“Sir,” Blas said to Jenks, motioning at the transports. “Colonel Blair will soon be ashore.”
“Of course. You have duties. Good hunting, Captain, and God bless.”
“Thank you, sir, and may the Maker be with you.” Saluting the governor, Blas backed away, then darted through the jumble of forming companies.
“Extraordinary,” Humphries repeated again, watching Blas depart. “Such a polite little thing.”
Jenks smiled. “I assure you, sir, the enemy will not think so.”
* * *
Nancys started landing in Elizabeth Bay by early afternoon. Most of these were damaged to some degree, by ground fire or Grikbirds, but some were just low on fuel or out of ordnance. They gathered around a tender to be refueled and rearmed or hoisted out of the water for repairs. The citizens of Elizabethtown lined the shore, watching the strange machines come and go, as fascinated by the Nancys as they were the people who flew them. Supplies were landed on the dock to be distributed among the people. Guards stood around the bales and crates, but hungry as the people had to be, there was no rush, no misbehavior. The island had been relieved and there would be food. They could wait a little longer. The wind carried the sound of the great battle in the north, but the same wind swept the thunder of the closer battle in the east completely away. The only evidence of the fighting there was the quick return of aircraft that flew in that direction, and the steady trickle of wounded that wound back down the high-pass road.
“Doc’Selass,” daughter of CINCWEST Keje-Fris-Ar, flew down from the fighting in the north to tend the wounded in the city and take charge of the local hospital. There was the usual resistance by Imperial doctors, but when Jenks commanded that Selass, as personal physician to the Imperial family, be obeyed in all things medical, indignant obstructionism turned to skeptical observation—and soon enthusiastic cooperation. Human and Lemurian physiologies were strikingly similar, but Selass had grown quite familiar with the differences as well. She was far more qualified than any local physician, particularly when dealing with battle injuries, and when the curative powers of the Lemurian polta paste were explained—and confirmed by Selass’s Imperial assistants—her former rivals became willing students and helpers.
At nightfall, Jenks trotted up the steps of Government House with Admiral Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan and Orrin Reddy in tow. Lelaa matched Jenks’s energetic steps, even though her massive ship had been in the thick of the fight since before dawn. Maaka-Kakja’s great guns and aircraft had pounded the surprised and horrified Doms in ways they’d never imagined. Maaka-Kakja had taken a few light hits herself, mostly by heavy roundshot dropped by Grikbirds—but new countermeasures rendered Grikbirds less of a threat to well-protected ships and aircraft than they’d been before.
Orrin was dragging a bit. He’d flown many sorties that day—before flying Lelaa here. He couldn’t stop yawning. Jenks had never even approached the front as the battle raged. Forming and sending troops forward had required all his efforts and he was just as tired as Orrin, but nervous energy kept him going.
Sir Humphries’s factor met the trio at the top of the stairs and led them inside to a sitting room where the governor sat hunched in a chair, a large brandy at his elbow. The garrison commander was seated beside him, his white tunic with red facings was stained and rumpled. Jenks glanced around. Frankly, he’d expected a larger reception. He bowed to the governor, and the garrison commander stood. The factor edged around the room to stand behind Sir Humphries, who remained seated, staring at the once-lush carpet at his feet.
“Sir,” Jenks began, looking at the sitting man. “May I present Admiral Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan, commander of the Naval element of Second Fleet?”
“How charming,” Humphries said softly. “Another Lemooan female! And a Naval officer, damn me!”
“And this is Orrin Reddy, Commander of Flight Operations. It was his aircraft you saw today—and that the enemy have learned to fear so much.”
“Indeed?” Humphries asked, a spark igniting behind rheumy eyes. “Flying machines might be of great use in locating tortoises!”
The garrison commander cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I am Colonel Alexander, and am most pleased to meet you all. As you may have gathered, the situation here had grown quite dire. Another mere week would have seen the end of us.” He cast a quick glance at the governor. “Many have suffered, in a variety of ways.”
