“He looks like a worried mama cat whose kittens are climbing a tree for the first time,” Jim Ellis said aside to Alan Letts. Both had come to observe the launching, and they’d escorted Sandra Tucker, who’d decided to join them at the last minute-probably to make sure Mallory didn’t strain any of his wounds. It was a good thing too. He clearly felt inhibited by her presence. Letts chuckled, and so did Sandra, although the nurse’s laugh seemed fragile, exhausted. Letts looked at her. She’d come straight from the hospital, where she’d been working quite late or quite early, training ever more nurses and corpsmen for the looming showdown, or tending personally to a hurt beyond her students’ abilities. Her long, sandy-brown hair was swept back in a girlish ponytail that belied her twenty-eight years and extreme professional competence. It accented her pretty face and slender neck, but it did make her look younger than she was. Younger and more vulnerable.
Alan Letts liked and admired her, as did everyone, human and Lemurian, but he always felt a little guilty when she was near. He was morally certain he’d married Karen Theimer because he loved her, and not, as some whispered, to snatch up one of the only “dames” known to exist. He knew he loved her, and they were happy togee starboard engine should be was just a tangle of mounts, hoses, and lines, covered with a bright green tarp.
“How’s she doing?” Mallory bellowed, and Ensign Palmer-formerly signalman second-poked his head out of the cockpit.
“There’s a few leaks…” he hedged.
“How bad?”
“Just a second, Tikker’s checking them now.” Moments later, a sable-colored ’Cat with a polished brass cartridge case thrust through a neat hole in his right ear appeared. Sandra put a hand over her mouth and giggled as he conferred with Palmer.
“Yeah,” Mallory said aside to her with a grin, “little booger doesn’t want anyone to forget his ‘noble wound.’ I wish I had a medal for him, but I guess that’ll do.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe the two of them flew that plane back here after I passed out. Especially in the shape it was.”
“He’ll get a medal one of these days,” Ellis assured him, “and he’s already been made an ensign.” He laughed. “Of course, he’s not in the Army Air Corps. The Navy’ll get to claim the first commissioned Lemurian aviator!”
Palmer shouted at them: “She’s doing okay, mostly, but leaking pretty fast in a couple places. We’d better drag her out!”
Ben nodded and gave the command. A moment later the inactive ’Cats on the beach joined the others on the taglines. With a shout from a Guard NCO, they heaved in unison. He grunted. “We’ll have an Air Corps someday. We have to. Even when we get that back in the air”-he gestured at the plane-“it won’t last long.”
Letts nodded grimly. “Airpower’s the key; the Japs taught us that. But for now we have to concentrate on the Navy, I’m afraid. And, of course, there’s the problem with engines-speaking of which…?”
“We’ll get it running,” Mallory promised. “It’s going to be rough as hell and sound like shit, but we’ll get it running.”
“How?” Sandra asked. They all looked at the savaged motor, hanging from a bamboo tripod nearby under an awning. Beyond was the “radio shack,” a simple, sturdy, waterproof shelter erected to house the radio they’d temporarily removed from the plane-just in case it did sink. The PBY’s starboard motor was surrounded by benches covered with tools and ruined engine parts.
Ben shrugged. “It’s almost back together. We had to take it completely apart.” He nodded at Alan. “Mister Letts really came through again with that weird corklike stuff!” Ellis nodded, and Letts shifted uncomfortably before he replied.
“Yeah, well, Bradford discovered it. Some sort of tree growing in the northwestern marshes where all those tar pits are. The trees draw the stuff up in their roots and deposit it in the lower, outer layers of their trunks. They creosote themselves! Bradford says it protects them from insects.”
“Whatever,” Ben muttered. “Spanky saiem" width-"3"›Jim nodded thoughtfully, looking at Letts. “He’s turned out pretty good, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah,” agreed Mallory, his tone turning wistful. “Married life seems to agree with him.”
“So it would seem.”
There was an awkward silence, but Mallory broke it before it stretched out. “Anyway, we had to take it apart so we could get at the connecting rods on the crank and take the two bad pistons out. Only one was really junked, but we lost two jugs.”
Sandra smiled patiently. “And what does that mean?”
