Firestorm

CHAPTER 16

USS Walker

I t was still dark when Walker steamed into “Saint Francis” Bay in the wee hours of January 4, 1944, and they met nothing but a few brightly lit, anchored ships, probably waiting for the morning tide. They were not challenged by so much as a picket boat, and neither guns nor whistles brought them a pilot. Even when they crept through the shockingly narrow “Golden Gate”-with leadsmen on the fo’c’sle-beneath the guns of the twin forts situated on what should be “Fort Point” and “Lime Point,” there was no challenge to their passage.

“They ain’t got a clue,” the Bosun snorted from the port bridgewing.

“He’s right,” Jenks declared disgustedly. “Low fruit, ripe for the picking. Obviously, the dispatch vessel we sent never arrived, but there’s no excuse for this degree of complacency, ever. Had we been the Doms, the war would be over before those here even awakened.”

“Well, you’re the only one who’s been here before,” Matt said, lowering his binoculars. “You’re our pilot. Where now?/font›

“The governor’s residence is some distance south, beyond the North Point, in the West Bay portion of the city, but I believe our first stop should be Colonial Naval Headquarters just a few miles ahead, to starboard.” Jenks fumed. “From the look of things, that will likely become our headquarters after I relieve the incompetent fool in charge there.”

“It is disconcerting,” said Bradford, “and rather… achingly. .. peaceful.” He glassed the bay in all directions and saw sleepy, predawn lights everywhere. “Even now I can tell this may be the largest city we’ve seen; yet it slumbers so blissfully unaware.”

“It’s almost as big as New London and Plymouth together, on New Britain Island,” Jenks said, “though not as densely populated. Less congested too. More space to expand. There, Captain Reddy”-Jenks pointed-“you can just make out that empty stretch of dock with the large buildings beyond. That’s where the dispatch sloop would be had she arrived. We’ll tie up there ourselves; there’s no time to lose! Feel free to make all the noise you want. The guns of the fort will no longer bear, so we needn’t worry about some fool waking up and touching one off in a panic. Perhaps we might at least awaken someone for your crew to throw their lines to!”

Matt turned to the bridge watch. “Take her in, Mr. Kutas,” he said. “We’ll sound general quarters and honk the horn, if you please.” He chuckled. “Is there a specific window we should shine the spotlight in?”

The noisy tumult at the dock did arouse a reception. A few Imperial Marines were the first to arrive, milling about with their muskets, unsure what to do with them. An agitated naval officer finally appeared along with a trickle of sailors, but once they saw the utterly unfamiliar old destroyer, all they could manage was to stand and stare. Jenks held a speaking trumpet to his lips, and after identifying himself, demanded that those on the dock assist in securing the vessel. A few bold men scrambled forward and took the lines thrown to them-but then had trouble securing the lines after they saw the creatures that threw them.

“You there!” Jenks addressed the officer. “What’s your name?”

“Uh… Lieutenant… uh, Daniels, sir, if you please.”

“Lieutenant Daniels, who commands here?”

“The harbormaster, sir? The fort?”

“No. Who is high admiral here?”

“A… Admiral Rempel, sir.”

“I must see him immediately. The very Empire is at stake!”

“Well, but… you see, he’s asleep.”

“Then wake him yourself this instant!” Jenks roared. “I’m here on behalf of the Governor-Emperor himself, and I’m the direct representative of his authority! Sound the alarm and have all officers gather in the Naval Headquarters conference room. If Admiral Rempel considers a few more hours’ sleep more important than the safety of this city and the people here, he can take longer than the twenty minutes I give him to arrive.” Jenks glanced at the large watch he pulled from a vest pocket by a chain. “Twenty-one minutes from now, he will be replaced.”

Admiral Rempel, a short, obese man with the almost-universal mustache and a set of curly muttonchops, bustled into the noisy chamber with three minutes to spare. His face was red and his expression dour-until he saw the several Lemurians who’d accompanied Matt, ing trumpe, Spanky, the Bosun, and Courtney Bradford. The ’Cats were all members of the Captain’s Guard and had come armed. No one wanted to take any chances the unpreparedness they’d witnessed was due to Dom or Company influence.

