Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  Koratin blinked.

  “No, of course not. Why should you?” Courtney swallowed more brandy, then leaned forward. “My scientific specialty, beyond geology and industrial engineering, is comparative biology, but my horizons have necessarily expanded of late. I’m no physicist, let that be plain, and I paid only passing attention to the flurry of physical theories that drifted about Europe in the past decade like so much paper snow. Certainly Dr. Einstein and others made interesting observations, but their proposals seemed to require the elimination of every conceivable variable that might affect attempts to prove them. As a natural scientist, Heisenberg’s uncertainty principles—which, to me, stressed the impossibility of eliminating every variable in any real-world scenario—seemed more relevant to my interests, since variations in climate and habitat are the essential parts of, and not incidental or destructive to, any biological equation.”

  Courtney admonished Koratin with the brandy glass. “You’re doubtless wondering what all this has to do with our missing furry friend, but it was the sudden memory of Schrödinger’s unfortunate cat that set me thinking about paradox, you see!”

  “Paara.. ?”

  “Of course!” Courtney thumped his chest and stifled a belch, then refilled his glass. “As a mental exercise and not an actual experiment, to be fair—I wouldn’t want to slander the bugger—Schrödinger proposed that a cat had been placed in a box with a diabolical device that would execute it at some point. As an offering to Einstein, the device utilized a trigger that would activate it at a presumably predictable moment, based on its atomic degradation. . . .” Koratin’s confused blinking distracted him, but Courtney shook his head and plowed on. “As an illustration of paradox, I can’t see the point of that, because THE . . . point . . .” He paused, blinking himself. “The ultimate point was that the cat, once in the box, was both alive and dead!”

  “I . . . don’t see how that can be,” Koratin muttered suspiciously. Courtney’s belch finally escaped, and he drank down the rest of his glass before filling it again.

  “But it can . . . in a sense. It seems to me that an appeal to Heisenberg’s uncertainties would add to the drama of such a test, but perhaps he was trying to create a deterministic paradox.” He shrugged. “I frankly can’t remember. But though I believe determinism, that cause and effect has its place, chance—or uncertainty, if you will—constantly fiddles about with it outside the laboratory. Subjective, perceptual paradox involving life and death happens all the time—without imprisoning cats.” Courtney rubbed his bushy brow.

  “Just today, for example, when the remains of Gerald and Ruth McDonald were recovered, we learned they’d been dead since the bombing—were probably killed instantly, God willing—yet until that word came, they were still alive to us. How many times have you heard of the passing of an old friend years earlier, and realized you’d thought of them as alive and perhaps wondered what they were doing after they were dead and gone, but before you got the word? That person was dead, but alive to you. I often think of my son, even now, flying Hurricanes for the RAAF, and he’ll always be alive to me, even if somewhere on the world we came from, he’s been lost for many years. Conversely, if he lives, he knows I’m dead. If he manages to discover how I left Surabaya aboard an ancient, dilapidated destroyer, he’ll learn that USS Walker was lost somewhere in the Java Sea—along with USS Mahan, USS Pope, HMS Exeter, and HMS Encounter on that dreadful, fateful day. Hopefully, there were survivors from the other ships, but there were none, could never be, survivors from Walker and Mahan . . . back there. All of us who remain, the so very few of us, are dead on another world—yet we live on here.” He took another long swig of brandy and then stared at his shoes. “Or do we?” he almost whispered. He sat up straight, with some difficulty, and smiled. “That, my dear Sergeant Koratin, is a paradox.”

  Koratin stood and gathered the decanter and the glass. “Go home, Your Excellency, back to Baalkpan. Write your book. Put these . . . strange thoughts to use against the Grik.”

  “I believe I shall,” Courtney said distractedly. “Look there, Sergeant! The kitten has returned!” He leaned down and extended his hand. “Come here, little fellow, and I may condescend to pet you!”

  CHAPTER 20

  ////// March 19, 1944

  Second Fleet

  120 miles west-northwest of the Enchanted Isles

  “Hooked on!” shouted Sergeant Kuaar-Ran-Taak, or “Seepy,” as he completed attaching the hoisting cables to the lifting points atop the battered Nancy. “C’mon, you bunch’a dopes!” he insisted loudly to the crew on the lifting boom high above. “Take us up before we sink!”

