B00BPJL400 EBOK (51 page)

What enraged him most, however, was that the torpedoes that demolished his squadron were delivered by none other than
both
the hated American destroyers that had plagued him from the very start of his odyssey! He already knew
Walker
still swam, but had believed her far to the east. He’d
seen
Mahan
destroyed, though, at Baalkpan! How could they have possibly restored her?
Ultimately,
he realized with blinding clarity,
all that had passed has boiled down to a test between me and Captain Reddy!
Like chess masters, he has his pieces and I have mine, and if I am ever to be free to pursue my true destiny on this world, I must sweep him entirely from the board!

Destiny had not abandoned him, though. Why else had he decided to hug the coast aboard
Nachi
, in company with her sister
Maya
, remaining inshore of the rest of his squadron? He would’ve called any other commander who hid behind his fleet a coward—but he wasn’t just any other man, was he? Destiny had ruled his choice and would continue to guide him he was sure. Slowly, his fury waned and he raised his glasses again. All but one of the pyres of his distant cruisers had flickered out, and only burning debris marked where his final battleship had gone to the bottom. He focused more carefully.
Yes!
He rejoiced.
One of the American destroyers has been badly damaged somehow! Perhaps it will even sink! Regardless, the other will stand by to aid it, and will give no further thought to me!

“My lord,” Signals Lieutenant Fukui said quietly, drawing near him on
Nachi
’s quarterdeck.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Lieutenant of the Sky Iguri has reached Bombay, and asks if he should remain there until we arrive to coal. He does not expect a response under the circumstances,” Fukui hastened to add, hoping Kurokawa would take the hint not to transmit, “but will linger a few days until you feel less constrained to send instructions.”

“We will coal at Cochin,” Kurokawa snapped, “and I will summon Iguri.” He caught Fukui’s surprised intake of breath. “We are not running away,” he growled sarcastically. “We still hold most of India, and it remains my regency! The enemy had Madras before, and we took it from him. We will take it back! Our better warriors,
my
warriors that I designed, are just beginning to arrive in numbers, and we will soon have enough to annihilate the Americans and their apes.”

“But . . .” Fukui paused, gathering his nerve. “But what if the Grik—General Esshk—decides India is not your regency anymore?”

Kurokawa didn’t lash out as Fukui expected, but brooded in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “The Grik here are mine,” he said. “As are those already in transit. Without our communications advantage, General Esshk cannot change that, and with such a force even he will hesitate to challenge me. In the meantime, our own projects on Zanzibar should soon be far enough along to establish our proper dominance over all the Grik!” He saw that Fukui wasn’t convinced, and forced a conciliatory tone. He still needed the man. “The crew, and perhaps even you, are not persuaded we will even reach Cochin?” he asked. “Never fear. There are several rivers nearby. We will enter one and conceal the ships against the shore throughout the day so any enemy aircraft passing overhead cannot see us. Then we will proceed again by night.” He stopped and looked back out to sea. The destroyers were still there, still motionless.

“There is one other thing, my lord,” Fukui added hesitantly. “The, well, listeners that contacted us before with overtures of friendship have apparently continued to monitor a great deal of the radio traffic and have deduced that our battle did not proceed favorably.” He took a breath. “They have asked if they might be of assistance,” he added.

Kurokawa regarded him with distaste. He still knew nothing about the source of the offer, and frankly feared it. If those behind it considered themselves strong enough to help him, he might deeply regret that help one day.

“Indeed?” he considered. “Then perhaps once we reach Cochin we might endeavor to learn more about these strange folk. You will consider a dialogue that will discover as much about them as possible, without giving away too much about us.”

38

//////
June 9, 1944

I
t was early afternoon, two days after the Second Battle of Madras, when USS
Walker
slowly towed USS
Mahan
’s shattered hulk into the port of Madras. USNRS
Salissa
and her battle group had joined them the morning before, and they all came in together. They were just in time. The sea outside the harbor was rising and the sky was dark with heavy clouds.
Mahan
was actually a little low by the stern, having more trouble pumping water from her steering engine room than keeping it out forward. Jagged, twisted plates and frame fragments were all that remained of her bow forward of the bridge structure, but the heavily reinforced and improved Lemurian-inspired bracing of her bulkheads—particularly near where her new bow had been grafted on—had prevented serious flooding past the lost section. She had steam up and might’ve even made port on her own, but if that forward bulkhead did let go . . . Either way, she wouldn’t have survived a storm, and it was with great relief that she was delivered and received.

