Maelstrom

CHAPTER 6

They heard a deep, dull thump of cannon far across the bay, and turned toward the sound. Another gun followed the first, then another. A square-rigged ship, the new frigate Donaghey, by the distant, fuzzy look of her, had finally returned from her rescue mission and was saluting the Tree Flag of the Alliance, fluttering above the ramparts of Fort Atkinson at the mouth of the bay. The fort returned the salute, but a few minutes after the last guns fell silent, a red rocket soared into the sky and popped above the fort.

“What the hell?” Ellis breathed. A red rocket from the fort was the signal for alarm. A moment later two green rockets exploded in the air. “Okay,” he said. “That’s a little less terrifying. The ship must be flying a signal we can’t see yet, and whoever’s on duty at the fort decided we needed a heads-up.”

Mallory looked at him curiously. “I know what the red rocket means, but I must’ve missed the green rocket briefing.”

“There wasn’t one,” Letts told him. “Jim, Riggs, and I just worked the signal out a couple days ago.” He gestured at the plane, then vaguely all around. “We’ve all been a little preoccupied. The new system’s on the roster at the fort, but not here yet.”

“What’s it mean?”

“One red means alarm, like always, but it’s also an urgent attention getter now, too. The first green rocket after a red means ‘important information. ’”

“What’s a second green one mean?” e don’t have time to tell it twice, so get everybody who can do something about anything in one place right now. Dammit.’ ”

Ben’s eyes were wide. “Those three little rockets said all that?”

“Yeah.”

Mahan ’s general alarm began to sound, its thrumming, gonging blare somewhat muffled by the humidity and a light mist that had begun to fall, even though the ship was moored less than three hundred yards away. The sound was instantly recognizable, however.

“What the hell now?” Letts demanded. Jim Ellis was already sprinting for his ship. In the distance, also muffled, they suddenly heard an engine. An airplane engine. Ben looked frantically around at the darkening sky, his eyes suddenly focusing on an object to westward.

“This is something else!” The straining Lemurians had the plane about halfway out of the water, and he ran toward them, sling flapping empty at his side. “Get it out! Get it out! Get my plane out of the goddamn water!” He grabbed one of the lines himself, insensitive to the pain. Ed and Tikker leaped down from the cockpit and joined him. “Heave!”

“What is it?” Sandra asked Alan, still standing beside her. He wasn’t wearing binoculars and his eyes were straining hard. He suddenly remembered the description of the plane that attacked the PBY, and the indistinct form didn’t snap into focus, but he knew what it was: a biplane with floats.

“Oh, God!”

“What?”

Letts snatched her arm hard and tugged her toward a covered gun emplacement some distance away. “C’mon!”

“But why are we going that way? The plane, the ship…”

“Right! They’re what it’s after! I’m not telling Captain Reddy I let you stand here and catch a Jap bomb!” Sandra was torn. She knew she’d be needed here if the plane inflicted any damage, but if she were dead… She made up her mind, and in an instant she was running beside Alan as fast as she could, the engine sound growing louder by the moment.

“Run!” Letts gasped, as the two machine guns on the starboard side of the ship opened up. Many Lemurians were just standing and staring, and Letts and Sandra screamed at them to take cover. They made it under the bombproof and turned to look just as the plane roared over the moored destroyer. Plumes of spray were subsiding where the plane’s bullets had struck the water, and a dark object was falling toward the ship. A huge geyser erupted just short of Mahan, and the harbor resonated with a thunderclap roar. The plane pulled up, poorly aimed tracers chasing it, and banked hard left, to the north. All they could do was watch while it slowly turned and steadied for another pass, this time clearly intending to strafe and bomb the ship from aft forward. Bullets kicked up white bushes of spray, and whrang ed off the steel of the motionless ship. There were a few screams. Mahan seemed helpless, but at the last instant the plane staggered slightly, perhaps from a hit, and steadied on a different course: toward the PBY and ultimately directly at Sandra, Letts, and the others who’d taken refuge with ere just samned if I know. Hey, you monkeys!” he shouted. “Off your asses! Anybody that ain’t dead, fall in!” The workers struggled to their feet, still coughing and gasping, leaving several on the ground who were either too badly wounded or would never rise again. Sandra surveyed the scene.

