Authors: Taylor Anderson
Firestorm (58 page)
“Batteries, commence firing! Fire at will,” Chack roared down from the crumbling rooftop on which he, Blas, Blair, some of their staffs . . . and others . . . had assembled.
“What in blazes are
they
shooting at?” Blair demanded. “All morning, not a shot, then they grow irked at that one structure? Madness!”
they
shooting at?” Blair demanded. “All morning, not a shot, then they grow irked at that one structure? Madness!”
“That ‘structure’ is the one Chief Silva asked us to avoid demolishing last night,” Chack reminded him, his tail swishing irritably, “while he was repairing his giant musket. He and Lawrence must’ve secured it, and now they have managed to . . .
do
something exceptionally annoying to the Doms. You may have heard Silva has that effect on people?”
do
something exceptionally annoying to the Doms. You may have heard Silva has that effect on people?”
The “grand battery” the allies began assembling the morning before now included almost thirty big guns, plus all the field artillery with its explosive case shot Chack and Blair could bring down from the Waterford pass. From their hastily formed, then carefully reinforced positions roughly a thousand yards or “tails” (handy how that worked out so closely) from the “Dom” bastion, Chack’s batteries opened fire in ones and twos, but soon the entire line hammered at the enemy from within an impenetrable white cloud of continuous, earsplitting thunder and dazzling, lightninglike flashes. Smoke billowed across the shot-churned, devastated “no-man’s-land” that had evolved between the positions, and drifted west toward the base of the more extreme slope that still lay under a blanket of lingering gun smoke caused by the long duel. Despite the improved visibility daylight afforded the enemy, Chack was amazed to see, from his elevated post, almost the entire remaining Dom artillery target the nearly lone-standing structure both sides had thus far largely ignored. The building was very rapidly disintegrating under the combined hail of iron.
“Whatever he did,” Blas said, “ ‘irked’ seems a weak word. It means ‘a little pissed,’ yes? They pissed a
lot
!”
lot
!”
“I certainly hope your strange friends have made their escape,” Blair said, “but whatever they did to attract such fire, our guns are now slaughtering theirs with virtually no reply.” He looked meaningfully at Chack. “And the enemy’s attention is suddenly quite fixed.”
“Very well.” Chack looked at Blas and motioned her to join the “partisans” who’d brought them one of Colonel Shinya’s exhausted “Maa-ni-lo” Marines, along with a squad of the first Imperial Marines he’d found when he wandered into a command post near the waterfront a few hours before. “Assist that Marine in his task, Lieutenant,” he said. “He has earned the honor.”
The Marine, a corporal by the stripes on his kilt, blinked appreciation, but waved at the locals. “Thank you, sir, but this is
their
Home.”
their
Home.”
“Well put,” Chack agreed, nodding. “Corporal, would you assist Lieutenant Blas-Ma-Ar in showing the loyal citizens how to fire the signal rockets Colonel Shinya sent? Major Blair, I’m going to join my troops. I suggest you remain here.”
Blair smiled. “Major Chack, if I thought it necessary for
anyone
to remain behind, I’d insist it be you . . . but we’ve
all
earned this!”
anyone
to remain behind, I’d insist it be you . . . but we’ve
all
earned this!”
Chack grinned, his sharp teeth shining in the sunlight. “Very well, Major.
Lieutenant Blas
will remain and direct the reserves, if any are needed.” He glanced at the furiously blinking female. “
She
has ‘earned’ the rest!”
Lieutenant Blas
will remain and direct the reserves, if any are needed.” He glanced at the furiously blinking female. “
She
has ‘earned’ the rest!”
“Rockets!” Lawrence said, staring into the sky from the debris-choked culvert where they huddled, scarcely a hundred and fifty yards from the wheelwright’s shop being systematically pulverized. Fewer Dom guns were firing now, however. “’Retty rockets!”
