Firestorm

by Anderson, Taylor

  Jindal was surprised to see a large number—most—of the Lemurians stand to join him, facing the west.

  “I beg your protection,” Chack continued, “for myself and my people . . . and these brave humans who fight beside us. But if it is our time, please light our spirit’s paths to their Homes in the Heavens!”

  That was it. Crossing his arms over his chest, Chack knelt in the gravel, bowing his head, and all the Lemurians who’d joined him did the same. Finished, they then slid back into the trench.

  “That’s all?” Jindal asked.

  Chack nodded. “Yep. Would you like to lead your own men in prayer?” He huffed. “It might stir the enemy into an even greater frenzy, given their antagonism toward any faith but theirs, but their marksmanship is quite poor.”

  “Nooo,” Jindal said reflectively. “I think your service was surprisingly appropriate for everyone. Some may wish to add words of their own, but that’s customarily done in private, regardless.”

  Far behind them, beyond the pass they’d used to cross the mountains, artillery boomed and stuttered with a trembling thunder.

  “Well,” Chack said, “if Waaterford had fallen, we would have heard. Evidently, the enemy probes the pass with a flanking move. I think that’s our signal to ‘react’ to him! Your bugles will carry better in this wind, and the enemy betweus and the city will better recognize them anyway. Please pass the word to sound ‘retreat’!”

  The battered regiments on the ridge began to withdraw, back up the steep incline. Happy cheering rose from the plain below, as did roundshot and volleys of musket fire. Balls pattered around the men and ’Cats, and there were screams when a cannonball gouged through a group of Imperial Marines and bounded upslope.

  “Keep movin’, by Jasus!” bellowed a sergeant, “but by His holy name, I’ll eat yer livers if I ever see ye run like this wi’out orders!”

  “Halt beyond the crest!” came another shout. “Remember your orders! Re-form behind Major Blair’s division!”

  The sun was dropping quickly now; soon it would vanish beyond the mountains and darkness would descend. Chack hoped the sight of their enemy fleeing and the ensuing night would leave the Doms unprepared for what happened next. He himself was taken completely by surprise by what did happen then. He’d paused for a moment, trying to see the enemy in the gathering gloom, to gauge his reaction, when he caught a glimpse of a fleeting shape, then another, swoop past his field of view. Enough sunlight peeked between two distant crags for him to see a distinctive, light blue object pull up beyond the plain and silhouette itself against the still-bright sea. It was a “Nancy”! And then there was another, and another! Roiling pillars of fire erupted from the Dom position, and the cheers of a moment before turned to hideous screams that echoed against the mountains despite the wind and staccato detonations.

  “Halt!” he roared. “Stop the retreat! Now is the time! Now! Jindal, where are you? Bugler!” He caught hold of a man still clawing his way upslope as if the noise from below were something directed at them. “Bugler! Sound ‘recall and reform’!” Chack didn’t know if there was a call for that, but recall should be sufficient. “Mortars!” he screamed upslope, hoping someone heard him. “Blair! Mortars, now!”

  The retreating Marines, confused by the chaos and suddenly conflicting orders, began to pause. Many shouted at comrades still trying to do what they’d been told before. The night attack by the entire force had been carefully detailed and prepared, but now that was “in the crapper” too. There could be no delay; the time was at hand. Drums thundered on the summit above. Either Blair had heard Chack’s cries, or he’d figured it out for himself—probably the latter. Flashes lit the uneven peak, and more than a hundred mortar bombs lofted into the sky, aimed for the carefully ranged enemy position. Airplane engines still rattled by below, followed by more mushrooms of flame, and Chack hoped they wouldn’t hit any planes. Most of his Marines had stopped now, quickly re-forming to either side of him in the gathering twilight, lit by the inferno below. Gas-bombs, he thought, and shuddered. He’d always hated fire weapons, and though nobody had a problem using them against Grik he knew there’d been talk of not deploying them against the Doms. Well, talk is easy when all goes as planned. Fortunately, the enemy hadn’t known about, or had discounted the arrival of Maaka-Kakja and her Naval Air Wing.

