddenly stalled under a tall column of spray, its oars in disarray as it began to fill. Another shattered more catastrophically, spilling its occupants in the water. Bekiaa shuddered. There weren’t as many water monsters in the rivers as in the coastal seas, but there were still a lot. And since there was little reason for anyone on this world to learn to swim, the chances any would find their way to shore were remote.

  The first Grik guns to fire had probably been loaded with case or roundshot—possibly for some time—but, increasingly, heavy charges of grapeshot churned the water and shredded boats. One looked to Bekiaa as if it had been slapped, and when the splashes around it finally dissipated, none of the platoon-size crew remained sitting on its benches. The boat twirled away downstream. Collisions were increasing as well, as boats attempted to avoid the thickening hail of projectiles, and all the while, Allied shells kept falling.

  Bekiaa redirected her glass as the first boats drove up on the red sandy beach. Grik muskets were firing now, kicking up clouds of dust around running forms. Some fell, but others raced to the base of the breastworks and started throwing grenades over the top.

  “They’re gettin’ slaughtered,” Optio Meek murmured beside them.

  “They are doing their job,” Bele retorted. “And they are not being slaughtered,” he added thoughtfully. “Many more are making it ashore than I feared would be the case.” The barges were a little over halfway across and starting to take fire as well. Huge
splashes sprouted all around them, but Bekiaa didn’t see any hits—yet. No doubt there would’ve been more fire if the defenders hadn’t been distracted by the first wave of boats. To Bekiaa’s dismay, however, it looked like the covering artillery fire had already started reaching longer, falling farther behind the closer defenses. She knew they had to do that to avoid hitting their own people, but it seemed too soon. Then, almost deafening her, two thunderous reports rolled across the water, originating from her right. She turned just as two more shots slammed out, sending shells shrieking across to detonate against the breastworks to the right of where their first troops were attacking. The breastworks literally shattered, blowing themselves, cannon, and parts of Grik in the air. The Grik defenses had been beefed up to protect against direct fire from the 75 mms across the river, but couldn’t begin to stand against the 150-pound, high-explosive, 8″ (210 mm) shells that now began systematically obliterating them. Bekiaa had been expecting it—hoping for it—but the sudden appearance of the spark-spewing, twin-turret, Republic gunboat here, on waters it never could’ve reached on its own, still came as a shock.

  “The navy has arrived,” Bele said dryly.

  “I see it, but I still can’t believe it!” Optio Meek shouted gleefully.

  Princeps-class “monitors” were about two hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, and displaced close to 1,200 tons. They’d been designed for harbor defense, however, not blue water, and with a very low freeboard they couldn’t survive a voyage through the perpetually storm-lashed seas around the horn. Considered obsolete, if still potent, with their respectable armor and heavy breech-loading guns, two had been disassembled months before and carried by rail to the new Republic shipyards at Songze. Practically helpless against Savoie when she arrived at Alex-aandra and sat on the war effort there so long, they could still, it was believed, make a good account of themselves against anything the Grik had to offer.