“What the devil is the meaning of this?” Rempel demanded when his surprise subsided and he regained his voice. “And what are those… creatures doing here?”

“Your attention, please,” Jenks commanded, ignoring the admiral. “The Empire and the Dominion are at war, and have been ever since they recently perpetrated a dastardly, sneak attack against the Home Islands!” The room erupted with shouted questions, oaths, and excited conversation.

“Silence!” the Bosun bellowed. “Jenks ain’t done yet!”

Harvey glanced at Gray and nodded ironic appreciation. “That’s right,” he said, “there’s more.” He took a breath. “At this moment, a most formidable force approaches here. It was to arrive tomorrow, but we… may have disrupted their schedule. Regardless, it’s coming, with ships, infantry, and even trained dragons to attack from the sky!”

“Impossible!” someone muttered, but Jenks forged on.

“Not impossible. Fact. As of now, we don’t know where they are or how their plans may have changed, but we have little time to prepare for whatever they mean to do.”

“My God,” muttered Rempel. “What will we do?”

“What do you have?” Matt asked.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” Jenks said. “This is Captain Matthew Reddy. His is the lovely, fast ship tied to the dispatch dock. He and his crew, largely composed of the… unusual folk you see-‘Lemurians’-are our allies in this war, and you may thank God for it. We haven’t the time at present for me to detail all the ways they’ve already helped us. Suffice it to say they will be treated with courtesy, and Captain Reddy’s word carries the same weight as mine; the same as that of the Governor-Emperor himself.” He faced Rempel. “What do you have?”

“Why… there are two hundred Marines in garrison here, and half a dozen river steamers; gunboats you could say, but they’re more suited to responding to the depredations of the local denizens than fighting battles. Other than that, there are a number of armed Company ships in port, and a few Imperial warships undergoing repairs.”

“Immediately after this meeting, the Marines will take possession of those Company ships,” Jenks said darkly, “and I need a full report on the disposition of the Navy vessels and crews. What of the militia? Every able-bodied man in the city is a member, if I recall.”

Rempel glanced about. “True… but only the Governor may call up the militia and… he’s not in the city. He’s on a sport shooting expedition in the mast-tree forest.”

“Sport shooting… after the creatures near here? Is he insane?”

Rempel fidgeted. “The greater beasts grow fewer near the city, but small game abounds.”

“Regardless, the militia will be called in the name of the Governor-Emperor. See that the alarm is passed for a full mobilization! How many troops will that give us?”

Rempel’s face had turned darker. “Some five thousand or so, if they all report. You must bear in mind that the militia is not a professional force by any means. Their personal courage and individl fighting skills are… sufficient, certainly, but they’re not given to a high degree of discipline. An example is that some, more than a hundred, have already left against specific orders to scout some dubious reports by a brigade of trappers that arrived yesterday from the south. They brought wild tales of Dom troops coming ashore…” His eyes widened. “I had no reason to credit the tale and considered it ridiculous, of course…” He paused. “You don’t suppose…? Oh damn me, I had harsh words with the militia captain who wanted to investigate. I… ordered him not to go-the expense of an expedition!-but he went anyway, under threat of charges to strip his rank…”

“Pray I don’t do the same to you, Admiral Rempel,” Jenks said. “Where did these reports put the incursion?”

Rempel stepped hesitantly to a map of the coastline on the inner wall of the chamber. “Here,” he said, pointing at a bay about fifty miles south of where they stood.

Matt vaguely recognized it as Monterey. “How large a force did they report?” he demanded.

“Um, a dozen ships, perhaps a thousand troops-now see here, these trappers are notorious liars! Information is as much a commodity to them as the hides and ivory they bring to sell!”