“Get some first aid started here!” she instructed. “Corpsmen are on the way.” With that she hurried into the smoke, closer to where the second bomb had struck, knowing there’d be more injured there. They couldn’t see Mahan through the smoke, but her general alarm was still echoing across the water.

Mallory sighed and pointed at a group of five guardsmen who seemed relatively fit. “Well, don’t just stand there; go with her! The rest of you goons check your buddies.” He glanced at Ed and saw him staring at the fire as though stricken.

“God a’mighty,” Ed whispered numbly.

“What now?”

Ed pointed at the fire, then fell to his knees in the sand in apparent desolation.

“What?”

“The radio shack,” he whispered. “It’s… gone.”

All the top military and administrative personnel in Baalkpan had gathered in Nakja-Mur’s Great Hall, summoned by the rockets-when word got around what they meant-and the attack, of course. Heavy rain still pounded the ceiling high above, and there was a cool, damp, but refreshing draft in the place. Combined with the general gloom of the few guttering lamps, the drab evening light from the open shutters, and the events of the day, however, the comparative cool served little to temper the prevailing sense of anxiety. Old Naga might have helped; part of the High Sky Priest’s job was to administer to the spiritual needs of his flock, but all he did was sit by himself, chanting a nonsensical lamentation. It was inappropriate for any other Sky Priest or acolyte to speak without invitation while Naga was present. Adar could have-he’d practically been designated Naga’s successor-but Adar wasn’t there.

All the “battle line” commanders were there, the High Chiefs of the few seagoing Homes of the alliance. Jarrik-Fas represented Salissa in Keje’s stead. Lord Muln Rolak commanded the third-largest infantry force, that of the displaced Aryaalans, but with Alden and Queen Maraan missing, and everyone else away, Rolak was the senior general. He couldn’t hold still. Safir Maraan had been queen of his people’s bitterest foe, and Aryaal had been at war with B’mbaado before the Grik came. Since then, however, he’d developed an intense fondness for the Orphan Queen. He thought of her almost as a granddaughter now-but more than that, as well. They’d fought side by side in the fiercest battle the world had ever known, and he couldn’t bear the thought that she might have fallen into enemy hands. So he paced.

Commander Ellis had just arrived, soaked to the bone, his uniform badly stained from many hours overseeing repairs to the damage the near miss had caused his ship. He looked exhausted. He joined Ben Mallory and Ed Palmer, as well as Lieutenant Riggs and Lieutenant Commander Brister, who’d just arrived from Fort Atkinson. Alan Letts and Lieutenant Bernard Sandison, Walker ’s torre the High Chief of Baalkpan reclined, eyes darting pensively at the uproar caused by the conversations of his other advisors. None of the “principals” had spoken yet; they were waiting for another to arrive.

When Lieutenant Greg Garrett limped in, leaning on a crutch, attended by Sandra Tucker, Karen Theimer, and Keje’s daughter, Selass, he was freshly shaven, and his uniform, while damp, was as crisp as he could make it, given the dingy spots where soot, powder fouling, and blood had been scrubbed away. His narrow, handsome face was pale and drawn, and he looked… miserable. Letts had ordered him to stop by the hospital for a checkup before appearing in person. The gist of his story was in the report he’d already submitted by courier as soon as he dropped anchor, however: a report that had spread like wildfire. Letts and Ellis crossed to him, assuring him by their solicitude that they didn’t blame him for what happened, but it was clear that, no matter what they said, he blamed himself.

