That’s when they heard the planes. It started as a dull drone but quickly grew to a thunderous roar. High above was a formation of twenty big Clipper flying boats, heading right for the enemy across the plain. Dark objects began tumbling down in long streams, exploding into roiling toadstools of fire right across where the Grik were preparing their assault. The pattern wasn’t very tight and a few firebombs actually fell uncomfortably close to the Allied trench, but there were hundreds of them, and they completely wrecked the tight attack formations. Oddly, the Grik scattered so quickly and efficiently it looked like they’d been trained for it—or told to expect the command—but an awful lot were caught and Silva was dancing up and down in the trench, joined by Lawrence and hundreds of others. “That’s the style!” Silva whooped. “Burn ’em up, burn ’em down, cook their goddamn bones!”
One of the Clippers coughed black smoke and started to spiral down. That’s when they realized that Jap-Grik fighters were after them. But the bombers had an escort, and P1-Cs pounced on the attackers and quickly shot two out of the sky.
“Yeah!” Horn shouted hoarsely, joining the celebration. Silva looked back at him, grinning, only to see the swarm of galleys crowding in toward the beach—but Nancys were bombing them as well, and galleys burned and flaming Grik threw themselves into the water. The two machine guns opened up and the closest galleys spun away, out of control, fouling the ones behind. And there, sprinting into view from the east, huge bones in their teeth, were USS James Ellis and Mahan.
“Jumpin’ Jesus, look at that!” Silva bellowed. “That’s Mahan, by God!” He looked upriver where the BBs and cruisers waited, already firing their big forward guns, splashes rising high around the racing DDs. “You’ll never hit nothin’ as fast as them, you fat bastards!” he taunted at the top of his lungs. “Get ready to eat some slimy, shiny fish!” He gleefully held out his arms as if embracing the scene, but suddenly sobered. “Damn,” he said. “More Jap planes!”
USS Mahan
“Sur-faace taa-gits dead ahead!” Mahan’s talker echoed the unnecessary report from the fire-control platform above. The river was very wide here, as they’d known, but all ten enemy warships were in full view as soon as they rounded the final bend: four BBs on the left, six cruisers on the right. All were stationary, probably at anchor. They’re expecting us, Matt knew, and hope lying at anchor will improve their gunnery. It will, he conceded, but it’ll also make them sitting ducks!
“Come right to three zero zero. Signal Ellie to do the same and take the lead.” James Ellis was faster and could easily pull ahead. “Tell her to keep a sharp eye out for wrecks too,” he reminded. “There’s a lot of ’em scattered around out there.” And some are ours, he reminded himself grimly, catching his first distant glimpse of Santa Catalina’s shattered, smoking hulk and Arracca’s still-burning wreck in the shallows. “Main battery will commence firing at the far left BB,” he ordered calmly. Turning to Chief Fino-Saal on the port bridgewing, he said, “Target the next BB in line with the number two torpedo mount, two fish.”
“Ay, ay, sur!” Fino had already started tracking, and he looked through the sights on the director again. “Range, twenty-six hundreds, bear-een, two four five. Speed,” he added gleefully, “nuttin’! Two mount, match pointers. Staand by tubes two an’ four!”
The salvo buzzer rang, and guns one, two, and four barked simultaneously, sending bright tracers converging toward the first target. All three hit—there would’ve been hell to pay with Pack Rat if they hadn’t, at this range—and brittle armor was blasted away from the frontal slope of the huge ship’s casemate. A huge splash erupted in front of them, sheeting water through the shattered windows. There was no point closing the battle shutters for this fight; they wouldn’t stop anything and would only make it hard to see. “Russ Chappelle was right,” Paddy Rosen declared. “Those’re damn big guns! Good thing it takes ’em so long to load!”
And a good thing they’re relying on their bow guns instead of turning to give us broadsides, Matt thought. They’d eat us up, then. So it’s also a good thing our air recon told us how they were situated so we could just come in blasting away like this!
“Fire two! Fire four!” Fino called, and two Baalkpan Naval Arsenal MK-6 torpedoes arced out amid swirls of white smoke and plopped hard in the water. As soon as the concave splashes dissipated, foamy trails arrowed straight at their target.
