Straits of Hell (18 page)

He stared hard at Kaiser Nig-Taak. “Either way, this can't go on. We should either blow 'em out of the water, or tell 'em we will if they don't scram.” He straightened. “I have . . . My ship has a mission, both to coordinate the war effort with you and to scout farther west.” He shook his head. “This current situation is utterly unacceptable, and we have to do something to change it. At the same time, I must respectfully remind you that the Republic has a mission too.”

Nig-Taak stared at Greg Garrett for a long time before he finally nodded. “Very well. It will be as you say. I shall summon the commander of
Savoie
, her ‘Contre-Aamiraal Laborde.' It is early yet, and I expect he will come.” He blinked irony. “The man has always been scrupulously polite. You shall remain,” he told Greg, “but you must not be
seen.” He sighed. “The meeting will not be lengthy, and you should easily be able to return to your ship, fully aware of what the day will bring.”

Garrett and his companions took refreshments and continued to discuss their plans with their hosts while they waited for a reply from
Savoie
. Sure enough, barely an hour passed before a delegation of officers arrived and was led into the “Peace Palace.” Greg, Bekiaa, Laan, and Choon all concealed themselves behind a tapestry hiding an alcove that Greg assumed must've been intended for exactly what they were doing—listening to a conversation they shouldn't be present for. He grinned at the thought of the cliché. Sadly, they couldn't see what was happening, but they could hear.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” came a deep, pleasant voice with a French accent.

“I hope it might be, Contre-Aamiraal Laborde,” Nig-Taak replied evenly. “Forgive me for asking you here at this hour, but I find it increasingly distressing that you have not yet informed me how much longer you desire to remain our guests. The harbormaster's complaints are growing quite tiresome.”

“I regret that I am still not at liberty to say,” Laborde replied. “As I have assured you many times, I am only here at the direction of my government, and must remain to enforce our . . . requests until I receive further orders.”

“Sadly, that is precisely the answer I expected of you. Very well,” Nig-Taak replied, his tone hardening. “Then I'm afraid the time has come for you to obey this order from
me
: your ship will be provided fuel, water, and provisions, beyond what you already daily demand,” he inserted bitterly, “and make all appropriate preparations to leave this place immediately. I must insist that I see your fine ship steam out of this port and beyond the horizon by sunset tomorrow. Is that perfectly clear?”

A stunned silence ensued, broken by Morrisette's indignant voice. “You dare order us. . . .”

“Yes!” Nig-Taak interrupted. “I
do
dare. I am the leader, the kaiser of these people who, to a soul, are weary of your presence and the daily threat it implies.” He leaned forward. “You have been here a great while, essentially enforcing our inactivity, but I shall tell you now that we have not been idle! Enough time has passed that we have been able to quietly,
carefully, make certain preparations to counter your threats, and if you disregard my warning, we must proceed to do so.”

“You threaten me?” Laborde demanded, his voice turning harsh.

“Warn. Consider it a warning from the harbormaster if you like, for reasons of state. You have overstayed your welcome, and it is time for you to go. If you do not?” There was the slightest pause. “I will have no choice but to enforce the civil laws against vessels loitering indefinitely in port, posing a menace to navigation, and monopolizing valuable space alongside a government and commercial pier. That is the warning I would give a friendly visitor. You, however, have behaved in a most unfriendly fashion, not only to this Republic, but to vessels calling at this city from other sovereign powers. One might even conclude that your actions are those of a belligerent nation and if you remain here beyond tomorrow, I will have no choice but to conclude that a state of war must exist between your people and mine, and act accordingly.”

“What on earth could you do?” Laborde murmured curiously while Morrisette and another officer ranted in protest. “After all this time I do not think you would risk your city or its people to a conventional contest.” He raised his voice over the others. “What if I tell you now that there is no possibility that I can accede to your demand?” he barked, apparently trying to rattle Nig-Taak, or make him reveal whether the timing of the demand might be critical to whatever the kaiser intended. “And I would feel compelled, if forced, to resist those sent to ‘arrest' us on these ridiculous charges with every weapon at my disposal?”

Greg heard General Kim snort. “Then I must tell you, Contre Aamiraal, that the only difference it would make to
you
is that there would be fewer of your crew left for us to, um, take into custody.”

“Those few, of course,” Nig-Taak continued conversationally, “might then be subject to charges of murder—and death is the only possible sentence for that.”

