Authors: Taylor Anderson
“We’re at war with the Grik,” Lieutenant Saama-Kera confirmed, but he was blinking annoyance at what he considered a scandalous breach of protocol.
“Bloody amazing!” the voice sounded back. “Our chap said he recognized your pretty ship . . . but ye do have more . . . an’ some a bit bigger, I hope?”
“What chap?” Greg demanded suspiciously.
“Our Jappo there,” he nodded at a dark-haired young man seated nearby. “His name’s Leftenant Miyata, formerly of a monstrous great battle cruiser named
Amagi
. I understand you once made her acquaintance?”
“We sank her, if that’s what you mean,” Greg replied, staring hard at Miyata. This was getting weirder and weirder.
“Aye! You’re the right blokes, all right!”
A man in a dark coat and graying black beard snapped at the talker in what Greg thought was German, of all things!
“Right. Sorry. No sense yapping back an’ forth in the rain like dogs across a fence. May we come aboard? You have my word we’re friendly as can be, and, odd as it may sound, we’re already on the same side!”
Greg blinked. “Then . . . by all means, come aboard,” he replied.
One by one, the occupants hopped across and clambered up the side. All but the naked ’Cats gained the deck in the traditional way, saluting the flag and the officers they met. The two ’Cats, some kind of natives, Greg had to assume, stared around, amazed by the ship and the large number of taller but clearly related Lemurians aboard. Greg listened while the German introduced himself and the others.
“I am Kapitan Leutnant Becker Lange, executive officer of the armed auxiliary cruiser SMS
Amerika
, which you currently see so indisposed.” He frowned. “Our real kapitan of over thirty years is equally indisposed at present, so I have temporarily assumed operational command of this expedition. The talkative fellow here is Leutnant Doocy Meek. Our history is . . . complex.” He gestured at a Lemurian in a dark, sodden cloak that covered ornate armor and a red leather kilt. “This is Inquisitor Kon-Choon, chief intelligence officer to His Most Excellent Highness Nig-Taak, Kaiser of the Republic of Real People. As Herr Meek said, our Japanese friend is Leutnant Toryu Miyata. It was his arrival that hastened us in your direction, seeking alliance against our common enemy.”
Garrett swallowed, but nodded at the two shorter ’Cats. “Who’re these guys?”
“We do not know their names,” the Lemurian . . . snoop said with a very strange accent. “They have been assigned to us by the other natives of this island as observers, we think. They are not hostile, and though curious about us, they are afraid as well. They have generally avoided us, and we have tried not to inconvenience them, since we were forced to seek refuge here.”
“When your ship sank?”
“She ain’t sunk,” Doocy said in his clear British accent. “The bloody tide’s out, an’ she’s sittin’ on her admittedly leaky bum. She floats after a fashion at high tide. We’re lucky we found this place, an’ this is as far as we dared bring her without attemptin’ repairs. Her shaft alleys in particular have turned to sponges. The storms off the cape worked her hard!”
Garrett held up his hand. “Wait! Storms at the cape, republics, Grik, Japs, pygmy Lemurians . . .” He paused. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m Commander Greg Garrett, United States Navy, serving the Grand Alliance of all the powers united beneath or beside the Banner of the Trees.” He quickly named his officers. “Welcome aboard USS
Donaghey
,” he added, then glanced at Sammy. “Signal
Sineaa
to join us and anchor. I’ll want her officers’ thoughts.” He turned his gaze back to their visitors. “In the meantime, let’s get out of the rain and see if we can sort this out.”
They crowded down in the wardroom forward of the officers’ quarters. Provided with cups of steaming monkey joe—the ersatz Lemurian coffee—and towels to dry themselves, Greg Garrett began to piece together the story of the island, the Republic of Real People, and SMS
Amerika.
Probably like the island they’d found, the earliest inhabitants of the republic were Lemurians who’d wound up there after their ancient exodus from the Grik. They were later joined by Chinese explorers, Ptolemaic Egyptians, black Africans, and eventually Romans. All arrived from the sea, but it wasn’t clear whether that was where their original crossover occurred, since some hadn’t been sure themselves. The most jarring information Garrett learned was that the Romans appeared around the tenth century! He wasn’t much of a historian, not even close to Captain Reddy, who claimed to only be an amateur despite his academy degree, but even he knew there was something very wrong with tenth-century Romans! He shook his head.