“Jaap planes!” came Tiaa-Baari’s voice, loud enough to be heard through the fur around the talker’s ear. Matt had decided, for this action, he needed Tiaa at the auxiliary conn after all, in case one of those monstrous Grik roundshot hit the bridge. The talker repeated what they’d all heard and continued. “Ten Jaap bombers, she stressed, comin’ up behind us!”
“Air action aft!” Matt shouted, pacing out on the starboard bridgewing and looking astern. They were a perfect target for a run like this! “All machine guns, open fire when the enemy is in range! Helm, stand by for evasive maneuvers.”
But the bombers seemed to ignore them. Astonished, Matt watched them fly far overhead as if the DDs weren’t there. They were clearly some of Kurokawa’s torpedo bombers, complete with twin engines and big red meatballs, but they made no attack. The number-one gun, Mahan’s only dual-purpose 4″-50, might’ve had a chance if they had, but the rest of her guns were all originals and couldn’t elevate high enough to engage aircraft. Ellie’s could, and Matt saw her tracking the targets, pointers and trainers spinning their wheels like mad. He was distracted when two massive waterspouts rocketed into the air alongside Fino’s target. Seconds later, two more torpedo blasts rocked another Grik BB, Ellie’s target, no doubt. Then two hits staggered Mahan at once, and the whole ship was smothered by splashes. They’d finally strayed far enough abeam of the undamaged BBs for their broadside guns to bear, and their gunnery had much improved since the last time Matt—or Mahan—faced them. Another hit struck Mahan amidships on the starboard side, just under the bridge. Matt lurched back into the pilothouse.
“Grik cruisers haas got underway an’ is comin’ right at us!” the talker told him, his voice pitched high. Ellie’s hit too!” Nancys and Fleashooters were swarming the enemy now, hammering the cruisers in particular, which were starting to weave and fire their antiair mortars, putting up a curtain of iron fragments and balls for the planes to fly through. But the pilots knew about them now and kept their distance. That made their bombing less effective, but they lost fewer planes.
“Damage report,” Matt demanded. “Let’s get our other portside fish on the way,” he told Fino.
“Caa-sul-tee on the two mount!” the talker said. “It won’t train!”
“Swell,” Matt growled. “Signal Ellie to stand by to come about to one three zero. We’ll hit ’em with our starboard fish. Main battery, except for the number-one gun, concentrate on the cruisers. Number one will engage the BBs in local control.” The salvo buzzer rang, and three more shells converged on the BBs before Pack Rat switched targets. “Execute the turn,” Matt ordered. Even as Mahan heeled, another heavy blow shook her fo’c’sle, but most of the shot churned the water in front of her, where she would’ve been. Grik’re getting way too good at this, he thought, troubled by the implications. If we’d been on the open sea, in a battle line instead of a knife fight, it could’ve been even worse.
He saw one of the Jap-Grik bombers burst into flames and fall, but also noticed something very strange. There was a gaggle of pursuit planes after them as they turned back toward the fight, but the one that fell—then another one!—actually had several Jap-Grik fighters between them and the chasing P1-Cs! The Fleashooters got one of those, but a third bomber staggered out of the formation . . . which looked like it was making a torpedo run on the remaining Grik BBs! That didn’t make any sense at all.
“Cap-i-taan!” cried the talker, “we’re gettin’ . . . screwy traans-missions, sayin’ they’re Jaaps—on our side!” Matt blinked, then strode to
the talker as the salvo buzzer rang again and the guns roared. “Give me your headset! Who’s this?” he demanded in the microphone, trailing the cord behind him as he stepped back out on the wing to watch the attack.
“This is General of the Sky Hideki Muriname,” came a static-scratched, accented voice, “formerly of the Japanese Imperial Navy. Do I have the honor of addressing Captain Reddy?”
“Yeah.”
“Then allow me to quickly state my purpose.” At that moment, torpedoes dropped from the seven remaining twin-engine planes, and they pulled up and scattered, several fighters and maybe a dozen P1s after them. “I would never have served the Grik if given a choice, and will no longer, regardless of your decision.” All seven torpedoes exploded against the side of the last two Grik BBs. Two hit one and five hit the other. That one exploded under a tall column of rising smoke and debris. All four were now either sunk or sinking, and that left only five cruisers to deal with. One of those was already a drifting wreck. “But I hope,” the voice continued with an added tone of satisfaction, “that now, at last, I can return to the path of honor and serve you—along with whatever remains of my bombers after this day.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” Matt said rather lamely. This was the last thing he’d ever expected to happen. I’ll also have to have a long talk with Sandra about this Muriname, he decided.
