Iron Gray Sea d-7

by Taylor Anderson

  Gray noticed that Diania was still looking at him, a curious expression on her face. He probably hadn’t spoken a dozen words to her since that fine breakfast on Respite-but they were shipboard now, damn it! She shouldn’t even be here!

  “Can’t, Boats,” Matt finally said, still looking forward. “I wish we did, but we just don’t have time to go in the yard. Mr. Palmer was just here with the latest”-he paused-“and things are getting desperate in the west. You know most of it, but now it looks like Keje’s going to go up against those Jap-Grik battlewagons in a straight-up fight with his flat-tops. What a damn mess! If he loses, not only could it cost us all our carriers in the area, but Pete and the entire expeditionary force will be cut off!

  “On the good side, sort of, it looks like Jenks has made it to the Enchanted Isles in time to salvage the situation there, but there’s going to be a fight…”

  “And all this fighting is too far away for you to do anything about,” Sandra said quietly.

  “No!.. Well, yes, damn it, but we’ve still got that Jap ‘can’ out there, full of real bad Japs, and we’re all there is. We can’t help Keje or Jenks or anybody right now, except the people that ship has killed-and still will, if she’s not stopped. This is our fight, and nobody can do it for us. Our scouts are keeping an eye on her and she’s still headed southwest, but if she gets away now, we might never find her.”

  “Okay,” Sandra said, “but just so long as Hidoiame hasn’t turned into your white whale.” One thing she and Matt discovered during their brief honeymoon was that both enjoyed Melville.

  Matt snorted, and when he turned to look at Sandra, the intensity that must have been growing in his green eyes was already fading.

  “No,” he said with a crooked smile. “The only white whale around here is Earl Lanier, and our peg-legged Filipino is more than a match for him.” His voice lowered. “This is just a job, and my only obsession is you. Maybe I’m a little obsessed with the bigger job of winning the war, but we’re not in the big picture right now.” He raised his voice again so all could hear. “ Hidoiame ’s just another job for Walker and her gallant crew,” he said in a light but serious tone, “but she is our job!”

  Indiaa

  General Halik’s HQ

  General Halik brooded in frustration in the confined space of his bunker. He hated it! He felt like he’d been forced to hide in a hole like vermin, but the enemy aircraft had shown an unerring knack for targeting his command structure when it was exposed aboveground. It seemed the age-old way of moving proudly into battle beneath the streaming banners of the provincial regent were gone forever. The disciplined column of “new” warriors beneath the very banners of the Giver of Life had suffered cruelly as well, and he’d been forced to disperse the suddenly confused “hatchling host” to some degree. They, at least, could adjust, he told himself. They’d been designed primarily for defense, after all, and they could do that wherever they were-but he needed his attacking warriors to mass, and whenever they did that, they were vulnerable. The aircraft alone had forced him to turn this excruciatingly long battle into a series of night attacks, and the unexpected tenacity of his trapped opponent and the added confusion of darkness had caused a disturbing number of even his hardened, “improved” warriors to turn prey! He seethed. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight will turn the tide!

  Runners had come from General Niwa in the south, telling that General of the Sea Kurokawa had finally arrived with the Grand Fleet, and Niwa had received more hatchling warriors. Niwa could now use them to block the tongue, leaving him free to attack the enemy with all his might on the other side of the mountains at Madras. Niwa also promised that “much of what has been confusing will soon be clear,” and all their enemies in India would be under their power. The dispatch left Halik even more confused in some respects, but it remained implicit that he had to gain control of the pass for the victory to be complete.

  He stopped his pacing, listening, as his aides accosted an arrival outside. “Let him in,” he said, and General Ugla clanked down the steps and parted the roughly woven curtain that kept dust from entering the bunker-and light from escaping at night.

  “Lord General!” Ugla cried, preparing to throw himself on his belly.

  “Do not!” Halik said sharply, then paused. “Consider it done, General Ugla,” he continued more softly. “We have much to discuss.”

  “Lord General?”

  “We must break the enemy tonight,” Halik said. “The battle progresses beyond our view.” His yellow eyes sharpened. “I do not know how it progresses in every way, and that does… concern me, but I believe our part is crucial.” He looked keenly at Ugla. “You were in the highlands on Ceylon and you have seen the fighting here from the very front. You have grown immensely, and I would value your comparisons.” Ugla was born to be a general, but this campaign had raised an awareness of war in him that Halik still strove to achieve-and others, like First General Esshk-might never be capable of. That disturbed him, but excited him as well.

  “My lord,” Ugla began, but paused.

  “Do not be concerned. I already know what is bad. Our losses have been crippling, and the battle remains set as it was when it began.”

  “Then I will add that our warriors that do not lose themselves fight even better now than they did.” Ugla said, then snorted. “The bullet weapons are a great disappointment. Unlike the weapons of the enemy, ours do not work when it rains, or even when the air is wet. Many of our steadiest Uul have died relying on them.”

  “Ours will improve,” Halik assured him. “We captured many of the enemy’s arms when we took the southern hill.”