“There’s
Santy Cat
, over there,” Gray said, pointing past the helmsman, and Matt nodded. His eyes were red and he’d begun to wonder if Juan’s monkey joe might kill him after all, slowly, like arsenic poisoning.
Santa Catalina
looked almost as bad as
Mahan
, lashed to a dock that recently accommodated Grik battleships.

“I’m glad they saved her,” Matt said, “and most of her crew. S-Nineteen’s too.” The bow of the former submarine had been discovered at dawn, bobbing there like a finger pointing at the sky. The current had carried her dangerously close to
Santa Catalina
in the night, and it was amazing she hadn’t been rammed again by a rescue vessel. More than half her crew had been saved, crawling out her torpedo tubes, but two of her original crew—Danny Porter and Sandy Whitcomb—were lost. Opening the tubes had also let water in faster, and an hour after Irvin Laumer, the last out, emerged, blinking in the sunshine, the old S-19 finally slipped gracefully to the bottom forever.

“Yeah,” Gray agreed. “I hope Mr. Laumer doesn’t go into a funk. He’s been so obsessed with that damn boat so long, he’s liable to pine away.” He didn’t add
like you did when
Walker
was sunk at Baalkpan
, but didn’t have to.

“Get him back on a horse,” Courtney suggested. “Any horse—figuratively speaking, of course. That’s what he’ll need.” He chuckled. “The irony is, he was right all along. That ridiculous submarine came in quite handy, after all.”

“Yes, she did,” Matt agreed softly. “And she’ll be missed.” He was looking at the harbor and surrounding city. Smoke still towered over sections that had burned, blowing in the gust front of the storm, and portions of Grik ships protruded from the water where they had sunk at their moorings. Buoys already marked many hazards to navigation. It was a hard, dreary sight.
Arracca
and
Baalkpan Bay
were both tied at the docks as well, undergoing feverish repairs alongside other ships damaged by suiciders.
God knows how many people we lost,
Matt thought,
and then there’s Alden’s casualties to consider
.
II Corps is shattered, and I Corps isn’t much better
.
And Jim Ellis . . .

Sensing his mood, Gray wanted to pat him on the shoulder, but that would never do. Instead he slapped Courtney on the back. “Well,” he said, cheerfully gruff. “It may not feel like it or even look like it right now, but this is the biggest win since Baalkpan Bay—and we did it in
their
livin’ room this time.”

Matt shook himself and managed a smile. “That’s right, Boats. It was a home run. Let’s put
Mahan
to bed, then we’ll go alongside
Big Sal
for fuel. After that, we’ll get with everybody and iron things out for the grand slam!”

* * *

Walker
already reverberated with the racket of repair parties banging on warped and dented plates, and torch sparks spattered brightly and hissed on the damp deck as the first line of thunderstorms eased a bit. Sandra and Keje came aboard while Matt, Spanky, and Gray were itemizing repair priorities and assembling details. With that complete, Matt, Sandra, Courtney, Keje, Commander Herring—and Silva and Lawrence, “in case there’s lizards hidin’ in the ruins”—trooped through the dockside debris back to
Big Sal
, where a command-staff meeting was gathering.

Once in Keje’s “ahd-mi-raal’s” quarters, there was a reunion of sorts, and many present hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. Pete Alden and Rolak were there, looking thin and haggard. Safir had remained behind, but would come to Madras after Pete returned to the army. Captain Jis-Tikkar, COFO of
Big Sal
’s First Air Wing, fussed over Lieutenant Leedom, who looked like a cadaver raised from the dead. Irvin Laumer and Russ Chapelle sat side by side with haunted looks, discussing their shared battle in quiet tones. Ben Mallory had arrived from Trin-con-lee on a Clipper flight with Soupy, and they looked pretty ragged too. Beside Keje and Adar sat Tassana,
Arracca
’s young commander, and next to her was
Baalkpan Bay
’s exec. Finally arriving, drenched by renewed rain, were Commander Perry Brister and Chief Bashear from
Mahan
, looking even worse than the rest. Gray and Silva maneuvered them to a punch bowl of seep-laced nectar.

