Firestorm

by Anderson, Taylor

  “Silence!” the Bosun bellowed. “Jenks ain’t done yet!”

  Harvey glanced at Gray and nodded ironic appreciation. “That’s right,” he said, “there’s more.” He took a breath. “At this moment, a most formidable force approaches here. It was to arrive tomorrow, but we . . . may have disrupted their schedule. Regardless, it’s coming, with ships, infantry, and even trained dragons to attack from the sky!”

  “Impossible!” someone muttered, but Jenks forged on.

  “Not impossible. Fact. As of now, we don’t know where they are or how their plans may have changed, but we have little time to prepare for whatever they mean to do.”

  “My God,” muttered Rempel. “What will we do?”

  “What do you have?” Matt asked.

  “My apologies, gentlemen,” Jenks said. “This is Captain Matthew Reddy. His is the lovely, fast ship tied to the dispatch dock. He and his crew, largely composed of the . . . unusual folk you see—‘Lemurians’—are our allies in this war, and you may thank God for it. We haven’t the time at present for me to detail all the ways they’ve already helped us. Suffice it to say they will be treated with courtesy, and Captain Reddy’s word carries the same weight as mine; the same as that of the Governor-Emperor himself.” He faced Rempel. “What do you have?”

  “Why . . . there are two hundred Marines in garrison here, and half a dozen river steamers; gunboats you could say, but they’re more suited to responding to the depredations of the local denizens than fighting battles. Other than that, there are a number of armed Company ships in port, and a few Imperial warships undergoing repairs.”

  “Immediately after this meeting, the Marines will take possession of those Company ships,” Jenks said darkly, “and I need a full report on the disposition of the Navy vessels and crews. What of the militia? Every able-bodied man in the city is a member, if I recall.”

  Rempel glanced about. “True . . . but only the Governor may call up the militia and . . . he’s not in the city. He’s on a sport shooting expedition in the mast-tree forest.”

  “Sport shooting . . . after the creatures near here? Is he insane?”

  Rempel fidgeted. “The greater beasts grow fewer near the city, but small game abounds.”

  “Regardless, the militia will be called in the name of the Governor-Emperor. See that the alarm is passed for a full mobilization! How many troops will that give us?”

  Rempel’s face had turned darker. “Some five thousand or so, if they all report. You must bear in mind that the militia is not a professional force by any means. Their personal courage and individl fighting skills are . . . sufficient, certainly, but they’re not given to a high degree of discipline. An example is that some, more than a hundred, have already left against specific orders to scout some dubious reports by a brigade of trappers that arrived yesterday from the south. They brought wild tales of Dom troops coming ashore. . . .” His eyes widened. “I had no reason to credit the tale and considered it ridiculous, of course. . . .” He paused. “You don’t suppose . . . ? Oh damn me, I had harsh words with the militia captain who wanted to investigate. I . . . ordered him not to go—the expense of an expedition!—but he went anyway, under threat of charges to strip his rank. . . .”

  “Pray I don’t do the same to you, Admiral Rempel,” Jenks said. “Where did these reports put the incursion?”

  Rempel stepped hesitantly to a map of the coastline on the inner wall of the chamber. “Here,” he said, pointing at a bay about fifty miles south of where they stood.

  Matt vaguely recognized it as Monterey. “How large a force did they report?” he demanded.

  “Um, a dozen ships, perhaps a thousand troops—now see here, these trappers are notorious liars! Information is as much a commodity to them as the hides and ivory they bring to sell!”

  “Are they in the habit of selling false information? What would that gain them?” Matt asked. Rempel didn’t respond, and Matt studied the coastline during the uproar that ensued. “These can’t be from the same force we tangled with,” he said loudly, regaining everyone’s attention. “It might arrive at any time, but allowing for the travel time of those trappers, it couldn’t have gotten there days ago. This must be a separate force sent to establish a beachhead, maybe a base of operations. They might put the rest of their troops ashore there for a flanking attack while their Navy tries to force the forts guarding the bay. Maybe that’s where they mean to base their damn lizard birds. We have to be sure about the range of those things; it might be crucial!”

