Crusade

by Taylor Anderson

  Radioman 1st Class Russell Clancy leaned back in his chair, sipping “monkey joe,” in Walker’s small, cryptlike radio room underneath the pilothouse. He’d been there all day monitoring the radio and he’d only left once to go to the head. Even then, he’d been reduced to hollering to get somebody to spell him. There was only a skeleton crew aboard. Almost half the human destroyermen were ashore, preparing to attack the city. Most everybody still on the ship was aft, trying to fit the new propeller. His calls to the bridge had been answered, but nobody ever came. That made him mad, since surely they’d heard his yelling—even without the comm. It wasn’t like they could have forgotten him. Finally, Reynolds burst into the compartment and told him, “Go! Haul ass!” There was about to be a humongous battle on a shore—they could see everything from the bridge—and he was going to miss it if Clancy didn’t hurry up.

  That was over an hour ago, and the battle had yet to begin. Occasionally, he stole out the hatch—leaving it open so he could hear—and tried to see up to the north gate of Aryaal, but he wasn’t quite high enough. There was a lot of coming and going, though. Troops going ashore from the rest of the fleet. Evidently, the rest of the AEF was pitching in after all. After what had happened, he thought, it was the least they could do. The men were hopping mad over Donaghey’s death and the attempt to sink the ship, and Clancy figured that if their friends hadn’t come, or worse, tried to stop them, it would have gone down pretty hard.

  Clancy was angry as well. He hadn’t known Donaghey well—he was a snipe—but he seemed like an all right guy. He wished he was ashore with the others instead of cooped-up waiting for a transmission that never came. That was frustrating too. He knew the radio was fine. They’d tested it that morning before the plane flew off. They’d even maintained contact for quite a while as it flew ever farther north. Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing. Just some weird static. It wasn’t coming from his end, he was sure, and he doubted that Ed had done anything on his end to cause it. Ed could be a screwball, but he was a pretty good hand with a radio and besides, with the skipper on the warpath, he knew better than to goof around.

  A hazy tendril of concern began to creep into Clancy’s thoughts. Steve Riggs was in Baalkpan working on a system of communications for the defenses there. With him and Palmer both gone, Clancy would be the communications department. Of course, without the radio on the plane, there wouldn’t be much need for one. All in all, it had been a pretty nerve-racking day.

  “C’mon, Ed,” he muttered. “Talk to me.”

  Suddenly enough to startle him with the irony, he thought he detected something buried in the static. He put his earphones on and began adjusting knobs. There! The unmistakable “beep beeping” began to emerge. Instead of voice, the signal was coming in CW, or Morse code. He snatched up a pencil and began to transcribe the letters as they came.

  ZSA ZSA ZSA. (Can you receive?) Over and over again. Clancy quickly tapped back a reply.

  ZSB-2. (I can receive. Readability fair.)

  ZOE-5-O-J. (I am going to transmit in strings of five-urgent-verify and repeat.)

  For an instant Clancy just stared at his key. “What the hell?” he muttered. They’d been transmitting in the clear for so long it didn’t make any sense. Why on earth would Ed want to use five-letter code groups?

  ZOE-5-O-J, he finally tapped back.

  It wouldn’t be long now. The bright passion of Matt’s rage had ebbed somewhat as the day progressed, and that was probably for the best, he realized. The endless delays of preparing an army for battle had stretched into the midafternoon, and at times he found himself wondering if he really should have waited for the rest of the force to join them. Keje’s and even Shinya’s estimate of the time it would take to get ready had been overly optimistic. Intellectually, he knew the wait was a small price to pay. Not only would the larger force face less difficulty and take fewer casualties when it stormed the city, but now that it was decided, he believed even more strongly that it was important they all go in together.

  The various members of the Allied Expeditionary Force had to learn here and now that they couldn’t pick and choose which battles were convenient for them to fight. They were all in this together and if they were going to win this war, they had to share the burden equally.