Morrisette actually shrieked in outrage, but Laborde shushed him harshly. After a moment of quiet murmuring with his other officers, Laborde spoke. “You will have my answer at dawn. One way or another.” He turned on his heel and took several steps, but paused. Conveniently for Greg, it was in a place he could just glimpse through a slight gap between the tapestries. “All we have done since we arrived is try to save
you from yourselves,” Laborde said stiffly. “This mad dash you make to join a war that is not yours is not rational. The Grik pose no real threat to you at present. They do not like this land and are currently occupied elsewhere—as you know.”

“The Grik are a threat to all beings, Contre Aamiraal Laborde, even you. And as you are clearly aware of the same reports as I, then you must know that this is the very first time, in all our history, that an opportunity has arisen to destroy that threat forever.”

Laborde glanced back at Nig-Taak. “You have great faith in your new allies, represented by that quaint little ship out there,” he said ironically, nodding in the general direction of the harbor. “You are aware that they have other enemies? A power called the ‘Holy Dominion'?”

Nig-Taak said nothing.

“I should not tell you this, but my conscience demands that I inform you that the Dominion is aware of the Grik and has sent a delegation to meet with them and discuss, if not an alliance, then at least a cooperative strategy.” He shrugged. “A League, ah, ‘asset,' detained that delegation for the same reason that we have lingered here; to prevent a wider war. You realize that is our only aim?”

“That may be
one
of your aims, Contre Aamiraal, but I must suspect the strategy behind it. If your League was so benevolent, you would gladly join us against the Grik—and the loathsome Dominion—instead of trying to prevent us from confronting them.”

Laborde's expression almost seemed to flutter between a wide range of emotions before it hardened again. “If you spurn our protection, I doubt I can further justify preventing the Dominion mission from continuing on its way to meet the Grik,” he warned.

“Further proof that our well-being is not a priority of yours, Contre Aamiraal,” Nig-Taak ground out, his tone scornful. Laborde's threat contained vital information, if that information was true, but he knew humans quite well and sensed the petulance, perhaps even desperation, behind it. “I am sure you will do what serves your interests best—as it most assuredly best serves
Savoie
's interests to leave this place.”

“I think it should be clear to all by now that
Savoie
is here to keep us out of the war in order to contain the greater conflict within parameters they believe they can control—for their own reasons,” Inquisitor Choon said later, after the delegation had departed.

“And by so doing, they
do
protect Alex-aandraa, but why?” General Kim asked.

“Easy,” Greg answered. “As an outpost for them.”

Nig-Taak nodded slowly. “I must agree with Cap-i-taan Gaarrett. They have been free to come and go within the city and establish themselves in various ways, making us increasingly accustomed to their presence. I foresee now that eventually, another of their ships will arrive, and then another, bringing more and more of their people. At some point we will become completely powerless to evict them. All the more reason to do so now.”

“But if they release these Doms to contact the Grik,” Kim began.

“The Grik will likely eat them before they can make themselves understood.” Nig-Taak scowled. “And even if they do not; if they become the closest of friends, the Allied cause will not be much worse off in the short term. They cannot possibly quickly combine their efforts. Under the circumstances, will the Grik send warriors to aid the Doms? Would the Doms send troops here? I think not. Both are quite thoroughly engaged.” He looked around the room at the larger number of advisors who'd joined them. “But though we are technically at war with the Doms, by virtue of our alliance, we have not really considered ourselves so. We must consider what to do about that.”

There were unhappy nods.

“Swell,” Bekiaa grumped, returning to the present. “But that leaves
Saavoie
. What'll she do? Looks like we've left her no choice but to start fueling—or shelling the city. We should'a just kept our traps shut and blasted her.”

“Perhaps,” Nig-Taak conceded. “But I had to take the chance, to ‘pull the bluff.' And if Cap-i-taan Gaarrett is right, that they want Alex-aandraa for themselves, one ship cannot take it outright, no matter how powerful.” He swished his tail in thought. “So they still will not want open hostilities with us here. They know we can hurt them, even if they steam some distance away. Now they will wonder what else we might do, and why I am suddenly so confident.”