Silva looked up at the sputtering, dissolving flares. “Those’re
signal
rockets, you imbi-cile!” he shouted. The sudden thunder of drums couldn’t compete with the allied guns, but it bled through between reports. “Attack’s a’comin’!” he announced gleefully. Then his abused ears heard
other
drums, more distant, resonating against the mountains. “Ha-
ha
! I
knew
that Jap couldn’t stay outta this!” He removed the twenty-round stick from the Thompson, blew dust off of the rounds clustered at the top, and slid it back in with a
shklak
. “C’mon, Fuzzy, let’s try to get back in this fight before it’s all over!”
signal
rockets, you imbi-cile!” he shouted. The sudden thunder of drums couldn’t compete with the allied guns, but it bled through between reports. “Attack’s a’comin’!” he announced gleefully. Then his abused ears heard
other
drums, more distant, resonating against the mountains. “Ha-
ha
! I
knew
that Jap couldn’t stay outta this!” He removed the twenty-round stick from the Thompson, blew dust off of the rounds clustered at the top, and slid it back in with a
shklak
. “C’mon, Fuzzy, let’s try to get back in this fight before it’s all over!”
Lawrence looked at the cap under the hammer of his musket. “You think it’s nearly o’er?”
“Yep . . . if it ain’t already! Let’s go!”
“Ain’t ’uzzy!” Lawrence grumbled, and the two of them bounced up amid a cloud of plaster dust and ran and leaped toward the middle of what had once been the exclusive “Company” district of North New Dublin where nothing of the desolated houses and shops still stood higher than Silva’s knees. That was where the center of the advancing ranks would pass.
“It” wasn’t
completely
over for some. Now almost surrounded, the Doms in the old bastion had no chance. The grueling, almost thirty-hour bombardment had taken a terrible toll on lives and nerves, and the “regulars” and rebels had been ready to surrender with the coming of the day and the realization they were all alone. The city burned and smoldered beneath the smoky sky and against the incongruously achingly beautiful landscape beyond. Reinforcements weren’t coming; there was
nothing
on the coast road from Bray but refugees fleeing the only direction they could from a wall of fire that encompassed all the vast valley of the island. The entire host Don Alfonso and the Bishop of the Seven Relics led down the Waterford road had surely been consumed by the flames of the hell they’d marched into. Even Bray would probably burn. Nothing re- mained on that now-desolate, virtual plain between the stronghold and the enemy in New Dublin, and nothing could
possibly
remain of the grand plan to advance the “Modo de los Santos” and take this place for themselves, their leaders, and the greater glory of God.
completely
over for some. Now almost surrounded, the Doms in the old bastion had no chance. The grueling, almost thirty-hour bombardment had taken a terrible toll on lives and nerves, and the “regulars” and rebels had been ready to surrender with the coming of the day and the realization they were all alone. The city burned and smoldered beneath the smoky sky and against the incongruously achingly beautiful landscape beyond. Reinforcements weren’t coming; there was
nothing
on the coast road from Bray but refugees fleeing the only direction they could from a wall of fire that encompassed all the vast valley of the island. The entire host Don Alfonso and the Bishop of the Seven Relics led down the Waterford road had surely been consumed by the flames of the hell they’d marched into. Even Bray would probably burn. Nothing re- mained on that now-desolate, virtual plain between the stronghold and the enemy in New Dublin, and nothing could
possibly
remain of the grand plan to advance the “Modo de los Santos” and take this place for themselves, their leaders, and the greater glory of God.
Into this outpost of ruin, misery, death, and defeat, Cardinal Don Kukulkan de los Islas Guapas, newly appointed Ruler of the Conquest and Saver of Souls, emerged into the hot, bloody day and went among the shattered men of the garrison. Few were unmoved by his gesture and most honestly expected him to Purify himself before them and release his soul into God’s embrace. Perhaps that was his ultimate intent, but first he began to pray. He prayed that the men of the garrison would enter paradise boldly, each with a long tally of the unclean heretics they’d cast into hell. He prayed their families wouldn’t suffer excessively due to their sacrifice, and if they did, that God and the saints would readily accept them because of it—in some capacity at least. He’d just finished this last plea on behalf of the doomed men around him, the men he was condemning with his words, his charge, his
edict
not to yield, when his head blew up.
edict
not to yield, when his head blew up.
