Straits of Hell (22 page)

“I would . . . counsel most ardently against that,” Gravois said with a smile.

Kurokawa's eyes bulged in fury. “Are you mad? To have such an opportunity and not take it is abject cowardice!”

Rizzo bristled, but Gravois remained impassive. “I suggest that it would be
wise
to allow the first force to pass unmolested, if possible. It is of little consequence. You may only achieve the surprise you seek once, and if you desire the greatest return on your advantage, attack the
second
convoy from Madras. It will be much more important to your enemies.”

Kurokawa stared. “How do you know all this? So far I have taken your word that you know all you say, but I must know how!” he demanded hotly. “Most of the enemy's wireless traffic has been in code, and their radio chatter is largely in the language of their lackeys! If you have broken their code, I demand access to it!”

“Demand?” Gravois replied with a slight frown. Then he shook his head. “We have not broken their code and it remains troublesome, but
we can translate the Lemurian voice transmissions. An amazingly complete picture of Allied strategy can be assembled from loose, offhand chatter, and Lemurians are delightfully talkative creatures!”

“How do you understand them?” Muriname asked. Gravois seemed to consider, then glanced at Rizzo. The Italian officer nodded reluctantly. “I freely told you that we lost a submarine,” Gravois said, “but what I did not say is that it—and other elements—have been deployed to observe your enemy for some time. For security reasons I cannot say how those elements are maintained, but it should suffice that the submarine once found itself in a position to capture a few Lemurians without risk of discovery. They'd been left to watch a destroyed Lemurian city on the coast of Java, near Tjilatjap, as a matter of fact.” He spread his hands. “The prisoners were persuaded to be helpful. Sadly, they didn't know what they'd been left to guard, but were most cooperative in other respects. I believe some still survive as interpreters, though we now have others who understand the language.”

“That is . . . amazing,” Muriname murmured. He knew the Grik had captured Lemurians before, but they were always eaten, and few ever survived long enough to be questioned. Even then, little was ever learned from them. He wondered if the League had better methods of extracting information, or did its prisoners cooperate better simply because they weren't Grik?

“Most interesting,” Kurokawa agreed, his tone surprisingly composed. “Almost as interesting as how you have, after so long, gone from revealing practically nothing to telling us more than I can believe.” He waved away Rizzo's objection and nodded at Muriname. “I must consider this, and particularly how to respond to the enemy convoys you described. We can meet again tomorrow, if that is convenient for you. Perhaps I will have more questions, and a better sense of things then.”

“At your service, General of the Sea Kurokawa,” Gravois said as he, Rizzo, and de Luca stood. When it became clear that Kurokawa didn't mean to stomp out before them, as usual, they awkwardly took their leave. When they were gone, Kurokawa finally sat and exhaled heavily. Muriname stepped over to stand before him.

“Do you believe them?” Kurokawa asked.

“Yes, Lord.”

Kurokawa nodded. “So frustrating! I wonder if we shouldn't have
simply tortured all we wanted to know from them from the start.” He smirked. “As passive as they claim to be, the League probably wouldn't want to ‘antagonize' us either!”

“But Gravois seems to wield real power within it,” Muriname said reflectively. “And after reporting that he arrived safely, which I'm sure he did as soon as he landed, I doubt we could hope for any assistance from the League if he suddenly stopped reporting.”

“The League,” Kurokawa hissed, “will ‘assist' us in destroying every threat it fears, including ourselves! Gravois as much as admitted that! We will end up no better than the other, lesser members of their strange association, and likely much worse. No! I—
we
—have not worked so long and hard, and suffered so much to merely trade our old Grik masters for others that will use us the same! We have a
purpose
on this world, General of the Sky! Why else are we here? And it is not our destiny to be ruled by anyone, but to rule ourselves! To rule everyone!”

Muriname felt his heart sink. Kurokawa's madness was nothing if not consistent. The worst part was that Muriname agreed with most of what his leader said but was rational enough to understand that nobody could ever rule this entire, savage world. He would've been perfectly happy to cooperate with the League if he weren't so sure that Kurokawa was right about them as well, and they were just as mad as he.

“We are not in control of this situation,” Kurokawa said, his voice coldly calm. “That has been the case for far too long, and we must do something about it.” He turned his head to gaze at the jungle outside. The sky was darkening and storms would come. “For now, we shall remain the devoted friends of our new allies from the League of Tripoli. We will learn what we can from them and always push for greater commitments on their part. At the same time, we will release
Tatsuma
to carry a message back to General Esshk, informing him that we happily escaped the disaster at Madras with as much of the army and navy as we could save, in spite of the rebellion of his protégé, General Halik. It will go on to inform him of
everything
we know about the League—except where its members are, of course—and what we are trying to get out of our association with them. I don't believe I will mention what we learned of the Republic just now either. General Esshk is no fool, and I prefer him less focused on us. An attack from the south should keep him distracted.” He smiled. “Like the League, it can only benefit us if
our ‘allies' remain confused.” He returned to the subject of his message. “Finally, it will assure Esshk that we have never stopped the hunt against our mutual foes and are poised to demolish a great fleet on its way to reinforce the enemy now holding the Celestial City.”