Jenks looked at the man. “Then you will appreciate the honor it gives me to announce that Albermarl Island is secure and your suffering is over. General Shinya and Colonel Blair have pushed the remnants of the northern invasion force against the base of that smoldering hill on the northernmost point. It cannot escape and has no choice but to surrender or die.”
“The Doms’ll send ships! More men!” Sir Humphries barked desperately.
“No, sir,” Jenks gently assured. “Our air power has sunk or burned the bulk of the enemy fleet at Norwich Bay on King James Island. He has nothing left there to send.”
“But . . . what of the murderers to the east, just across the isle, that threaten us here in Elizabethtown?”
“We pounded ’em all day from the air, while the garrison”—Orrin nodded at Alexander—“kept ’em pinned on the beach with nowhere to go. It was like shootin’ fish in a barrel, poor bastards. They’re in the same boat as those up north: quit or croak.”
“They might slip men across under cover of darkness!” Humphries insisted.
“They could, a few,” Orrin agreed, “but then they’d be stuck too. If I was them, I’d try to pull my people out in the dark.” He paused. “But that’ll be tough. We control the strait between the islands, with DDs and searchlights—”
“DDs?”
“Frigates,” Jenks said. “Mr. Reddy is right. In a few days, there will not be a free—or live—Dom on Albermarl, and more of our troops and ships will be coming all the time. Soon, this island will fairly shudder beneath the weight of the force we will build to invade the Dominion itself and destroy the murderous threat it poses forever!”
“Extraordinary!” Humphries said with a trace of his old cheer at last. He peered intently at Orrin. “You are a . . . rider . . . of flying machines?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have flown over this isle? And King James Island, perhaps?”
“Ah . . . yes, sir.” Orrin decided not to mention he’d been shot at the first time.
“Amazing! To see the world as a bird—or those horrible Dom dragons see it . . . I can only imagine.” He took a gulp of brandy, suddenly excited. “Did you happen to see any tortoises at all?”
CHAPTER 24
////// March 25, 1944
Rocky Gap
General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan, her silver-washed armor dented and tarnished, her black cloak torn and stained, stood in her command tent, staring down at the map before her. She wasn’t really looking at it anymore; the image was intimately familiar, and besides, she could hardly see through the kaleidoscope of amber tears colored by the guttering lanterns. Colonel Billy Flynn had saved her tail in the Saa-lon highlands and had since become an excellent friend. Now he was dead, along with nearly all the Marines, Rangers, and Sularans that had been with him—and there’d been nothing at all she could do. She’d been stuck here in this useless Rocky Gap for more than a week now, her own troops dying in front and behind while supplies and munitions dwindled. She looked into the east, through the open tent flap, where the Sacred Sun would rise above the high crags and bathe the gap with light, and said a silent prayer for Flynn and his lost command.
Somewhat selfishly, she thought, she also said a prayer of thanks that her beloved Chack-Sab-At was safe in Maa-ni-la, working up his new elite force instead of in this bone-grinding pit. She feared she might have lost him too if he’d been here—perhaps with Billy Flynn. The 2nd Marines had been Chack’s, after all.
“Maker preserve him. Preserve us all,” she murmured at the first graying streaks in the eastern sky.
A knock came against the tent pole, discreetly beside the flap. “They are here, my gener-aal,” said a low voice. It was almost unnaturally quiet outside, Safir realized. Ammunition was low, but the Grik were not short. They were shifting their forces, she knew, but she hadn’t expected the silence.
“I am coming,” Safir replied. She took a breath and stepped outside.
Colonel Enaak, commander of the 5th Maa-ni-la Cavalry, stiffened to attention at the sight of her. Another trooper, one she knew well, fought against his exhaustion to stand straighter at his side.
“Cap-i-taan Saachic, reporting as ordered, Gener-aal.”
Without a word, Safir moved forward and embraced the trembling Maa-ni-lo, the tears finally spilling down and wetting the blue-black fur on her face. “Thank the Maker you are safe! When Colonel Enaak told me you made it through, I could hardly believe it. Come. Sit inside, and tell me what you saw. Orderly!” she said louder, “bring refreshment!”
“At once, my gener-aal!”