  Orrin Reddy climbed out of his flooding cockpit and joined Seepy up on the wing. The purple, cloud-shadowed sea was relatively calm beneath a mostly white sky. Patches of blue peeked through the high cloud layer here and there, dashing brilliant sunshine, like bright, photo-negative squalls, on the water. It was calmer still in Maaka-Kakja’s massive lee that shielded the returning flight from the light wind, but Orrin and Seepy grabbed the lifting cables as the slack came off. Their plane had grown heavy with water in the five minutes or so since it touched down, and both feared it wouldn’t take the strain of the lift.

  Orrin could have taken his ship into the cavernous, semisubmerged, sea-level hangar bay that could be opened in the side of the ship, but like Tikker, his counterpart in First Fleet, he considered it important that he take every opportunity to test the capabilities of his aircraft, and that included recovery procedures. Besides, this Nancy was so shot up, it would probably never fly again. If the plane collapsed during the lift, they might lose a good engine and one of the priceless.50-caliber Browning machine guns, but other than a few other spare parts, that was all—as long as he and Seepy had a good hold on the cables.

  The lift crew’s timing was a little off, and the plane jerked up out of a light trough, streaming water from a dozen holes. Orrin held his breath and grasped the cable tighter, but nothing came apart. He began to relax as the plane made its swaying, slowly spinning ascent, and watched the other four planes of his flight—none leaking, thank goodness—position themselves beneath other booms along Maaka-Kakja’s starboard side. His mood darkened. There should have been another Nancy maneuvering below, but a flock of “Grikbirds” had jumped them out of the sun and taken one of his planes and its crew before the others could react.

  He blamed himself. They’d expected Grikbirds, but he hadn’t expected them to use such a simple, time-honored tactic. He hadn’t expected them to use any real tactics at all. He should have. The damn things were aerial predators, after all, and had probably been attacking prey out of the sun, by instinct, for millions of years! They’re not as fast as a Nancy, thank God, he thought. And even if they’re smart enough to use them, I don’t see them aiming Dom muskets—or any chase weapons—with their feet. But they’re natural-born dogfighters!

  Still urinating streams of seawater, the Nancy was brought level with the hangar deck, and Seepy rose with the coiled line that came down with the hooks. “See you in a minute, boss,” he said, and scampered down the bobbing, turning wing, uncoiling the line behind him. At the wingtip, just as it started dipping under his weight, he flipped the line through a pigtail and leaped across to the hangar deck with the tagline in his hand!

  “Show-off!” Orrin shouted after him, but inwardly shuddered. Setting the planes down on the flight deck could be tricky in rough seas or high winds, but it was fairly straightforward. The same went for motoring in through the side of the ship. Bringing a plane inboard on the hangar deck had presented a few problems for the humans helping design the capability. A separate boom system was proposed, but the Lemurians on the project had simply asked, “Why?” They hadn’t foreseen any problems. Sometimes, despite their fur, their tails, their expressionless faces—but highly expressive body language—the human destroyermen still forgot just how different they were. No “right” way for getting planes on the hangar deck from the water had ever be
en established as regulation, because the ’Cats just naturally seemed to know the best way at the time, under the prevailing conditions.

  Just about any Lemurian could have done what Seepy did—the jump wasn’t really that far—but Seepy had been a wing runner on a Home and made it look easy. Even as he cringed at the sight of the careless leap, Orrin couldn’t prevent a touch of resentment and he’d meant it when he called Seepy a show-off. Orrin believed he was just about fearless in an airplane, but there was no way he could have done what Seepy did.