Let the Skipper and Mr. Bradford figure that out!
In any event, it was into this interesting mix of cultures that Becker Lange, Doocy Meek, and the mixed crew and prisoners of war aboard Seiner Majestät Schiff
Amerika
were adopted, apparently during the
last
war, before the United States got involved. That helped, since nobody but Miyata remembered Americans as enemies.
Garrett looked out the stern windows at the great ship and frowned, considering all her problems. She was certainly big, measuring nearly 670 feet and displacing about forty thousand tons. She was armed with two 4.1-inch rapid-firing guns and six Maxims, and had been designed to make twenty knots. She burned coal and that might be awkward, but she had plenty aboard to get her to Andaman if they could patch her leaks. She’d make a fine addition to the Allied fleet. Becker said she could carry three thousand passengers and crew—or a larger number of troops—and that could be handy too, but Greg wasn’t sure if she’d fit in one of the floating dry docks at Andaman, and a dry dock was what she desperately needed.
“So you came looking for us, sight unseen, to join our alliance against the Grik. How’d you know we’re not as bad as they are?”
“Do you eat your enemies?” Inquisitor Choon asked. “Do you have territorial ambitions beyond perhaps the lands you take from the Grik? Your own alliance is a collection of disparate races. Do you treat any as if they are inferior to you?”
“No!” Greg and Lieutenant Saama-Kera chorused.
“Then we are natural allies against a common, terrible enemy that threatens us both. My cea-saar, or kaiser, Nig-Taak, is a hereditary ruler, but like the ancient leaders of Rome, is bound by the will of the senate. He is not . . . emperaator. Not so much different from your own Chairman Adar, I gather.”
Greg blinked. He’d mentioned Adar during the course of their discussion, but Choon was quick. He must’ve pieced the rest together from what he’d overheard, or what Miyata told him.
“Well, I’ve got
some
leeway for negotiations, considering my mission, and I guess we’d have found your republic eventually when we rounded the cape of Africa—which we still mean to do—so hopefully I’ll talk to your Nig-Taak myself. I can’t confirm any full-blown alliance here and now, but I’ll send a message home and find out how much cooperation they’ll allow.”
“You can do that?” Choon asked.
“Sure. We send it in code.”
“But won’t the enemy hear? Might he not, uh, tri-aangulate our position? Fear of that has restrained us from transmitting in the past.”
“I guess they might,” Greg conceded. “We really don’t know what the Japs or Grik can do in that respect.”
“You say there is a great battle underway for India,” Miyata asked, speaking for the first time, and everyone looked at him. “Kurokawa does have communications gear, though I doubt he has shared it with the Grik. He might hear, but I do not think he can judge distance or direction. Even if he can, there will be too much chatter for him to isolate us, I think. We have been listening.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Choon confirmed. “We always listen, and we hear many things. We cannot decipher your code, but we know the difference between it and the one the Jaaps use.” He nodded at Greg’s questioning look. “Yes, the Jaaps communicate sometimes. We also hear . . . other things we cannot identify. But Lieutenant Miyata is probably right that your transmissions should not endanger us”—he looked at the two natives, still peering around, apparently oblivious to the conversation—“and, possibly more important, the people of this island. We must protect them at all costs. They are the oldest link to our heritage, and from what I gather of their . . . vaguely different language, they have remained the most unchanged from the days of the great exodus itself. We have much to learn from them.”
“Okay, I’ll compose a message and shoot it off,” Garrett said. “See what we can come up with.” He turned back to Miyata. “That leaves us with your Jap, I guess.” He addressed Toryu directly. “I’ve heard your story and understand why you defected. Hell, the only thing I don’t understand is why
all
your people haven’t run. You’ve warned these folks about what the Grik mean to do, and that’s swell. But what can you give me?”
Miyata bowed his head. “I have been to the Grik shipyards and know where they are. I have even been to Madagascar, to the palace of the great, fat Grik mother herself, though I have not seen the creature. I know the defenses and population centers there. Would that be of help?”