  “Chack!” came Blair’s voice behind him, just as Blas appeared at his side. He turned to see his Imperial friend trotting toward him, his whole force advancing down the mountain to join Chack’s and Jindal’s troops. Mortars still thumped from the crest above, showering the plain below.

  “Major Blair,” Chack greeted him.

  “I suppose if we must forever be reacting to things, it’s better that they be advantageous distractions caused by our people for a change!” Blair laughed.

  “I agree entirely,” Chack said.

  “See here, Chack,” Blair continued, “your fellows have been hanging out here in the breeze all day. Won’t you let my boys spearhead this advance?”

  “By all means, Major Blair. Mine may still be somewhat confused at any rate. We’ll advance as your reserve, but let us move quickly! We must hit the enemy on the tail of this surprise hard enough to break them; then they’ll have to move more troops to stop us. That will give Sor-Lomaak his chance! Pray only he takes it!”

  “He can’t have missed the signal! Such a show!” Blair stopped and looked at the sky. A “Nancy” was burning, plummeting toward the sea. “Terrible!” he said.

  Chack looked into the gray-gold sky in time to see another plane, its right wing shredded, spiraling down. A bizarre shape detached itself from the falling “Nancy” and darted off into the darkness. “Something is destroying our planes!” he said in alarm.

  “What can it be?”

  “I don’t know, but those poor pilots have done their duty. We must do ours. Advance!”

  USS Maaka-Kakja

  “Something’s taking out our planes!” Orrin Reddy said, entering the bridge from the flight comm shack that overlooked the flight deck. Maaka Kakja was the first carrier to have the separate compartment, as well as the first to have an alternate frequency capability. First Fleet would have it as soon as the new equipment was delivered or the more talented “signalmen” made the simple modifications to the equipment already deployed. Orrin had been listening on the new, dedicated “air” band.

  “What is it?” Lelaa asked, blinking concern, looking up from a just-delivered fleet report.

  “That’s just it! They don’t know! Some kind of flying things, like giant lizard birds, are jumping them out of the dark, and tearing hell out of the planes. Nobody ever said there were giant lizard birds on New Ireland! And why would they go after our guys? They can’t even fight back!”

  In the midst of his alarming report, Lelaa noted Orrin had used the term “our” a couple of times, for the first time, since he began performing the duties she’d set him aboard. She shook her head.

  “How many have we lost?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to get them to make individual reports, but four for sure. Some may have lost their aerials, but others are damaged and don’t think they can make Glasgow. I told them to try for the fleet, either north or south. If they’re over the island, I told them to make for that big lake by Waterford—if they can find it in the dark! Damn communications! If we could get through to anybody, we could get the guys in the town to light some fires!”

  “I cannot contact anyone in the town, but there are plenty of fires in Waaterford, Mr. Reddy. The enemy has begun his assault there, and I’m informed by the Imperial Navy off the coast that the remaining troops at Cork have moved to reinforce.” She turned. “Pass the word for the signalmen to ask any Imperial commander they can contact what those ‘lizard birds’ are and what to do about them. If anyone expected them and didn’t tell us, I want him arrested!”

  “But . . . that’ll leave the guys from Cork cut off with everybody else!”


  “It may, for a time. Until we get there. You may have noticed we’ve increased speed.” Her tail swished agitatedly. “That creature, that mouse, Gilbert Yaa-ger, ordered me to come to the engineering spaces and see the murder I was doing to his engines!” She sniffed.

  Orrin stopped. “But . . . will we make it? I mean . . .”

  “Of course. Even Yaa-ger allowed as much, reluctantly. We have never truly done a full-speed trial, and it’s past due. He’s merely protective of the youngling engines.”

  “Well . . . but we’ve got to do something!” Orrin insisted.

  “What more can we do?” Lelaa demanded. “We can’t send another air attack, it’s long past dark. We will put Colonel Shinya’s army ashore at dawn, and it will march to the relief of Waaterford. Major Chack has broken into the outskirts of New Dublin, and the Dominion troops that stopped him there were unable to prevent the landing of almost five thousand Imperial Marines in the harbor! One of the forts has been taken already.” Lelaa paused thoughtfully. “Apparently the Dominion cannot use their ‘giant lizard birds’ against ground troops. I suspect the creatures don’t distinguish friend from foe, individually.”