Nakja-Mur didn’t stir from his seat. He felt no bitterness toward the young officer, nor did he blame him in any way, but so many new worries had been added to his endless list that day, he didn’t trust himself to stand. Besides, ever since battered Donaghey entered the bay on a weak, sodden breeze, and the rockets soared into the sky-and then they heard the report of the explosions down at the shipyard and saw the Japanese plane soaring unimpeded over his city-he’d felt a strange tightening in his chest. Now they had some hard choices to make, choices that might lead to disaster. As much as he trusted his current human and Lemurian advisors-his friends, he felt-none of the “steadier heads”-Captain Reddy, Keje, Adar, Alden, even Chief Gray and the Japanese officer, Shinya, the ones who’d always been there for him in the past-were there. Oh, what a terrible stroke of ill luck! He almost wished the Japanese bomb had struck the ship or the plane instead of the priceless radio!

“Is the raa-di-o truly beyond repair?” he asked almost plaintively, silencing the hubbub around them.

“I’m afraid so,” Palmer replied woodenly. “Everything’s gone, even the batteries.”

“We lost nineteen people too,” Sandra added harshly, putting things in perspective. “And it could have been a lot worse.”

Nakja-Mur nodded to her, acknowledging the hit. He visibly straightened himself. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. He had to set an example. “Of course. While I grieve for the families of the lost, I am grateful it was not worse. I only needed to hear the words myself. In the ‘bigger picture,’ as Captain Reddy would say, the loss of the raa-di-o is surely a straa-tee-jik setback.”

“So where does that leave us?” Letts asked remorselessly. “I’ll sum it up. Two of our most important leaders are marooned, at best, behind enemy lines…” Garrett flinched, and Alan looked at him apologetically. “It’s not your fault, Greg; it’s theirs. Damned silly heroics. Besides, you handled your ship superbly, not only in battle, but by getting her back here so quickly in the shape she’s in, with such important information. My God, Grik with cannon! But the fact remains, we’ve left some very important people behind. If we can’t get Queen Maraan out, at the very least it’ll clobber the morale of her subjects here-who, I might add, constitute over a quarter of our cad rst thing we must contemplate!” Rolak demanded hotly, still pacing back and forth.

“I agree. But we’ve got to figure out how, and we’ve got some other angles to consider. First, though, how.” He turned back to Garrett. “What shape’s Donaghey in?”

“Not good,” Garrett admitted grudgingly. “Her stern was battered in by the explosion, and besides the loss of her mizzen, her top hamper’s a mess. We repaired a lot, and jury-rigged more, but it’ll take several days, at least, of intensive effort by the yard to accomplish the bare essentials-such as replacing the mast and stopping all her leaks.”

Letts nodded somberly. “The next two frigates are nearing completion, but neither is ready for sea. The yard manager says he needs another week-and repairs to Donaghey ’ll set that back. The rest of the ‘fleet’ of captured Grik ships is either still undergoing alteration and arming, or is scattered all over the place. Only Felts is in port, taking on more supplies for the Tarakan expedition. The Homes of the battle line are certainly powerful enough to face however many cannon-armed ships the Grik might have so far, but they’re just too slow.”

Nakja-Mur listened while Letts spoke, and honestly wondered if anything they did at this point would make any difference. But they had to do something. He heard the American discussing all the possibilities and discarding them in turn, just as he already had in his mind. There really was only one choice, but he waited diplomatically until the others came to the same conclusion.

“We’ll have to use Mahan.” Ellis sighed at last.

Sandra pounced. “Two things wrong with that,” she said. “First, can she even do it? What kind of damage did she sustain today?”

“Two dead, and seven wounded by machine-gun fire.” Ellis looked at Selass. “Saak-Fas was one of the wounded, but only lightly,” he added with compassion. “He’s already returned to duty. Damage to the ship consists of a few sprung plates from the near miss. Maybe some cracked firebricks in the number two boiler. We’ve already shored up the plates and welded them, and shut down number two. If the bricks are damaged, we’ll have them replaced and be ready to steam by morning. We can take on fuel and supplies and be underway by the morning after that, I believe.”

“You’ve still only got one propeller,” Sandra pointed out. That was true. They’d tried to cast another to replace the one Walker had “commandeered,” but the first attempt had been hopelessly out of balance. They were working on another, but it would be some time before they were even ready to pour it.

“That’s right,” Ellis agreed, “but Mahan ’s still faster than anything she’ll meet, by a long shot.”