Garrett stared, then collected himself. “Why, it just might, as a matter of fact. I’ll pass that along too, and see what Captain Reddy has to say.”
21
//////
Adar’s Great Hall
Baalkpan
April 24, 1944
“A
most interesting development,” Adar observed, handing the message form to Commander Herring, who held it close to read. It wasn’t lost on anyone that Steve Riggs had given it to Captain Reddy first, as soon as he, Sandra, Courtney, Chack, and Chief Gray arrived in the War Room. It was a small gesture and wouldn’t have even been noticed before, but Matt didn’t like the way “factions” seemed to be developing at the highest levels of the Alliance. He saw Alan Letts frown, probably for the same reason. Matt had finally talked Alan into returning to his duties, and Adar had been effusive in his apologies. The ’Cat really did think of Alan and his wife and daughter as the children he’d never had, and once Alan was convinced of that, he forgave Adar’s attempt to protect his conscience. But as a condition for returning to the Great Hall, he’d demanded a promise that it would never happen again. Adar contritely agreed. “These inhabitants of the island, this ‘Diego Gaar-cia,’ or ‘Laa-laanti,’ as they apparently call it, are of particular interest,” he continued. “That they survived, isolated, on that tiny speck of land so long, beyond reach of any of our kind, is astonishing.”
“It is indeed, Mr. Chairman,” Courtney Bradford gushed. “Why, just think of it! If they’ve preserved any rites and traditions of your ancient homeland, not to mention anything resembling a pre-exodus history of your people . . . I simply can’t wait to meet them!”
“Nor can I,” Adar agreed in a strange tone. “Nor can I wait to meet these representatives of this ‘Republic’ from southern Africaa.” He blinked rapidly in a way reminiscent of the old, enthusiastic Adar Matt remembered. “They too may have preserved a chronicle older than ours.” He looked at Matt. “Despite what you call the historicaal inconsistencies with your own past, that Cap-i-taan Gaarrett described.”
“Those ‘inconsistencies’ may provide the ultimate clue to complete my theory regarding how we got here in the first place,” Courtney enthused. “I may almost have an answer at last!”
Sandra looked at him curiously, but before Courtney could divert the meeting with a distracting, if likely fascinating, dissertation, Matt interrupted. “Maybe most important is that we have new allies we never knew about, and that this Miyata guy has intelligence on the target for our raid.”
“
If
the Jap bastard can be trusted,” Gray grumped.
Matt looked at him and nodded gravely. “If,” he agreed.
“We’ll have to evaluate that when we meet him,” Herring said, “but the circumstances of his arrival among these . . . southern folk seem to weigh in his favor.”
Matt raised his eyebrows.
Did Herring just give a Jap the benefit of the doubt?
He shook his head. “Yeah, well, when we meet him. First things first. When do we leave for Andaman? Time’s running out for Pete. Spanky says
Walker
can be ready for sea in two days. It’ll be a tighter squeeze for
Mahan
and S-Nineteen, but Laumer and Brister say they’ll be ready one way or another. The torpedoes?” He shrugged. “Bernie says they’re as good as he can make ’em, and since we don’t have time to test them properly from ships at speed, his word’ll have to do. He and his whole torpedo division will be along, so if something occurs to him, he’ll be there to sort it out.”
“What does that leave?” Adar asked.
“The transports for Chack’s Brigade and the PTs. The PTs arrived in a powered dry dock,
Respite Island
, just like Garrett says they need for this big steamer he found. We should send it and Chack to Diego immediately.”
“But if they use the dry dock for the ship, how will we move the PTs, Skipper?” Gray asked.
“If they can patch her up quick enough, we won’t have to worry about it. If they can’t, we’ll stow ’em on
Big Sal
, as originally planned.” He looked at Adar. “If for some reason
Big Sal
can’t come—after we sort out Madras—we might just have to do without them, unless we can tow a dry dock from Andaman.”
Adar blinked concern. “With the offensive to recapture Maa-draas about to begin, we cannot count on having any spare dry docks in that theater. I am inclined to agree we should send what we can to the little island immediately, but I have been considering a fundamental alteration to your plan, Cap-i-taan Reddy.”
