“Anyway,” Matt continued, “you’ll escort Placca-Mar.” He hoped he said it right. His ’Cat was finally improving, as was his pronunciation. “She’s the Home Saan-Kakja’s returning to the Filpin Lands aboard, along with plans and some of the large machinery we’ve completed. Colonel Shinya and the prisoner will also be aboard. The colonel will be escorting Commander Okada, but his primary mission is to take charge of training Saan-Kakja’s troops in Manila. While you’re with Placca-Mar, you’ll be under Colonel Shinya’s direct command, and if you run into any marauding lizards, his orders will supersede any I’ve given you today. In other words, feel free to disobey the one about avoiding opportunities to get yourself killed, because you will defend Saan-Kakja to the last. Understood?”
Irvin gulped, but nodded. “Aye-aye, sir.”
“Barring incident, you’ll depart company with Placca-Mar in the Sibutu Passage, hug the Sulu Archipelago to Mindanao, and proceed to your destination.”
“What about mountain fish, if we run across any?” Irvin asked hesitantly, and Matt looked at him, scratching the back of his neck.
“Sparks-I mean Lieutenant Commander Riggs-is working on stuff. So’s Ordnance. I also hope to squeeze some advice out of Jenks, if I can. We’ll do everything possible to make sure you have solid communications as well, but”-he shrugged-“who knows? You might wind up on your own.”
Irvin knew the entire mission was a test of sorts, as much for the captain to evaluate him as for him to evaluate himself. He’d missed all the fighting and really had little reason to expect such an opportunity-and an opportunity was how he viewed it. Somehow he’d prevail. He had to.
“I’ve been on my own before, Captain,” he said at last. “Sort of. Before you took us off Talaud in the first place, we didn’t even know what had happened. Even if we lose communications, I’m confident we’ll manage.”
Matt looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at the others in the chamber. “I sincerely hope so. I implied earlier that you’re the only man we can spare for this, but remember, the war’s just begun. We can’t spare anyone in the long run.”
“No, sir.”
As was customary by midafternoon, the rain had stopped by the time Captain Reddy, General Alden, and Commodore Jenks gathered at the base of the great, scorched Galla tree. As was also customary, the remainder of the day would be humid and oppressive and the clothes worn by the little group had barely begun to dry before perspiration replaced the moisture. Sandra, Keje, and Alan Letts had joined them. Shinya had departed to prepare the troops for “inspection,” and Matt had asked the Bosun not to attend. Chief Gray uncomfortably agreed. His and Jenks’s antagonism toward each other was well-known, and Matt wanted the commodore as comfortable about the tour as possible.
A two-wheeled cart appeared out of the bustling activity of the city, the driver reining his animal just short of the overhead that protected them from the incessant dripping. The cart itself looked like an oversize rickshaw, complete with gaudy decorations. The beast pulling it had never been seen in Baalkpan before it and a large herd of its cousins arrived from Manila a few weeks before. It looked a little like one of the stunted brontosarries from a distance, although it was smaller and covered with fur. It also had a shorter neck and tail, even if both were proportionately beefier and more muscular. The head was larger too, with short, palmated antlers.
The Fil-pin ’Cats called them paalkas, although Silva’s insidious influence had reached Baalkpan before them and here they were almost universally called pack-mooses, even by the local ’Cats. They were herbivorous marsupials, of all things, and Matt was glad to have them. He wondered why no one had ever imported them to Baalkpan before; they were obviously more sensible draft animals than the ubiquitous brontosaurus. They were much more biddable and, from what he’d seen, at least as smart as a horse. They could even be ridden, although no kind of conventional saddle would serve. They were half again as big as a Belgian draft horse, and any rider would have been perpetually doing the splits. Matt primarily wanted them to pull his light artillery pieces and they should be great for that. Shinya and Brister were working on ways the gun’s crews could ride them.
Other creatures that could be ridden like a horse had arrived from Manila. They were me-naaks, and nobody objected when their name was changed to “meanies.” They looked like long-legged crocodiles that ran on all fours, as they should, but their legs were shaped more like a dog’s. They ran like dogs too, fast and focused. Their skin was like a rhino-pig’s, thick and covered with long, bristly hair, and they had a heavy, plywood-thick case that protected their vitals. Matt was dubious about them, and admitted they were scary. When he’d first seen them in Manila, they’d borne troops in Saan-Kakja’s livery, apparently on errands. The crowds gave them a wide berth and Matt had noticed their jaws were always strapped tightly shut. They seemed to obey well enough, and Saan-Kakja had since assured him that they’d make fine cavalry mounts-once he’d explained the concept to her-as long as a rider didn’t mind the fact that his mount’s fondest wish was to eat him.
Cavalry, and the mobility it provided, was something Matt had been wanting for a long time. It wasn’t something ’Cats had given a great deal of thought to, since, as little as most of them ever envisioned fighting, they’d never envisioned fighting an open-field battle. The terrain just didn’t suit. For the campaign taking shape in Matt’s mind however, cavalry of some sort-or at least mounted infantry or dragoons-would come as a nasty surprise for the Grik indeed.
“How… interesting,” observed Jenks, staring at the conveyance.
Matt shook off his reverie and smiled. “More practical than walking.” He gestured around at the aftermath of the squall. “Especially in this muck.” Sandra smiled at him and gravitated to his side.
Jenks looked at her briefly, then shook his head. Apparently, what he’d been about to say or ask wasn’t something he wanted to discuss just then. He peered into the cart. “Is there space for all of us?” he asked doubtfully.
The paalka dragged the cart through the bustling city. There was so much activity that, except for the remaining damage, it was difficult for Matt to tell a massive battle had raged around and through Baalkpan not so very long before. It was easy to remember they were at war however, since much of the seemingly chaotic commotion was geared toward military preparation. Squads of troops squelched by in cadence, either toward or from the expanded drill field. Quite a few of these wore the distinctive black-and-yellow livery of Saan-Kakja.
Matt, Alden, and Letts returned the salute of a platoon of Marines that marched by on the left, heading for the parade ground. Matt had finally allowed the reconstitution of the Marines as an independent force. They’d be needed as such and the ’Cats’ various guard (or, increasingly, army) regiments had sufficient veteran NCOs and officers now to lead them. The Marine uniform was also strikingly regular, now that it had become official. It consisted of a dark blue kilt with red piping along the hem for veterans. NCOs sported red stripes encircling their kilts, from the bottom up, to designate their rank. All wore thick white articulated rhino-pig leather armor over their chests as well. Stamped bronze helmets like those the destroyermen wore (except for the ear holes) completed the basic uniform. Baldrics, straps, belts, and backpacks were all black leather, and had become universal among Allied forces.
The “Army” had begun a similar attempt to provide uniforms for its troops, but the colors varied, since its forces represented different members of the Alliance. In the case of Baalkpan, which fielded numerous regiments, the leather armor was a natural dark brown and the kilts were bright green. This was the color of Nakja-Mur’s livery and Adar hadn’t changed it. The various regiments had gold numbers embroidered on their kilts.