  With the tagline secured to a steam windlass, the dripping Nancy was hauled inboard with Orrin still sitting on top. He helped hook new lines from an overhead track to the lifting points, and when the slack was taken up again, he unhooked those from the outside boom. Finally, the plane was lowered down on a three-wheeled cradle truck, and Orrin hopped down to the deck. The entire process had taken less than five minutes. Orrin’s plane was the only one brought onto the hangar deck; the others would be deposited on the flight deck above. With no reports of casualties or malfunctions, they’d be prepared for further operations up there. The main reason for this was that the hangar deck resounded with the racket of other ships being uncrated and assembled. Flight ops were about to go into full swing, and soon Orrin’s wing would have almost fifty aircraft at his disposal aboard Maaka-Kakja alone. Other ships had a scout plane or two, and twenty-odd crated planes remained in the holds of the various transports.

  “I am glad to see you are well, Mr. Reddy,” came a voice over the noise. Orrin turned and was surprised to see General Shinya, Commander Tex Sheider (Maaka-Kakja’s exec), and Commodore Jenks approaching. Orrin had met Jenks only once, when his elements first arrived from Saint Francis and joined Second Fleet. He was easily recognizable, though, in his Imperial uniform and great braided mustaches. He hadn’t been aboard when Orrin’s flight left that morning. Orrin, Seepy, and all those around came to attention, but didn’t salute. Airy as it was, they were “indoors,” after all.

  “As you were,” Tex barked, and everyone relaxed. But Orrin was suddenly very conscious of his sweaty flight suit and wet shoes. It was Commodore Jenks who’d spoken before. . . . Of course, he wasn’t commodore anymore, was he?

  “Thank you, sir,” Orrin said to the Imperial. “And please accept my condolences for . . . what happened at your home. I was honored to meet with the Governor-Emperor and his wife several times. He was a great leader, and she was a gracious lady. I understand you were close to them.”

  “Indeed. Thank you. I am equally close, I think, to the new Governor-Empress, Rebecca Anne McDonald.”

  “Jenks is the Empire’s new lord high admiral,” Tex said.

  “Yes, sir, I heard. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Jenks replied dubiously.

  “What happened? What did you see?” Shinya asked, a little impatient with the prolonged pleasantries. He knew from their wireless reports that there’d be a fight for the Enchanted Isles and he was anxious to get Orrin’s firsthand impressions.

  “Just a second.” Orrin didn’t like the “Jap’s” tone. He didn’t like the Jap at all, but he knew his cousin Matt did, and Shinya was in charge of all the ground forces. He untied the damp clipboard from his thigh and held it up so they could see a rather crudely drawn map of the Enchanted Isles. He’d never seen what had been the Galápagos on the old world; hadn’t even known they existed. He’d been told that like the Hawaiian Islands, they were a lot different here, with many islands blended into a few higher ones, but with no previous reference, he hadn’t been confused by the odd configuration.

  “As we sent, the Doms have full control of this King James Island, King Charles, Crossman, Abington, and Brittles.” He shrugged. “They’ve got some forces on all the other little ones too, not that I can imagine why. There didn’t look to be anything there to sustain them. Fortunately, the Imperial garrison still holds most of this biggest island,” he said, pointing. “This Albermarl. The Doms have landed a lot of troops in the north and on the southeast coast, but the Impies . . .” He looked up. “Excuse me. The Imperial troops have ’em stalled on the west flank of this big mountain—seventeen forty-three—in the north, and hold the pass between eleven fifty-four and twenty-one nineteen. . . .”

  “Those mountains have names,” Jenks said, but Orrin just shrugged again.

  “Yessir, but the only thing I was real concerned with were the elevations.” He frowned. “Those guys are way outnumbered. The only thing that’s saved them is the terrain, I bet. The good thing is, this Elizabeth Bay on the west coast is clear, except for what looked like a few whopper battleships cruising off the mouth. It doesn’t look like they want to try the forts in the bay.”

  “Those forts mount some of our heaviest guns,” Jenks agreed, looking at the map. He straightened. “It would seem, gentlemen, that we have arrived in time after all!”

  “I hope so, Comm . . . I mean, Admiral,” Orrin said. “But I doubt we got here with much time to spare. If they’ve been fighting as long as we think, they’re bound to be low on ammo. And there’s another thing: Grikbirds. The Doms have ’em on King James Island, for sure. That’s where they jumped us and we lost a plane. We shot down a few of the bastards ourselves. They surprised us, but we knew how to handle ’em this time. Still, that island is crawling with Doms, and they’ve got plenty of transports to reinforce their beachheads on Albermarl. It looks like it’s getting tight for our guys.”