  That didn’t mean he felt any less frustrated over the delays. Lord Rolak’s force and the Marines still constituted the point of the spear, but Queen Maraan’s had been pulled back in reserve and replaced by the Third and Fifth Guards. That’s what took the most time. It was believed—probably correctly—that the defenders would fight harder if they knew they were facing their ancestral enemies from across the bay. Matt’s destroyermen had been redeployed as well—much to their disgust. They’d still go in with the “first wave” but more as heavy-weapons support platoons than front-line shock troops. Their job would be to shoot archers and commanders with the Springfields and Krags and break up enemy concentrations with the Thompsons and BARs. Either way, they’d be in the thick of the fighting, Matt knew, and they’d use an awful lot of ammunition. And there’d be losses. Of that he was certain. But there was no way he could keep his men out of this fight.

  He himself was going in, wounded shoulder or not. Sandra hadn’t even tried to stop him, knowing it was pointless. Without a word, she’d almost coldly done her best to completely immobilize his left arm while leaving him as much freedom of movement as she could. Then she went to join her medical staff as they prepared for the inevitable wounded. It hurt him to think she disapproved of what he was doing. He recognized the special tragedy of the losses they would endure in this “sideshow” affair. But he was certain to his core that if they didn’t fight today, all would eventually be lost. It was more than just a matter of honor—although there was that as well. And it was more than just the danger of leaving a viper at their backs. It would be this event, he hoped, even more than the battle they’d fought against the Grik, that would forge all the fractious forces of the AEF into a single cooperative fighting force. The day had not started out looking like that would be the case, but this new purpose, this goal, had slowly formed throughout the morning as the other commanders came to realize the nature of the test. If it took this “sideshow” to finally weld the Lemurian people—and their American allies—into a united nation of some sort, then so be it.

  Lord Rolak was standing beside him, waiting while the final preparations were completed.

  “Once more,” Matt said. “We’ll give them one more chance to lay down their arms and surrender that murdering king. There’ll be no time to think about it, no pause for consultations. They’ll say yes or no. If they refuse, we attack immediately.” Keje nodded solemn agreement. They’d been more than patient. More than fair. Even Adar seemed to have resigned himself to the necessity of the assault. He had embraced the Heavens and blessed the host and most had joined him in the devotional, regardless of denomination. The rites were similar enough, after all, and the bright sun overhead would bear witness to the deeds of B’mbaadans and Aryaalans just as the Heavens would contemplate the actions of the sea folk that day. Now he was as anxious as the others to get on with it. The sooner it was finished, the sooner they could get back to their “bigger business.”

  Down at the dock, Walker’s bell began to ring and her whistle made a sharp exclamation. Matt and his staff turned to look. They saw two men running toward them through the few remaining storm-battered warehouses and the debris of the fishing ghetto. It was half a mile or more, but they were running full out.

  “What’s that all about?” Matt said aloud. Panting from the unaccustomed exertion, Larry Dowden and Russell Clancy finally lurched to a stop before the captain. Both men saluted, but neither could speak for a moment. “I guess this must be pretty important, Mr. Dowden, for you to leave your posts, run all the way up here, and interrupt our battle,” Matt said dryly.

  “Yes, sir,” Larry gasped, and motioned Clancy forward. “We finally heard from Mallory.” Clancy handed
over a message form. It was slightly crinkled and blotched with sweat. “I thought you better see that before the fight started,” Larry explained.

  Matt raised his eyebrows, and then he glanced at the paper in his hand.

  REVENGE DAMAGED IN STORM AND BROUGHT TO ACTION BY SUPERIOR ENEMY FLEET X DESTROYED IN BATTLE SOUTH PULAU BELITUNG X SIX SURVIVORS ALL INJURED RETRIEVED BEFORE BATTLE X ENEMY FORCE ESTIMATED 300 REPEAT 300 PLUS SHIPS COURSE SOUTH SOUTHEAST 175 DEGREES EIGHT KNOTS X ENEMY IN COMPANY JAP BATTLE CRUISER BELIEVED AMAGI X NO SHIT X MESSAGE ENDS