At first, there was shock and, frankly, superstitious awe, until an artilleryman cried that the cardinal had been
shot
by a distant, hidden marksman. That announcement created pandemonium because it just wasn’t possible . . . was it? Regardless, the artillery commander shook off the dreadful implications of the event and summoned the wits—or whatever it took—to order all his guns to fire on the indicated building. That galvanized all the troops into action of some sort, and they’d begun reverting to their training . . . when the barrage suddenly resumed. Dominion soldiers, rebels, fugitive family members, all were caught in the open when heavy roundshot and high-velocity shards of stone slashed them apart. Case shot exploded over the fort, scything into flesh and bone with red-hot copper fragments and musket balls. The hail of death was unrelenting, and the screams competed with thundering guns and bursting case. The garrison would cast no heretics into hell; hell had found them there, within their demolished walls.
shot
by a distant, hidden marksman. That announcement created pandemonium because it just wasn’t possible . . . was it? Regardless, the artillery commander shook off the dreadful implications of the event and summoned the wits—or whatever it took—to order all his guns to fire on the indicated building. That galvanized all the troops into action of some sort, and they’d begun reverting to their training . . . when the barrage suddenly resumed. Dominion soldiers, rebels, fugitive family members, all were caught in the open when heavy roundshot and high-velocity shards of stone slashed them apart. Case shot exploded over the fort, scything into flesh and bone with red-hot copper fragments and musket balls. The hail of death was unrelenting, and the screams competed with thundering guns and bursting case. The garrison would cast no heretics into hell; hell had found them there, within their demolished walls.
Then the apostates formed for their final assault, not only from the southeast, but from the
west
where no troops could possibly have gathered! The artillery commander, who’d somehow survived the onslaught, saw this, and his confused mind finally crystallized around a coherent thought: surrender. He raced for a pair of blood-spattered breeches that had been blown nearly off a corpse, yanked a mangled leg out of them, and cast it away; then he began tying the morbid garment to a rammer staff. A “Blood Drinker” cut him down with a sword. Outraged, the artillerymen fell upon
all
the Blood Drinkers, joined by the regulars who dared to brave the maelstrom. The elite, holy guard of the pope himself all got their most fervent wish when they were shot, stabbed, and torn apart by their own countrymen. Only then did the white flag wave above the bastion.
west
where no troops could possibly have gathered! The artillery commander, who’d somehow survived the onslaught, saw this, and his confused mind finally crystallized around a coherent thought: surrender. He raced for a pair of blood-spattered breeches that had been blown nearly off a corpse, yanked a mangled leg out of them, and cast it away; then he began tying the morbid garment to a rammer staff. A “Blood Drinker” cut him down with a sword. Outraged, the artillerymen fell upon
all
the Blood Drinkers, joined by the regulars who dared to brave the maelstrom. The elite, holy guard of the pope himself all got their most fervent wish when they were shot, stabbed, and torn apart by their own countrymen. Only then did the white flag wave above the bastion.
“All that beautiful music, then somebody called off the dance!” roared an unhappy voice behind Tamatsu Shinya. He was standing on the rubble of what had been the southwest wall of the bastion, thinking dark thoughts, and staring down into a pulverized cauldron of mangled flesh. Men and ’Cats moved through the carnage, coughing on the dust they raised and occasionally retching at the stench. They were searching for signs of life, but there were few survivors after the majority of the shell-shocked defenders had been led or carried from the fort. In spite of himself and the scene he viewed, a corner of Shinya’s mouth quirked upward, and he turned. Dennis Silva stood grinning at him, Lawrence by his side. Both were filthy, and Silva had an ugly wound on his face.
“You have contrived to cheat death once more, I see,” Shinya said.
“Good to see you too, Colonel. I’m fine. Thanks for askin’.” Silva gestured around. “You missed a good fight.” He paused. “In the city the other night, I mean. This was just killin’.”
“I heard you had a hand in that . . . again.”
Silva waved modestly and kicked a bronze gun tube, half-buried. “Shucks, it was nothin’.” His expression turned serious. “You musta seen Chack?” Shinya nodded. “Good. He was lookin’ for you.” The grin returned. “You mighta missed the fight, but I sure was glad to see you come marchin’ across that field, yonder. How’d you get there, and so damn fast?”