“It's a good bluff, Your Majesty,” Greg said, “and maybe the best thing you could've done. Not sure I'd've had the guts to try it,” he added, considering all the civilians within range of
Savoie
's guns. He wished he'd been able to see Nig-Taak's face during Laborde's initial response,
but doubted he'd have given anything away; doubted the French admiral could've noticed even if he had. To those not used to Lemurians, their faces were inscrutable.
But what if this ‘League' somehow knows 'Cats better than we think they do?
He shook his head. There were too many “what ifs,” and he couldn't keep track of them all. He was a Destroyerman, pure and simple.
Let Nig-Taak, Adar, or Courtney Bradford figure that stuff out. Just point me where you want me to fight
. Suddenly, he knew he'd caught a tiny glimpse of some of the wild crap Captain Reddy had been forced to deal with ever since
Walker
first limped into this screwed-up world, and he didn't like it one bit.

“We will find out tomorrow if they ‘bought it,' as your people say, Cap-i-taan Gaar-ett,” Inquisitor Choon stated at last. “If they did, they will leave. If not, there will be great suffering in Alex-aandra, but in the end,
Savoie
will trouble us no more. I suggest we all prepare for the worst, of course, and it is high time we returned to
Donaghey
.”

“Agreed,” Greg said, then looked at Nig-Taak. “But what if—” He caught himself and mentally cringed. “What if after all this, they don't leave, but don't open fire either. They just sit there like nothing ever happened and call your bluff. You're not really going to just start shooting at them, are you?”

“No, Cap-i-taan Gaarrett,” Nig-Taak said. “We will not. We will do our best to convince them it
was
merely a bluff, resentfully resuming our normal contacts. Then, after the sun sets and their lights come on once more, we shall proceed with your ‘first option' after all.”

//////
USS
Walker
Grik City
September 5, 1944

I
t was a bright dawn beyond the harbor mouth, but the pall of smoke ended that as soon as USS
Walker
crept inside.
Big Sal
followed close behind, having steamed all night to join her, and the first two ships of her remaining P-1 squadron were poised on the catapult, ready to fly. Matt had initially been against the huge ship's returning to the confining harbor—particularly after the damage reports started coming in. But Keje was right; the warehouses were hopelessly exposed to raids like the one the night before, and they had to transfer whatever naval ordnance had survived to her capacious storage. They had no choice. Nancys circled overhead, unseen through the smoke, but their engine sounds were clear as they kept watch to the west. Nobody really expected the Grik to return in daylight, but they had to be prepared.

Fires burned everywhere, most from the crumbling remains of
fallen zeppelins, all the way up to the base of the Celestial Palace itself, but the warehouses had been decimated as well. And the falling, burning zeppelins had probably caused at least as much damage as the bombs they'd dropped. The only good news was that relatively few of Safir's troops had been killed, dispersed as they'd been, but more than a hundred had been killed or wounded in the trenches in front of the Grik holdouts. Who knew how many of
them
had burned?

“Looks like Cavite after the Japs hit it,” Spanky said softly, leaning against the starboard bridgewing rail with Matt and Sandra. Bernie Sandison had the conn and was peering anxiously through the bridge windows, trying to spot the numerous navigation hazards that had joined those already choking the inner harbor that night. Lookouts called out nearly constant sightings. No one knew how many zeppelins had fallen in the water, but it had been quite a few. Some remained exposed, their rigid bamboo frames smoldering and hissing steam. The PT squadron and dozens of motor launches plied back and forth as well, fruitlessly searching the water for survivors of several ships that had burned to their waterlines, or shifting work and firefighting parties where they were needed most. Matt already knew they'd have to dock in a different place than they'd left. The fast oiler had somehow survived, scorched and leaking, but her damage had been caused by the complete destruction of her sister. Most of its high explosive ordnance had been off-loaded at least, or the oiler wouldn't have made it. But enough black powder for the muzzleloaders on the DDs had remained aboard for a just slightly less cataclysmic explosion that gutted her completely and hammered her closest neighbors with debris—not to mention killing most of her crew.

“Yeah, just like Cavite in a lot of ways. But this might be even worse,” Matt practically whispered.

Sandra tore her horrified gaze from the destruction all around and looked at him in surprise, concerned by his tone. She hadn't been at Cavite, but she'd heard their descriptions. How could this be worse?

Spanky arched an eyebrow at him. “How do you figure, Skipper? Sure, it's bad; we lost most of our harbor facilities last night, not to mention precious ordnance. But Safir'd already dispersed most of
her
ordnance to magazine bunkers around the city.”