“We shall attack the
first
force Gravois described?” Muriname asked with concern.

“Not unless it discovers us,” Kurokawa replied. “Gravois's point about achieving the maximum effect from our surprise was well taken.” He smiled. “Esshk doesn't know the full extent of the force he faces. How can he? And even if he did, he can't expect us to stop everything that passes by. But we
will
destroy the second, more ‘consequential' force Gravois described!” he growled, then chuckled, his mood whipsawing in that disconcerting way. “Our message to First General Esshk will end with my appropriate condolences on the loss of
our
Celestial Mother, and my concerned speculation that the treachery that lost my regency in India might have left me with insufficient authority to command the necessary obedience from the Grik forces we've assembled here. A suitably impressive appointment from him would go a long way toward ensuring our success. Another, more expansive regency, perhaps?”

Muriname barked a laugh in spite of himself.

“Hilarious, is it not?” Kurokawa said in the most genial tone Muriname had ever heard him use. “I will bribe him with his own ships and troops!”

“But what will Gravois say if he discovers what we do?” Muriname cautioned.

“What can he say? We only continue to fight as we have—which is what he says he wants, after all.”

Fire in the East

//////
USS
Simms
Second Fleet Task Force 11
330 miles ESE Approximate Position “El Paso del Fuego”
(Costa Rica)
September 12, 1944

L
ieutenant Ruik-Sor-Raa paced the damp, windswept quarterdeck of USS
Simms
as she bounded through cross-grained seas. The sea spray kept the nearly blond fur of his face and hands, not protected by the dark peacoat, a duskier shade than usual. The sky was a dull gray brown, but anything but lifeless, throwing a stiff northwesterly wind close enough that
Simms
had to rely on her staysails alone to keep her engine from working too hard. Not that
Simms
's fine engine needed the help, Ruik reflected. It was still doing most of the work. But like every frigate, or “DD” skipper,
he was ever mindful of his fuel state, and as the task force he was assigned to drew ever nearer the mysterious pass or strait where the Dom fleet was supposed to be gathering, thoughts of fuel—for combat speeds—plagued his thoughts more and more.

His Filpin Lands–built Scott Class sailing steamer had recently undergone an extensive and lengthy refit and repair at New Scotland, and she still showed every sign of being better than new. She was 210 feet long, with twenty 50-pounders, two Y guns, depth charges, and 260 officers and crewfolk. She was capable of more than seventeen knots with her engine at full speed and her sails drawing a kind wind, and, at 1,800 tons, was even heavier than USS
Walker
. Ruik loved her, even as he understood that she was already outdated and would be hopelessly outclassed in the armor-plated brawls that had most recently characterized the naval battles in the West. Out here, in the Eastern Sea Campaign, she was still somewhat better than “state of the art.” At least against the Doms. He hoped.

He raised his glass and stared at HMIS
Icarus
, steaming some distance off
Simms
's starboard quarter.
Icarus
was old, one of the first Imperial ships the Allies ever encountered. She was a square rig steamer as well, but classed a “ship sloop” by her navy. She'd been “up-armed” with thirty-pounders, but retained her paddlewheels for steam propulsion and was having a lot harder time keeping station. Ruik snorted in sympathy. He considered Lieutenant Parr,
Icarus
's skipper, a very good friend, and though the man dearly loved his ship, he had to be at least a little frustrated at times like this, comparing her to Ruik's. And it wasn't just age.
Simms
was better in virtually every respect, having drawn on much more modern designs for, well, everything. Ruik snorted again and raised his glass. His and Parr's ships were screening Task Force 11's extreme left, and even with the tumultuous sea, the force arrayed to his southeast was a stirring sight. Nearly half of Second Fleet, minus
Maaka-Kakja
and her own battle group, of course, had been committed to the Governor-Empress's powerful probe of the Dom fleet. The force included two dozen steam frigates, or “DDs,” though some of those were now designated destroyer seaplane tenders (AVDs), and were less heavily armed than their newer counterparts. Eight mighty ships of the line of seventy to one hundred heavy guns apiece constituted Imperial Admiral E. B. Hibbs's main battle line, and he flew his pennant from
HIMS
Mars
. There were oilers and colliers aplenty—the Empire's steamers still burned coal—and there was even a troopship packed with seven hundred men, sent along just in case an opportunity arose. Finally, the ships of the line, or “baatlewaagons,” as the Lemurian sailors called them, as well as the other most vulnerable ships, were enclosed by an inner screen of dedicated anti-Grikbird auxiliaries. These were the equivalent of the fast transports in the West, but they were equipped with a variety of new weapons designed to deter attacks from the Grik-like flying “dragons.” Saan-Kakja had surprised them all by arriving with enough of the new Browning copy machine guns to put two or more of them on each of the dedicated vessels.

