Straits of Hell (8 page)

Matt's announcement was greeted with pleasure, but he continued. “In reality, as you all know, things aren't so rosy. The Grik have better weapons too, and they don't always just run right into the meat grinder anymore. Worse, this time it's us that's overextended, and we have to expect them to try to make the most of it. That means a fairly rapid counterattack in my opinion as well. The ideal thing would be to stop them in the channel, the ‘Go Away Strait' as they call it—for whatever reason—before they land. But with just
Walker
, the sail/steam DDs of Des-Ron Six, and
Big Sal
's planes, we can't stop 'em if they mob us with transports, escorted by a really big mob of heavies we
know
they still have. If that happens before we get help, they
will
get ashore, so we have to prepare for it. General Queen Protector, if you would?”

Safir Maraan stood, shrugging off the revelation that they were on their own. She'd been on her own before. She stepped to a large painted-fabric map displayed on the wall opposite Adar that depicted northern Madagascar. It had been rendered as carefully as possible from captured Grik charts and aerial observations. Hopefully, the Maroons would help fill in what lay beyond the wall of trees. Safir drew her sword and pointed at the bay. “Assuming the enemy gets past the navy, we may also make a few other assumptions. They know this harbor even better than we, and I doubt they'd be foolish enough to attempt an attack through its mouth. The channel is too narrow, as we discovered to our pain. Sink one large ship there and no others could pass it by. We will mass captured guns—there are hundreds in the warehouses—at the eastern approaches, in any event.”

“Why not the west side as well?” Jarrik asked.

Safir looked at him and blinked. “The eastern guns will range across, but mainly because all the Grik we ran from the city are there. They are rapidly eating one another up and I do not want to waste troops to kill them, but I doubt they will let us emplace guns in their midst.”

“A shame we can't talk to them,” Courtney Bradford said. “Perhaps we could have Rolak fly his pet Grik, Hij Geerki, down to have a chat. He may even get them to surrender.”

“It could be done with one of the big ‘Clippers,' if it carried enough fuel,” Herring speculated thoughtfully.

“Why?” Adar asked, suddenly interested.

“They appear to be predominately
civilian
Grik, Mr. Chairman,” Herring replied. “The first large group of such we have ever encountered. In the past, at Colombo for instance, the warriors slew them all, most likely to prevent their capture. Hij Geerki is living proof that civilian Grik
will
surrender,” he added, “and just think what we might learn from them.”

“There must be forty thousand of them!” Keje declared. “We could not feed so many!”

Herring shrugged. “Then we wait. There won't be so many for long.”

Adar blinked disgust at the notion but bowed his head to Herring again. “The idea is worth considering. I will do so.” He added a blink that amounted to wry amusement. “And, of course, if we
kept
the Clipper that brought Geerki, we'd have another long-range reconnaissance aircraft. . . .”

Herring acknowledged the point with a nod.

“But doesn't such a large number of Grik, right on the shore and virtually in our midst, provide the perfect place for the enemy to land?” Jarrik prodded.

“I would be more concerned about that if the enemy had any way to know they were there,” Safir replied, “but it
is
one of the better places the Grik may attack. We already have a large percentage of my corps entrenched between the wall of trees and the harbor to keep the refugees where they are. That force is equally well situated to prevent a landing. But that brings up the pertinent point. The biggest problem we face on land is the scope of the perimeter we must defend around Grik City. We simply don't have enough troops to be strong in more than a few places at once. The western shore where we landed would be just as suitable for the enemy. We have improved the existing fortifications and made many more, but we cannot fill them all. We have even begun moving Grik guns to emplacements excavated in the wall of trees itself, though an attack from the jungle is my least concern. Even if the enemy attempted it, they could not move swiftly enough or maintain the necessary cohesion to storm the wall before we discovered their plan”—she nodded at Will—“and massed to meet them.”

“We did it,” Chack reminded her.

“They weren't looking.” She grinned at him, then faced the others, the grin fading away. “To hold the city, we must keep looking all the time, and we
must
have early warning where the Grik will strike.”

“Me paple'll halp wi' that,” Will assured, “but let us fight! We want tae fight!” he urged.