“I understand your hesitation,” the voice agreed, “but would appreciate it if, for the moment, you will instruct your fighters to focus on the planes trying to destroy my bombers. Not all my pilots—and some are Grik—made the same decision as I.”
“What? That you were on the losing side?”
“Not at all, and there isn’t time to explain. Let it suffice for now that for the very first time since I came to this world I actually had a choice and picked your cause. Others did not, and I can’t speak for them. But”—Muriname’s voice was increasingly anxious—“the number of light bombers and trained pilots I can give you is dwindling as we speak.”
That was certainly true. “All right, I’ll call off my ’Cats, but you’ll fly due east—under escort—until you come to an airstrip on the south bank of the river mouth. Land there and sit in your planes until you’re told what to do.”
“Of course, Captain Reddy, and thank you. I will be glad to refuel and rearm—with something—and return to the fight.”
“No. Just do as you’re told, and we’ll talk later.” Matt paused. “And if any of your planes try to go anywhere but the airstrip, we’ll shoot you all down.”
“I understand,” Muriname said.
Matt handed the headset back to the talker. “Get COFO Tikker on the horn and tell him to lay off the Jap bombers. Kill the fighters but protect the bombers, then escort ’em to Tassanna’s airstrip.”
“What the hell’s goin on?” Rosen asked, chain of command momentarily blown away by his astonishment.
“The damnedest thing,” Matt replied, shaking his head. “What shape’s Ellie in?”
“The same as us,” replied a signal-’Cat on the port bridgewing. “Light caa-sul-tees an’ some big holes shot in her, but no serious dam-aage.”
“Good.” Matt’s eyes strayed to the unrecognizable heap of twisted, fire-blackened junk that had been Santa Catalina, then swept to the wreckage closest to the south bank of the river. Four Grik BBs were stacked up there, one burning furiously, one gone, and two settling on their sides amid great clouds of steam. Beyond was Arracca and Itaa—and what was left of the forlorn hope that came upriver in the first place to salvage the entire war and maybe save them all. God only knew how much it cost. “We’ll both come about and finish the cruisers so Tara and Sular can start getting people ashore to expand our beachhead—and finally bring some relief to the ones who gave it to us.”
It didn’t take long. Mahan’s and Ellie’s greater speed and maneuverability, as well as the Grik cruisers’ dogged determination to maintain a tight line of battle, allowed Matt and Perry Brister to dodge broadsides and keep their distance while they systematically pulverized the Grik ships with rapid salvos from their much more accurate guns and improved armor-piercing shells. When the Grik squadron was reduced to creeping, smoke-streaming hulks, Matt ordered them finished with torpedoes—certainly overkill at that point—but Matt was in a hurry. Even as the last cruiser’s expanding cloud of debris was still splashing in the water, he turned to Tiaa-Baari, who’d joined him on the bridge. “Do we still have any boats that’ll float?”
Tiaa blinked reflectively, tail swishing slightly. “The ship’s caar-penters haave been working on them all morning—or were until the aaction begaan. The portside motor launch haad been plugged, but was demolished by the shot thaat disabled the number two torpedo mount. The whaleboat was never badly daam-aged, however, an’ was repaired first. I looked at it on the way for-waard an’ it seems fine.”
“Very well. Call away the whaleboat. I’m going ashore.” He smiled at Tiaa. “Mahan is yours, Commander.” He shrugged. “She always was, by rights, and I appreciate the loan. Take care of her.”
CHAPTER 32
Second General Ign and Ker-noll Jash gazed out at the wreckage of their division. Both knew it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, since the troops had scattered, as ordered, when the enemy flying machines came. Since then, the planes had been drawn to the battle on the water, and they’d been largely ignored. Still, the devastation around them was bad enough, and a great many New Army warriors lay dead, crisped by flames, and the smell of roasted meat lay heavy in their snouts.
“We can still attack,” Jash said almost dismally, yet pleased (he still lacked a more fitting word) that so many troops had regathered after their dispersal.