“A quite dreadful march, I assure you,” Shinya said ruefully. “And still too late.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty more fights in this war, and you can’t miss ’em all! I’ve decided to retire from the battle-winnin’ business. Folks are startin’ to whisper that maybe I’m hoggin’ all the glory.” Silva shook his head. “Spread the joy, I always say.”
Shinya chuckled. “If I had not spent so much time around you, and Americans in general, I might think you were serious.” It was Shinya’s turn to shake his head. “You will never retire—and you will never die . . . my friend. The day may come when you no longer breathe or live among us, but you will
never
die.”
never
die.”
For a moment, Dennis said nothing. Suddenly, he stuck out a grimy paw. “Say, did you just call me ‘my friend’?”
“I did.”
“Didja mean it?”
Shinya took the offered hand. “Yes. Yes I did, if you’ve no objection.”
CHAPTER 21
Off “Monterey” Bay
U
SS
Walker
and her “squadron” of three paddle frigates and a sloop exchanged signals and rendezvoused with
Mertz
,
Tindal
,
Simms
,
Achilles
, and the two practically “clipper” rigged oilers sixty miles offshore beneath a warm, benevolent sky, upon a placid sea. Commander Grimsley of
Achilles
had been acclaimed commodore of the “detached” Second Fleet squadron by the ’Cat captains on the other ships due to his knowledge of the waters. Besides, Jenks’s former exec was well liked and respected—and he’d definitely seen more action. He was also smart enough to grasp the qualitative differences between his ship and those of the “Amer-i-caan” ’Cats, and they’d discussed tactics based on those strengths and weaknesses many times during the long voyage.
SS
Walker
and her “squadron” of three paddle frigates and a sloop exchanged signals and rendezvoused with
Mertz
,
Tindal
,
Simms
,
Achilles
, and the two practically “clipper” rigged oilers sixty miles offshore beneath a warm, benevolent sky, upon a placid sea. Commander Grimsley of
Achilles
had been acclaimed commodore of the “detached” Second Fleet squadron by the ’Cat captains on the other ships due to his knowledge of the waters. Besides, Jenks’s former exec was well liked and respected—and he’d definitely seen more action. He was also smart enough to grasp the qualitative differences between his ship and those of the “Amer-i-caan” ’Cats, and they’d discussed tactics based on those strengths and weaknesses many times during the long voyage.
Walker
made a beeline for the oilers like a hungry wolf pup to a teat, and hoses were rigged across and pumps engaged to fill her grumbling bunkers. At Matt’s orders, the frigates took their turns at the other oiler. They probably had sufficient fuel, having topped off a few days earlier, but like any destroyer skipper, Matt remained obsessive about fuel—particularly when they were this far from home.
Achilles
could replenish her coal bunkers locally, and the oilers retained a sufficient reserve to see the rest of them all back to the Isles, but what if something happened to the
oilers
?
made a beeline for the oilers like a hungry wolf pup to a teat, and hoses were rigged across and pumps engaged to fill her grumbling bunkers. At Matt’s orders, the frigates took their turns at the other oiler. They probably had sufficient fuel, having topped off a few days earlier, but like any destroyer skipper, Matt remained obsessive about fuel—particularly when they were this far from home.
Achilles
could replenish her coal bunkers locally, and the oilers retained a sufficient reserve to see the rest of them all back to the Isles, but what if something happened to the
oilers
?
While fueling was underway, the air between the gathered ships virtually sizzled with messages, plans, and reports. Matt and
Walker
learned of the opening stages of the campaigns for Ceylon and New Ireland, at least to the extent they’d progressed before distance interfered with communications. They also received the love and best wishes of certain persons attached to TF
Maaka-Kakja
, via Respite to Scapa Flow.
Walker
learned of the opening stages of the campaigns for Ceylon and New Ireland, at least to the extent they’d progressed before distance interfered with communications. They also received the love and best wishes of certain persons attached to TF
Maaka-Kakja
, via Respite to Scapa Flow.