Everyone was surprised by that. As much as Adar wanted to assume all strategic responsibility, it never occurred to anyone that he’d try, or even
want
, to meddle in an operation he’d already consented to.
“Mr. Chairman?”
“Yes. I have given this much thought, and believe I have devised a . . . compromise straa-ti-gee that will not only accomplish the ends you seek, but will
ensure
our victory at Maa-draas.” He sighed. “It will also leave my own heart and soul at greater peace at last.” He stared hard at Matt, his silvery eyes intense in the lamplight. “As Commander in Chief of all Allied Forces,
you
, Cap-i-taan Reddy, will not just ‘pass by’ Madras on your way to Mada-gaas-car, awaiting
Salissa
’s opportunity to accompany you. You will command the battle for Maa-draas, aboard your . . . singularly inspirational ship. With
Salissa
,
Arracca
,
Baalkpan Bay
,
Santa Catalina
,
Mahaan
, S-Nineteen, and all the warships accompanying them, there can be no outcome but victory!” He glanced at Herring. “According to all reports, in addition to our common Grik enemy, we will face this vile Kurokawa, your own hated foe. He is the root of all Grik initiative, all their advances that have cost us so dear, and must be stopped. I would prefer that you should be there for that.” Adar blinked determination. “This is no great change from what we have already decided, but now, after the battle—the
victory
—we will take
Salissa
and any additional assets you might desire to participate in your raid.” He blinked compassion at Chack. “Including further infantry forces, perhaps commanded by our dear General Queen Protector Safir Maraan?”
Chack reacted as if he’d been slapped, and his tail twitched excitedly, despite his obvious attempts to still it.
“With this augmented force,” Adar continued, “we will proceed to join those already sent to Diego Gaar-cia. From there, we will advance on our ancient homeland in
strength
.” He grinned with a savagery Matt had never seen him use. “You will have your raid, Cap-i-taan Reddy, but I want no pinprick there. I want to strike the Grik with a hideous dread that will churn the marrow of their bones! Am I perfectly clear about that?”
Matt nodded, inspired by Adar’s sudden passion. He smiled. “Absolutely, Mr. Chairman.”
“I like it!” Gray said. “No more damn pussyfootin’ around!” All seemed satisfied, even Sandra. All except Commander Herring, who was looking at Adar with a slight frown.
“‘We,’ Mr. Chairman?” he asked.
“Indeed,” Adar said in a tone that brooked no argument. “We. As Mr. Letts once argued for himself, it is high time that
I
should go to the ‘pointy end’ for a time. And if this campaign proceeds as I hope, the Heavens above could not keep me away.”
“But, Mr. Chairman!” Herring protested. “You
can’t
leave! The Constitutional Congress has finally convened, with representatives of all the Western Homes, at least, to determine what, if any, united government will rule this . . . well,
country
you’ve made! Ambassador Forester has just agreed to represent the Empire of the New Britain Isles! He’s only committed to observe, but—”
Adar shook his head. “It has become my fondest dream that our Grand Alliance might one day be united into a great nation”—he looked at Matt—“perhaps like your own United States.” He smiled. “United Homes?” He shook his head. “But it will not be a nation of Mi-Anaaka or hu-maans only, or even just folk like Lawrence and his Sa’aarans. It will be, if it comes to pass, a nation of ‘People,’ of every race. Commander Alan Letts is far more knowledgeable about building nations than I, and his organizational skills will be essential to control the chaos that is sure to engulf the Congress.”
It was Alan’s turn to stare, stunned. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak.
Adar turned to the others. “I have already decided. This is a fight I must join, if only to beseech the Heavens to make it decisive. Mr. Letts will represent Baalkpan, his Home, at the Congress in my stead.” He looked at Matt. “May he also speak as your representative? On behalf of the Amer-i-caan Navy clan?”
Matt looked at Letts, whose eyes were wide as he took a step back, shaking his head.
“You bet, Mr. Chairman,” he said with a smile. “And I’ll be happy to have you along when we stomp Kurokawa—and his damn Grik roaches. All the way to Madagascar.”