  “Is that how your plane was damaged?” Shinya asked. “Scouting the enemy?”

  Orrin’s face reddened. “No . . . sir. The Doms shot at us, sure, but we stayed high, out of range of musket fire. It was when we dropped those damn leaflets on Elizabethtown to tell ’em help was on the way. We started out high, but most of ’em blew out over the water—so I went low to drop my load, and I bet two hundred guys shot at me.”

  Tex chuckled. “They’ve never seen an airplane before. Probably scared the crap out of ’em. They know the Empire doesn’t have any. At least it didn’t the last they heard. Remember, these poor bastards have been cut off for months. They probably thought you were some kind of new Dom terror weapon.”

  “Well, I hope they can read and they spread the word. The last thing we need is everybody shooting at us,” Orrin complained. He patted the plane behind him. “I liked this one, and it’s probably junked! And they could’ve hit me or Seepy.”

  Shinya motioned for him to hand over the clipboard, and Orrin—somewhat reluctantly—complied. If Shinya noticed Orrin’s attitude, he made no comment. “These elevations are correct?” he asked Jenks.

  “Yes, although two of the mountains on Albermarl are active volcanoes: the one on the far northern peninsula, and that larger one in the south. The northern mountain has not been measured since its last eruption.”

  “But the terrain is accurately depicted?”

  “Essentially.” Jenks fidgeted. “We have never been able to map the islands from the air, of course, and the coastlines are depicted somewhat vaguely because they change, you see.”

  “I understand.” Shinya studied the map a few moments more, then handed it back to Orrin. “As I see it, we have only one battle to fight here: for Albermarl Island. That will likely involve action on land and sea and in the air—but I see no reason to expend effort and lives retaking these other islands.”

  Jenks’s brow furrowed. “And why is that, sir?”

  “Because once we have Albermarl, we can isolate them from each other—and their lines of supply. They will then have no choice but to surrender or die. I was only marginally involved in the fighting for New Ireland, but I have learned enough about the enemy that I don’t much care which they choose. Either way, you will have all your Enchanted Isles back eventually, and regardless of losses on Albermarl, the bulk of my army will survive intact and concentrated. The Doms will never evict us, and we will have the nucleus already in place for the forces we will eventually need to conquer the Dominion itself.”

&n
bsp; “But . . . there are civilians on those islands! Fishermen, miners! Not many, granted, but some!”

  Shinya regarded him gravely. “I submit, Lord High Admiral, that if there were once civilians on those islands, there are none there now.” He pointed at Orrin. “The enemy has Grikbirds—dragons. Remember, sir, what they feed them to maintain their cooperation.”

  After a moment of reflective silence, broken only by the racket of the hangar deck, Orrin looked at Jenks. “How come you call them the Enchanted Isles, sir? They’re right on the frigging equator, bound to be hot as hell . . . and they look like hell itself from the air. I mean, other than their strategic value, I couldn’t see anything very damn enchanting about them.”

  “That is what they were first called, I believe,” Jenks answered absently, then looked at Orrin. “And some quite enchanting creatures once dwelt there. Some still remain and are now protected. You see, only there of all the places we have contacted on this world since the passage was there not a single species that was of deliberate danger to man. Even Respite cannot boast that. There were even great, monstrous tortoises of a type somewhat similar to those described in pre-passage journals, though they were larger and more oddly shaped.” He sighed. “Ambassador Bradford would understand. He shares my interest in such things. Sadly, the tortoises and other benign creatures were also known to be tasty, and after all this time with the garrison’s provisions doubtless running low, I’m sure they have become virtually extinct. Particularly on the islands occupied by the Doms.”

  “Maybe some have been preserved,” Tex suggested encouragingly.

  “Possibly. Governor Sir Humphries is a naturalist.” Jenks chuckled softly. “As you said, otherwise the place is hell on earth. One would have to be a naturalist to request a posting there! You have cheered me a bit, Mr. Reddy.”