Matt sat in his chair in
Walker
’s pilothouse, gazing sightlessly out the windows at the fo’c’sle. Sandra never strayed far from his mind, and he yearned to speak to her, see her, hold her in his arms. Absence doesn’t always really make the heart grow fonder, but in his case, it certainly did.... But at the same time, he knew a crossroads had been reached. The “Dame Famine” was slowly fading, and the primary obstacle to their “relationship” had finally, essentially passed. But that very relationship had left a kind of scar, a fundamental wound that was difficult to understand or explain. They’d suppressed their love, hidden it, then downplayed it so long, it had become a damaged,
inconvenient
thing, and as much as it had been a source of strength to them both, it had also harmed them in subtle ways. It had been so long, and so much had happened to them both since they’d seen each other, he knew they’d both changed.
Walker
’s pilothouse, gazing sightlessly out the windows at the fo’c’sle. Sandra never strayed far from his mind, and he yearned to speak to her, see her, hold her in his arms. Absence doesn’t always really make the heart grow fonder, but in his case, it certainly did.... But at the same time, he knew a crossroads had been reached. The “Dame Famine” was slowly fading, and the primary obstacle to their “relationship” had finally, essentially passed. But that very relationship had left a kind of scar, a fundamental wound that was difficult to understand or explain. They’d suppressed their love, hidden it, then downplayed it so long, it had become a damaged,
inconvenient
thing, and as much as it had been a source of strength to them both, it had also harmed them in subtle ways. It had been so long, and so much had happened to them both since they’d seen each other, he knew they’d both changed.
A heat flashed across his shoulders and up and down his back. He’d made a fateful decision regarding that relationship; one he might regret for any number of reasons, maybe for the rest of his life. But things simply couldn’t go on as they had—for both their sakes. Sandra might not agree, and she’d undoubtedly suffer either way, maybe even more than he would, but he’d made up his mind. Ultimately, the choice would be hers as well, of course. She’d already suffered, and she’d invested so much of herself into what they had, he
would not
force his decision on her, but for himself, he knew it had to be. He sighed.
would not
force his decision on her, but for himself, he knew it had to be. He sighed.
“Signal the fleet,” he said quietly. “All ships will advance at ten knots in line abreast on a course of one, two, five degrees. Ten-thousand-yard intervals.
Tindal
will screen to landward,
Mertz
to seai> to se Double all lookouts, report any and all sightings. When
Tindal
opens Monterey Bay, she’ll enter in company with
Achilles
and destroy all enemy shipping. No boarding, just stand off and sink ’em unless they strike their colors. Direct those that choose to surrender to drive their ships hard aground; we don’t have time to fool with them.
Tindal
and
Achilles
will then rejoin the fleet, and if contact hasn’t already been made with the enemy, we’ll resume our advance to meet him.” He rubbed the young stubble on his chin, suddenly missing Juan. “Tabasco” was a fine steward, but it had taken Matt a long time to let Juan shave him. Tabasco wasn’t ready yet, and he was back to performing the chore himself. Despite his terrible coffee, Juan had spoiled him badly.
Tindal
will screen to landward,
Mertz
to seai> to se Double all lookouts, report any and all sightings. When
Tindal
opens Monterey Bay, she’ll enter in company with
Achilles
and destroy all enemy shipping. No boarding, just stand off and sink ’em unless they strike their colors. Direct those that choose to surrender to drive their ships hard aground; we don’t have time to fool with them.
Tindal
and
Achilles
will then rejoin the fleet, and if contact hasn’t already been made with the enemy, we’ll resume our advance to meet him.” He rubbed the young stubble on his chin, suddenly missing Juan. “Tabasco” was a fine steward, but it had taken Matt a long time to let Juan shave him. Tabasco wasn’t ready yet, and he was back to performing the chore himself. Despite his terrible coffee, Juan had spoiled him badly.
“Make sure all ships confirm receipt.” He looked around at the faces on the bridge, saw their surprised blinking or arched eyebrows, and wondered if his voice had sounded as normal as he’d thought. “All ahead one-third, if you please.”
“Sea’s getting up a little, Skipper,” Spanky observed unnecessarily, coming on the bridge at 0400 with the morning watch. “Even ’Cat’s’ll have a hell of a time seeing anything out there with this overcast.”
“They know what to look for. There are—were—steamers with the Dom fleet. They’ll be throwing sparks.”
Spanky grunted. “Like ‘our’ Imperials? Hell. It looks like the Fourth o’ July out there. Wish they’d go to oil.”