“But even some of those went up, according to reports,” Matt reminded.
Walker
's aerial had been quickly repaired, and damage
assessments had been streaming in all night. “Tikker lost five pilots and seven planes—more than a third of what he had to start with. And more'll be down for repairs.” He waved around. “Tikker said they got forty zeps—about the same percentage as what he lost—but we can't replace his planes, and I bet the Grik have a lot more zeps where these came from.” He rubbed his eyes.

“What did they learn about the new guns on the Grik airships?” Sandra asked quietly. Matt startled her with a chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Somebody wasn't paying attention to Silva again. He found one after that first little raid and reported it, but apparently the word didn't get around. Anyway, they're not exactly new, but they're damn effective at close range,” he said. “They load from the breech with a kind of preloaded jug, wedged in place.
Old
technology and pretty dangerous, but when they work, they do fire faster. Poking around the debris from last night, they found that a number of their gunships carried as many as a dozen of them.”

He looked back at Spanky with a sad smile. “And despite the apparent similarities—the isolated, exposed nature of the position, the difficulty of resupply—this
is
worse than Cavite. Worse than the whole situation we left behind in the Philippines, because, unlike MacArthur, Safir is just going to have to sit and take it. She can't maneuver in the jungle to keep her troops safe, but has to stay here, under this,” he said, waving around too, “maybe every night.” He paused. “And from a purely selfish perspective, even as our air cover whittles away,
this
fleet isn't going to leave her to fend for herself!”

“What are we going to do?” Sandra asked, her tone frustrated.

Matt looked at her. “
You're
going to do what we agreed.
Amerika
's on her way back in. When she ties up, she'll take on the rest of the wounded, and you, Adar, and all the rest we discussed will get the hell out of here.”

Sandra bit her lip but didn't argue. “Courtney will be delighted that he missed the boat,” she pointed out instead. Bradford, Silva, Chack, and several others had left with Nat Hardee and the Seven boat only two days before to search for what they were calling the “Lost Lemurians.”

“We still need him to find those people if he can,” Matt grumbled. “And Herring doesn't want to go either.”

“Why should he? He's becoming a fair destroyerman,” Spanky pointed out, “and a decent navigator. We need more bridge officers.”

Matt nodded. “I know, but I wanted him back in Baalkpan, running his snoop shop.”

“You need ‘snoops' out here too,” Sandra suggested.

Matt rubbed his face. “Agreed. Okay. But there's still just something about the guy. I mean, sure, he's becoming a good officer and maybe it's just his way, but I never can shake the feeling that he's up to something.” He managed a rueful smile and shrugged. “Probably doesn't matter as long as he's on our side.” He frowned. “But that pal of his, that Corporal Miles. He's trouble, and I want him gone. Back to Baalkpan or in a rifle company where he belongs. Keeping Herring's probably the best way to separate them.”

“Uh, Miles went with the Seven boat. Volunteered,” Spanky said.

“Really?” Matt snorted. “Well, that long with Silva, he'll either come back a new man or a corpse.”

Sandra pursed her lips, but she had to agree.

“Soo . . . ,” Spanky drawled. “What're
we
gonna do?”

Matt shrugged. “Stick to the plan—with a couple of modifications.” He glanced at the sky. “These new Grik bomber formations had mixed results, but the fact that any of their airships made it back at all will probably convince them to stick with them. Okay. It's gonna be tough around here, but all tied together, they can only hit fixed, preselected targets. No way they can chase one on the move.” He sighed. “We'll put more of
Big Sal
's pursuit ships ashore to defend this place, and I'll get Adar to order
Baalkpan Bay
to shift all her pursuit ships, crated if necessary, aboard
Arracca
when she and
Santy Cat
come down. Maybe they can get here faster than they think. Russ Chappelle and Tassanna will pull out all the stops, if I know them.” Russ commanded
Santa Catalina
, and Tassanna was commander—and still “High Chief”—of the USNRS (CV-2)
Arracca
. Matt brightened slightly. “And they can at least keep a trickle of planes coming down on fast transports from Madras.
Baalkpan Bay
should get more P-Ones before she escorts First and Third Corps down, but even if she doesn't, the same thing that applies to
Big Sal
applies to her. The Grik have to know where she is to hit her from the air and her Nancys can handle any surface threat.” He considered. “It's a long damn haul, but I think I'll endorse the plan to risk a Clipper coming down after all. We need the recon, and after the pasting they took last night, maybe Hij Geerki really can talk to those starving
Grik. We can't afford to keep so many troops concentrated watching them. And who knows? If we feed 'em, maybe we can at least keep 'em busy cleaning up after their buddies.”