  For a long, long moment, Captain Reddy stared down at the rumpled sheet. Over and over he read the words, convinced he’d somehow imagined them. As realization began to dawn and disbelief faded into horror, the implications of what he read descended upon him at last. He doubted if any commander in history had ever received such an unexpected and decisively catastrophic dispatch. It was over, hopeless. Everything they’d worked for, the plans and sacrifice, even the victories they’d gained were for nothing. The “Grand Offensive” to destroy the Grik menace forever now smacked of the hubris of a mouse menacing an elephant with a stick. Three hundred enemy ships—that alone made the odds impossible. They represented more than 150,000 warriors. Possibly many more. And if they really had Amagi . . .

  He looked at his watch. A little after three. They had about five hours of daylight left and Amagi, if she was real, was no more than five hundred miles away. At eight knots, she’d be here in just over two days. He turned to Shinya, who was still standing nearby. For a moment he hesitated, studying the Japanese officer he’d come to rely on so much. He shook his head. Time enough later for doubts like that.

  “All officers right here, right now. There’s not a moment to lose.” Shinya saluted, bewildered, and detailed runners to collect the various commanders. Keje looked at Matt. He sensed the change that had come over his friend and he saw that Dowden and Palmer were visibly upset. He gestured at the paper.

  “A message from the flying-boat?”

  Matt nodded, reading it yet again.

  “Bad news?”

  Matt glanced at him and then pitched his voice so no one else could hear. “I think we just lost the war.”

  When the various commanders and chiefs had hastily assembled, Matt regarded them carefully and wondered how to begin. They didn’t have time even for this, but if they were to have any chance at all, there could be no lengthy debate. It probably depended most on Queen Maraan and how she reacted. Without her support, all was lost.

  “We have no time,” he said without preamble. “None.” He held up the dispatch so all could see. “Revenge has been destroyed. Not in the storm but by the enemy. Right now, more than three hundred of their ships are headed this way. They’ll be here in two days.”

  There were gasps and mumbled protests, but Matt waded through it all. “Even worse, it seems they now have an iron ship of their own. You’ve all seen what my ship is capable of against the enemy. This ship that has sided with the Grik can destroy Walker just as easily.”

  Now there were shouts of dismay and even an edge of panic. How could it be? Such a ship was surely impossible and if not, how had it come to the Grik? No! It couldn’t be. He saw Adar standing as though stricken. His mouth hung open in shock and his eyelids blinked in a furious blur. Forestalling any argument, Matt plowed relentlessly on.

  “Imagine a ship newer and more advanced than mine, with more and bigger weapons and almost as large as a Home. That’s what we face, combined with the Grik armada. There’s no way we can stand against it. Not here, not with what we have. Our only hope is to evacuate immediately—everybody—from Aryaal and B’mbaado and retreat to Baalkpan as quickly as possible. The enemy is faster than we are, so we have to leave, all of us, no later than tomorrow. If they catch us at sea we’ll all be destroyed.” He paused and stared directly at Queen Maraan. The usually self-possessed leader of B’mbaado was caught in an unaccustomed whirlwind of horror and indecision.

  “How?” she asked quietly, her large silver eyes wide with shock. “How can I abandon my country, my home?”

  “You must, Your Highness,” he answered gently. “Land is not important when it comes to the very survival of your people.” He shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean that. Of course land is important. But it’s an asset you can trade for time while you save the people that matter even more. That’s something I was just starting to figure out myself a few months back. I didn’t like it, and maybe the way we were doing it was screwed up, but it was our only choice. One of these days, we’ll get the land back, Your Majesty, but right now your people need you to lead them to safety, and we desperately need you by our side.”

  “But how will we take them all? The Homes of the battle line were already crowded with troops.”

  “We’ll pack them in like sand, if we have to. Fill the feluccas to overflowing. We’ll leave no one behind.”

  “But we will!” she insisted bitterly. “We cannot gather them all, not in so little time! Many do not live in the city. B’mbaado is not a bastion in the wilderness where her people skulk behind walls to protect them from the beasts. There are few dangerous animals on the island and many live in the hills and along the coast!”