“Well… see those round, knobby things sticking out of the main part? The things with… ribs on them?”
“The cylinders?” Sandra asked. “Cylinders are jugs?”
“Uh… yeah.” Ben smiled with relief. At least she understood that much. “Two of them we can’t do anything about; they took too much of a beating. One was even shot through. We just can’t fix them now. Maybe someday. Anyway, we’ve pulled the pistons and rods, and we’re just going to plug the holes. Like I said, it’ll run pretty rough, and it’ll lose a lot of horsepower, but it’ll run.”
Ellis winced. “I guess if there’s nothing else for it…”
“ ’Fraid not.”
CHAPTER 6
They heard a deep, dull thump of cannon far across the bay, and turned toward the sound. Another gun followed the first, then another. A square-rigged ship, the new frigate Donaghey, by the distant, fuzzy look of her, had finally returned from her rescue mission and was saluting the Tree Flag of the Alliance, fluttering above the ramparts of Fort Atkinson at the mouth of the bay. The fort returned the salute, but a few minutes after the last guns fell silent, a red rocket soared into the sky and popped above the fort.
“What the hell?” Ellis breathed. A red rocket from the fort was the signal for alarm. A moment later two green rockets exploded in the air. “Okay,” he said. “That’s a little less terrifying. The ship must be flying a signal we can’t see yet, and whoever’s on duty at the fort decided we needed a heads-up.”
Mallory looked at him curiously. “I know what the red rocket means, but I must’ve missed the green rocket briefing.”
“There wasn’t one,” Letts told him. “Jim, Riggs, and I just worked the signal out a couple days ago.” He gestured at the plane, then vaguely all around. “We’ve all been a little preoccupied. The new system’s on the roster at the fort, but not here yet.”
“What’s it mean?”
“One red means alarm, like always, but it’s also an urgent attention getter now, too. The first green rocket after a red means ‘important information. ’”
“What’s a second green one mean?” e don’t have time to tell it twice, so get everybody who can do something about anything in one place right now. Dammit.’ ”
Ben’s eyes were wide. “Those three little rockets said all that?”
“Yeah.”
Mahan ’s general alarm began to sound, its thrumming, gonging blare somewhat muffled by the humidity and a light mist that had begun to fall, even though the ship was moored less than three hundred yards away. The sound was instantly recognizable, however.
“What the hell now?” Letts demanded. Jim Ellis was already sprinting for his ship. In the distance, also muffled, they suddenly heard an engine. An airplane engine. Ben looked frantically around at the darkening sky, his eyes suddenly focusing on an object to westward.
“This is something else!” The straining Lemurians had the plane about halfway out of the water, and he ran toward them, sling flapping empty at his side. “Get it out! Get it out! Get my plane out of the goddamn water!” He grabbed one of the lines himself, insensitive to the pain. Ed and Tikker leaped down from the cockpit and joined him. “Heave!”
“What is it?” Sandra asked Alan, still standing beside her. He wasn’t wearing binoculars and his eyes were straining hard. He suddenly remembered the description of the plane that attacked the PBY, and the indistinct form didn’t snap into focus, but he knew what
it was: a biplane with floats.
“Oh, God!”
“What?”
Letts snatched her arm hard and tugged her toward a covered gun emplacement some distance away. “C’mon!”
“But why are we going that way? The plane, the ship…”
“Right! They’re what it’s after! I’m not telling Captain Reddy I let you stand here and catch a Jap bomb!” Sandra was torn. She knew she’d be needed here if the plane inflicted any damage, but if she were dead… She made up her mind, and in an instant she was running beside Alan as fast as she could, the engine sound growing louder by the moment.
