“I hope not,” Ruik answered, his legs gone weak. He looked around, saw the shooting had stopped. The Nancy was on fire, but hoses were already on it and he doubted it would catch the tarred rigging aflame before it was jettisoned. Damp sand was still being thrown on the deck, but none of the flames from the “firebomb” had caught the wet wooden deck and whatever had been in it was quickly burning out. He glanced at Icarus, but couldn’t tell if she’d been hit at all. She seemed undamaged. Far beyond, amid the rest of the fleet, the scene was less reassuring. The Grikbirds were leaving, their strike complete, and Ruik marveled that the Doms had trained them so well. Unable to match the Allied aircraft, they’d made do with what they had and somehow turned Grikbirds into something more like partners than mere tools, at least to the extent that they could make them perform more complicated, less instinctive tasks. We’ve already been seeing that in the air, Ruik sourly reminded himself. Now, instead of continuing the attack with claws and teeth, they’re heading back where they came from, to rearm, most likely. The only good thing was that Grikbirds got tired, and the Doms couldn’t possibly “turn them around” as fast as the Allies could their own air power. That’s something, at least. He raised his glass. And we must’ve gotten a lot of them, he thought hopefully. Not near as many are flying away as came in against us. But they hit us hard, he realized, sobering. Columns of smoke rose from seven ships that he could see, and whichever DD hadn’t been destroyed outright in the north was now fully aflame. Probably really ganged up on them, since they were closest, he thought grimly. Finir-Pel and Mertz. Both gone. He didn’t have time to contemplate all the friends he’d just lost. He shifted his gaze. Admiral Hibbs’s ships of the line had suffered too; a couple smoking, one afire and lagging now. . . . Looks like one of the antiair DDs is dead in the water. . . .
“Cap-i-taan,” Gaal said, joining him now that others had taken charge of the unexploded bomb. His tone was more formal than Ruik had ever heard it sound. “From Mars, sur: ‘Large Dom Fleet sighted, bearing zero two zero. No numbers, sur. Just ‘large.’”
Ruik glanced up at his own lookouts. Most in the maintop were dead or wounded, just now being brought down. The lookouts in the foremast hadn’t raised an alarm. He trained his glass on Gaal’s bearing but couldn’t see anything. Too dark now. Mars had much taller masts, however, and her lookouts would have the advantage. They might’ve even seen the enemy ships signaling one another—or their returning Grikbirds. “Our orders?” he asked.
“Achilles and Tindal are undamaged and now closest to the contact. They’ll try to close with and shadow the enemy, discover its disposition, and pass their observations to the flag. We are to close with the battle line and prepare for a night fleet action.”
Ruik nodded. Of course. How easy it had sounded when they set out: “Find out what the enemy is doing at El Paso del Fuego. If you run into more than you can handle, retire back to the rest of the fleet.” But how many ships had been crippled in the Grikbird attack? How many could retire? He took a deep breath. “Aacknowledge.” He gestured at the ’Cats gathered around the bomb, gently shifting it to a large, padded pass box. “And find out what makes that daamn thing tick. Take it apart in the launch, towing behind us if you have to, but I want to know if it represents as big a jump in Dom ordnance as I’m afraid it does, and if we’ll be facing exploding shot from their great guns by morning.”
“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan.”
CHAPTER 20
////// Second Fleet
USS Maaka-Kakja
The pounding she heard became part of her dream, something Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald knew often happened with any number of sounds and activities. It was something she’d grown accustomed to. But she’d also learned to tell when the influence was external, and whether it was something that required her waking attention. Oddly though, just then, she resisted leaving the pounding, pulsing fire dream that surrounded her younger self as she stood beside a bleeding Dennis Silva on USS Walker’s burning, sinking fo’c’sle. Around them, the night flashed and moaned with roaring projectiles and tortured machinery, the dark was laced with tracers, and an entire city burned against the backdrop of the black jungle isle beyond. Before them, shattered Amagi hissed and crackled as her broken, flaming corpse settled into the sea. Amazingly, in spite of the danger she was reliving, that had been unprecedented in her short life, and regardless of the gore-spattered face that stared down at her, a gap-toothed grin belying the obvious agony of a ruined left eye, “Princess Becky”—for that was all she’d been at the time—felt safe.