“Are they in the habit of selling false information? What would that gain them?” Matt asked. Rempel didn’t respond, and Matt studied the coastline during the uproar that ensued. “These can’t be from the same force we tangled with,” he said loudly, regaining everyone’s attention. “It might arrive at any time, but allowing for the travel time of those trappers, it couldn’t have gotten there days ago. This must be a separate force sent to establish a beachhead, maybe a base of operations. They might put the rest of their troops ashore there for a flanking attack while their Navy tries to force the forts guarding the bay. Maybe that’s where they mean to base their damn lizard birds. We have to be sure about the range of those things; it might be crucial!”

“I say,” said Bradford, “there wouldn’t be any naturalists in the room at all?” A few hands tentatively rose. “Natural scientists” were fairly common in the Imperial Navy. “Splendid! Let’s put our heads together and see if we can answer Captain Reddy’s crucial question!” He looked at Matt. “Will these gentlemen miss anything important if they leave with me now?”

“Not unless they command troops or ships. Otherwise, what you come up with is of extreme importance.”

“Thank you, Captain.” He motioned at one of the officers who’d stood. “Please lead the way to a suitable chamber, preferably one where refreshments might be had!” Courtney Bradford followed half a dozen officers from the room.

“You believe the attack will come from two directions, sir?” Rempel asked Matt.

“At least two. They know we’ve seen them, their main force at least, but they’ll probably assume we don’t know about the landing at Monterey-that bay down there. I think those trappers have helped a lot because, based on their observations, we know the gist of their strategic plan. As I said, a direct attack on the forts and the bay, combined with an overland attack from the south. They’ll even have most of their troop transports with them here so we’ll think they plan to land infantry. Maybe they will, but my bet rides on that southern force, for the most part, coming up through the San Jose valley.” He blinked at the blank stares, then turned to look at the map. “Oh. Up through here, the Saint Joseph lowlandport/div›

“If what ye say is true, sir,” said a Marine captain, “an’ we deploy in time, I’ve no doubt we can drub twice our numbers there, even wi’ militia!’Tis really their only avenue o’ advance, an’ we already ha’ barricades there ta guard against maraudin’ beasties!”

“What kind of ‘beasties’?” Spanky asked darkly, speaking for the first time.

“Oh, we’ve some beauts, sir! Not so many as before, an’ the bigger predators pervide excitin’ artillery practice for the militia, so they’ve learned to keep scarce hereabouts, but we do nae massacre the big vegiticians-like monstrous great bloody coos, an’ tasty as well. The barricades simply keep ’em from stompin’ the city flat!”

“Okay,” Matt said, turning to Jenks. “I recommend you command the land force here. Maybe some of your recent experiences will inspire a few alterations to the local tactics.”

Jenks nodded, appreciative that Matt had spoken so delicately, but he was right. These people just didn’t know!

“Deploy as quickly as possible with all the troops and field artillery you can get your hands on,” Matt continued. “I’ll send the ‘Nancy’ up at first light to confirm our suspicions, but for now, proceed as if our suspicions are fact. Take your Marines from the ship, and I’ll also give you a few of my guys with modern, long-range weapons. A few Springfields knocking off some enemy brass at the right moment might come in handy.” He looked at Gray. “Take the Bosun. Walker ’s already got Carl Bashear, and Gray’ll just stomp around yelling at everybody-and you might need that!”

“But Skipper…” Gray began.

Matt shook his head. “It’s going to get weird out on the water, Boats,” Matt said, “but we’re used to weird, and I’ve got the whole crew of Walker to ‘protect’ me. Harvey’s never fought with any of these guys before, and he needs somebody he can trust to watch his back… and kick ass for him, if need be.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“The forts must remain fully armed,” Matt went on. He looked at Rempel. “And vigilant. We’ll also need to keep a reserve in the city. Otherwise, every ship and boat with so much as a swivel gun will prepare to defend the harbor mouth or join my ship in repelling the naval assault.”

A number of officers in the chamber, including Rempel, had been listening with growing alarm. “Perhaps I don’t understand,” Rempel said at last, “but who exactly commands here? And how do you plan to face an enemy the size you described with only your-evidently-lightly armed ship, a few Company vessels, a Navy ship or two, and a handful of gunboats?”