“I’m sure they will over time,” Matt replied absently.
Spanky looked at him with concern. “Did you get
any
sleep?
any
sleep?
Matt grinned. “No, and neither did Tabasco, I’m afraid. He makes better coffee than Juan, at least.”
“Poor devil,” Spanky clucked. “He needs to learn to stand up to that grubby bastard Lanier. Juan knew how to do that! I saw Tabasco down in the galley, building sandwiches for the bridge watch, and Earl was giving him fits. One of these days, one of his ‘little monkey’ mess attendants is gonna beat the hell out of him—and he’ll probably wonder why! If I see it, I won’t say a word unless they’re killing him. Earl’s a turd, but he can cook. I can’t choke down ’Cat food. Too spicy.”
Matt chuckled. “You’d better encourage some of those mess attendants to learn to cook something you
can
eat, besides sandwiches. One of these days, Earl’s liable to catch something over the side that’ll pull him over and eat him! Did you see what he caught just while we were tied up at Saint Francis?”
can
eat, besides sandwiches. One of these days, Earl’s liable to catch something over the side that’ll pull him over and eat him! Did you see what he caught just while we were tied up at Saint Francis?”
Earl Lanier was a fiend for fishing—and fish—and he’d sampled the denizens of nearly every port they’d touched. Just about anyone would’ve eaten many of the things he caught, but sometimes he brought things aboard that nobody even wanted to
know
were in the water. A couple of times, he
had
nearly been snatched into the sea.
know
were in the water. A couple of times, he
had
nearly been snatched into the sea.
“Yeah . . . he’s not going to eat
that
, is he?”
that
, is he?”
Matt shrugged.
“Aggh! Damn thing looked like an inside-out squid stickin’ out of a boot . . . with pinchers!” He yawned. “What’s the dope on
Achilles
and
Tindal
?”
Achilles
and
Tindal
?”
“They’re coming back out. They got eleven transports. Eight chose to beach. Not as many as Reynolds reported seeing before . . . we lost contact. A good haul, but I wonder where the others went?”
“Home? Maybe to get more troops?”
“Maybe.”
“Lookout reports ‘spaarks’ off staar-board bow, Cap-i-taan!” Minnie suddenly cried. “Bearing two four seero, relaative, may-be five t’ousand yaards!”
Matt glanced at his watch. He’d been allowing
Walker
’s crew just a few more minutes of precious sleep before what promised to be a busy day. “Very well. Sound general quarters. Signal to all ships, ‘enemy in sight,’ and give the position.”
Walker
’s crew just a few more minutes of precious sleep before what promised to be a busy day. “Very well. Sound general quarters. Signal to all ships, ‘enemy in sight,’ and give the position.”
All the Imperial ships had closed
Walker
before the sun went down since, except for
Achilles
, they had to rely on visual signals. Those were flashed now, by lights to port, and ’Cat liaison signalmen would interpret the Morse.
Walker
’s unnerving general alarm gurgle-screeched into the night, and Spanky stepped to the shipwide comm.
Walker
before the sun went down since, except for
Achilles
, they had to rely on visual signals. Those were flashed now, by lights to port, and ’Cat liaison signalmen would interpret the Morse.
Walker
’s unnerving general alarm gurgle-screeched into the night, and Spanky stepped to the shipwide comm.
“All hands, draw small arms and man your battle stations! Man your battle stations!” he said with infinite calm. “I repeat, draw small arms and man your battle stations. This is no drill.”
“
Mertz
has ‘enemy in sight’ now,” Minnie reported.
Mertz
still screened to seaward. “Her cap-i-taan says enemy fleet, many ships, on course, seero, one, seero! Range to him, two t’ousand yaards. He asks turn about and open range until ‘daylight make gunnery . . . praac-tic-aable’!”
Mertz
has ‘enemy in sight’ now,” Minnie reported.
Mertz
still screened to seaward. “Her cap-i-taan says enemy fleet, many ships, on course, seero, one, seero! Range to him, two t’ousand yaards. He asks turn about and open range until ‘daylight make gunnery . . . praac-tic-aable’!”
