CHAPTER 11
Rangoon
T he plan had seemed so simple, so clear, in Dowden ’s great cabin riding at anchor in Port Blair. Now, in the vast, thick, reeking darkness of the misplaced river the Amer-i-caans still called the “Ayarwady,” nothing whatsoever was clear. There was no moon to speak of, and what little there was, was heavily smothered by an oppressive, visible humidity, almost a fog. As reported and expected, there were no channel markers of any kind and leadsmen in Dowden ’s bows constantly tossed their lead as the steamer crept slowly upstream against the moderate current. Dowden made just enough steam to keep steerageway and continue her advance with her heavy burden of troops and the long train of troop-packed barges behind her. If she’d been a coal burner or a side-wheeler, this would never have worked. Telltale sparks from her funnel or the noisy, churning white water alongside would have betrayed her to anyone watching from shore. As it was, commands were kept to a minimum and muted, and even her engine had been muffled with blankets, wrapped around what was accessible and otherwise hung as baffles in the engineering space. Nakja-Mur was under the same discipline, with much the same burden. USS Haakar Faask , another new steamer that had arrived a few weeks earlier, had the newest, most powerful engine, and behind her trailed Donaghey with her sails all furled, as well as her own allotment of nearly two dozen barges filled with troops, field artillery, and a short company of the 3rd Maa-ni-la Cavalry with their silently purposeful “me-naak” mounts. The paalka teams to pull the guns were kept inconveniently muzzled and stowed belowdecks on the frigates to prevent them from causing alarm with their shrill cries.
General Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado and representative to the Allied Assembly, was immaculately groomed for battle, as always. In fact, she was practically invisible on Dowden ’s quarterdeck in her black cape with her almost blue-black fur. She wore a silver-washed helmet, though, that complemented her form-fitted, matching breastplate, and that was how Lord General Rolak picked her out of the gloom and the milling throng of nervous, excited, whispering warriors.
“This creeping around in the dark always makes me uneasy,” he confessed quietly, joining her by the rail.
Safir grumbled a chuckle. “An admission I never expected from you, O valiant opponent.”
Rolak chuckled back. “I will never be your ‘opponent’ again,” he said. Then his voice turned serious. “You are the daughter I always wanted of my one mate who passed into the Heavens too soon.”
Safir touched his scarred, furry arm. “And you have become as my father, as the noble Haakar-Faask did before you.” She paused. “Do not make me mourn you today as I still mourn him-and my true sire.”
Rolak grinned in the darkness. “Fear not. I am already too old to die properly, bravely, on an honorable field against respected foes. That time is gone.” His tail drooped. “There is no honor in this war, as I have said many times. It is not fun.”
“It is not fun,” Safir agreed, “but there is honor.” She huffed. “You know that. The honor comes with the cause, a cause far greater than any we had before: the very survival and freedom of our people-even if it is just the freedom to choose ‘fun’ wars!”
They both chuckled then. They knew that few of their allies would understand. They also knew that for them to succeed, for the Alliance to endure, “fun” wars were over forever. Things could never be as they’d been before, with Aryaal and B’mbaado remaining apart from others of their kind. Any wars of the future would always be like this: desperate wars of last resort.
“But why are you uneasy?” Safir asked at last. She gestured at the southwest bank of the river. There had been lights there, obscured in the riverside wood of unfamiliar trees ever since they’d entered the river mouth. Most were probably lingering cook-fires, left unattended by sleeping Grik. A few rough structures eyed the river with lights from within, but there was no sign that the stealthy squadron had been detected. They’d seen only two Grik ships moored near the once impressive harbor facilities they’d passed, and one appeared half-sunk. The garrison here had clearly been abandoned, and the Hij in charge understood that the remaining ship represented suicide, not escape.
“Oh… you know. These night antics of the Amer-i-caans still disturb me,” he admitted. “Just on the off chance that this battered old sack of bones was to manage a noble deed, or even die an honorable death… I’d like for the Sun to see it.”
Safir slapped the admittedly old but still rock-hard arm this time. “Shortly we will be in position, I hope, and the Sun will not be long in coming! If you die any kind of death today, the Sun will watch me taunt your corpse! Do you understand me, ‘Old One’?”
Rolak patted her shoulder. “Yes, my Queen!” he replied lightly.
“Besides,” Safir added, suddenly somewhat concerned for Rolak’s state of mind, “you cannot die. You still owe your life to Captain Reddy! I was there when you made the pledge, remember? You may only die in his service, you know!”
“This is not?”
“Absolutely not! You must be at his side, protecting him from something ridiculous and foolish!” she declared.
The deck shuddered beneath their feet and the apparent motion of the ship, slow as it was, came to an abrupt halt, spilling quite a few soldiers and Marines to the deck with a clatter of equipment. The curses that followed were almost as loud. Runners came and went, barely visible, and there was a muted discussion near the wheel. Rolak and Safir looked on with interest. After a short time Commodore Ellis joined them.
“We’ve hit a snag or something,” he said. “Who knows, maybe we strayed from the channel. The lead showed deeper water… It doesn’t matter. This is as far as we go. I’d hoped to take you another mile or so, but we knew it was dicey. No friendly pilots on This river.”
“Is the ship in danger?” Safir asked.
Jim Ellis shook his head. “Nah, we’ll back her off okay once the troops and equipment are off her. We could probably back off now, but we’re running out of night anyway.” He regarded the two generals, his friends, in the gloom. “Just keep an eye on that right flank,” he reminded them. “Especially now. We’ve got no idea what’s out there and we won’t be able to cover you much with the ship’s guns for a while. At least until daylight shows us the channel better.” He paused. “Be awful careful, both of you. This whole thing is… different. We’ve never done anything on a continent before. Pete’s scouts saw nothing on the northeast side of the river, and the enemy you’ll be facing was kind of strung out. Like in the plan, if they don’t get wise, you shouldn’t have much trouble establishing a strong beachhead anywhere along here. The forest opens up a lot past the shore… supposedly.” Jim shook his head. “Captain Reddy’s right. Being blind is sure a pain. I’ll be glad when Big Sal ’s planes show up and tell us what they see! Anyway, if they stick to their usual routine, they’ll run around like chickens with their heads cut off for a while until they get sorted out. Use the time to dig in and wait for ’em to come at you, then slaughter ’em!”
Safir blinked amusement in the dark. “We have done this before, Commodore, and we know the plan well. We will ‘watch our flank,’ and I have high confidence in that aspect of General Alden’s strategy. It should work, and it might well be the only way to prevent ‘seepage.’ ” She grinned predatorily.
“I know,” Jim agreed. “I guess I just wish I was going with you.” He turned to his exec, who’d drawn near during the conversation. “Send: ‘This is it. All forces will immediately disembark and proceed to their relative positions according to General Alden’s plan. There is no geographic objective other than the shipyard, and that needn’t be taken intact. The only real objective it to kill Grik and practice new tactics. Maintain maximum communication and physical contact with adjacent units. Nobody is to go running off on their own.’ ” He took a breath, wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He started to add “be careful,” but decided that, like Safir, the various commanders would probably think he was carrying on too much about the obvious. “Send: ‘Good Hunting,’ ” he said instead, then turned back to Safir and Rolak. “Just promise you’ll remember: just because the Grik have always done things a certain way doesn’t mean they always will. I guess I don’t really expect anything fancy-this time-but keep reminding your NCOs particularly to expect the unexpected. Someday they’re liable to get it.”