The pounding resumed, the other pounding, and Silva’s grin turned mildly scolding. “Go on, li’l sis,” he said gruffly. “You gotta git. You an’ Larry brung me the shell that sank that damn thing”—he nodded at Amagi—“an’ you got more t’do.” He grinned again. “Me too. I’ll be along d’rectly.”
Rebecca murmured an objection, but finally stirred in her bed.
“Your Majesty! Your Excellency!” came the urgent and probably repeated call from the passageway beyond the door to the suite she shared with High Chief Saan-Kakja. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. “I’m dreadfully sorry to disturb you,” the voice continued insistently, “but Admiral Lelaa and High Admiral Jenks beg you to come at once! There has been a . . . development regarding Task Force Eleven!”
Saan-Kakja was already sitting up in the pile of embroidered cushions she slept among across the compartment, blinking irritation. “Oh, do stop braying in the passageway like a great pregnant paalka!” Saan-Kakja demanded. “We are awake! Send in our stewards to make us presentable and bring us to life, and we will join the Ahd-mi-raals as shortly as we can!”
“Of course, Your Excellency,” came the muffled, apologetic reply, and Saan-Kakja blinked her mesmerizing eyes at Rebecca. “I do hope this ‘development’ is not too dire, Sister,” she said, “but apparently, if our primary desire was to ‘get a rise’ out of the Doms, we might have succeeded.”
“I think you just called High Admiral Jenks’s assistant chief of staff a pregnant paalka,” Rebecca scolded lightly, then lowered her voice. “But it is too soon for Task Force Eleven to have provoked a response from the Doms. I fear it may have encountered one they had already prepared.”
• • •
“Very well,” Rebecca granted icily, after hearing the initial confused reports flooding in from Task Force 11, mixed with the occasional exasperated sigh and resentful glare from High Admiral Jenks. It was well after midnight and apparently TF-11 was still closely engaged in a vicious running fight against a vastly superior force. She’d noticed as soon as she was fully awake that Maaka-Kakja was already underway and steaming at top speed. “If you must hear the words before you can bring yourself to propose a solution, High Admiral, you were right; I was wrong. Now what exactly is the state of our engaged task force, and what are we going to do to help?”
“The ‘exact state’ of the task force is ‘desperate,’ Your Highness. I can be little more specific than that, since Admiral Hibbs is unsure himself. He has no notion of how large the enemy fleet is, but is certain it is larger than his. We must assume the entire Dominion fleet has sortied. And there’s cursed little we can do. At least until the dawn!” he added with mounting frustration, looking at Orrin Reddy who was reclining, grim faced, in a chair by the bulkhead. “No doubt you’ve noticed that the fleet is already moving toward the point of contact, but though that point is now moving in our direction, it remains over four hundred miles to the north! We will be closer at dawn, and can launch aircraft to support Task Force Eleven—or what’s left of it by then,” he added bitterly, “but they will be near the limit of their endurance, flying into the wind, and will not be able to linger long. Other than that . . . ?” Jenks twisted his braided mustaches and let out a long breath.
“Allow High Ahdmiraal Jenks a moment to refocus his anger back where it belongs; upon the enemy,” Admiral Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan said
softly, gently scolding her friend, then sipped monkey joe from a mug. Everyone else in the bustling “battle room” behind the bridge was drinking tea, even Lelaa’s Exec, Tex Sheider, and she remained one of the few high-ranking Lemurians anyone had ever known who habitually drank the ersatz coffee of this world by choice. “The situation is confused,” she continued. “There can be little doubt, however, that the Doms have sortied a large percentage of the fleet they have been gathering so long, and unleashed it in our direction.” She glanced back at Jenks. “I consider it premature, perhaps even dangerous, to assume it is their entire fleet, but it is clearly substantial. It is . . . unfortunate that our own fleet was not consolidated to meet it, but it might be for the best. The damaging enemy air attack would’ve caught us equally unprepared and would probably have focused on this ship, had the fleet been together. Early reports on their new bombs are mixed regarding their effectiveness, but I find it likely that Maaka-Kakja could have been seriously damaged, at least. I do not need to tell anyone here how great a blow it would have been to our entire effort in the Eastern Sea if Second Fleet’s only carrier was destroyed before the real battle even began.”