Perhaps more notable than those attending were the absent, either tending wounds to their commands or being tended themselves. Most conspicuous of all were those who’d never join them again. Matt and Sandra sat closely together on one of the lounging cushions that served as a sofa. They held hands and touched often, and, as usual, Matt seemed to regain lost strength with Sandra’s proximity, but his wife’s expression was guarded when he wasn’t looking at her. She knew Jim had been Matt’s best friend and worried how the loss would affect him. More refreshments came, and after brief, heartfelt greetings, they all tried to relax. There’d be plenty of time later for everyone to become intimately acquainted with every aspect of the battle. What they wanted to know just then was, what next?

“I have a few things to say,” spoke Adar, then he paused as if searching for the right words. “But I don’t quite know how,” he confessed. Finally, he merely blinked his deepest appreciation. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you all. This was the greatest battle in the history of our people, in terms of sacrifice, duration, and perhaps even straa-tee-jic significance. There can be no question in any mind, ours or the Grik, that we achieved the victory, painful as it was. But we must consider how the Grik will react.” He looked at Pete. “You made no vow of a lasting truce with this Halik creature, I am sure?”

Pete shook his head. “Nope. We agreed to quit killin’ each other long enough to get both our asses out of the jam we were in. That’s it. I might’ve
implied
we wouldn’t come after him if he stayed on his side of the cease-fire line, but I didn’t promise anything past the cease-fire itself—oh, except we’d swap prisoners. You could’ve knocked me over with a willow switch when he agreed. That’s a promise I’ll keep if he does no matter what.” His face turned thoughtful. “Halik could’ve wiped us out, but he knew he’d be screwed. I even sort of suggested we finish it, knowing he’d be easy meat for Sixth and Seventh Corps, but he didn’t take the bait. Can’t say I’m sorry. My boys an’ girls were in constant combat for months, and there ain’t any tougher
veteran
troops in the world. In my opinion, sacrificing ’em wouldn’t have been balanced by rubbin’ Halik out.” He frowned. “Besides, there’s somethin’ odd about the bastard. Maybe bein’ around that Jap so long did it to him. He’s smart and dangerous as hell, but I’m kind’a curious to see what pops with him. I’m not sure
he
even knows which way he’ll jump just yet.”

“What about the Jap?” Herring asked. “Will he live? I’d like to interrogate him.”

Pete held out his hand and waggled it. “Touch and go. Who knows?” He looked back at Adar. “Yeah, that was another promise, to try to save the guy, but that’s absolutely all.”

“You did right and well,” Adar assured. “We can ponder this Halik and his motives later.”

“One thing you need to sort out pretty quick is that, uh, weird cavalry force that showed up yesterday morning,” Pete told Adar, and Matt and Sandra leaned forward, curious. They hadn’t heard anything about that. “They nearly queered the whole deal, pitchin’ into the Grik that were gatherin’ up in the north, getting ready to march around us and cross the Tacos River.”

“What’re you talking about? What cavalry?” Matt demanded.

“Do you remember the report of riders that showed Captain Saachic the way through the mountains?” Pete asked, and Matt nodded. “Well, they showed up again, maybe two thousand of ’em this time. Really weird ducks, ridin’ somethin’ like meanies—with horns! And they were a mix of humans and, well, a kind of continental Lemurian, I guess, for lack of a better description.” He snorted. “There’s some
Czech
guy in charge, if you can believe it! I can’t remember his name right off. They were happy as hell to be killin’ Grik, though. I had to send Saachic to
stop
’em!”

Matt looked around and blinked. “They want to join us?”

“As long as we’re serious about killin’ Grik,” Pete confirmed. “I promised ’em we ain’t done by a long shot; just need a breathing spell. They were okay with that.” He gestured vaguely. “I told Saachic to deal with ’em for now.”

“How extraordinary!” Courtney gushed. “A Czech! I wonder how
he
got here? And another race of Lemurians! I cannot wait to meet them! They must abide primarily beyond the range of the Grik. Perhaps they can tell us about Asia proper—even Europe!”

