Assault on Zanzibar: Book Four of the Westerly Gales Saga
Page 48
The main area held by the enemy was now a rough oval of bush and beach no more than a kilometer across. Many of the fighters were sick or wounded, but still fighting. Pirates, as had been proven repeatedly, rarely surrendered, and fought fanatically to the death.
Landry decided to spend no more allied lives in what would be the bloody job of exterminating these two remnants, and went back on defense, digging in around them. If they wouldn’t surrender, he could kill them off by naval gunfire and air attack. That was an unappealing prospect to Frank Landry, but waiting for them to die, or become too weak to fight, from hunger, disease, and wounds would take an indeterminate length of time during which the enemy fleet might try to reinforce and re-supply them.
This was the situation at sundown. Operation Joker had taken one long, bloody day.
Aboard Charlemagne, Sam Bowditch listened to radio traffic from the island, and his optimism grew throughout the day: it seemed to him that the Battle of Mafia Island was over and won, all except the mopping up.
Gannet’s latest report on the Pirate fleet was equally encouraging. About ten of the gun-dhows had entered Stone Town harbor, while the rest of them continued northward. The formation seemed to have dissolved off Stone Town, with the passers-by sailing on independently, some to Pemba, some farther north along the coast of the African main, and some to the eastward, apparently bound for the Seychelles.
All this good news had of course spread to the crew, and, tired as they were, laughter and jokes, even snatches of song, could now be heard throughout the ship.
In the day’s last light, Sam saw Doctor Girard appear on deck. He had not seen her since the first day of combat operations. Presumably she had been busy below, in sick bay, caring for the Joan of Arc survivors, many of whom had serious wounds.
Or maybe he had been just too preoccupied to notice her.
He left his chair and walked forward to greet her, feeling the stiffness in his legs from many hours in his perch.
“Good evening, Doctor,” he called. “Have you heard the latest war news?”
“Good evening, Commodore. I have, indeed.”
When they drew near enough to talk without being overheard, she said, “Sam, the rumors are that we have all but won the war. Can this be true?”
“The war isn’t ‘won’, Marie; it isn’t even over until the Zanzibaris say it is. But I think I can safely say that we have retained Mafia Island, and given the Pirates a bloody nose they’ll remember a long time. Whether that means they’ll call it quits or be filled with a lust for revenge and re-double their efforts to dislodge us, I have no idea. Still, it’s very good news, and should give us a long respite from the fighting and bloodshed.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear, cher Sam.”
At that moment, Sam heard shouts and cheers begin forward and spread aft, seemingly in the wake of a happy radioman waving a message board.
He handed it to Sam, saying “Good news, sir! Oh, very good news!” laughing delightedly.
It was a multi-pager, and Sam could see from the headers that it had been broadcast en clair, in Arabic, and then translated into archaic French.
The gist of it was that the Sultan of Zanzibar (lengthy list of titles) offered greetings (long, flowery, complimentary) to the “King of Kerguelen” (huh?) and requested an immediate cease-fire, followed by negotiations for a truce.
Sam’s face split into a broad grin, and he turned to Marie, laughing as he said, “The Pirates have called it quits, Marie – they want a truce! The war is over!” The cheers and shouts from the crew were now almost deafening.
They embraced, and she whispered into his ear, “Can it really be true, Sam, dear? Is it really over.”
He hugged her tight, and replied, “Oh, the diplomats still have to work out all the details.
“But yes, Marie, yes! It’s really over.”
The End
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[1]“reinforcement-resupply”