“Maybe, but there’s still the other consideration: Matt… Captain Reddy left strict orders that Mahan not do anything remotely like you’re considering. He has a plan for the defense of this place, when the time comes, and that plan not only includes Mahan; she’s essential to its success. Desp. I am bound to obey his orders more closely than anyone. He holds my life, my very honor, in his grasp, and can do with it what he will. But he is not here, and we must deal with this situation in his stead. Knowing him as I do, I am positive he would bless this course since it is our only option-and it is a thing that must be done. Knowing him as you do, I am equally positive you must agree.”

Sandra slowly wilted under Rolak’s intense gaze, and finally she nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She sighed. “I only wish we could tell him. It’ll be days before he starts to wonder why we haven’t made our daily comm check. Even then he won’t worry, not for a while. We’ve missed it before due to bad weather or atmospherics.” She looked at Riggs and he nodded confirmation.

“She’s right,” he said. “And even when he does start to wonder, he won’t have any reason to be alarmed. Everything was fine when we made our last report, and he knows we’d have days of warning, at least, if the Grik were on the move. He’ll just think the radio’s busted”-he snorted-“which it is. But that might not mean we can’t get in touch with him.” The hall grew silent, and he had everyone’s attention. “As you know, Radioman Clancy is with Walker, but he, Ed, and I have been working on simple crystal receivers. There’s not much to them, really, and we’ve got all the stuff we need to make a few. We located some galena for the crystals, which is good, but we could have done it by mixing powdered sulfur with lead. They’re passive receivers and don’t even require batteries. Just a little copper wire and a headset-or we might even try building some simple speakers. That won’t help us right now, although they’ll come in handy, but I think we can put together a simple spark-gap transmitter that might reach the captain. We’ll need stuff: lots of wire, for example, and power, of course. Mahan ’s generator would do nicely, but since she won’t be here… I think we can make some wet-cell batteries. Lead acid. I’m pretty sure we can do it, and it shouldn’t take much time.”

“How much time?” Letts asked.

“We should have done it already,” Riggs admitted. “We’ve all just been so busy, and we had a good radio… I’ve been so occupied building the semaphore towers and training the operators…” He shook his head. “No excuse. A week or so, I guess. We’ll have to make everything from scratch.”

Letts looked at Nakja-Mur. “Highest priority,” he said. “Use whoever and whatever you need.”

“So I guess it’s settled, then,” Ellis said, rubbing his scalp. “We go. What have you got for me, Bernie?”

The dark-haired torpedo officer’s eyebrows rose, and he took a deep breath. “Not as much as I’d like. We’ve got twenty of the new projectiles cast, turned, and loaded in shells for the four inch-fifties, but we’re just now gearing up to manufacture the primers, so that’s it. The primers have been the hardest part, actually. Up till now we’ve had to make them one at a time, with a swage, and a stamp to make the anvil-not to mention some very dangerous experimentation with fulminate of mercury. We’ve got that sorted out now, but it’ll be another three or four days before I can get you more.” Ellis was shaking his head. “I know, too late. But.. . at least you’ll have a few to test… if you need them. Remember, though, they’re just solid copper bolts, no explosive, and they’re loaded with black powder, so the fire control compu all the recipes and procedures-but it’s tricky stuff, and we haven’t finished making the things to make it with, if you know what I mean. The reloads should work fine against wooden ships in local control, though. They ought to shoot through and through. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. Obviously we’ve been working on other stuff, but nothing’s ready yet.”

“What about the torpedo? Should I take it?” The only torpedo they had left, between Walker and Mahan, was an old MK-10 submarine torpedo Bernie had salvaged from a shack in bombed-out Surabaya before they abandoned it in their own world. He’d thought it was damaged somehow, since it was with others that were condemned. After exhaustive inspection, he’d determined there was nothing wrong with it after all.

“No,” Letts decided. “The captain has plans for that fish. We have no real reason to suspect Amagi ’s ready to move, and that’s the only thing you’d have any business shooting it at. Besides, it might get damaged. The torpedo stays here.” Ellis nodded agreement, and Letts looked around at the others. “So I guess it’s settled then-except for the other ‘angles’ I mentioned at the start.”