“The Maroons shall fight,” Adar decreed. “Bring your people in, and we will train them, even arm them if we can.” He looked questioningly at Keje, and his friend nodded.

“We have many of the old muzzle-loading muskets aboard all the ships. As production of the newer ones improved, it was easier for the arsenal to ship finished arms wherever they were needed than to keep track of where—and to whom—the conversion barrels and hammers had and hadn't gone.” Keje blinked irony at Matt. “No sense throwing away perfectly good weapons—and you never know when they might come in handy!”

“Well. That's settled, then,” Courtney declared happily. “Muskets for the Maroons! But might I suggest we're overlooking yet another source of the scarcer commodity: troops!” All the Lemurians blinked questioningly at him. “Oh, come now! Haven't we been told that a large population of
Lemurians
still exists in the southern reaches of the island? Your very own ancestors! How can you stand not to meet them? How can we afford not to
recruit
them?”

“They willnae fight with us,” Will declared, glancing around.

“How do you know?” Adar asked, and Will shrugged uncomfortably. “Me paple've . . . skarmished 'em, fram time ta' time. Thay're nae lak . . .” He shrugged again and looked at his plate. “Thay're . . . daffrant fram ye hare. Wild mankeys is all thay are. Thay run away.”

Bradford goggled at him. “You said nothing of this before!” He looked at the others. “But it makes no difference!” he insisted. “Let us ask them,” he pleaded to Adar. “Let
me
!”

“I will go with him,” Chack promptly declared. “Risa and Major Jindal can lead the First Raider Brigade as ably as I, and in any defensive stance they will be under General Maraan's direct command in any event.” He looked intently at Adar. “I myself was once . . . unhappy with fighting. Perhaps I can persuade them with the same arguments that once persuaded me.”

“If you can even talk to them!” Keje snorted. “The La-lantis were difficult enough to understand.”

“You may go, and may the Heavens aid you,” Adar said, “once our situation here is more secure.” Courtney's face fell. “Do we even know where these people are?” he asked Will.

“Nay. Not surely. Jas sout, alang tha mantains, east an' west, in tha jangle an' tha barren lands both. Different tribes.”

“So they would have to be found before we could even contact them,” Keje muttered, and looked at Adar. “I must counsel against it at present. We cannot spare officers such as Chack and the necessary security he and Mr. Braad-furd would require on such an indefinite mission.”

“If they are as shy as Will suggests, a large force would only frighten them,” Chack countered. “A smaller group might fare better; only Mr. Braad-furd, myself, and perhaps a few others.” The last was directed at Captain Reddy as a question, and Matt almost groaned, but then reconsidered.
Why not?

“
If
you go, and if Silva's fit, he can go with you,” Matt agreed. “But if he causes any trouble, shoot him.” He suddenly had an inspiration. He'd asked that Ensign Hardee be summoned to the meeting so he could get a feel for him. All reports said the kid had picked up PT tactics from Winny Rominger and then Irvin Laumer better than anyone. Maybe an independent command would be a good test—before giving him the whole MTB squadron, as he'd been contemplating. “Mr. Hardee?”

The kid had been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. If possible, they got even wider and he bolted to his feet. “Sir?” he squeaked.

“You take them, if Adar agrees to the mission. Draw one of the new Brownings for the Seven boat too. It's time all the PTs had something to defend themselves with.”

Adar nodded, blinking a combination of yearning and concern. “Of course I agree, but the mission must be brief. As my brother says, we cannot spare Col-nol Chack, Mr. Braad-furd, and even a wounded Dennis Sil-vaa for very long.” He sighed. “I only wish that I could go.”

“Uh . . . Aye, aye, sir!” Hardee managed with a firmer voice, then sat, blinking as well.