“Run!” Letts gasped, as the two machine guns on the starboard side of the ship opened up. Many Lemurians were just standing and staring, and Letts and Sandra screamed at them to take cover. They made it under the bombproof and turned to look just as the plane roared over the moored destroyer. Plumes of spray were subsiding where the plane’s bullets had struck the water, and a dark object was falling toward the ship. A huge geyser erupted just short of Mahan, and the harbor resonated with a thunderclap roar. The plane pulled up, poorly aimed tracers chasing it, and banked hard left, to the north. All they could do was watch while it slowly turned and steadied for another pass, this time clearly intending to strafe and bomb the ship from aft forward. Bullets kicked up white bushes of spray, and whrang ed off the steel of the motionless ship. There were a few screams. Mahan seemed helpless, but at the last instant the plane staggered slightly, perhaps from a hit, and steadied on a different course: toward the PBY and ultimately directly at Sandra, Letts, and the others who’d taken refuge with ere just samned if I know. Hey, you monkeys!” he shouted. “Off your asses! Anybody that ain’t dead, fall in!” The workers struggled to their feet, still coughing and gasping, leaving several on the ground who were either too badly wounded or would never rise again. Sandra surveyed the scene.
“Get some first aid started here!” she instructed. “Corpsmen are on the way.” With that she hurried into the smoke, closer to where the second bomb had struck, knowing there’d be more injured there. They couldn’t see Mahan through the smoke, but her general alarm was still echoing across the water.
Mallory sighed and pointed at a group of five guardsmen who seemed relatively fit. “Well, don’t just stand there; go with her! The rest of you goons check your buddies.” He glanced at Ed and saw him staring at the fire as though stricken.
“God a’mighty,” Ed whispered numbly.
“What now?”
Ed pointed at the fire, then fell to his knees in the sand in apparent desolation.
“What?”
“The radio shack,” he whispered. “It’s… gone.”
All the top military and administrative personnel in Baalkpan had gathered in Nakja-Mur’s Great Hall, summoned by the rockets-when word got around what they meant-and the attack, of course. Heavy rain still pounded the ceiling high above, and there was a cool, damp, but refreshing draft in the place. Combined with the general gloom of the few guttering lamps, the drab evening light from the open shutters, and the events of the day, however, the comparative cool served little to temper the prevailing sense of anxiety. Old Naga might have helped; part of the High Sky Priest’s job was to administer to the spiritual needs of his flock, but all he did was sit by himself, chanting a nonsensical lamentation. It was inappropriate for any other Sky Priest or acolyte to speak without invitation while Naga was present. Adar could have-he’d practically been designated Naga’s successor-but Adar wasn’t there.
All the “battle line” commanders were there, the High Chiefs of the few seagoing Homes of the alliance. Jarrik-Fas represented Salissa in Keje’s stead. Lord Muln Rolak commanded the third-largest infantry force, that of the displaced Aryaalans, but with Alden and Queen Maraan missing, and everyone else away, Rolak was the senior general. He couldn’t hold still. Safir Maraan had been queen of his people’s bitterest foe, and Aryaal had been at war with B’mbaado before the Grik came. Since then, however, he’d developed an intense fondness for the Orphan Queen. He thought of her almost as a granddaughter now-but more than that, as well. They’d fought side by side in the fiercest battle the world had ever known, and he couldn’t bear the thought that she might have fallen into enemy hands. So he paced.
Commander Ellis had just arrived, soaked to the bone, his uniform badly stained from many hours overseeing repairs to the damage the near miss had caused his ship. He looked exhausted. He joined Ben Mallory and Ed Palmer, as well as Lieutenant Riggs and Lieutenant Commander Brister, who’d just arrived from Fort Atkinson. Alan Letts and Lieutenant Bernard Sandison, Walker ’s torre the High Chief of Baalkpan reclined, eyes darting pensively at the uproar caused by the conversations of his other advisors. None of the “principals” had spoken yet; they were waiting for another to arrive.
When Lieutenant Greg Garrett limped in, leaning on a crutch, attended by Sandra Tucker, Karen Theimer, and Keje’s daughter, Selass, he was freshly shaven, and his uniform, while damp, was as crisp as he could make it, given the dingy spots where soot, powder fouling, and blood had been scrubbed away. His narrow, handsome face was pale and drawn, and he looked… miserable. Letts had ordered him to stop by the hospital for a checkup before appearing in person. The gist of his story was in the report he’d already submitted by courier as soon as he dropped anchor, however: a report that had spread like wildfire. Letts and Ellis crossed to him, assuring him by their solicitude that they didn’t blame him for what happened, but it was clear that, no matter what they said, he blamed himself.