Matt chuckled again. “I’ll bet he does! Vey well. Tell
Mertz
to beat feet, but maintain contact. Remind her of the dragons! Be prepared to clear the deck if necessary. Have our lookouts skin their eyes for anything moving toward us, and tell
Achilles
and
Tindal
to hurry!”
Mertz
to beat feet, but maintain contact. Remind her of the dragons! Be prepared to clear the deck if necessary. Have our lookouts skin their eyes for anything moving toward us, and tell
Achilles
and
Tindal
to hurry!”
“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan!”
Matt looked at Spanky. “We’re liable to have company too. My guess is, they expect some of the transports to join them, so they won’t think much of sighting us if they do, but if any sniff too close, the jig’ll be up. You’d better run along to the auxiliary conn. Stop by engineering and tell them to expect some frisky maneuvering today. I do
not
want my ship shot to pieces halfway around the planet from a dry dock!”
not
want my ship shot to pieces halfway around the planet from a dry dock!”
“Aye, aye, Skipper!” Spanky said, grateful he’d been
ordered
to see Tabby before the fight. “I’ll . . . see you later, sir.”
ordered
to see Tabby before the fight. “I’ll . . . see you later, sir.”
“Spanky!” Tabby said, surprised to see the diminutive officer enter the forward engine room under the circumstances. “I mean, Commaander McFaarlane! How . . . good of you to drop by. Good mornin’, sur!”
“Tabby,” he said, and nodded at the others in the compartment. “Fellas,” he added. He looked back at Tabby. “Everything okay in your division, Chief?”
“Condensers are staartin’ to choke up again. We’ll be sayin’ so long to freshwater showers.” Spanky cringed. It would be fire hoses and naked bodies on deck, then. That had never been a problem in the “old” Navy, but with nearly half the ’Cats aboard being female, and
very
“human” in the pertinent parts . . . He cleared his throat. “Listen, this might be another ‘Scapa Flow’ today, so keep your eyes on the ball.”
very
“human” in the pertinent parts . . . He cleared his throat. “Listen, this might be another ‘Scapa Flow’ today, so keep your eyes on the ball.”
“Won’t be no ‘Scaapa Flow’ with you an’ the Skipper in charge,” Tabby said confidently.
“Hey now, that wasn’t Frankie’s fault . . . and don’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Ain’t speakin’ ill. He was a swell guy, just not good Skipper.”
“Well . . . anyway,
the
Skipper says to be ready for some fancy moves . . . and be careful down here! Seems like every time there’s a fight, my poor boilers and engines get the worst of it. Not to mention my snipes.” He looked at Tabby. Her burn scars remained but were fading well, and her fur—though short and thin like all Lemurian snipes—was filling out. He
did
love her, in his way. He smiled and gently squeezed her arm, watching her eyes begin to glisten. “I’d better scram,” he said brusquely, taking his pouch from his pocket and stuffing a chew in his mouth. He offered it around and was surprised when a ’Cat water tender tentatively took a few leaves. “Well . . . fine. Just don’t be spittin’ on the deck plates!” he warned. Every snipe in the space had seen
him
do it a hundred times.
the
Skipper says to be ready for some fancy moves . . . and be careful down here! Seems like every time there’s a fight, my poor boilers and engines get the worst of it. Not to mention my snipes.” He looked at Tabby. Her burn scars remained but were fading well, and her fur—though short and thin like all Lemurian snipes—was filling out. He
did
love her, in his way. He smiled and gently squeezed her arm, watching her eyes begin to glisten. “I’d better scram,” he said brusquely, taking his pouch from his pocket and stuffing a chew in his mouth. He offered it around and was surprised when a ’Cat water tender tentatively took a few leaves. “Well . . . fine. Just don’t be spittin’ on the deck plates!” he warned. Every snipe in the space had seen
him
do it a hundred times.
The day dawned gray and cloudy, and brisk enough that deck apes—’Cat and human—gladly wore shirts for a change. A few lookouts and fire controlmen even donned peacoats. The whole Dom fleet loomed to seaward, their numbers impossible to gauge due to their relative congestion, sailing in multiple columns. The Allied force, minus
Mertz
, was shadowing them inshore, and apparently
hadn’t
raised any alarm so far.