“There is that,” Jenks grudgingly agreed. “Air power is our single greatest advantage. Without it, things are far too evenly matched for my taste, particularly with our supply lines so long and tenuous. But with dragons dropping bombs now . . . Our advantage is already diminished.”
“How dangerous are the bombs?” Saan-Kakja asked.
“There’s two kinds of ’em, fragmentation and incendiary,” Tex Sheider supplied. “Small and light enough for Grikbirds to carry, neither is very powerful, with the one having about the same effect as a twelve-pound case shot. Lieutenant Ruik on Simms actually took a dud that hit his ship apart, and we don’t have to worry about the Doms using the same kind of things in their cannon, thank God. Said there’s some kind of clunky, Rube Goldberg inertial detonator inside that would go off if they tried to shoot one out of a gun. It’s not percussion, but it takes a pretty good jolt. The other one’s got a small bursting charge that spreads something like naphtha around. They ain’t like our incendiaries, and burn out pretty quick—but ‘quick’ can be plenty long enough on a ship. Those are the ones that did the most damage.” His expression turned grim. “We lost a third of the DD squadron, including Finir-Pel, Mertz, and Theseus, in the opening round. Ship of the line Poseidon caught fire bad enough that she had to be abandoned. She blew up later. Nearly every other ship was hurt to some extent, mostly in their sailing gear, which means the whole task force is running only as fast as it can steam. . . .”
“With the wind,” Lelaa added, “which gives the Doms the ability to control the engagement. Every one of their vessels seen is a sailing steamer, just like ours, which may finally answer a number of questions. . . . But the pertinent point at present is that with the wind in their favor, their ships are faster than ours. They’ve been lunging forward periodically and lashing at Hibbs’s formation at will, all night. His gunnery remains superior and he’s sure he has disabled a number of enemy capital ships, but his are suffering cruelly as well. Several can only barely keep up as it is, and if they fall out of formation . . .”
“They’ll be mobbed under,” Tex finished for her. It was a habit they had that many recognized. Having been friends and colleagues so long, they tended to think alike to the point that they often spoke for each other.
“How soon can we know the size of the enemy fleet?” Saan-Kakja asked, but Jenks shook his head.
“With the dawn, at best. Hibbs says his task force has precisely four undamaged aircraft available. If any remain by daylight, he will send them up to see. Obviously, even if the sea has moderated sufficiently by then, he can’t recover them underway. Perhaps they can reach us.”
Orrin grunted, making it clear what he thought the chances of that might be. The planes would have a tailwind, but after their scout and likely combat with Grikbirds and the enemy ships—he doubted any flier in Second Fleet could resist making an attack—they’d be low on fuel and probably damaged.
“And the Dragons?” Rebecca asked.
“They haven’t rejoined the fight,” Tex replied, “but we have to expect they will when the sun comes up.” He shrugged. “They’ve got Task Force Eleven right where they want it, and they will try to wipe it out. Pull out all the stops.”
“My God,” Rebecca murmured.
Jenks stared hard at his Governor-Empress. “If the task force survives until dawn and Hibbs determines that the Dom fleet is insurmountable, you will be faced with a most dreadful decision, Your Highness.”
Rebecca’s heart seemed to crack in her chest. “I know.”
“There is nothing to decide,” Saan-Kakja interjected. “And I am surprised at you, High Ahd-mi-raal Jenks,” she added. “This is a terrible thing. Another of many terrible things we have all faced in this war. Yet you allow your . . . aanoy-aance at my sister to focus your attention too closely on the immediate threat to Taask Force Eleven.”
Jenks arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that enough?”
“No. You look only at the small picture. What happens in the larger one? Do you really believe the Doms finally come out on a whim?”
