The landing was discovered fairly quickly, but that didn’t mean surprise was totally lost. Guttural shrieks and excited, high-pitched cries echoed from the trees along the shoreline in the vaguely graying, predawn haze. One of the strident Grik “battle horns” brayed insistently. Only a few barges actually made it to shore before the Grik in their area knew something was up, but the commotion arising along the roughly three-mile shore upstream of the Rangoon docks appeared to confuse the enemy far more than it rallied them to any sort of coordinated effort. Several companies piled ashore in the face of headlong Grik counterattacks, but these were poorly timed, terribly executed, and totally unplanned. Each may have been composed of anywhere from a dozen to two hundred warriors, and they simply attacked what they saw. In other words, they behaved in a perfectly predictable fashion. So far. Except for a couple of companies of the 5th Baalkpan that took some casualties from one of the larger attacks that met them right in the water between the barges and the shore (and the short, greenish “flashies” drawn by the splashing), the rest of the Allied troops brushed aside the ad hoc enemy efforts. Immediately, the army began to expand its foothold all along the shore.
To encourage further disarray among the enemy, at least at first, the big thirty-two-pounders of the steam frigates, and Donaghey ’s eighteens pulsed with fire, flashing on the dark water of the Ayarwady through the mist and gunsmoke like the most intense cloud-to-cloud lightning imaginable. The thunderous booming of the guns was muffled some by the dense air, but the pressure of each report seemed even more intense. The fused case shot that had worked with such surprising efficiency and reliability at Singapore had long since been replenished and then some. Now it flashed over the landing troops like meteors, trailing short, luminous, sparkling tails. Half a mile inland, it detonated unseen except for periodic brief stabs of light that rained fragments of crude iron down through the trees and among the rudely awakened camps of the enemy. Rolling booms reached the ears of the army several seconds later, and droplets of moisture shivered from the leaves.
Safir Maraan strolled slowly along in the rapidly brightening dawn, hands clasped behind her back. She uttered no orders. She’d come ashore with half her personal guard, her Silver Battalion of the Six Hundred, and they had things well in hand. For organizational purposes, the Six Hundred was considered a regiment with two battalions, Silver and Black. Unlike the rest of the B’mbaadan and Aryaalan troops who’d adopted their own distinct colors, the Six Hundred still clung to their old black and silver livery. They also trained right alongside Pete’s Marine regiments and were crack troops. They knew exactly what they were doing and needed no distractions from her. Thrashing, hacking, chopping sounds reached her from the front as the perimeter was expanded. For just an instant, she allowed her thoughts to stray to her beloved Chack, and as she’d expected, his presence, his very scent suddenly filled her heart just as quickly as she opened it. The Sun and the Heavens only knew what unthinkable distance separated them, but for a moment he was with her, beside her on the field that day. Back where he belonged.
A paalka squealed behind her and she coughed loudly to stifle the sob that had risen to her lips. Consciously, she restored the stones to the wall that protected the Orphan Queen from herself at times like this-times she’d never known before she’d met the “re-maak-able” wingrunner-turned-warrior. Times when she didn’t want to be a queen or general or even a warrior anymore, but just a mate to the one she loved.
The paalka squealed again and she shook her head, turning to see a pair of the heavy beasts, their palmated antlers bobbed and capped, being dragged from a barge and taken to a picket line. She still marveled at the creatures. They were infinitely better draft and artillery animals than the stupid, lumbering, dangerous “brontasarries,” as the Amer-icaans called them. They were really too broad and large to ride, but except for their annoyingly high-pitched cries they were among the greatest gifts the Allies had yet received from Saan-Kakja and the Maa-ni-los. She watched as the barges withdrew, headed back to the ship for more troops or equipment, and another barge landed to disgorge its cargo of two more paalkas and four light guns under the anxious, tailtwitching glares of the gun’s crews. None too soon.
“My Queen,” cried a “lieuten-aant,” rushing to stand before her. “Cap-i-taan Daanis begs to report a substantial Grik force marshaling to our front!”
Safir peered upriver. The coming day had actually made it suddenly, if likely briefly, more difficult to see in the haze. “Are we well connected to the 3rd B’mbaado and the rest of Lord General Rolak’s command?”
“Yes, my Queen.”
“What is Cap-i-taan Daanis’s definition of a ‘substantial force’?”
“Perhaps six or seven hundreds so far. There may be many more on their flanks. It is… difficult to tell.”
Safir nodded. “Of course.” She glanced around at the beachhead they’d secured. She would have preferred it bigger, deeper at least, but it was sufficient. As long as they had a contiguous battle line and enough room to land their subsequent waves in relative safety, it would be enough for the time. “Very well. Tell Cap-i-taan Daanis that his company may lay aside its garden tools and prepare to receive the enemy!”
“Yes, my Queen!”
Safir paused while a squad of signalmen raced past, unspooling a long roll of wire with little red ribbons tied to it at intervals of about a tail. They had to stop a moment and wait impatiently while the gun’s crews moved their pieces forward by hand. She turned to Colonel Anaara, who’d been pacing along beside her. “The Silver Battalion will ‘stand-to,’ if you please.”
The drums-another of Captain Reddy’s imported innovations-thundered in the gradually fading morning mist as youngling drummers blurred their sticks. Even as the battalion fell in, preparing their bows and spears and locking their shields; while artillery crews rammed fixed charges of canister down the mouths of their gleaming bronze six-pounders and gunners sighted the tubes, the raw, visceral roar of the first mass charge of Grik warriors fell upon them. The Battle of Raan-goon had begun.
Lord General Rolak heard the sound of the Grik charge, the whoosh of arrows, and then the stuttering Ka-burr-Burr-aak of a battery of guns on his left. He could see little, but he wasn’t much concerned. There’d been none of the raucous, thrumming horns, calling and answering like skuggik cries on carrion, so even though he doubted that Safir was completely ready, he expected her to handle this first thrust with little difficulty. The distinctive sound of Grik “infantry” crashing against a shield wall confirmed his confidence that the Silver Battalion had made ready for the charge. The odd trees of the forest muted the sound, of course, but he could tell from experience that the blow had not been a heavy one. Arrows and canister had certainly blunted it as well.
So far, the 5th B’mbaado was not involved, which meant the charge had fallen either on Safir’s center or left. Rolak hoped she’d had time to deploy the follow-up regiments between herself and Captain Garrett’s forces. Even if she hadn’t yet, he doubted she’d have too much trouble. Runners had just reported stiffening resistance-in the form of sporadic attacks-against Garrett’s landing at the port facilities. He had heard horns from there. With any luck at all, most of the enemy was being drawn to those horns even now. Garrett’s landing had been the first, most exposed, and by far the largest in apparent size. He had to make the deepest penetration against the largest known enemy concentration and establish the biggest beachhead. He had two full Baalkpan regiments, one Aryaalan regiment, and one fresh, unblooded Maa-in-la regiment to accomplish this, but he also had the most mobile artillery and mortars. Additionally, General Alden’s 1st Marines would follow on Garrett’s heels and he could call on them if he had to, but supporting him was not their main objective.