  “I say,” said Bradford, “there wouldn’t be any naturalists in the room at all?” A few hands tentatively rose. “Natural scientists” were fairly common in the Imperial Navy. “Splendid! Let’s put our heads together and see if we can answer Captain Reddy’s crucial question!” He looked at Matt. “Will these gentlemen miss anything important if they leave with me now?”

  “Not unless they command troops or ships. Otherwise, what you come up with is of extreme importance.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” He motioned at one of the officers who’d stood. “Please lead the way to a suitable chamber, preferably one where refreshments might be had!” Courtney Bradford followed half a dozen officers from the room.

  “You believe the attack will come from two directions, sir?” Rempel asked Matt.

  “At least two. They know we’ve seen them, their main force at least, but they’ll probably assume we don’t know about the landing at Monterey—that bay down there. I think those trappers have helped a lot because, based on their observations, we know the gist of their strategic plan. As I said, a direct attack on the forts and the bay, combined with an overland attack from the south. They’ll even have most of their troop transports with them here so we’ll think they plan to land infantry. Maybe they will, but my bet rides on that southern force, for the most part, coming up through the San Jose valley.” He blinked at the blank stares, then turned to look at the map. “Oh. Up through here, the Saint Joseph lowlandport/div>

  “If what ye say is true, sir,” said a Marine captain, “an’ we deploy in time, I’ve no doubt we can drub twice our numbers there, even wi’ militia!’Tis really their only avenue o’ advance, an’ we already ha’ barricades there ta guard against maraudin’ beasties!”

  “What kind of ‘beasties’?” Spanky asked darkly, speaking for the first time.

  “Oh, we’ve some beauts, sir! Not so many as before, an’ the bigger predators pervide excitin’ artillery practice for the militia, so they’ve learned to keep scarce hereabouts, but we do nae massacre the big vegiticians—like monstrous great bloody coos, an’ tasty as well. The barricades simply keep ’em from stompin’ the city flat!”

  “Okay,” Matt said, turning to Jenks. “I recommend you command the land force here. Maybe some of your recent experiences will inspire a few alterations to the local tactics.”

  Jenks nodded, appreciative that Matt had spoken so delicately, but he was right. These people just didn’t know!

  “Deploy as quickly as possible with all the troops and field artillery you can get your hands on,” Matt continued. “I’ll send the ‘Nancy’ up at first light to confirm our suspicions, but for now, proceed as if our suspicions are fact. Take your Marines from the ship, and I’ll also give you a few of my guys with modern, long-range weapons. A few Springfields knocking off some enemy brass at the right moment might come in handy.” He looked at Gray. “Take the Bosun. Walker’s already got Carl Bashear, and Gray’ll just stomp around yelling at everybody—and you might need that!”

  “But Skipper . . .” Gray began.

  Matt shook his head. “It’s going to get weird out on the water, Boats,” Matt said, “but we’re used to weird, and I’ve got the whole crew of Walker to ‘protect’ me. Harvey’s never fought with any of these guys before, and he needs somebody he can trust to watch his back . . . and kick ass for him, if need be.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “The forts must remain fully armed,” M
att went on. He looked at Rempel. “And vigilant. We’ll also need to keep a reserve in the city. Otherwise, every ship and boat with so much as a swivel gun will prepare to defend the harbor mouth or join my ship in repelling the naval assault.”

  A number of officers in the chamber, including Rempel, had been listening with growing alarm. “Perhaps I don’t understand,” Rempel said at last, “but who exactly commands here? And how do you plan to face an enemy the size you described with only your—evidently—lightly armed ship, a few Company vessels, a Navy ship or two, and a handful of gunboats?”

  Jenks pointed at Matt. “As for overall command, he’s it,” he said, “and any man who does not follow his orders instantly and to the letter will be hanged. Am I perfectly clear?”

  There were sullen nods.

  “And do not underestimate his ship. It’s far more heavily armed than you think. Besides, we do expect reinforcements. A sizable portion of Home Fleet should be just over the horizon. We’ve had no communication with those elements—by means I’ll explain later—but they’re due anytime. Walker—Captain Reddy’s ship—should be able to make quite a dent in the Dom warships if the dragons can be kept at bay. Some plan for that is crucial, but all is not as gloomy as it seems.”