“First General Esshk only required that we launch another attack this morning, in coordination with the expected assault from the water, if it appeared likely to succeed,” Ign grated. “It did, so we prepared.” He took a long breath. “With our warships and the galley force destroyed, our own force in disarray, and all the enemy’s flying machines free to focus entirely on us, should we attempt to proceed, further sacrifice is meaningless.” Naxa and several other lower ranks had gathered round, but Ign looked only at Jash. “As I stressed yesterday, as even First General Esshk began to see, we must preserve as much of this force as we can. There are many New Army warriors, but few have faced the enemy as closely as you and survived. We will need the wisdom you earned.” He gestured at the breastworks across the blackened, corpse-strewn field and saw the flags above them, the striped one with the starry blue field, and the green one with what looked like a broken ship painted on it in black.
Downriver, another monstrous flying-machine carrier, much like Arracca, and two other huge ships, one clearly rebuilt from one of their own greatships of battle, were approaching. All around them, smaller ships of indeterminate purpose streamed by. The two fast, sleek ships of steel had taken positions guarding against another Ghaarrichk’k sortie around the nakkle leg, but Ign knew, despite the still-vast fleet beyond, no such sortie would come. One ship at a time, squeezing past the wreckage there, could only add to it now. Perhaps that’s what we should do, he reflected. Block the passage completely—for now our positions are reversed. He shook his head.
“Do you know why the enemy came as he did?” he asked.
“Of course,” Jash replied. “He was desperate to stop the Final Swarm.”
“Which he did,” Ign stated brutally. “But still he comes. There will be more warriors aboard those large ships, and probably the small as well, experienced warriors—troops—that have fought our race before. They will be armed with many weapons such as the worst we have faced, and perhaps new things as well. And they come now not just to stop us but to destroy us all. They will end the Race and all that we are if they can, just as we tried to do to them.”
“All the more reason to attack!” Naxa blurted, but then flattened his short crest in abject a
pology for his impertinence.
“No,” Ign denied, “we must gird ourselves for their inevitable attack.” He waved at the hasty trenches. They hadn’t saved everyone, of course, even those who hadn’t ventured into the open, but they’d helped. “And we must dig,” Ign said. “We must prepare better trenches—deeper, longer, better defended from the air—and we must dig them in their hundreds, all the way from here to Sofesshk itself.” He briefly closed his eyes. “Perhaps even beyond.” He looked back at Jash, and when he spoke again, his voice held a trace of irony. “So, you did not ‘miss the battle’ after all. Tell me: Did you learn as much as I hope?”
“Yes, Lord General. I believe so.”
“Good. Because the time for thoughtless attack, for the sake of attack, is over if our Race is to survive. And it seems the greatest battle that ever was is about to begin.”
* * *
* * *
“I’m sorry about Risa, Gutfeld, all the rest. So many!” Matt said dismally. “We came as fast as we could.”
Chack merely nodded, but his tail was like a whip, snapping back and forth. “But you did come, as you said you would,” he replied, “and maany still live because of it.” The tiny foothold Tassanna’s desperate decision established had rapidly expanded during the day as, completely ignoring the “plan,” the expeditionary force immediately started landing in the order it arrived. Tarakaan Island spawned Nat Hardee’s MTB squadron again to beef up their security and patrol capacity, and start marking the numerous less visible wrecks as best it could. Tara then nudged as close into the shallows as she dared. Safir Maraan and most of her 2nd Corps crowded ashore at once. Safir’s reunion with Chack had been joyous but bittersweet, surrounded by the tumult and chaos of disembarking troops and equipment, but absent so many—especially Risa. Only after Tara backed away and turned directly downstream—Matt wanted her back under the umbrella of Leedom’s and Tikker’s pursuit planes at Arracca Field (that name now official) and away from any possible rocket attacks—were I Corps and General Pete Alden able to land in Sular’s motor dories. Some of the dories and Arracca’s seven surviving launches then carried Tassanna and the wounded out to Salissa, which would leave the following day and revert from battering ram to aircraft carrier once again. Besides, she’d need Tara’s attention to whatever damage she’d taken that they could get to. III Corps would be brought in by those same dories from the smaller ships, but only after enough space could be made and the perimeter sufficiently expanded and improved. The primarily Austraalan construction battalions would be very busy for a time.
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