“It’s cold!” came a strange voice from within the fuselage/hull of the plane.
“My God, Lawrence! Is that you?” Orrin demanded.
“Course it is! Who else do you think could get in here?”
“But what are you doing in there? I thought this thing was heavy.
…”
“Look, Mr. Reddy,” Silva yelled. “I work for the Skipper, an’ my job’s to take care of stuff for him, you know, the gals an’ such. Well, Miss Lieutenant Minister Tucker an’ the Munchkin princess are safe as can be right now. They both think maybe you need a little watchin’ over right now, you an’ the Skipper bein’ related an’ all.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“Sure it is, an’ I said so, but they made me come! It was a face-to-face, direct order!”
“But… what’s Lawrence doing here?”
“He kinda thinks of himself as my sidekick, see? Sometimes I let him carry one of my guns.”
“I ain’t no sidekick!” Lawrence said.
“Hey, there’s the moon!” Silva said, diverting the conversation. The bright orb, nearly full, had begun emerging from the sea. “Boy, it sure looks close! Hey! How come it always looks closer when it rears up than when it’s right overhead, Lieutenant? I’ve always wondered that.”
“You’re kidding? Well… there’s more atmosphere between us and it when it first comes up. It acts like a magnifying glass… I think.”
“So… it’s because there’s more air between us and it now than when it’s straight up?”
“That’s what I just said!”
“Then if you had a glass tank and filled it with compressed air, you could really see somethin’, right?”
Orrin shook his head but didn’t reply. What a dopey question, he thought. Now it’s going to drive me nuts! He was glad to see the moon, though; it would make setting down on that lake in the dark a lot easier. He looked over his shoulder and saw the silhouettes of the rest of his flight. Maybe we won’t be as likely to run into each other either. The silhouette of New Ireland had appeared as well, as the moon rose higher, looking like a mountain range surrounded by a sea of mercury. “We should see the southern elements of Second Fleet soon. Start keeping your eyes peeled, in case any of those damn lizard birds are waiting for us.”
The four-cylinder engine droned companionably above them as the coastline neared and the dark shapes of ships emerged. On shore, northeast and southwest of Cork, a battle raged, with vertical slashes of fire in both directions pinpointing artillery emplacements. Occasionally, clusters of mortar bombs sputtered where observers must have spotted enemy troop concentrations. The ships weren’t firing much, since all were Imperial vessels and had no explosive shells, but they’d probably rejoin the fight in earnest at dawn, once they could see what they were shooting at again.
“Anything on the horn I ought to know about?” Orrin asked.
“I can’t make heads or tails of it,” Silva confessed. “I ain’t no spark catcher, but I can hold my own. Every time I start pickin’ up a thread, somebody stomps all over it. Sounds like a mess, though. Everbody’s screamin’ for those swell new mortar bombs. Apparently, they’re about all that’s keepin’ the bad guys back. Must be runnin’ out.”
“I’m not surprised,” Orrin said. “This turned into a lot bigger fight than anybody expected, and all the artillery that fires exploding shells are with Chack and Blair, or left behind at Waterford.” He looked down at the fighting around Cork as they flew above it. “They’ll get more ordnance in the morning when that Jap colonel comes ashore-if they can hold that long.” Orrin’s tone revealed he still wasn’t comfortable relying on Shinya. He liked and respected Sandra, Laumer, and Captain Lelaa (he’d taken to the ’Cats as quickly as anyone). He even liked Lawrence right off, but, of course, he’d never seen a Grik. In many ways, Orrin Reddy was still entranced and fascinated by this bizarre “Oz” he’d found himself in, and it sure beat the fate that awaited him aboard-or beyond-that hellish ship he’d ridden to this world. But no matter whose side he was on, Shinya was still a Jap.
Ahead were the Wiklow Mountains. Soon they’d cross them and view the valley beyond-and the lake that ought to be Pearl Harbor.
“This fight looks… even bigger,” he observed a while later as they descended into the valley and neared what could only be the city of Waterford. A vast crescent of fire enveloped the northern part of the town, and Lake Shannon shimmered and glowed like a great puddle of blood. Bright flashes lit the valley, and crimson arcs of exploding shells fell on what had to be enemy positions, fired from the city and the mountains beyond. Cork was a holding action. Beyond the next range was the main Allied push, but here, the enemy had the whole campaign by the throat. If Waterford fell, each force would be isolated and vulnerable. From altiude, the battle resembled an inferno as the damp, but sappy forest burned almost everywhere. Immediately, Orrin Reddy changed his entire plan.
“Watch really carefully now,” he instructed Silva. “That moon’s a big help to us, but it’ll help those flying creatures too!”
In the event, the entire 10th Pursuit Squadron set down on the placid, brightly lit lake without incident, and motored toward a pier where nearly a dozen other “Nancys” were tied. Willing hands helped secure the bobbing aircraft as the engines were cut, and weary, stiff-legged aircrews scrambled onto the dock.
“Where’s HQ?” Orrin shouted.
“You not like it, sur,” warned a ’Cat.
“Why?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Just take me there.”
There was excited chattering he didn’t understand, and he was quickly led through a maze of battered waterfront buildings to a long, low-slung structure that reminded him of an army barracks. Probably every one of his fliers gaggled behind him.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded an Imperial officer as Orrin, Silva, and the leading edge of aviators burst into the building. Orrin was shocked by the tone, but also the level of chaos he beheld. At first glance, the activity they’d interrupted seemed to border on panic.
“Lieutenant Orrin Reddy, COFO of Maaka-Kakja, reporting,” he said. He didn’t salute, partly because he had no idea about Imperial rank devices, but also because his temper was rising.
“Very well, you’ve reported!” the officer said brusquely. “Now get out of the way! In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve a battle on our hands!”
“That’s pretty clear from the air. What’s also clear is a way to end it in a hurry!”
“Ridiculous! We’re doing all that can be done with our meager forces here.”
“You’re not doing anything with the planes yet.”
“Yes… well, I heard there was some scheme to use them in the morning for something,” the man replied vaguely, “though I’ve no idea what possible use they might be. Freakish curiosities!”
“Who’s in command here?” Silva demanded menacingly, taking a step forward. Lawrence squeezed in beside him, and his frightening visage and strangely colored armor were at least as disconcerting as Silva’s sudden entrance into the conversation.
“Why… Commodore Luce came forward with the reinforcements from Cork. I suppose he’s the highest in rank…”
“So he’s in charge?”
“I don’t know as if you could say he’s in charge, per se…”
“Is anybody in charge?” Silva roared.
The Imperials visibly flinched.
“Uh, Major Blair was in charge of this element of the operation, though we’ve occupied an area originally designated for the Ape-Major Chack, I mean! Neither is here at present, so I command my forces, Commodore Luce has his, though his artillery is controlled by… someone else. Major Brighton has the troops that fled here from Bray, but his supply train security force is under Major Grimes.”
“Nobody’s in charge?” Silva roared again, but with a tone of furious incredulity. “Good Gawd a’font›hell kind of a way is this to run a war? You fellas haven’t done much o’ this, have you?”