Ruik was encouraged by that, and the overall power he beheld. This was the first time they'd ever gone after the Doms with more than a handful of determined ships. But he still remained unsure how he felt about the whole operation; he could see both sides of the argument. He liked and admired Governor-Empress Rebecca, and agreed with her desire to find out what they faced. If they couldn't do it by air, a strong surface force had to try. But High Admiral Jenks was right as well. Air power—of whatever sort—was far more important than Ruik thought Governor-Empress Rebecca fully grasped. If the Dom's “Grikbirds” could keep Second Fleet's air away from the region, there was a good chance the enemy had finally figured out how to make the things more effective against surface ships than they'd been off Saint Francis. . . .

“What do you think we're gonna run into, Skipper?” Ruik's Maa-ni-lo Exec, Gaal-Etkaa asked, mirroring his own thoughts.

“I don't know,” Ruik answered honestly. “I wish I did. When it gets right down to it, as my Amer-i-caan friends say, nobody really knows what the daamn Doms have anymore; what they've apparently drawn here from their forces in the Aat-laantic. . . .” Ruik coughed a laugh. “Aat-laantic! Not so long ago, I didn't think anyone could sail so happily here as we do now, without falling off the world! Now I learn there is yet
another
vast sea beyond the land of the Doms! I can barely imagine it. I . . . begin to feel old, somehow.”

Gaal-Etkaa blinked amusement, but then laid his ears back. “I'm twenty. Older than you. But I think I know how you feel. So much change, so fast. More in the last few years than our people have absorbed for . . .” He stopped, shrugging in the human way, and they both
laughed. Gaal sobered. “But I cannot help wonder what we, our ship, might soon be forced to absorb,” he said more quietly, glancing at the 'Cats nearby. Their laughter had established for the crew that they were unconcerned by the tangible worries that naturally filled the ship, but they knew each other well enough to share their candid, private thoughts.

“
Simms
is more than a match for even the heaviest Dom ship ever seen in the Pacific, or Eastern Sea,” Ruik said without boasting. “And the consensus is that the fleet she helped destroy can't be of significantly inferior quality than the reserve the enemy has brought through the strait we've been sent to investigate. Why would it be? The Doms started the war with their attack on the Empire, and then Saint Francis. You'd think they would've sent their best.” He paused and looked around again. “But I must confess that something naags me.”

“Ah, the Diaablos del Norte? The ‘other Amer-i-caans' the Doms confront in that other sea?”

“Indeed. Nobody has a clue what nature of fleet
they
have, only that they supposedly have one. That makes it impossible to say what the Doms had thought was sufficient to keep them in check.” He swished his tail with the usual frustration. “I'm reminded of our own strategic deployment: First Fleet gets all the newer, better weapons to fight the Grik in the West, because that's who everyone considers the greater threat. Fine. I even agree, based on what we've seen. But what if the Doms always considered the Diaablos the greater threat, and kept their ‘second string' fleet in this sea?”

Gaal thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “Naah. They had the numbers against the Impies before we jumped in, but they weren't good enough. I think the Impies'd've held their own, at least defending the Isles.”

Ruik blinked disagreement. “Not as screwed up as Don Hernan, McClain, and that daamn Billingsly had things there. The Empire nearly lost it all, real fast, even with our help. They'd have lost all their colonies, and New Ireland too. I'm not saying there wouldn't have been a brisk fight for the rest of the New Britain Isles, but I think they would've lost. We, the Alliance, were the wild card that threw 'em off.”

Gaal was silent. “You may be right, Skipper,” he said at last. “The Heavens know ever'body says the Doms take the ‘long view.' I guess if
they thought they needed to keep their better stuff in the Aat-laantic, to keep the Diaablos off their back, but thought they still had the weight to knock out the Empire at their own pace, they'd'a done it.”

“Especially if they thought that would eventually free them up out here to send stuff east through the strait, to gang up on the Diaablos.”

Gaal looked at Ruik, troubled. Then he grinned. “Naah,” he said again at last. “We're just a couple destroyer 'Cats, yarnin' at the rail. Don't you think Ahd-mi-raal Lela an' High Ahd-mi-raal Jenks would'a thought of that?”