There
had
been limited success at Baalkpan in turning captured Grik into—something less dangerous—and a few had even accompanied Abel Cook as bearers during his adventurous survey of North Borno. That only seemed to work after they'd experienced “Grik Rout” and been on their own for a while, but if the trapped Grik weren't all warriors . . . Matt took off his hat and ran his fingers through sweaty hair. “I might ask Ben if he can spare Lieutenant Leedom down here too.
Big Sal
needs Tikker back, and his Exec, Lieutenant Faan, right? She got banged up pretty bad bringing in a crippled ship. Besides, we need somebody with plenty of experience fighting zeps in charge of our air defenses. Next to Tikker, I think Leedom's probably got the most.”

Sandra snorted. “Ben Mallory will throw a fit! He's chomping at the bit to get back in action, and I think he's starting to wish he never recovered those P-Forties from that Tjilatjap swamp, thinking his precious squadron is keeping him out of the war!”

Matt sobered. “I know he'll hate it, but Ben stays with his planes. They turned the tide for us once, big-time, and I suspect we'll need them just as badly again someday.” He shrugged. “Maybe here—but not yet. They'd be too vulnerable on the ground, and they're about the only ace we've got left up our sleeve,” he added glumly.

Spanky grunted doubtfully, still contemplating Matt's notion about Hij Geerki talking to the Grik. “That all sounds swell, but we're still lookin' at a couple of weeks before even
Arracca
and
Santy Cat
get here. We still gonna chase Grik in the strait?”

Matt nodded firmly. “We have to. But we'll also concentrate more on finding and hitting Grik airfields. Another reason we need the Clipper. It can fly higher than anything they can hit it with, and has the range to really
search
. Don't you get it? The Grik
can't
tie their zeps together in the air! They've got to mass them somewhere, somewhere big and clear, to do it before they lift. We find where they're doing that, and we might burn the whole damn flock on the ground!”

Spanky smiled through his teeth. “That'd be swell!”

Jeek's pipe
screed
, calling the special sea and anchor detail as
Walker
edged toward a relatively undamaged portion of the dock. Deck apes
scampered to secure lines to throw to waiting hands ashore amid the usual controlled bustle of any docking procedure. The sheer, mundane normalcy of it all seemed to soothe the spirit of everyone on the bridge. “All stop!” Bernie ordered, and the lee helm signaled the engine room. Just then, there came a great gust of steam from the tops of the aft two funnels, and a heavy cloud of black soot drifted forward—and largely down upon the party gathered on the fo'c'sle, amid a growing chorus of indignant cries. Campeti's outrage was audible as well, on the fire-control platform above the bridge. Some made it into the pilothouse. Sandra coughed delicately, and Spanky rolled his eyes before covering them with his hands. Matt actually laughed, amazed as always how in the face of everything, his people—human and Lemurian—could always manage to keep things . . . well,
real
.

“It seems Chief Reuben is intent on reminding everyone of his displeasure over the loss of his pet,” he observed dryly. Blowing tubes was a time-honored way for the “snipes” in engineering to inconvenience the “deck apes.”

“‘Everyone' is right,” Spanky grumbled, waving a hand in front of his face to hide a lopsided grin. “I taught him that, you know, but Isak's always been an artist at judging the wind just right to get the, um, best effect—but he never used to have the nerve to do it without . . .” He coughed and waved his hand again. “Well, I'm not sayin'
I'd
ever condone such a thing.”

“I think our little mouse has finally discovered the nerve for a lot of things,” Sandra reminded.

“You want me to jump on him?” Spanky asked doubtfully.

“No,” Matt said. “I think he's earned the right to”—he smirked—“blow off a little steam.” He turned. “Pass the word for Mr. Palmer,” he called to his talker. “And signal Chairman Adar, at the new HQ in the Cowflop.” (Hardly anyone could bring himself to call it a “palace,” and another one of Silva's nicknames had stuck.) “I want him to start packing because I want him, the rest of the wounded”—he paused and looked at Sandra—“and
you
the hell out of here aboard
Amerika
before the sun sets and the Grik zeps come back.”