  “As you say, Lord. That will be a great help… someday. In the meantime, the enemy has improved as well, even beyond his skill in the highlands on Ceylon.” His crest rose. “Our warriors who have not turned prey do not fear the enemy, but the enemy does not fear us either! How can battles end if there is no fear?”

  “They end when we kill them all,” Halik said softly. “And they will fear us soon.”

  “Your orders, Lord General?”

  “Tonight, we attack with everything! All our reserves, even the hatchlings, will move forward. They will follow behind, but they will not allow the attack to falter. They will kill any that come at them, even our own!”

  “We will lose so many,” Ugla said in what approximated dismay for him.

  “Yes. We may lose all of the attackers and that is a great tragedy, but it is the defenders that we must leave in possession of the pass!”

  “As you command, my lord,” Ugla said, bowing. “But… what of the enemy that remains in possession of yonder hill?” he asked, gesturing vaguely northwest. “We cannot just leave them there… can we?”

  “I would desire the warriors who guard them for this push,” Halik said thoughtfully. “The enemy on the hill has been sorely hurt and cannot remain strong. Pull everything away for our assault but those on guard to the north.” He paused. “They will join us as well-after they swarm over the top of the hill. Any of the enemy that escapes will have nowhere to go but toward us here, and they will be erased at last.”

  “Very good, Lord General.”

  North Hill, west of the Rocky Gap

  March 20, 1944

  Colonel William Flynn had watched the sun go down on the west side of his hill and now stood in the heavy darkness atop the eastern slope, watching the lightning storm of battle pulse against the low clouds above the Rocky Gap. The indomitable General Maraan had held her ground near the mouth of that pass for… could it be five days now? He tried to remember, but the exact number wouldn’t come. His time on North Hill with the shattered remnants of his division had blurred into what seemed a timeless span of misery.

  There was precious little food and almost no water. Some food and ammunition had been air-dropped to the tattered remnants of Flynn’s Rangers, the 1st of the 2nd Marines, and the Sularans, by parachutes. Leedom had told him that his flyers were required to wear them
now, but the ones designed to carry a ’Cat or human safely to the ground couldn’t land a water cask lightly enough to keep it from shattering. Larger, hastily made patchwork parachutes had been tried, but with only slightly better results. Enough food and water had arrived to keep the division alive, but only just, and fewer and fewer flights could be made because General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan’s much larger, equally trapped force required the greater effort. It was a terrible equation. A dwindling Air Corps had to choose between bombs to protect the isolated troops or supplies to sustain them-both of which were in equal demand-and it still had to guard against the occasional but dangerous zeppelin raid. The situation couldn’t go on much longer like this.

  There had been growing assurances that it wouldn’t have to. Communications had finally completely failed the day before, but Flynn knew General Alden was making progress in his drive to relieve II Corps. If he reestablished the supply line, some of the pressure might fall away from General Maraan, and more air could be diverted to Flynn. There was even talk of support from First Fleet air, which would become available for some reason in a few days. The trouble was, none of that really mattered anymore to the survivors trapped on North Hill. Things had suddenly begun happening fast, and time was running out. Flynn could feel it.

  Captain Saachic approached him in the near-perfect darkness lit only by the distant battle. “Col-nol,” he said quietly, “our scouts confirm it: The enemy has pulled everything out but the six or eight thousands that still block us from the north. The rest?” Saachic shrugged. “Maybe they join the attack in the Gap?”

  “What about the ones that didn’t leave?”

  “I think they are coming, Col-nol,” Saachic said grimly. “All of them. Why else remain?”

  “I bet you’re right, Captain,” Flynn said, and sighed. Then he chuckled grimly. “Well, we can’t stop ’em if they all come at once. Between what we had left and the small-arms ammunition the Air Corps dropped us, we might’ve had a chance-if they could’ve given us some artillery ammo. We’re completely out of exploding case, roundshot, and mortar bombs-and we’ve got maybe three rounds of canister left per gun.” He looked southeast, toward the battle raging in the Gap. “And we damn sure can’t run away from ’em.” He almost laughed. “It always comes down to just three choices, doesn’t it? All that leaves us is to try to beat ’em to the punch. Attack downhill, concentrating everything we’ve got right at their gut, and blow through ’em like bowling pins!”

  “Sir…” Saachic hesitated. “I think we can do that,” he said cautiously. “We might even scatter them… but most will chase us as they recover-and I think most will recover. These are not the same Grik we used to fight, and even if they were, the sight of fleeing prey… Our infantry cannot outrun them.” Lemurians as a species were amazingly strong and agile. They could even move pretty quickly when they had to and had decent endurance. Unlike humans, however, and particularly unlike Grik, they just weren’t built for sprinting.

  “I know that, Saachic,” Flynn calmly agreed. “But I guess that’s not really the point, is it? Meanies can outrun ’em, and it’ll be your job to get as many out as you can.” Flynn interrupted Saachic’s dark thoughts with a slap on the shoulder. “Hey,” he said, suddenly grinning beneath the mustache that pulsed fire red under the cloud-reflected flashes. “This one’s really gonna make us famous!”