“Yes,” Ruik agreed, suddenly almost certain, “and I bet that's why they've kept us bunched up between the Enchanted Isles and Guayak so long. The same kind of worries. The thing is, I do know the Governor-Empress Rebecca McDonald fairly well, and she wants the Doms dead bad enough that I'm not sure she'd listen.” Ruik gazed back out at the fleet, beyond the laboring
Icarus
. “Wish it wasn't so rough. It would be nice to have a few Nancys up, looking around ahead of us.” Nearly every Allied ship now carried at least one spotting plane, but the sea and weather had to be calm enough to recover them, so none were flying at present.

Gaal looked at him more closely. “Hey, this really is naagging you, isn't it?”

“I guess,” Ruik confessed.

“You think we're heading into a trap?”

Ruik shrugged. “Maybe. Once we get closer in. I'll want to double the lookouts starting tomorrow, especially if this overcast holds.”

“Ay, ay, Skipper. Uh, Skipper? Have you talked about this with Ahd-mi-raal Hibbs?”

Ruik looked away. “No. Not that it would do any good. He's just following orders too. I have talked with Commaander Grimsley, Ahd-mi-raal Jenks's old XO in
Aa-chilles
. I think he feels the same way. I guess we'll just have to keep our eyes peeled.”

“Yaah,” Gaal said slowly, looking in the general direction they were headed, toward the invisible strait. “Oh well,” he added, falsely cheerful. “We oughta know in a couple o' days, one way or another.”

One of the speaking tubes arranged in an ordered cluster near the wheel squealed loudly.
Simms
's first lieutenant, who had the watch, pulled the whistle plug on the one leading to the “comm shaack” almost
directly below. Second Fleet didn't have TBS equipment yet, but everything had CW capability now. “Conn, ay,” he said, leaning forward to listen. Ruik saw his ears flutter. “Grikbirds!” he cried at his captain. “Mebbe five of 'em, bear-een seero four seero!
Finir-Pel
pick 'em up!” USS
Finir-Pel
was another of the newer Scott Class DDs, as were most of those that the “Union” had contributed to Second Fleet. They were one example of how “better” actually had made it east.
But that brings us back to how “better” is no longer “good enough” in the
West
anymore,
Ruik considered again. He straightened. Lieutenant Haan-Sor-Plaar didn't spook easy, and
Finir-Pel
and USS
Mertz
were screening northeast of the fleet—closest to the most likely contact point with the enemy. “Sound general quarters,” Ruik barked. “All hands to baattle stations; prepare for flying taagits!” He looked at Gaal before extending his glass and focusing it in the direction of the signal. “I'll have those extra lookouts in the tops now, if you please.”

Simms
rumbled with drums and the alarm gongs stationed around the ship as the controlled chaos of clearing the ship for action ensued. The great guns were not run out in preparation for an air assault, but nets were rigged to catch falling debris—and to prevent Grikbirds from gaining the deck.
Simms
's meager antiair weapons were made ready, and small arms issued.

“
Finir-Pel
says the Grikbirds go!” shouted the OOD, the tension in his voice bleeding off a bit. “They head back nort'east!”

“Just a scout,” Gaal said, scratching under his ear. “We had to expect that. We already knew they keep Grikbirds on some o' their ships, like we do Nancys.” He scowled. “Feed 'em slaves, or whoever's handy. But their ‘air' is a little more ‘all weather' than ours.”

“A scout this far out?” Ruik murmured skeptically.” Grikbirds only had about a forty-mile combat range, and Allied efforts to observe the pass of fire had always been able to get that close with minimal losses—probably inflicted by Grikbirds flying off their own small squadrons of picket ships. Only after that did they start hitting impenetrable
swarms
of the damn things. But it had been a while since the Doms had sent any ships much past a hundred miles. Why now?

“You want me to secure from gen'raal quarters?” Gaal asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Hey, it's no big deal,” Gaal said, studying his skipper. “So they have
a few ships pokin' around. Maybe their Grikbirds saw us, but they can't tell 'em
what
they saw. I don't know if they can tell 'em anything. Grunt an' point, maybe. That'll tell 'em we're out here, but not what we got. I think you worry too much.”

“You could be right. But there's been too many times I—and others—haven't worried enough.” He gestured around at the sky, the sea. “And what worries me now is we can't fly and Grikbirds can. And there's something
else
they can do. If the Dom fleet has come out after us, the Grikbirds that saw us can daamn sure lead it right to us.”

“Well . . . good. Finally, we'll get to whip the whole Dom fleet, once an' for all, an' wrap this sideshow war up so we can go west an' kill real Grik with our brothers.”

Ruik sighed. Gaal's attitude reflected that of many Lemurian sailors and Marines in the East, and it was always hard to keep them focused on the fact that this was “their” war too.