B00BPJL400 EBOK (14 page)

“Indeed,” Abel said, sounding very much like Courtney Bradford when the man was deep in thought. He looked at Silva. “No punishment, but no more gags, if you please. At least not without discussing them first.”

“So . . . what do we do now?” Horn asked. “Our camp’s pretty well trashed. No telling what else’ll come running up to that big pile of meat.”

“I hate to add more bad news,” Brassey said, “but the transmitter casing is shattered. I think our big visitor may have stepped on it when it fell from the tree. I don’t know if I can salvage it or not.” The Imperial midshipman had become an avid electronics student and was their de facto wireless operator.

“That don’t matter,” Silva said. “We was bound to lose contact sooner or later—an’ it ain’t like anybody can help us now, anyway.” He looked at Horn. “No reason to get all worked up either. We ought’a be safe as can be for the night.” He hesitated. “Look, I’m sorry about the gag, but maybe Moe’s right. Super lizards are top dog wherever their territory is. Blood or not, nothin’ll pester us here until
he
starts smellin’ dead, instead of like a big-ass super lizard.”

“So . . . what do we do? Use the big bastard for a pillow?”

“Can if you want, if you can stand the smell. He
is
a bit rank. Besides”—Dennis’s expression lightened—“meat’s meat, and we already got fires.” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe a little smoke an’ cookin’ meat’ll lure up whatever else is out here startin’ fires that critters ain’t afraid of.”

7

//////
The En
chanted Isles (Galápagos)
Elizabeth Bay

H
igh Admiral Harvey Jenks, CINCEAST, impatiently paced the broad bridgewing of USS
Maaka-Kakja
(CV-4) while staring out at the already-impressive collection of warships anchored around the flagship of Second Fleet.
Maaka-Kakja
had been the first purpose-built aircraft carrier/tender in the Alliance, and currently, on paper, Second Fleet was the most powerful naval force in the Grand Alliance—particularly after the mauling First Fleet took at the hands of the Grik. In reality, though, the fleet’s assets were still so strung out across the vast reaches of the Pacific—or Eastern Sea, as the Lemurians called it—that Harvey Jenks was confident only that he could hold the Enchanted Isles against any currently imaginable Dominion threat. But he chafed at the time it was taking to consolidate sufficient forces to take the war to the bloody Doms.

He’d always known that would take time. The Empire of the New Britain Isles had absolutely no experience at projecting such power, particularly over such distances. And if his American-Lemurian allies had deployed comparably large fleets, even they’d never attempted it so incredibly far from their primary base of supply. Jenks had the colonial possessions in the northern Americas to draw from to some extent, but they were no closer. Besides, the shattered “Honorable” New Britain Company had jealously guarded against the rise of major industries in Saint Francis. The shipyards there were necessarily impressive by prewar standards, but the foundries were puny and the workforce sparse. It was never intended that the colonies
should
be able to sustain themselves without importing expensive manufactured goods—much less sustain a major fleet and thousands of troops so far from their shores.

That was changing. Even as the bulk of the Imperial Navy and most Allied assets in the theater moved to the Enchanted Isles, much of the Empire’s extensive merchant marine was shipping the tools of industry to the colonies. Captain Reddy had even asked for and received permission to establish a Lemurian-American base as far south as (what they called) San Diego. The place had long been recognized as a potentially excellent port, but its proximity to the Dom frontier had made establishing one a dangerous, perhaps provocative act. Provocation was no longer a concern, and the new, slightly closer American port would help ease the strain—eventually. But that was all in the future. After what the Doms did to his country and to his people here in the Enchanted Isles, Harvey Jenks wanted to get at them as soon as possible.

He suddenly realized, not only was he pacing, but he’d begun twisting his braided mustaches again. Abruptly he dropped his hand and stopped to lean against the rail overhanging the flight deck below.

“Um. Any word from Admiral Monroe?” he asked Admiral Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan, who’d been—if not more patiently, at least more resignedly—pacing alongside him. Admiral Lelaa commanded
Maaka-Kakja
, and ultimately all Allied naval forces in the East. She wore the white kilt and neatly tailored blouse required of female Lemurian naval officers over her brindled fur, and she looked at him with her large, wide eyes.

“No, High Ahd-mi-raal. Not today—but I presume Monroe and his squadron of Imperial ships of the line is somewhat closer than when Lieutenant Haan-Sor-Plaar of the DD escort USS
Finir-Pel
sent their position report
yesterday
. Lieutenant Haan is a conscientious young officer, and I’m sure he would have sent a special report if, say, Ahd-mi-raal Monroe’s squadron was suddenly destroyed by a herd of mountain fishes.”

Jenks glanced sharply at Lelaa and caught her grin. He sighed. “I apologize, Admiral. It’s just that those bloody things—the liners, you call them—are so damned slow!”