  “But what about Waterford?”

  “The troops there, even with the reinforcements from Cork are in trouble,” Lelaa admitted. “They amount to only a few hundreds and as your ‘recon’ flights suggested, they face several thousands. Apparently, there were many more enemy soldiers in Bel-faast than we expected.”

  Orrin was looking at the chart. “Almost as if they stuck them way out there knowing we’d ignore it.”

  “As I now suspect.”

  “My guys bombed the column, but it was still strung out, and it didn’t do much good—no lizard birds got after that flight either. . . .”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Captain Lelaa!” interrupted the signalman. “We get dope on ‘lizard birds’!”

  “What’s the story?” Orrin asked.

  “They not from here! They like ‘draa-gons’ Im-peer-aals hunt as food-sport critters, but these big draa-gons only ever seen in Dom country! They baad—attaack ships sometimes, but nobody ever know they do for Doms! They prob’ly here to pester ships, laand-een boats, up north!”

  “Has Sor-Lomaak reported any such incidents?”

  “Mebbee so,” the signalman said uncertainly. “They go in with dark and gun smoke. Some few reports say see boat Maa-reens shoot at sky. Mebbe same monsters get planes, then jump on boats—nobody see good.”

  “They’ve been keeping the damn things at New Dublin!” Irvin Laumer said, hearing the last as he came onto the bridge.

  Lelaa looked back at Orrin. “You were saying?”

  “Okay, I do have an idea. First, I get every plane not already committed for New Scotland to make for the lake at Waterford. I take the Tenth Pursuit straight to Waterford now, no bombs, just gas—and weapons for the spotters! We refuel the planes that make it there and rearm them with mortar bombs—they’re the same thing, anyway. That’ll give us airver Waterford, and you can still support the landing with the bombers left aboard here, plus any that refuel and rearm at Glasgow!”

  “Flying at night is too risky, especially now with those ‘draa-gons’ out there!”

  “Captain, I probably have more night flying time than anybody on this world, next to Lieutenant Mackey. I can get there, and the rest of the squadron can follow me in.”

  Lelaa hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. And besides”—he tossed his last ace on the table—“with the planes there, we’ll have communications!”

  “Very well, then. How will you defend against the monsters?”

  “How many modern weapons are aboard?”

  “We brought everything we had with us to get the submarine,” Laumer said. “Two tommy guns, a few Springfields and Krags, and a couple of 1911s.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Afraid so. There were some Jap rifles and pistols left on Mizuki Maru, but Okada kept them.”

  “It’ll have to do. Muskets with buckshot are probably just as good. The pursuit squadron will fly top cover for the bombers and try to keep the lizard birds off them. They won’t need the best spotters, just the best marksmen.”

  “I can outshoot anyone here with a pistol,” Sandra said suddenly from the opening to the bridgewing. Her new “orderly,” Diania, stood beside her, the expression on her face betraying the contrast between knowing she probably shouldn’t be there, and daring anyone to send her away. No one had noticed them till now, but they’d clearly caught most of the conversation.

  “I’m sure of it,” Captain Lelaa agreed, “but this time I command, and you cannot go. Besides some rather obvious reasons, we will likely need your medical skills quite badly very soon.”

  Silva suddenly popped his head around the corner, just above Sandra’s. Diania instinctively recoiled. “Well I damn sure ain’t goin!” Dennis boomed. “Flyin’ in the dark? With wingy Grik birds chasin’ us? My beloved ass!”

  CHAPTER 16

  USS Walker

  It was still dark when Walker steamed into “Saint Francis” Bay in the wee hours of January 4, 1944, and they met nothing but a few brightly lit, anchored ships, probably waiting for the morning tide. They were not challenged by so much as a picket boat, and neither guns nor whistles brought them a pilot. Even when they crept through the shockingly narrow “Golden Gate”—with leadsmen on the fo’c’sle—beneath the guns of the twin forts situated on what should be “Fort Point” and “Lime Point,” there was no challenge to their passage.