  Saachic forced a grin. “Of course. There is that,” he said, then paused. “Assuming we do break through and escape our pursuers, where will we go?”

  “Does it really matter?” Flynn asked. “Away, first. Anywhere but here. You can figure out where when you can take a breath.” He scratched his chin. He really hadn’t had time to give it any thought and doubted he’d be around to do so later. “North, I guess,” he finally suggested, “then try to find a way east through the mountains. I bet your meanies could do it almost anywhere, but you’ll have to get the wounded through in the ambulances-if they make it. Maybe you can rig travois?” He shook his head. “One thing at a time.”

  Over the next hour, while the distant battle flared and pulsed, the eleven hundred or so effectives under Flynn’s command struggled to move every gun remaining on the hill to the northern slope. The maze of fallen trees made it extremely difficult, and several guns had to be disassembled and shifted over obstacles by hand, which caused many injuries in the darkness, but they didn’t dare make a light. If the Grik realized what they were doing, they would doubtless attack immediately, and the disorganized defenders wouldn’t have a chance. Finally, most of the guns were in position, placed nearly hub to hub, and those too badly damaged for the role they would soon play were spiked and their spokes were shattered.

  Every able-bodied Ranger, Marine, and Sularan took his or her place behind the guns, rifled muskets loaded with the loose buck and ball they all still used in desperate situations. Most carried more loaded muskets, inherited from fallen comrades, slung diagonally across their backs. Many of the Marines carried similarly loaded muskets as well. Some would retain their precious breechloaders and serve as guards for the wounded loaded on the various caissons, carts, and other vehicles they’d converted or cobbled into ambulances and hitched to the few surviving paalkas. They were too low on ammunition for the new weapons for them to be of further use, so the rest of the 1st of the 2nd’s rifles lined the bottoms of the vehicles beneath the wounded. It was important they not be captured.

  Saachic’s Maa-ni-lo cavalry waited behind the guns and infantry, carrying two and sometimes three riders each. The extra riders and all the unexpected activity in the dark made the irascible me-naaks nervous, but at least they weren’t hungry; there’d been plenty of Grik for them to feast upon. The animals were incredibly tough, naturally armored with thick cases like a rhino pig, so even Grik crossbow bolts didn’t bother them much from a distance, but there were fewer than two hundred of them left alive.

  “They’re getting ready,” Bekiaa-Sab-At said, closing her telescope as Flynn joined her. Her head was still wrapped in a bloody bandage beneath her helmet where she’d taken a blow from the flat of a Grik sword. “I see little glowing dots. They are lighting their matchlocks.”

  Mark Leedom stood beside her in the gloom, much taller than the Lemurian captain of Rangers and Marines. He still had Flynn’s ’03 Springfield and it was slung on his shoulder, bayonet fixed. “I guess this is it?” he asked nervously.

  Flynn chuckled. “I swear, Leedom. I’d be scared to death to fly around in one of those kites like you do. Relax. Folks have been fightin’ on their own two feet since there have been folks-of any kind. It’s a cinch.”

  Leedom chuckled back. “Yeah, well, you know? I’ve learned to prefer to stay above such things.”

  “Just stay close to Bekiaa here and you’ll do fine.” He nodded in the darkness. “Let’s go.”

  There were no drums, no whistles. There was no audible command at all beyond Flynn’s soft words. As he stepped forward, the troops around him did the same, and each company down the line moved off the company beside it. The guns crept forward as well, with pairs of cannoneers on each wheel straining against the weight. Spokes creaked and small stones crunched beneath the iron tires. Prolong ropes trailed behind, held by the rest of the gun’s crews, ready to slow them as they reached the gradual slope. Flynn looked around him. He couldn’t see much in the dark, but what he could see in the brief, dull, distant flashes made him proud. He didn’t have much of a division left, but he was thrilled by the discipline, professionalism, and determination he felt around him. These ’Cats, his troops, had been through hell, and every one of them had to know what lay before them that night, yet there was no complaint. Even the wounded stifled their cries as the ambulances began to move behind the lines, painfully jolting the occupants. The paalkas lowed sadly, but it was a sound the enemy would be used to. Around the ambulances, now lost to view, Saachic’s cavalry would be moving.

  God above, Flynn thought, focusing as hard as he could on the prayer.
Even if this is it-you know, the End-thank you, Sir, for the opportunity to die with such fine folks!

  Almost silently, the collection of shattered regiments swept down the slope as if they’d drilled alongside each other many times. At the bottom, as the ground leveled out, the cannoneers on the wheels of their pieces were joined by others, to preserve their strength. Each gun would fire its three shots as fast as possible, and to hell with the sponge-or any other safety measure-before its crew disabled it and joined the charge. On they moved, farther and longer than Flynn ever dreamed they would make it without discovery. No Grik horn had sounded yet, but time had to be running out. The enemy had been about five hundred yards away to start-beyond effective canister range-but they’d closed that distance to two hundred now, maybe one fifty, he estimated. It was impossible to be sure. Closer is better, he thought anxiously. It takes them half a minute or more to get rolling after the horns — Jesus! I think I can see their match cherries without a glass!