“But damned powerful, and I will be glad to have them when they arrive. And there is no need to apologize. I am as anxious as you.”

“Am I that obvious?”

Lelaa blinked and swished her tail. “Yes, but I have learned a few things over the past few years. First, no matter how I may chafe against it, very few things can be made to happen
more
quickly than is possible. I am never satisfied by that, but I may have learned to accept it better than you.” She flicked her ears. “Perhaps a lifetime under sail alone has prepared me for that revelation”—she gestured around at her massive ship and the planes on the flight deck and almost giggled—“despite what might seem somewhat significant evidence to the contrary!” She looked back at Jenks and blinked seriousness. “I have also come to know you well, I think.” She pointed at the Imperial frigate
Achilles
, anchored nearby
. Maaka-Kakja
’s immediate battle group all rode at anchor within the confines of the port city and territorial capital of Elizabethtown, on the main island of Albermarl. “I suspect you miss having your own deck beneath your feet. You commanded
Aa-chill-ees
a great while, and now, though you command our entire effort in the East, you have no ship of your own.
I
would miss that.”

Jenks rubbed his chin. “That may be part of it,” he conceded. “I had
Achilles
for almost five years. I commanded other ships for twelve years before that. I’ve
belonged
to one ship or another all my life, it seems. It does feel a bit, well,
unnatural
to step beyond that. I suppose I envy your Captain Reddy in that respect. Militarily, he outranks us all, I suppose, yet he gets to keep
his
ship!” He smiled. “Not that he—or the entire Grand Alliance—would have it any other way!”

Tex Sheider,
Maaka-Kakja
’s
exec, stepped out on the bridgewing. “Admirals,” he said, “it’s fifteen hundred. You told me to remind you.”

“Thank you,” Lelaa said, looking at Jenks. “We will be along immediately.” Sheider nodded and turned away. Lelaa blinked concern and lowered her voice so only Jenks could hear. “I do hope Governor Humphries is feeling better today. Such an interesting person, and such a waste if he should remain . . . as he has been . . . forever.”

* * *

Maaka-Kakja’s
big steam launch plied back and forth between the ship and the government docks in Elizabeth Bay almost constantly. This time it carried Jenks and Lelaa, as well as General Tamatsu Shinya and Lieutenant Orrin Reddy. Shinya had been a lieutenant aboard a Japanese destroyer that
Walker
sank with a stray torpedo right before she steamed into the Squall that brought her to this world. Shinya had been torn by divided loyalties for a time, but was ultimately accepted by the vast majority of his former enemies. His strict sense of honor and devotion to the Allied cause helped bridge any remaining obstacles between him and Captain Reddy becoming close and trusted friends, and his talent as a field commander brought him his current appointment as commander of 2nd Fleet’s Allied Expeditionary Force (AEF-2).

Orrin Reddy was COFO of
Maaka-Kakja
’s 3rd Naval Air Wing—which was strange in itself, because he’d belonged to the 3rd Pursuit Squadron in the Philippines when the Japanese attacked. Additionally strange because even here he remained enough of an Army pilot that he’d refused the naval rank of commander. He’d been offered the army rank of captain, but declined that too on the grounds that one Captain Reddy, regardless of branch seniority, was enough for this screwed-up world. He meant no disrespect by that because, perhaps strangest of all, Captain Matthew Reddy was Orrin’s much-admired first cousin. Whatever twisted fate had brought any of them to this world had been particularly cruel to the Reddy family back home.

The view from the launch was breathtaking. The sheer tonnage of shipping that choked the anchorage was impressive, but the sky was bright and the bay almost surreally clear. Most of the island itself was a dark, rocky heap of long-cold lava, but despite Orrin’s initial description of the place from the air as hell, this part, at least, was lush with vegetation, and the saddles between the distant, craggy volcanoes were filled with tall trees and flurries of colorful flying creatures. Elizabethtown reflected the architecture that prevailed elsewhere in the Empire; an odd mixture of the classical with blocky stucco and wood. New London, on New Britain Isle (what should’ve been Honolulu) was reminiscent of “old” London in many ways, but here, as just about everywhere else except perhaps Respite City, simpler, more practical buildings sufficed. Still, the place had an odd, almost Mediterranean beauty to it—or would have before one noticed the virtual sea of tents that had sprouted on the broad plain south of the city, where the AEF was beginning to make its home.

“Fend off there, you lizard-faced buggers!” cried the Lemurian coxswain as the launch approached the dock and Imperial sailors jumped to comply. Orrin smiled. The humans and Lemurians in the U.S. Navy had developed a kind of mixed patois that incorporated many words from both languages. Those new to the Navy still butchered it with a kind of pidgin but could usually make themselves understood. This new association with Impies had begun to add even more terms and phrases to the odd, almost universal language that was developing.

