Deadly Shores (5 page)

Next to her, his hand protectively on her shoulder, was General Lord Muln Rolak of Aryaal. Enemies before the Great War, they'd grown as close as father and daughter. Matt looked carefully and saw that Rolak's old, battle-scarred face did not look pleased. He suddenly reflected that Lemurians really were a lot more expressive than he'd originally thought. Their tails, ears, and patterns of blinking conveyed a wealth of body language, but after more than two years among them, he'd learned to spot very subtle facial expressions as well. Rolak, always urbane and stoic, was better at hiding even those small motions than most, but he'd doubtless heard that his I Corps wouldn't be making the trip. At least not at first.

Elsewhere around the table were other familiar faces. One of them was Colonel Ben Mallory, currently commanding the 3rd Pursuit Squadron, but still in charge of all Army and Navy air. The pride of the 3rd remained a dwindling number of P-40E Warhawks, salvaged from a Chill-chaap swamp. Matt noted that he seemed to be brooding about something. Beside him was Commander Jis-Tikkar, or “Tikker,” COFO of
Big Sal
's 1st Naval Air Wing. With them was Lieutenant Commander Mark Leedom, a hot pilot who'd once been a torpedoman, but who'd stay behind to command Pete's combined Army and Navy air. His expression was a lot like Ben's, and Matt suspected he knew the source of Colonel Mallory's displeasure.

There were more, all of them men and 'Cats Matt knew well. Just “regular guys” who'd become heroes, leaders of a generation from two worlds—or was it more? he absently asked himself—caught up in an unimaginably bitter war for survival. He loved most of them like family. They
were
his family, he realized, and far too many were gone forever. Finally, he nodded at Commander Simon Herring, their “new” director of strategic intelligence. Herring remained inscrutable to Matt. He'd started as an insufferable martinet, opposed to the raid as originally conceived, but now, apparently, one of Matt's biggest strategic supporters. He shook his head and looked around.
Where's Courtney?
He should be here, and a lot of us are waiting to hear his theories about, well, a lot of recent revelations.
He frowned.

Courtney Bradford was an Australian petroleum engineer, rescued from Java during the Old War. More important, he was a naturalist and the Allied Minister of Science. He was an extremely valuable and engaging man, but if he had a fault, it was his unruly “stream of consciousness” thought process. Chief Gray,
Walker
's “Super Bosun,” once referred to Bradford's mind as a “BB in a vacuum cleaner,” and it wasn't a bad metaphor. Matt had a few ideas about the discoveries Chack and Captain Garrett had made, based on his historical background, but Courtney had been hinting a lot lately about the “how” of it all. Matt sighed.
Most likely, he's on his hands and knees, following some bug around the jungle, and has completely forgotten about this meeting. As a matter of fact, that's probably where Silva is too. Protecting him. But Silva at least should've been keeping track of time!

Adar sat, and so did everyone, quickly quieting as the conference began. “My friends, my people,” Adar said, then added, “Gentlemen and ladies,” for the benefit and chagrin of some of the Imperials present. Even Matt felt that jab. All Lemurians fought, male and female, indiscriminately. Many former Imperial women, once virtual slaves, were fighting now as well. Soon, the Empire of the New Britain Isles would have an integrated navy, at least. It was necessary, and only made sense—particularly as far as the 'Cats were concerned. To them, a female not allowed to do whatever a male could do was not as free as the male. It was that simple. “We are here to announce the final dispositions for what I hope might prove a decisive campaign against the hated Grik!” Adar continued. “Much has been decided already, including the straa-ti-gee and objective.” He glanced at Herring. “Doubtless, many of you have guessed those dispositions already, but I must stress the need for secrecy. Not only is it sadly possible the Doms, who can infiltrate our ranks quite easily, might make use of what they learn, but we are now in almost daily contact with the Grik across”—he blinked concern at Alden—“across the cease-fire line that separates our forces from theirs in Indiaa. I do not expect the . . . truce . . . to hold for long, but in the meantime, we must guard our words!”

