“Yes,” Saachic said. “That is why only six of us broke through to you. The rest remained with the relief force.” He looked at Safir with a small smile when he realized she must have thought his six were the only survivors. “Lieutenant Commander Leedom is well, and will resume command of the remaining air forces in Indiaa. Your cousin-to-be, Cap-i-taan Bekiaa-Sab-At, also survived, though she is sorely wounded. I… I am sorry I did not mention that immediately.”
Safir closed her eyes for a moment in thanks. Not all lost, at least. She didn’t know Bekiaa well, but she was practically family. More important, Chack loves her, and she is an exceptional officer.
“So. What will Generaal Aalden do?”
“He intends to force his way through to you today, come what may. Any help you can provide would be appreciated, but the most important message he charged me to give is that you must hold here, whatever the cost. The enemy cannot gain this gap. He fears Madraas may be lost when the Grik fleet arrives.”
“Maker!” breathed Colonel Enaak. “But what, then, would be the point in remaining here?”
“General Aalden believes that if we are forced out of Maa-draas, we must consolidate here and around that lake to the south. The mountains will provide a barrier to the west, and the lake will allow us to continue to operate aircraft. They are our only defense against Grik zeppelins. Also, though it will doubtless be watched and perhaps even fortified, the river that flows from the lake to the sea is somewhat navigable-but much too shallow for the Grik battleships. Whatever happens, we must assume a position with secure internal lines.”
“It has come to this?” Safir murmured. “A hasty defense on foreign soil? Like Colonel Flynn’s stand on North Hill writ large?”
“General Aalden anticipated your concern,” Saachic said. “He bade me assure you that this entire ‘mess’ is his fault alone, but we will get out of it. The Grik may have caught us with our kilts down-”
“A most colorful and appropriate metaphor,” Enaak interrupted.
“-but our own forces,” Saachic continued, “new weapons, better aircraft, heavier ships all gather at Andamaan even now. And soon we will do the same to the Grik.”
“Very well,” Safir said grimly, standing and putting a hand on Saachic’s shoulder. She nodded at a large cushion in the tent. “Sleep now, Cap-i-taan Saachic. You have done… well.” She blinked irony at the insufficiency of the word. “I will speak to your companions about these other riders you met.”
Tears suddenly gushed down Captain Saachic’s face. The dam he’d held in place by will alone had broken. “He died for us. Col-nol Flynn, the Marines, Rangers, Sularans… they all died so I could sit here in comfort… and spill tears like a youngling!” He sounded disgusted with himself.
“They died for you,” Safir agreed softly. “They died for all of us, so you could bring us your words-and the warriors you saved. If not for their actions and yours, we would know nothing of what we face beyond this hateful gap, of General Aalden’s plans, or of these enigmatic strangers.” Safir gently stroked the filthy, blood-crusted fur on Saachic’s cheek. “They will be remembered for what they did, and so will you.”
Taylor Anderson
Iron Gray Sea — 07
CHAPTER 25
March 25, 1944
USS Walker
South China Sea
1142
The world was a cold, metallic, liquid gray, much as it had been for days, and the rough, disorganized swells still bared their jagged, windswept teeth. Most of the Lemurians on USS Walker moved slowly, with considerable determination, and even some of the old hands weren’t feeling too hot. They’d followed the slow-moving, raging storm as it thundered northwest across the Fil-pin Lands (old Luzon), until it veered north across Formosa on its way up the China coast and into the Yellow Sea. It had been a wild, bitter thing, not quite a Strakka, but certainly a respectable typhoon. Matt was no meteorologist, but the weather of this world still confused him. This should have been the tail end of the rainy season on swell-hidden Formosa, he thought, but it was too early in the year for typhoons. The experienced ’Cats on Walker weren’t surprised by the weather-even if the skinny, vigorously bucking ship gave them a hard time. Maybe Walker needed a Sky Priest “sailing master” of her own, at least as a weather weenie.
The worst had passed, leaving the old, groaning, complaining ship bounding reluctantly through the Luzon Strait. They’d deliberately made that passage in early daylight, with keen lookouts on the alert. The spray of little islands, north and south, had given Matt and Spanky the creeps. They still couldn’t get a proper fix on their position, but when the lookout high in the crow’s nest confirmed Formosa to the northeast, they knew they were in the clear. Matt never saw the island from the bridge, but it was just as well. If he had, in these seas, it would mean they were way too close.
Spanky clanked up the stairs aft and came on the bridge just a few moments before the bell at the base of the foremast was struck, indicating the afternoon watch change. Other men and ’Cats had already begun appearing, relieving those who’d been standing the morning watch. Spanky looked at the quartermaster’s log, then lurched toward the captain’s chair as the ship’s bow took a sudden plunge.
“I’m ready to relieve you, sir,” Spanky said a little anxiously. Matt had been standing far too many watches, in his view, or just hanging around the bridge too much, even when off duty. The news from everywhere had them all uptight, but Matt was letting his own impatience and frustration show a bit more than usual. The Skipper’s mood put everyone on edge, and Spanky knew Sandra was worried about her new husband. It was obvious he wanted to be where the action was, and Spanky sympathized. Particularly when their own mission was looking more and more like a wild goose chase. Hidoiame might be just a few miles away-or a thousand by now. Nothing had been able to fly for a week, and they had no recent reports of sightings. Of course, there was no way they could launch Walker ’s own new Nancy either. The storm was leaving them at last, but they might as well have been groping in the dark with their hands tied behind them.
Matt yawned hugely. “Am I ever ready to be relieved!” he said, making Spanky smile. “How are things in engineering?” he asked, knowing Spanky would have checked personally before he reported for duty.
Spanky’s smile faded. “They’re keepin’ her together, but a week of heavy seas, as beat up as she was to start with, has kind of roughed her up. Tabby really wants to secure number four boiler, and it’s like a sauna down there. Loose steam all over the place.” He shook his head. “I never seen anything like it. Letts’s gasket is swell stuff, and there haven’t been any failures, but, well, if they were water lines, I’d say they were weeping. As it is, the couplings just seem to smoke, see? No jets, no gushers. Nothing has blown, but…” He shook his head. “It gives me the heebie-jeebies. The guys tighten ’em up and they quit for a while-but directly they start smokin’ again. It’s like the gaskets are too tough to blow, but as the creosote stuff in ’em starts breakin’ down, they get kind of permeable.”
“There hasn’t been anything like this reported on our other ships, has there?”
“No, sir, but we keep higher pressure, and we been doin’ it a long time. Maybe some of the industrial power plants have been running longer, but they’re in the open air and lose a lot of pressure at the piston packing. Hell, you know? I’ve never asked if they’ve ever had a failure. Maybe it happens all the time and they take it in stride-just cool her down and change the damn gasket!”