Line handlers, bored with the routine visits of the launch, quickly straightened and creditably snatched the tossed lines when they saw who was aboard. A squad of Marines, ’Cat and Imperial, quickly gathered to receive the unexpected brass. Hopping ashore and exchanging salutes, Jenks dismissed the offer of an escort to Government House. He’d been there many times, and if there was anywhere on earth he and his companions should be perfectly safe from the enemy, it was within the military anthill Elizabethtown had become. They might get smushed by a toppling mountain of supply crates, trampled by hurrying troops, frightened horses, or mooing palkas, but those were hazards everyone had to guard against ashore these days, and an escort likely wouldn’t save them.

“What a sight!” Orrin said, amazed. Even with the focus of the wider war inevitably shifting west, the city was a far cry from the half-starved ghost town it became at the tipping point of the Dom invasion, when the defenders were on their last legs. It was also clear that regardless of the shift in priorities, Allied industry and food production was starting to hit an impressive stride. Granted, a lot of what was arriving now had already been in the pipeline, before the Battle of Madras, but the Fil-pin Lands were still committed to sending nearly everything they produced—except more troops—and the Dom defeats had prevented them from strangling Imperial production.

“It
is
impressive,” Shinya allowed, looking around as they hurried up the dark, gravelly street toward Governor Humphries’s palace. Orrin didn’t respond. He still disliked Shinya. Quite simply, the man was a Jap, and his experiences as a prisoner in the Philippines before his later arrival here had been much different from his cousin Matt’s. He’d obey Shinya’s orders—when his air wing was tasked to do so by Lelaa or Jenks—and he even kind of understood Matt’s high opinion of the man, but he couldn’t “forgive and forget” the treatment he and so many others received at the hands of other Japanese, not to mention the murderous hell they’d endured aboard
Mizuki Maru
. The hellish ship was gone now, along with some good men and ’Cats who’d fought her against still other Japanese, but deep down he was glad the damn ship no longer existed.

Imperial Marines stamped to attention as they mounted the steps of the palace, and the three men and one Lemurian returned the armed salutes before a small man in a civilian frock, tricorn, and gaudy cravat opened the tall entrance doors and bowed low. Inside it was dark and noticeably cooler, and the four visiting officers removed their hats and placed them under their left arms. Another, taller man they recognized as Governor Humphries’s factor bowed as well.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen . . . and, uh, Lady Admiral Lelaa,” he said a little awkwardly. “The Governor and Colonel Alexander are expecting you.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I believe the Governor’s feeling a bit better today,” he added. “Perhaps the improved diet—and the discovery of some dozen tortoises that survived unmolested by the damned Doms on one of the neighboring isles has helped. He’s quite devoted to our tortoises, as you know.”

Jenks nodded diplomatically.

“Yes. Well, please follow me,” the factor said.

“Governor Humphries,” Jenks said when they entered the broad drawing room. “Colonel Alexander. How are you today?”

“Very well, thank you, High Admiral,” Alexander replied, standing. Humphries remained seated behind a small table, the remains of a light meal strewn before him. He beamed. “Good afternoon, Harvey! I’m so glad to see you. I’ve had the most excellent news!”

“I heard, Your Excellency. Congratulations.”

Humphries brushed it aside. “It was none of my doing. Your timely arrival”—he nodded at Lelaa—“with our Lemooan allies saved us all. Including the tortoises. None of us could have endured another week without you, I’m sure.”

Jenks shifted uncomfortably. “That may be, Your Excellency, but now we must look to the future. Any advantage we currently enjoy will be fleeting if we give the bloody Doms a chance to recover. Obviously, they’re much closer to their source of supply than we, and now they’ve experienced our technical advantages, they might quickly match them. That would have the same effect as surpassing them, with their numbers compared to ours.”

“Indeed,” Humphries fulminated. “We must drive them! How quickly can we take the war to them?”

“That’s the problem, Your Excellency,” Lelaa interjected. “We likely can’t for a time. As you know, there have been setbacks in the West that will materially affect us here. Because of that, a grand, overwhelming invasion is out of the question for the foreseeable future.” She looked sideways at Jenks, then Shinya. “I do believe we can—
must
—do
something
, however.”

“But . . . what can we do?” Colonel Alexander asked. “If we cannot invade, what can we do to hurt them?”

“From a naval perspective, we can systematically hunt down and destroy what remains of their navy,” Lelaa said confidently. “It is not inconsiderable, but for now, ours is overwhelmingly more capable. I suggest a combined air and sea campaign to destroy anything afloat that flies the Dom flag. Not only that, but with proper reconnaissance, we can destroy their shipyards and other coastal faa-cilities. We prevent them from building a new, better navy, even as we destroy the old one.”