Nakja-Mur didn’t stir from his seat. He felt no bitterness toward the young officer, nor did he blame him in any way, but so many new worries had been added to his endless list that day, he didn’t trust himself to stand. Besides, ever since battered Donaghey entered the bay on a weak, sodden breeze, and the rockets soared into the sky-and then they heard the report of the explosions down at the shipyard and saw the Japanese plane soaring unimpeded over his city-he’d felt a strange tightening in his chest. Now they had some hard choices to make, choices that might lead to disaster. As much as he trusted his current human and Lemurian advisors-his friends, he felt-none of the “steadier heads”-Captain Reddy, Keje, Adar, Alden, even Chief Gray and the Japanese officer, Shinya, the ones who’d always been there for him in the past-were there. Oh, what a terrible stroke of ill luck! He almost wished the Japanese bomb had struck the ship or the plane instead of the priceless radio!
“Is the raa-di-o truly beyond repair?” he asked almost plaintively, silencing the hubbub around them.
“I’m afraid so,” Palmer replied woodenly. “Everything’s gone, even the batteries.”
“We lost nineteen people too,” Sandra added harshly, putting things in perspective. “And it could have been a lot worse.”
Nakja-Mur nodded to her, acknowledging the hit. He visibly straightened himself. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. He had to set an example. “Of course. While I grieve for the families of the lost, I am grateful it was not worse. I only needed to hear the words myself. In the ‘bigger picture,’ as Captain Reddy would say, the loss of the raa-di-o is surely a straa-tee-jik setback.”
“So where does that leave us?” Letts asked remorselessly. “I’ll sum it up. Two of our most important leaders are marooned, at best, behind enemy lines…” Garrett flinched, and Alan looked at him apologetically. “It’s not your fault, Greg; it’s theirs. Damned silly heroics. Besides, you handled your ship superbly, not only in battle, but by getting her back here so quickly in the shape she’s in, with such important information. My God, Grik with cannon! But the fact remains, we’ve left some very important people behind. If we can’t get Queen Maraan out, at the very least it’ll clobber the morale of her subjects here-who, I might add, constitute over a quarter of our cad rst thing we must contemplate!” Rolak demanded hotly, still pacing back and forth.
“I agree. But we’ve got to figure out how, and we’ve got some other angles to consider. First
, though, how.” He turned back to Garrett. “What shape’s Donaghey in?”
“Not good,” Garrett admitted grudgingly. “Her stern was battered in by the explosion, and besides the loss of her mizzen, her top hamper’s a mess. We repaired a lot, and jury-rigged more, but it’ll take several days, at least, of intensive effort by the yard to accomplish the bare essentials-such as replacing the mast and stopping all her leaks.”
Letts nodded somberly. “The next two frigates are nearing completion, but neither is ready for sea. The yard manager says he needs another week-and repairs to Donaghey ’ll set that back. The rest of the ‘fleet’ of captured Grik ships is either still undergoing alteration and arming, or is scattered all over the place. Only Felts is in port, taking on more supplies for the Tarakan expedition. The Homes of the battle line are certainly powerful enough to face however many cannon-armed ships the Grik might have so far, but they’re just too slow.”
Nakja-Mur listened while Letts spoke, and honestly wondered if anything they did at this point would make any difference. But they had to do something. He heard the American discussing all the possibilities and discarding them in turn, just as he already had in his mind. There really was only one choice, but he waited diplomatically until the others came to the same conclusion.
“We’ll have to use Mahan.” Ellis sighed at last.
Sandra pounced. “Two things wrong with that,” she said. “First, can she even do it? What kind of damage did she sustain today?”
“Two dead, and seven wounded by machine-gun fire.” Ellis looked at Selass. “Saak-Fas was one of the wounded, but only lightly,” he added with compassion. “He’s already returned to duty. Damage to the ship consists of a few sprung plates from the near miss. Maybe some cracked firebricks in the number two boiler. We’ve already shored up the plates and welded them, and shut down number two. If the bricks are damaged, we’ll have them replaced and be ready to steam by morning. We can take on fuel and supplies and be underway by the morning after that, I believe.”
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