* * *
“Col-nol Flynn, all those we left behind, must be lost,” Saachic said miserably after a long gulp of seep-laced water. Safir had offered him a stool instead of a cushion because she didn’t want him to drift off to sleep. The small torture of the stool struck her as less cruel than waking him after his ultimate crash would be. “We were surrounded; no way out. Col-nol Flynn had a plan, but it didn’t work. He tried to save everyone. . . .” Saachic was rambling, and Safir tried to focus his thoughts.
“How did you get out?”
“Ahh . . . most of the Grik pulled away to reinforce some movement against you—” Safir looked meaningfully at Enaak. Now they knew where the sudden influx opposite their lines came from. The scouts had seen no approaching column. “And we tried to break through those that remained,” Saachic continued. “It might have worked—should have worked against the Grik we fought before, but these are not the same.”
Safir and Enaak nodded. They’d noticed that as well. Somehow, the Grik were finally becoming soldiers. Not all of them had . . . transformed, but enough had done so to keep them bottled up here, and their defense—a concept they’d all thought utterly alien to the Grik—was only growing stronger.
“The breakout stalled,” Saachic murmured. “The col-nol ordered what remained of my cavalry to make a run for it, carrying as many others as we could. His final effort . . . the sacrifice of all who remained, was . . .” He paused, glancing at Safir. Aryaalans and B’mbaadans were not followers of the prophet Siska-Ta. “It was a tale for the Sacred Scrolls,” he finished, almost defiantly.
Safir nodded. “I’m sure it was,” she assured him. “But having broken out, how did you make it here?”
“Eighty of our beasts, most wounded to some degree, survived until we reached the mountains north of here with the morning. Most carried two or three persons and there were almost two hundreds of us.” He stopped a moment, shaking his head and blinking uncertainty.
“Two hundreds?” Safir asked. Saachic had entered 2nd Corps’ lines with five riders. “Did you meet more Grik?”
“There were no Grik, but we could not find a pass. It was then that we met . . . other riders.”
Enaak stood. “Other riders! What other riders?” he demanded.
“I . . . I do not know, Col-nol Enaak,” Saachic replied. “I confess I was not entirely myself.” He held up his left arm. “I took a wound and there had been no time to dress it. A fever was upon me. You may ask others who were there, but the riders were hu-maans—some were, at any rate.” His blinking turned to confusion. “I think there were others; not human, but not like us. They rode upon creatures I have not seen; like me-naaks, but with . . . horns? Their mounts and ours did not like each other.” Saachic’s tail swished in consternation. “I am sorry. I cannot recall much more about them.”
“Perhaps you can,” Safir prodded. “You say you ‘met’ them. What did they do? What did they say? How many were they, and why were they there?”
Saachic appeared to concentrate. “I think they were of like numbers to us. There was one, a large hu-maan with a great face mane who spoke a kind of rough English.” Saachic grew more animated as memory returned. “I think I asked him if he was Amer-i-caan—someone did—and he laughed.” He shook his head. “I remember nothing more but events and impressions. I believe they had been watching our battle; they knew of it, at least. They must be from a land beyond Grik control, but they clearly know much of this one because it was they who showed us the high, winding pass that brought us through to General Aalden.”
“General Aalden?” Safir exclaimed. There’d been no direct communications with Maa-draas for two days, not since the comm ’Cats and their aerials had been driven from the heights. Some notes had been dropped by planes, and she knew Aalden was trying to reach them—but she also knew the Grik fleet was coming and a major offensive was grinding at Aalden and Rolak from the south.
“Yes,” Saachic said. “That is why only six of us broke through to you. The rest remained with the relief force.” He looked at Safir with a small smile when he realized she must have thought his six were the only survivors. “Lieutenant Commander Leedom is well, and will resume command of the remaining air forces in Indiaa. Your cousin-to-be, Cap-i-taan Bekiaa-Sab-At, also survived, though she is sorely wounded. I . . . I am sorry I did not mention that immediately.”
Safir closed her eyes for a moment in thanks. Not all lost, at least. She didn’t know Bekiaa well, but she was practically family. More important, Chack loves her, and she is an exceptional officer.
“So. What will Generaal Aalden do?”