  “They ain’t got a clue,” the Bosun snorted from the port bridgewing.

  “He’s right,” Jenks declared disgustedly. “Low fruit, ripe for the picking. Obviously, the dispatch vessel we sent never arrived, but there’s no excuse for this degree of complacency, ever. Had we been the Doms, the war would be over before those here even awakened.”

  “Well, you’re the only one who’s been here before,” Matt said, lowering his binoculars. “You’re our pilot. Where now?/font>

  “The governor’s residence is some distance south, beyond the North Point, in the West Bay portion of the city, but I believe our first stop should be Colonial Naval Headquarters just a few miles ahead, to starboard.” Jenks fumed. “From the look of things, that will likely become our headquarters after I relieve the incompetent fool in charge there.”

  “It is disconcerting,” said Bradford, “and rather . . . achingly . . . peaceful.” He glassed the bay in all directions and saw sleepy, predawn lights everywhere. “Even now I can tell this may be the largest city we’ve seen; yet it slumbers so blissfully unaware.”

  “It’s almost as big as New London and Plymouth together, on New Britain Island,” Jenks said, “though not as densely populated. Less congested too. More space to expand. There, Captain Reddy”—Jenks pointed—“you can just make out that empty stretch of dock with the large buildings beyond. That’s where the dispatch sloop would be had she arrived. We’ll tie up there ourselves; there’s no time to lose! Feel free to make all the noise you want. The guns of the fort will no longer bear, so we needn’t worry about some fool waking up and touching one off in a panic. Perhaps we might at least awaken someone for your crew to throw their lines to!”

  Matt turned to the bridge watch. “Take her in, Mr. Kutas,” he said. “We’ll sound general quarters and honk the horn, if you please.” He chuckled. “Is there a specific window we should shine the spotlight in?”

  The noisy tumult at the dock did arouse a reception. A few Imperial Marines were the first to arrive, milling about with their muskets, unsure what to do with them. An agitated naval officer finally appeared along with a trickle of sailors, but once they saw the utterly unfamiliar old destroyer, all they could manage was to stand and stare. Jenks held a speaking trumpet to his lips, and after identifying himself, demanded that those on the dock assist in securing the vessel. A few bold men scrambled forward and took the lines thrown
to them—but then had trouble securing the lines after they saw the creatures that threw them.

  “You there!” Jenks addressed the officer. “What’s your name?”

  “Uh . . . Lieutenant . . . uh, Daniels, sir, if you please.”

  “Lieutenant Daniels, who commands here?”

  “The harbormaster, sir? The fort?”

  “No. Who is high admiral here?”

  “A . . . Admiral Rempel, sir.”

  “I must see him immediately. The very Empire is at stake!”

  “Well, but . . . you see, he’s asleep.”

  “Then wake him yourself this instant!” Jenks roared. “I’m here on behalf of the Governor-Emperor himself, and I’m the direct representative of his authority! Sound the alarm and have all officers gather in the Naval Headquarters conference room. If Admiral Rempel considers a few more hours’ sleep more important than the safety of this city and the people here, he can take longer than the twenty minutes I give him to arrive.” Jenks glanced at the large watch he pulled from a vest pocket by a chain. “Twenty-one minutes from now, he will be replaced.”

  Admiral Rempel, a short, obese man with the almost-universal mustache and a set of curly muttonchops, bustled into the noisy chamber with three minutes to spare. His face was red and his expression dour—until he saw the several Lemurians who’d accompanied Matt, ing trumpe, Spanky, the Bosun, and Courtney Bradford. The ’Cats were all members of the Captain’s Guard and had come armed. No one wanted to take any chances the unpreparedness they’d witnessed was due to Dom or Company influence.

  “What the devil is the meaning of this?” Rempel demanded when his surprise subsided and he regained his voice. “And what are those . . . creatures doing here?”

  “Your attention, please,” Jenks commanded, ignoring the admiral. “The Empire and the Dominion are at war, and have been ever since they recently perpetrated a dastardly, sneak attack against the Home Islands!” The room erupted with shouted questions, oaths, and excited conversation.