Alden and Rolak nodded. They'd learned a lot about the Grik from their brief talks with General Halik, and even more from “General” Niwa, Halik's Japanese friend now in their care. But Halik was sharp. He might've learned just as much from them.

“Ultimately, it is most important that Halik not know we shift any focus from him. He will only see our strength here grow, and must not suspect we divert any to another front.” He blinked compassion at Rolak. “This is one reason you and General Alden must remain. He knows you both, and he could miss you from the talks if you leave. But he has not met our dear Queen Protector Safir Maraan. Besides, when we
do
strike Halik again, we will need you here,” he finished brusquely. He understood why Alden agreed to a cease-fire, but the very thought of an accommodation with the Grik struck him as perverse. He wanted Alden and Rolak to resume the offensive as quickly as possible. Adar looked at Matt. “And, of course, we are not taking a great deal of our strength on this mission in any event. Cap-i-taan Reddy?”

“That's right, Mr. Chairman. We'll take more than originally planned so we'll be ready if a big opportunity pops, but with more troops coming in here all the time, the departure of Second Corps shouldn't make a difference.” Matt didn't point out that II Corps had been decimated, and it too would be composed largely of replacements and new recruits, but he saw Safir's predatory grin when he confirmed she was going. He smiled at her. “I understand you want to take cavalry. I agree that's a good idea; the Grik don't seem to like it at all, and it gives us an edge when it comes to recon, rapid deployment, and screening troop movements. But I'm still not sure how that's going to work. We're talking about a long voyage. How will we keep ‘meanies' from going nuts and trying to eat our crews?”

There was laughter. Me-naaks, or “meanies,” were cavalry mounts indigenous to the Fil-pin Lands, and looked like long-legged crocodiles with an armored case protecting their abdomens. They were notoriously ill-tempered, and usually wore muzzles to keep them from biting even their riders in combat.

Safir smiled back at him. “It required a long voyage to get them
here
,” she reminded, “and I'm told that they will remain quite happy aboard ship as long as they are well fed.” She glanced at a Lemurian standing behind her. “And besides, I have grown to value Major Saachic's services—and valor.” By all accounts, Saachic had become one hell of a “cav-'Cat,” but Matt figured he would've blushed at the praise if he could.

“What am I supposed to use for cav?” Pete protested. Matt looked down the table at a large, wildly bearded man named Dalibor Svec, and raised his eyebrows. Svec styled himself a colonel in what he called the “Brotherhood of Volunteers,” and even though his “brotherhood” was primarily composed of a previously unknown continental tribe of Lemurians, some of his people were obviously—somehow—aging veterans of what Matt remembered as the Czech Legion. From previous conversations, Matt had learned that Svec's Czechs and Slovaks had been involved in that bizarre odyssey at the end of the Great War (back home) when sixty-odd thousand of his comrades, fighting with the Russians, had been stranded on the Eastern Front when the Bolsheviks made a separate peace with Germany. His people were promised safe conduct out of their positions, but when Trotsky tried to arrest them and take their arms, they rebelled. The “Legion” had been spread out up and down the Trans-Siberian Railroad by that time, and fought a series of bitter battles against the Bolsheviks to consolidate their forces at Vladivostok. Matt knew what happened next, but Svec and his two hundred or so riflemen never did. It was during that time they'd somehow wound up on this different earth.

Matt was fascinated by Svec's story of how his people survived, joining forces with Lemurians who'd once inhabited northern India—driven there, and then still farther by the encroaching Grik they didn't dare confront—and he was anxious to hear more. He was particularly interested to learn why they wound up where they did and, well,
how
. Svec's people were the first they'd ever encountered who didn't come to this world by sea. Irritation flashed. That was another reason he'd wanted Courtney here! The Australian had heard of the legionnaires, but hadn't talked to them yet. Matt focused back on Svec. Infantryman or not, he and all his people, human and Lemurian, had become outstanding cavalry, riding beasts every bit as frightening-looking as me-naaks, even if they weren't carnivores. They'd been poorly armed with crude flintlocks for the most part, built in their primitive, nomadic villages, but they also had a few old Moisen Nagants. They retained ancient knowledge of the region, as well as a tradition of surveillance. They even attacked isolated groups of Grik when the opportunity arose to do so without leaving witnesses, so they knew the country very well. They'd just “shown up” at the climax of the battle for Alden's Perimeter, after apparently watching for some time, waiting to see if the Allies truly had a chance against their hereditary enemy. Convinced now that they did, they were anxious to get on with it, and were just as frustrated as Adar by Pete's cease-fire.