“Like what?”

“Like that plane didn’t get here by itself,” Mallory interrupted with absolute certainty. “It was a ‘Dave,’ just like the one we tangled with, and it doesn’t have the legs to make a trip all the way from Aryaal and back. They must have rendezvoused with at least one, and probably two ships, to refuel on the way. They’ll still be out there, and I bet they’re the armed ones that showed up when Greg tried to go back for Pete and the queen.”

“Grik always travel in threes,” Ellis said, pondering. “Maybe we can catch them and destroy them on the way back to Aryaal. Maybe even get the plane, if it was damaged.”

“That would be ideal,” agreed Letts, “because otherwise they’re going to know all about our defensive arrangements. Maybe they’ll think they got the plane and the ship, which might be good, but maybe they won’t. Regardless, they’ll have a good idea what they’ll face when they come.”

“I fear the events of the last week, the attack on Donaghey, and the destructive scout mission, proves they will come soon. Sooner than we planned,” Nakja-Mur interjected. “Why else should they do those things now? Why not wait until they are ready-unless they already are?”

“Well, we need to know that too,” Letts agreed. He looked at Ben. “How soon can you fly?”

Ben was exhausted and hurting, and his brain wasn’t working right, so it took him longer than usual to form a reply. “Uh, we can have the starboard engine reassembled in a day. Another day or two to install it and check it out… No sense putting the cowl back on; shredded as it is, it’ll drag worse than the motor.” He fell silent again, contemplating. Finally he sighed. “Three days, if we have plenty of help and everything works. We still need something for a windscreen, though.” He looked speculatively at Ellis. “Maybe some of Mahan ’s spare window glass?”

“Very well,” said Letts, realizing he was treading on another of Captain Reddy’s orders: never fly the plane without established communications. Nothing for it. 1 Amagi and the Grik fleet are up to, and head straight back. Can you do it?”

Ben shrugged. “It’ll probably be the roughest flight of my life, but we should still be able to go higher than they can shoot. Yeah, provided the wings don’t fold up on us.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. In the meantime, Felts sails tomorrow, whether Clark’s ready or not. He’ll warn Tarakan, in case those three Grik ships didn’t head back to the barn, and then proceed to Manila. If we can’t get a transmitter going, he’ll be the quickest way to inform the captain the Grik are up to something.” He looked at Nakja-Mur. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

Brevet Captain-General Pete Alden and Captain Haakar-Faask lay in the undergrowth near the beach, taking turns with Pete’s binoculars and watching Grik warriors disembark from the three ships closest to shore. Those three had no cannons they could see, but they suspected the other three, keeping station to seaward, did. The tactic was far too methodical and sensible for Alden’s taste. He looked at Faask and arched an eyebrow. Faask almost snorted a laugh-he found the face moving of the humans hilarious-but he understood the gesture, even if he had little English. Fortunately, Alden had picked up a functional ’Cat vocabulary by now. “I think they’re through messing around with us,” was a rough translation of what he said.

Two weeks had passed since he and Queen Maraan were marooned with the rest of the refugees, long enough for the three Grik ships that drove Donaghey away to return to Aryaal with news of the battle, prepare this expedition, and return. It was also past long enough for Donaghey to make it to Baalkpan, damaged as she was, and another relief force to be dispatched. The problem was, with the allied navy scattered from here to the Philippines, could they even scrape together a force large enough to come to their aid?

He had no doubt that, eventually, help would come. If nothing else, Garrett would return as soon as his ship was repaired, but that might be a while. In the meantime, the better part of a thousand Grik warriors were about to start beating the brush for the less than three hundred souls left in Faask’s and his care, mostly males by now at least, but mostly civilians too. Less than a hundred had ever borne arms, but ever since he’d been left behind, Faask had been training all the refugees, females and younglings included, for just this eventuality. Fortunately, most of the latter had already been rescued. There were still a few, those who wouldn’t leave their mates, or females who’d been separated from their younglings and still hoped against hope they might turn up. A few elders had remained as well, too old and frail to wield a sword or spear, but who wouldn’t leave until everyone else was rescued. Many were ill, due to either malnutrition or exhaustion. That left Alden’s “effectives” at just over two hundred.