“He intends to force his way through to you today, come what may. Any help you can provide would be appreciated, but the most important message he charged me to give is that you must hold here, whatever the cost. The enemy cannot gain this gap. He fears Madraas may be lost when the Grik fleet arrives.”
“Maker!” breathed Colonel Enaak. “But what, then, would be the point in remaining here?”
“General Aalden believes that if we are forced out of Maa-draas, we must consolidate here and around that lake to the south. The mountains will provide a barrier to the west, and the lake will allow us to continue to operate aircraft. They are our only defense against Grik zeppelins. Also, though it will doubtless be watched and perhaps even fortified, the river that flows from the lake to the sea is somewhat navigable—but much too shallow for the Grik battleships. Whatever happens, we must assume a position with secure internal lines.”
“It has come to this?” Safir murmured. “A hasty defense on foreign soil? Like Colonel Flynn’s stand on North Hill writ large?”
“General Aalden anticipated your concern,” Saachic said. “He bade me assure you that this entire ‘mess’ is his fault alone, but we will get out of it. The Grik may have caught us with our kilts down—”
“A most colorful and appropriate metaphor,” Enaak interrupted.
“—but our own forces,” Saachic continued, “new weapons, better aircraft, heavier ships all gather at Andamaan even now. And soon we will do the same to the Grik.”
“Very well,” Safir said grimly, standing and putting a hand on Saachic’s shoulder. She nodded at a large cushion in the tent. “Sleep now, Cap-i-taan Saachic. You have done . . . well.” She blinked irony at the insufficiency of the word. “I will speak to your companions about these other riders you met.”
Tears suddenly gushed down Captain Saachic’s face. The dam he’d held in place by will alone had broken. “He died for us. Col-nol Flynn, the Marines, Rangers, Sularans . . . they all died so I could sit here in comfort . . . and spill tears like a youngling!” He sounded disgusted with himself.
“They died for you,” Safir agreed softly. “They died for all of us, so you could bring us your words—and the warriors you saved. If not for their actions and yours, we would know nothing of what we face beyond this hateful gap, of General Aalden’s plans, or of these enigmatic strangers.” Safir gent
ly stroked the filthy, blood-crusted fur on Saachic’s cheek. “They will be remembered for what they did, and so will you.”
CHAPTER 25
////// March 25, 1944
USS Walker
South China Sea
1142
The world was a cold, metallic, liquid gray, much as it had been for days, and the rough, disorganized swells still bared their jagged, windswept teeth. Most of the Lemurians on USS Walker moved slowly, with considerable determination, and even some of the old hands weren’t feeling too hot. They’d followed the slow-moving, raging storm as it thundered northwest across the Fil-pin Lands (old Luzon), until it veered north across Formosa on its way up the China coast and into the Yellow Sea. It had been a wild, bitter thing, not quite a Strakka, but certainly a respectable typhoon. Matt was no meteorologist, but the weather of this world still confused him. This should have been the tail end of the rainy season on swell-hidden Formosa, he thought, but it was too early in the year for typhoons. The experienced ’Cats on Walker weren’t surprised by the weather—even if the skinny, vigorously bucking ship gave them a hard time. Maybe Walker needed a Sky Priest “sailing master” of her own, at least as a weather weenie.
The worst had passed, leaving the old, groaning, complaining ship bounding reluctantly through the Luzon Strait. They’d deliberately made that passage in early daylight, with keen lookouts on the alert. The spray of little islands, north and south, had given Matt and Spanky the creeps. They still couldn’t get a proper fix on their position, but when the lookout high in the crow’s nest confirmed Formosa to the northeast, they knew they were in the clear. Matt never saw the island from the bridge, but it was just as well. If he had, in these seas, it would mean they were way too close.
Spanky clanked up the stairs aft and came on the bridge just a few moments before the bell at the base of the foremast was struck, indicating the afternoon watch change. Other men and ’Cats had already begun appearing, relieving those who’d been standing the morning watch. Spanky looked at the quartermaster’s log, then lurched toward the captain’s chair as the ship’s bow took a sudden plunge.
Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen Page 36