In the silence that followed, Matt gazed around the table, preparing himself. Could he really do this without causing a rift that might wreck his marriage—and conceivably even the Alliance? He had to try. “Okay,”
he said. “As I understand it, our bigger mission is to hold what we've got until we can take the fight to the Grik.” He nodded at Adar. “
My
orders as commander in chief are to accomplish that
by
taking the fight to the Grik however we can.” He looked at Tikker, then Keje. “General Maraan covered the imperatives. She has to know when the Grik are coming, and we can't tell her if we just sit on our butts and wait. We have to scout, and scout
deep
—not just watch the approaches and send a few planes to look around now and then.” He nodded at Tikker. “At the same time, we need to keep the wear and tear on our aircraft to a minimum, while maintaining the ability to concentrate them on tempting targets. If we do this right, we can make life a living hell for the Grik and maybe even prevent any ‘mob' of transports or heavies from forming in the first place.” He looked at Jarrik. “Des-Ron Six is yours, and can outrun anything the Grik have that we know of, under sail or steam. Take all but two of your DDs hunting up and down the continental coast. Don't tangle with any dreadnaughts, but thrash anything that looks like it can carry Grik.” He looked at Keje. “As I see it, we need to shorten the trip for our planes. Escorted by the other two DDs of Des-Ron Six,
Big Sal
will take her Nancys and one squadron of pursuit ships, and park her big butt in the strait. Her planes'll pound troop concentrations on shore, ships, or anything they find at anchor in Grik ports.” He looked back at Tikker. “The other pursuit squadrons will stay behind as air cover for the city.”

“What about the DDs that escorted the supply ships—and
Walker
?” Herring asked.

Matt considered. “The new arrivals will provide security here.
Walker
will . . . kind of go with
Big Sal
too.” He rubbed his nose. “Honestly, I'd thought I'd better stay here at first,” he admitted, “but I think any misunderstandings we once had have been cleared up pretty well. I believe I'll take
Walker
out myself after all, as a quick responder to anything that breaks, good or bad.” He grinned. “And who knows? We might do a little hunting of our own.” He paused. “Mr. Chairman? I recommend that you remain in Grik City . . . for the time being.”

Adar blinked, grateful for the renewed trust Matt was showing Safir Maraan—and him. “I will,” he said, “but let us not call it ‘Grik City' anymore. I think ‘Liberty City' sounds much better.”

“Liberty City sounds . . . swell,” Matt said neutrally.

“What will
Amerika
do during all this?” Becher Lange asked. Matt tensed. He'd been expecting the question.

“Keep trying to raise your kaiser, and get him to hit the Grik,” Matt said simply. “We
need
him to move. But while you do that, I want you to keep your bunkers full.”
Amerika
was the only coal burner in the fleet, but the Grik had kept large quantities of coal in the city for their warships. “And start loading the nonwalking wounded immediately. They'll be more comfortable in a liner than in a pile of rocks. When that's done, load any other wounded who can't fight, walking or not.” He looked at Adar before continuing. “In two weeks, whether or not the Grik come, or you raise your kaiser, you'll take all the rest of the wounded, the senior medical staff, Mr. Herring, Courtney if he's back, and”—he took a breath—“Chairman Adar, and get them the hell away from this island.” Adar began to sputter, but Matt continued. “Your Lieutenant Meek can remain to continue attempts to communicate using your codes. Once clear of here, don't head for Madras. Steer east by way of Diego, and make a high-speed run straight through the Sunda Strait. Don't stop until you drop anchor in Baalkpan Bay.”

Lange looked unhappy, but nodded. “In spite of her few guns,
Amerika
is not really a warship. But she can carry many people and she is fast. Your orders make sense—but would we not risk the same dangers that prevent our reinforcement? That require your other warships to protect your First and Third Corps? The sea between here and Diego Garcia is where the undersea boat was, after all.”

“We sank it,” Matt reminded, “and it didn't live there. It followed us down from Madras.” He shrugged. “Zigzag the whole way if you want—you should have the fuel for it. How long it takes is not as critical as getting our people out of here.”

“I will not go!” Adar almost shouted, seething. Matt turned to him.

“You
have
to, Mr. Chairman, and despite what you may think, this has nothing to do with what happened before. Look, you did what you came for; you took your ancient homeland back from the Grik. You should be proud of that, however it happened, and proud of the Alliance that made it possible. But you don't belong here now. Mr. Letts and a bunch of other folks've worked damn hard to turn part of that alliance into a nation—and they don't even know what to call it! It's time for you
to go back and do your real job. It's time for you to lead where you're needed!” He gestured at Keje, Chack, and Safir, then down the table. “This is
our
job.”