  With the first light of the rising sun coloring the clouds overhead, Fred Reynolds and Kari-Faask lifted “their” PB-1B off the waters of Saint Francis Bay, to the incredulous amazement of those watching from the now fully alert forts and Naval Headquarters. Early risers in the city were equally astonished, but they didn’t have time to ponder what they’d seen before the church bells began to ring. Despite the early hour, there were no services on Tuesdays, and an emergency was confirmed when the alarm horns wound up, beginning near the Southmouth fort and spreading outward from there. The alarm horns were an obligatory call to arms, and fishermen preparing for the morning trawl, shopkeepers, yard workers, bankers, farmers, and even female indentures (conventions were less restrictive on this frontier) dropped what they were doing, fetched weapons, and moved purposefully toward their assembly points. Some heard the engine of the “Nancy” and saw the plane circle back toward the mouth of the bay and quickened their step. They didn’t know if the flying machine was hostile or not, but clearly something was up, and this alarm was no drill.

  Walker shoved off from the dock, flying the Imperial ensign beside her own once again, as well as Imperial signal flags so no one would fire on her. Matt was taking Admiral Rempel to the main fleet shipyard across the bay. His ship was also towing barges full of Marines past the Company ships moored away from the docks. A barge was released near each vessel so the Marines could take it into custody. After that, the ships were to move to the Navy wharves for uparming and recrew-ing as necessary. Small swift sloops darted in all directions from the “Nav HQ” in search of the gunboats deployed around the bay, and one would go upriver to find the gunboat serving as the Governor’s “camp yacht.”

  Jenks remained at HQ, commanding the Imperial land forces. In addition to the Bosun, Matt left him Sonarman Fairchild to operate the portable comm gear, and gunner’s mates “Stumpy” and “Pack Rat.” Both’Cats had ’03 Springfields and a full load out of twenty, five-round stripper clips full of smokeless .30-06. Gray had his Thompson. All were members of the Captain’s Guard, but until further orders, they’d protect Jenks with their lives. Bradford also remained at HQ, ensconced with his new “naturalist” buddies, racking their brains to come up with some scientific or even anecdotal “dragon” repellant. So far, they hadn’t come up with much.

  The last barge released to secure a large Company steamer that reminded Matt of Ulysses, Walker turned for the primary colonial shipyard. Even from a distance of several miles, Matt could tell it was larger than all the yards in New Scotland combined. It made sense. There was plenty of timber here, and endless other resources simply not available in the Isles. Several ships were out of the water, undergoing hull repairs. Others were alongside the docks with men and women working in the tops. A few seemed to be taking on cargo and supplies. Almost a dozen ships, in various stages of construction, stood naked or skeletal on ways from which they’d ultimately slide into the sea. Matt realized then with absolute moral certainty that no matter the cost, this place must not fall. He looked at Rempel, standing behind and to the left of Kutas at the wheel.

  “Don’t fool with that, Admiral,” he said, “if you please.”

  Rempel snatched his hand away from the engine room telegraph. “A most amazing vessel, Captain Reddy,” he said sincerely. He pointed at the telegraph. “If that device does not lie, your ship is only making a third of her potential speed—yet she’s already swifter tan any ship I’ve seen.”

  “It doesn’t lie.”

  Rempel nodded. He hadn’t thought so. “How came you to be in the service of the Empire?” he inquired. He gestured about. “Your people and all these other . . . creatures?”

  Kutas snorted, and Minnie chirped in shock.

  “You misunderstand, Admiral,” Matt said tightly. “I wish we’d had time to explain. We don’t serve the Empire; we saved it from the Doms and its own homegrown traitors. Now we’re allied for the purpose of destroying your enemies . . . and ours. As for the ‘creatures’ aboard, you can call ’em’Cats, Lemurians, Mi-Anaaka, or Americans, but if you call them ‘creatures’ again, I’ll have you thrown to the fish, and I guarantee your Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald won’t even blink when I tell him why.”

  “Then please accept my most abject apologies,” Rempel gushed.