“She is right, Haarvey,” Lelaa said gently. “We are sailors and spend all our time thinking about the sea and ships; fleets, and what they do. We sometimes forget to remember why.”
“Shinya,” Jenks said, realization dawning.
“Right,” Tex agreed. “There are such things as coincidences. I’ve seen enough of ’em to believe. But people don’t cook ’em up, not in wars, and I don’t think this is one.”
Saan-Kakja was blinking agreement. “Regardless how the fight began, or what kind of new weapons and Grikbird training the Doms now use, their fleet has come out. They did not come against Taask Force Eleven; they came against Second Fleet. And what is the purpose of this fleet? To support General Shinya’s continent-aal campaign! The Doms would strike our fleet just now only to prevent it from that.” She paused. “It is my belief and counsel that the evil Don Hernaan has ordered this attack now only because he is poised to strike our weakened force ashore.” Her gold-and-black eyes narrowed. “And now that I have expressed my belief and rendered my counsel, I must insist that the time has come to reinforce General Shinya at last, with everything at our disposal, despite the illness that lingers in his camp. How many lives will we spare if his entire force and all our new friends at Guayak and Puerto Viejo are exterminated?”
“Nothing to decide, indeed,” Rebecca agreed, her small voice like stone. She looked at Jenks. “I’ve made two terrible mistakes. First, when I ordered you to divide your fleet against your better judgment. That was a foolish usurpation of authority rightly earned by and vested in you, High Admiral. This last year’s events in the Empire of the New Britain Isles have left me easily frustrated by delay when it comes to discovering and eliminating vipers. My second mistake, however, was allowing you to talk me out of taking our relief forces ashore in a timely manner. You only counseled prudence there as well, and my personal presence no doubt colored your judgment, but that was the debate I should have pressed.” She took a long breath and clasped her hands behind her back. “You remain Commander in Chief East and must continue to look to the strategic situation, but these are my orders to you as your Governor-Empress, and there will be no debate. Every troop transport, cargo ship, and auxiliary of any sort that Second Fleet does not need for the battle to come will immediately turn for Puerto Viejo; there to off-load every soldier, Marine, every piece of remaining ordnance and equipment, and even their own armed crews to rush to the relief of Fort Defiance. God grant only that we are not too late. The remainder of Second Fleet will continue on to the rescue of Task Force Eleven, and the defeat of the Dominion fleet now at sea. I presume you will begin by sending as much air support as possible in the morning,” she said, blinking encouragement at Orrin,
“but how you do it is up to you with one exception, and the exception is in regard to the ‘dreadful choice’ you referenced earlier,” she added bitterly. “Admiral Hibbs will not allow his force to be nibbled to death. No single capital ship will be left to be ‘mobbed under’ by the Doms. Instead, if such becomes necessary, he will deploy an adequate rear guard to engage his pursuers in sufficient force to allow his faster ships to continue on, and break contact if possible.”
Jenks was taken aback, but nodded respectfully, knowing what that order had cost Rebecca inside, likely condemning so many to their doom. But he looked at Saan-Kakja, then back at Rebecca. “A number of those ships and crews belong to our allies from Baalkpan, the Filpin Lands, and the American Navy Clan. I remain unsure how this new union they are forming might apply, but I suspect that Saan-Kakja would be its most senior representative here.”
“I am the senior representative of the youngling Union in the West,” Saan-Kakja confirmed, “and I concur entirely with my sister’s decision. And to further reassure you, no alteration in the domestic organization of the various powers that compose that new Union have any bearing on your authority here. You are still CINCEAST. But my sister is right. Shin-yaa needs our troops, and we must take them to him.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Jenks said. “Puerto Viejo is roughly four hundred miles distant. A two-day voyage with this wind,” he added, then frowned again. “But do I understand correctly that you both, personally, still intend to go ashore?” he asked sourly.
“Under the circumstances, do you still contend that we’ll certainly be safer here than there?” Rebecca asked, her own tone softening. “My orders were clear, and I know I give them with the full concurrence of High Chief Saan-Kakja when I add that you will defeat the enemy fleet, even at the cost of this ship.”
Straits of Hell Page 24