Adar blinked quizzically at Courtney. “Indeed.” He turned back to Alden, clearly preferring to focus on what he considered more pressing matters. These strange people were not a threat, or they would’ve proven to be one already—or conquered the Grik on their own. “I gather that you intend for Sixth and Seventh Corps to replace the First and Second in their forward positions? And Tenth Corps should replace the Third as soon as it arrives?” Pete nodded. “In that case, Fifth and Eighth Corps will proceed to the cease-fire line you arranged in the south.” He looked at Rolak. “You and my dear General Queen Protector will march your noble troops back here to Madras for a well-deserved rest.”

“And perhaps redeployment?” Rolak asked, looking at Matt.

“We will see,” Adar said, glancing at Commander Herring. “I remain as keen, perhaps more so than anyone, to take the war to the very heart of the Grik empire—our own ancient, sacred shores—but our losses have been severe, and not only has one of the key ships we intended to take on our raid been hideously damaged”—he blinked apology at Brister—“but with
Saanta Caatalina
also ravaged, and S-Nineteen destroyed, we have nothing to send in its stead. It will be some time before the iron steamers we are building will be complete. I fear . . .” He sighed. “I fear we should postpone Cap-i-taan Reddy’s raid until we are better recovered from this campaign.”

“With respect, Mr. Chairman,” Commander Herring said softly, “I believe that would be a mistake.”

Matt had suspected Adar would urge caution. He always took heavy losses like blows to his own body. He’d need time to recover himself before ordering more people to their deaths. Matt wasn’t even sure he disagreed this time. But Herring’s turnaround caught him completely by surprise.

Herring looked at him. “I’ve been wrong about a great many things, Captain Reddy, but most of all I’ve been wrong about you.” He snorted. “When you took
Walker
and
Mahan
against three Grik battleships and at least four cruisers, I was sure we were dead. It was most exciting,” he confessed, “but I really didn’t think we’d make it. Your . . . instinctive command style is so alien to me, I just assumed it was reckless, at best, and I’ve believed that ever since we met. But then I saw it in action and knew—
knew
—there’s no way I could do what you did. You
mauled
those Grik, and you did it so fast, by
feel . . .”
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Some people are born horsemen, I suppose. Others can learn to be very good through practice, but it’s never quite as natural to them.” He grimaced. “Some people never learn to even stay on a horse, and I hope I’m not one of those. My point is, though, that you fought your ship by
instinct
, while I would have still been analyzing everything to death even as my ship sank under me.” He turned to Adar. “The other night I learned to trust Captain Reddy’s instincts, and if he still thinks now is the right time to punch the Grik in the gut, I have to agree.” He smiled. “And it even makes sense from an analytical, strategic standpoint. The Grik are on their heels and will probably scramble to send reinforcements here. I say that, combined with our new allies in southern Africa, we should do more than simply raid Madagascar; we should send enough troops to open a whole new front!”

“Yeah!” Silva barked, surprised to agree with Herring. “Th’ow
their
asses back on the ropes for a change!”

Adar blinked sadly at Matt, but managed a smile. “Do you agree with Commander Herring?”

Matt looked at Sandra, then nodded. “At least raid Madagascar—
hard
. We’ve no idea what they have there, so actually taking it would depend on what we find. We definitely need to get troops on the ground in southern Africa, though. If we’re going to ask the people there to join this fight for keeps—which it seems they’re ready to do—then we need to help them.”

“Wait just a minute,” Sandra said. “I agree that a raid is just the thing, but trying to
stay
anywhere that far away . . . supply will be a nightmare!”

“Sure,” Matt grinned, “but that’s what Mr. Letts is for. Besides, we have two major advantages. With active sonar on all our big ships and starting to be installed on the smaller ones, we can cross the open ocean, and the Grik can’t. Supply runs don’t have to come all the way here or even to Andaman, but can scoot straight west from Baalkpan through the Sunda Strait. We’ll also have Diego as a base of supply, which isn’t any farther on a straight shot than Andaman, and there’s—there
should
be—a bunch of other islands east of Madagascar that the Grik might’ve never found.”