  “Then you’ll have to leave some troops to warn them, to help them hide in the interior. The Grik may not even stay here long, or venture far from the city. Maybe we can send fast ships from time to time, like Walker or Mahan, to take them off.” He shrugged. “Together, at Baalkpan, we might even beat them if they follow us there, and then we can retake your kingdom. The defenses of Baalkpan are formidable and there are now many guns. But if you stay here, that’ll never happen and all will die.”

  Finally she nodded, and huge, bright tears welled in the eyes of the Queen Protector of B’mbaado. Matt had never even known Lemurians could cry. Slowly, she turned to Haakar-Faask.

  “It must be you,” she said in a stricken whisper. “You must gather those we leave behind and protect them.” Stiffly, she embraced the old warrior, and just as stiffly, glancing around at those nearby, he embraced her back. Matt could tell there was deep feeling between them but they were also highly conscious that they were on a stage in front of many strangers as well as their own people. He heard a sniff from Sandra’s direction, but he was filled with admiration.

  Safir Maraan backed away from the embrace and struck a pose before the Allied Expeditionary Force. When she spoke, her voice was shockingly loud for such a small creature, but Matt had grown to expect it by now. All Lemurians were just damn loud when they wanted to be.

  “My people! My friends! Events have transpired that will force us to leave our kingdom, our homes, for a time. A Grik host advances that all of us combined”—she gestured at all the allied force—“cannot match. We must fall back upon the stronger defenses and more numerous troops of Baalkpan. When the enemy follows us there, we will destroy him and quickly return to reclaim our sacred land.” She paused. “The enemy comes quickly. Perhaps not all can be carried away in the time we have, but we will come back! Haakar-Faask will protect the people we leave behind. He will train them to fight and he will lead them against the Grik if he must until we can return to evict the coming scourge or take all away.” She paused, but stood even straighter. “If we cannot return in time . . . he will plan a great battle! A battle that will be celebrated until the end of time and that the rest of us will think wistfully of until the day we once more join those who fought and hear their deeds in person!”

  A great roar went up and, Safir, her eyes still shining, turned to Matt while Chack translated what she said. All Matt could do was shake his head and wonder. He wasn’t about to ask right then.

  “What about Aryaal?” she asked, the power gone from her voice. “And there are other cities—Kudraang, Kartaj, Bataava—farther up the coast.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for them,” Matt replied somberly.

  “There’s not enough time.” He glanced grimly at his watch again and then looke
d at Rolak. The old warrior was standing, shoulders bowed. He knew that just warning his people wouldn’t be enough. Rasik would not believe it and all of his people would stay and perish. He and his warriors couldn’t leave them to that, and all would die for nothing.

  “No time at all,” Matt repeated. “Under the circumstances, Queen Protector, I think your troops would be better employed evacuating B’mbaado immediately. Some of the embedded officers might want to remain, however. They might need the experience.”

  She nodded gratefully, but blinked surprise. Rolak and many others did the same.

  “The way I figure it, we have three hours to take Aryaal.”

  As expected, a last desperate appeal came to naught. Officially, at least. There was no response to the demand for surrender, but when the guns in the breastworks made ready to fire, the defenders on the walls just vanished. With no apparent opposition, the Second Marines and Rolak’s force, now called the First Aryaal, moved forward toward the gate. Matt, Keje, and even Adar fell in behind, and five-member squads of destroyermen interspersed themselves among the troops. Silva’s squad remained around its captain.

  “You believe this . . . nightmare ship truly exists? That it is coming?” Keje asked. “Perhaps your Mallory made a mistake?”

  “A mistake like that . . . wouldn’t be possible.”

  “You never told me there was another ship,” Adar said, matching their pace.

  “We didn’t know.”

  “Then where did it come from, this ship that has changed everything in an instant?”

  Matt sighed. “The same place we did. Through the Squall.”

  “But you know her?”

  Matt nodded. “You remember we once spoke of how Walker was damaged so badly? And Mahan too? Amagi did that, by herself.”