Walker
’s profile was shielded from view by
Tindal
and
Achilles
as soon as they rejoined, and the sky began to lighten. Now, Captain Reddy stood beside his chair, staring out at the Doms through his binoculars and trying to determine the number of warships. He was almost sure there were twenty or more, ranging in size from ships of the line, or “battleships” as his crew increasingly called them, to the heavy frigates or “cruisers” Doms preferred. There were at least that many transports, maybe more. Few of those were steamers this time, and that made it hard to tell.
Mertz
, was shadowing them inshore, and apparently
hadn’t
raised any alarm so far.
Walker
’s profile was shielded from view by
Tindal
and
Achilles
as soon as they rejoined, and the sky began to lighten. Now, Captain Reddy stood beside his chair, staring out at the Doms through his binoculars and trying to determine the number of warships. He was almost sure there were twenty or more, ranging in size from ships of the line, or “battleships” as his crew increasingly called them, to the heavy frigates or “cruisers” Doms preferred. There were at least that many transports, maybe more. Few of those were steamers this time, and that made it hard to tell.
On its face, the impending battle seemed a terribly lopsided affair, as bad as when the old Asiatic Fleet faced the Japanese. Essentially, each enemy warship mounted forty to eighty guns, and each “class” was larger than its Imperial counterparts, but Matt’s little fleet had some advantages. His “American” frigates, or “DDs,” were screw steamers and much faster than the enemy, particularly with the Doms beating to windward. They mounted fewer guns, but they were larger, with a significant range advantage. If they could avoid crippling damage, they could stand off and pound the Doms largely at will.
Achilles
didn’t have much range on the enemy; neither did her Imperial sisters. Matt planned to use them as a rear guard, to snap at the enemy’s heels and destroy any transports that broke from the line and tried to run south with the wind. The allies also retained the element of surprise, since none of the enemy had come snooping after all, obviously thinking them to be the transports they expected.
Achilles
didn’t have much range on the enemy; neither did her Imperial sisters. Matt planned to use them as a rear guard, to snap at the enemy’s heels and destroy any transports that broke from the line and tried to run south with the wind. The allies also retained the element of surprise, since none of the enemy had come snooping after all, obviously thinking them to be the transports they expected.
Even as Matt watched, however, flocks of dragons lifted from some of the transports within the Dom formation, headed for
Mertz—
still all alone up ahead.
So they do let the damn things aboard their ships,
Matt realized with surprise.
Well, at least we know where they come from—and where they are.
That would help. Soon, he’d release
Tindal
and
Simms
to charge up the enemy flank, and
Achilles
and the other Imperials to steam for its rear. The Dom warships couldn’t turn toward
Tindal
and
Simms
without charging straight for shore; a very bad move for dedicated sailors. He kind of hoped they’d turn away, though he didn’t expect them to. A lot could be gained in the confusion following such a maneuver. As currently disposed, all they could really do was maintain their course and slug it out, and lonely
Tindal
and
Simms
would actually
control
the terms of the engagement. Given enough time, ammunirtz and luck, there wasn’t a hell of a lot the Doms could do about it—without their damn dragons. That left the final Allied advantage: USS
Walker
. She’d be in the fight from the start, and exposed to considerable risk, but the dragons were her priority opponent.
Mertz—
still all alone up ahead.
So they do let the damn things aboard their ships,
Matt realized with surprise.
Well, at least we know where they come from—and where they are.
That would help. Soon, he’d release
Tindal
and
Simms
to charge up the enemy flank, and
Achilles
and the other Imperials to steam for its rear. The Dom warships couldn’t turn toward
Tindal
and
Simms
without charging straight for shore; a very bad move for dedicated sailors. He kind of hoped they’d turn away, though he didn’t expect them to. A lot could be gained in the confusion following such a maneuver. As currently disposed, all they could really do was maintain their course and slug it out, and lonely
Tindal
and
Simms
would actually
control
the terms of the engagement. Given enough time, ammunirtz and luck, there wasn’t a hell of a lot the Doms could do about it—without their damn dragons. That left the final Allied advantage: USS
Walker
. She’d be in the fight from the start, and exposed to considerable risk, but the dragons were her priority opponent.
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