His scouts had discovered a force of two thousand or more closing from the west-northwest, pushing them back from observation points overlooking the bay they’d used to such good effect, and now this blocking force was landing in their “rear,” cutting off their egress to the sea.

“We better get back to the rally point and tell the queen what we’ve seen,” he said. Motioning a pair of pickets to maintain their positions and keep tabs on the enemy advance as long as they could, Alden and Faask slitherethoght="1em"›

Queen Maraan awaited them, anxious for their news. “Is it true?” she hissed. Pete and Haakar-Faask both nodded, and her eyes turned to slits. “What will we do?”

“We must keep you safe, Your Majesty,” Faask replied.

“How? Would you have me slink off into the jungle, dig a hole, and crawl into it?” She gestured around at the refugees, huddled under makeshift shelters against the rain that had begun to fall. “What of them?”

“With respect, Majesty-” Faask began.

“No! I will not skulk around, leaving my people to be slaughtered!” She stared levelly at Alden and Faask. “We will fight! All of us! You two are probably the greatest generals this world has ever known. In different ways, perhaps, since you come from different backgrounds, but that should give us an insurmountable advantage, not a disadvantage. Surely, between you, you can devise a plan that will, if not give us victory, at least deny it to them! All we need is time, my friends. Our allies will not abandon us.” She grinned. “We are too important, are we not?”

“But they are simply too many!” Faask protested. “They outnumber us fifteen to one!”

Alden scratched his beard. “Yeah,” he agreed, “if they were all in one place, that would be true.” He knelt to the soggy ground and swept the leaves and brush away, revealing a bare spot of damp earth. The rain was already tapering off-another short squall-and he selected a small, pointed stick. After he scratched a rough outline of the island, he drew a line across the top. “This is the main Grik force. There’re many of them, but they’re stretched across the entire width of the island. If we mass our forces here”-he pointed to the south-“we can strike their right flank and probably have numerical superiority, at least locally. We hit ’em like maniacs and break through into their rear. Even against a ‘normal’ enemy, that’d leave them dangerously exposed. With any luck, they’ll go nuts-like we’ve seen them do before-and we roll up their flank, killing as we go.” He grinned. “We might even set the whole army to flight, but probably not. Sooner or later our guys’ll get tired and the attack’ll run out of steam. That’s when they’ll hit back.”

“I agree so far,” Faask said, “but what good will that do? It will be a glorious end, but it will not protect the queen.”

“Sure it will, because we don’t let our ‘army’ run out of steam. We pull back to here”-he pointed again with his stick-“where we take a breather while the Grik center turns to attack us on their right. Where we were. When they do that, we hit ’em again, on their new left flank!”

Faask was silent for a moment, studying the impressions in the dirt. “But that’s… brilliant!”

Pete grinned. “Of course it is! We just have to make sure our coordination works like clockwork, and we have signals that work and are obeyed instantly.”

Faask stroked his own beard. Alden was more used to the sea folk, who generally kept their facihe south-“ready. It would be the greatest, most audacious victory of the age!” He looked at Alden with renewed respect, then frowned. “But what of the blocking force? Our warriors will be exhausted, even if we are successful.”

Alden gestured toward the sea. “It’ll take them a day to get their shit together. We know where they are, but they don’t have a clue about us. They’ll figure it out pretty quick, but by then we’ll already be headed toward the main force. That ought to confuse them. I figure we’ll have a day or so to rest before they catch up, and they’ll be at least as spread out as the first bunch by then.”

“And we do it again!” Faask shouted triumphantly.

“And then we do it again,” Alden confirmed.

Queen Maraan coughed. “All very inspiring, noble generals. I am impressed. I knew you could do it, and it seems an outstanding plan. .. only remember the single greatest lesson I have learned from both of you: no plan may ever be entirely relied upon, once the battle has begun!”