“What's your current strength, Colonel Svec?” Matt asked.

“A full brigade,” Svec said proudly in heavily accented English. It was good that he spoke it, since his Lemurians and Matt's could barely understand one another. “Two regiments as you count such things. More are coming now.”

“Good. You've been under Saachic's command since you arrived, but can you do without him?” What Matt meant was, “Will you
cooperate
without him watching over you?” Svec smiled. “My volunteers will behave,” he assured, “now that we know the fight is not over, just postponed. We understand well the need to gather one's strength!” He gestured around. “And we know you do not really make peace with the Gaarik.” His expression darkened. “Our friends have made peace with our enemies before, and at first, we thought that was the case again. Now we know it is not, we will cooperate fully with General Alden, and eagerly await the day we can kill the Gaarik and drive him from this land at last!”

“Fine,” Matt said, glancing meaningfully at Pete, making sure he'd caught the implied impatience. Now that Svec and his “volunteers” had powerful allies, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that they might precipitate an end to the cease-fire if it dragged on too long. He took a breath and resumed. “Otherwise, besides the assets already at Diego, which I won't go into,
Salissa
and her air wing will be going, of course. Repairs to
Arracca
and
Baalkpan Bay
are almost complete, and they should be sufficient to protect our naval forces with their air power, particularly with the better bombs.” He looked at Tassanna-Ay-Arracca,
Arracca
's High Chief. “As soon as possible, I'd like you to take your battle group and blockade the western ports of Indiaa.” Tassanna blinked appreciation. She was still very young for a High Chief, and what Matt was suggesting amounted to her very first independent command. “As for the battle group that will accompany
Salissa
 . . .” He paused, noting how the tension ratcheted up among the frigate, or “DD” skippers. “
Walker
goes, obviously, but so does . . . Destroyer Squadron Six,” he announced. The statement was received by whoops and groans. It was interesting that the disappointed ones were those not going. Everyone wanted in on this show. “That's about it. We sail in ten days. With any luck, we'll get our licks in before the Grik anywhere else get a clue what's happened here.” He looked at Keje. “You'll organize whatever auxiliaries we need, oilers and tenders and such?”

“Of course.” Keje beamed. “I have grown good at that!” He glanced at Atlaan-Fas,
Salissa
's Lemurian CO, and Lieutenant Newman, her exec. “Or at least those persons have!” Matt smiled back at him. In the growing noise that followed, Lieutenant Commander Irvin Laumer approached the table and stood by his arm.

“Yes, Commander?” Matt asked, a little surprised. The Skipper of destroyed S-19, who'd put so much of himself into the old sub, looked terrible. He was taking the loss of his ship and much of his crew very hard.

“What about me, sir?” he asked quietly. “I'd . . . I'd like to go.”

Matt studied him. “Honestly, Mr. Laumer, I thought you'd like to have one of the new destroyers building in Baalkpan.” At that moment, two nearly exact copies of
Walker
and
Mahan
were within a month or two of launching. The builders had had a lot of practice working on the ships that inspired them, and they'd even come up with improvements. It would take time to fit them out, but the ships should be ready for sea in four months at most. Matt considered the offer a reward for Laumer's conduct.

“I appreciate it, sir, but”—he leaned down to whisper—“I learned a lot using my boat as a torpedo gun boat, and I'd like one of the PTs waiting at Diego.” Matt pursed his lips. The PTs were probably the worst-kept secret in the Alliance. He leaned back in his chair and arched his eyebrows. “Okay.”

As soon as Laumer stepped away, Adar rose. “Just as Cap-i-taan Reddy has said, that is about it. Thank you for coming. You will receive your orders.” He seemed to be trying to divert further requests, but as soon as Matt stood, Ben Mallory braced him. “So what about
me
?”