  The yardmaster was equally impressed by the old four-stacker, but he was also sensible to the extent of the emergency on a level Matt doubted Rempel had yet reached. “There’re two steam frigates and a sloop of war now ready for sea,” he reported. “Another frigate can steam, but her masts were sorely damaged in a recent storm and repairs aren’t complete. They shouldn’t be stressed.”

  “If she can steam, she can fight,” Matt said. “Make sure all commanders understand they must make all preparations for getting underway immediately. We’re sending some Company ships over to you, and we need them officered and crewed as necessary as well. Do whatever you like to them that you and the officers who’ll command them think will improve their combat readiness. Oh, and under no circumstances will you leave any Company officers or officials aboard them. Elements of the Company are allied to the Doms, and we don’t have time to sort out which ones are or aren’t right now.”

  The yardmaster looked at Rempel, but the man said nothing. “Very well, Captain Reddy. It’ll be as you say. Plenty of Imperial officers on the beach here, waiting for a ship.”

  “Good. Send each ship over to the Naval Headquarters area as it’s ready. We’ll muster the ‘fleet’ there.”

  “Yes, sir. Ah, sir? How long do I have? I mean, when do you need them?”

  “We’re waiting to find that out now. Did you see the flying machine that took off at dawn?”

  “Yes, sir. Astounding!”

  “It’s our scout. Everything depends on what it finds, but proceed as if you have only hours to complete your task.”

  “Hours? God help me!” the man blurted.

  “Let’s hope so,” Matt agreed.

  “Monterey Bay” was just below, and Reynolds nosed the plane down and banked slightly left for a better view. Columns of smoke rose from the stacks of transport steamers; he counted sixteen. There were no warships. He was tempted to bomb them, but he had only two bombs on board, to save weight and extend his range. Besides, all the troops and supplies had probably been off-loaded. Better to stay high, quiet, and hopefully unobserved.

  “Send to Walker that the transports are here all right,” he shouted through his speaking tube. “A few more than reported, but still no sign of the main fleet. We’ll swing out to sea a bit and head south.”

  “Wil-co!” Kari replied, and Fred grinned. A few minutes later, Kari’s voice reached him again. “Mr. Paal-mer say ‘Roger,’ an’ be careful. You hear
that? Careful is order!”

  “Yes, Mother,” Fred answered, but despite his flip response, he meant to be very careful. Not only had he learned his lesson about being too aggressive on his bomb runs, but there were those damn giant lizard birds to consider. He didn’t think they were nearly as fast as he was in level flight; they’d actually had trouble keeping up with Walker in a sprint. But he’d seen them dive like bats out of hell. He shaded his eyes and scanned the sky above.

  There were plenty of “ordinary” lizard birds, and other flying creatures, but so far nothing bigger than gulls or pelicans. The midmorning sun made it tough to watch inland very closely, but what he saw of the “California” coast gave Fred the creeps. Beyond the bay, dense forests of mighty trees marched right up to the water’s edge, teetering on the edge of sheer cliffs. He’d never flown over this coast “back home,” but he’d seen it from sea level and it was utterly unfamiliar. The . . . wrongness of it all probably went a long way toward preventing the somewhat shocked disorientation and melancholy he’d experienced when he first saw the “Hawaiian” coast. Of course, he hadn’t reached the San Diego area yet—his childhood home. He wouldn’t either, not this trip. The PB1-Bs had better range than the prototype, about six hundred miles one way—but he had no intention of making this a one-way trip. He had just enough fuel to (probably) spot the Channel Isles in the distance before he had to turn back. He was surprised by the sudden relief that caused.

  “Too bad these Imperials don’t have a telegraph system,” he muttered to himself. There were Imperial outposts at both “Los Angeles” and “San Diego,” although they called them something else. A telegraph line would have given some warning if the Doms were in those places. A line of semaphore towers dotted the coast, but it had been cut at “Monterey.” Of course, a telegraph line would’ve probably been cut as well. There was nothing like a pair of eyeballs on the scene. He was struck again by how people—of every race—chose many of the same ports here that folks had back home. The subject had been often discussed. Bradford or the Skipper (he couldn’t remember which) once said, essentially, a good place for a harbor or a city was still a good place, no matter who or where you were. It made sense. He wondered briefly if any towns or settlements existed in any of the really stupid places humans had established them where he came from.