Jenks pointed at Matt. “As for overall command, he’s it,” he said, “and any man who does not follow his orders instantly and to the letter will be hanged. Am I perfectly clear?”

There were sullen nods.

“And do not underestimate his ship. It’s far more heavily armed than you think. Besides, we do expect reinforcements. A sizable portion of Home Fleet should be just over the horizon. We’ve had no communication with those elements-by means I’ll explain later-but they’re due anytime. Walker -Captain Reddy’s ship-should be able to make quite a dent in the Dom warships if the dragons can be kept at bay. Some plan for that is crucial, but all is not as gloomy as it seems.”

With the first light of the rising sun coloring the clouds overhead, Fred Reynolds and Kari-Faask lifted “their” PB-1B off the waters of Saint Francis Bay, to the incredulous amazement of those watching from the now fully alert forts and Naval Headquarters. Early risers in the city were equally astonished, but they didn’t have time to ponder what they’d seen before the church bells began to ring. Despite the early hour, there were no services on Tuesdays, and an emergency was confirmed when the alarm horns wound up, beginning near the Southmouth fort and spreading outward from there. The alarm horns were an obligatory call to arms, and fishermen preparing for the morning trawl, shopkeepers, yard workers, bankers, farmers, and even female indentures (conventions were less restrictive on this frontier) dropped what they were doing, fetched weapons, and moved purposefully toward their assembly points. Some heard the engine of the “Nancy” and saw the plane circle back toward the mouth of the bay and quickened their step. They didn’t know if the flying machine was hostile or not, but clearly something was up, and this alarm was no drill.

Walker shoved off from the dock, flying the Imperial ensign beside her own once again, as well as Imperial signal flags so no one would fire on her. Matt was taking Admiral Rempel to the main fleet shipyard across the bay. His ship was also towing barges full of Marines past the Company ships moored away from the docks. A barge was released near each vessel so the Marines could take it into custody. After that, the ships were to move to the Navy wharves for uparming and recrew-ing as necessary. Small swift sloops darted in all directions from the “Nav HQ” in search of the gunboats deployed around the bay, and one would go upriver to find the gunboat serving as the Governor’s “camp yacht.”

Jenks remained at HQ, commanding the Imperial land forces. In addition to the Bosun, Matt left him Sonarman Fairchild to operate the portable comm gear, and gunner’s mates “Stumpy” and “Pack Rat.” Both’Cats had ’03 Springfields and a full load out of twenty, five-round stripper clips full of smokeless. 30-06. Gray had his Thompson. All were members of the Captain’s Guard, but until further orders, they’d protect Jenks with their lives. Bradford also remained at HQ, ensconced with his new “naturalist” buddies, racking their brains to come up with some scientific or even anecdotal “dragon” repellant. So far, they hadn’t come up with much.

The last barge released to secure a large Company steamer that reminded Matt of Ulysses, Walker turned for the primary colonial shipyard. Even from a distance of several miles, Matt could tell it was larger than all the yards in New Scotland combined. It made sense. There was plenty of timber here, and endless other resources simply not available in the Isles. Several ships were out of the water, undergoing hull repairs. Others were alongside the docks with men and women working in the tops. A few seemed to be taking on cargo and supplies. Almost a dozen ships, in various stages of construction, stood naked or skeletal on ways from which they’d ultimately slide into the sea. Matt realized then with absolute moral certainty that no matter the cost, this place must not fall. He looked at Rempel, standing behind and to the left of Kutas at the wheel.

“Don’t fool with that, Admiral,” he said, “if you please.”

Rempel snatched his hand away from the engine room telegraph. “A most amazing vessel, Captain Reddy,” he said sincerely. He pointed at the telegraph. “If that device does not lie, your ship is only making a third of her potential speed-yet she’s already swifter tan any ship I’ve seen.”

“It doesn’t lie.”

Rempel nodded. He hadn’t thought so. “How came you to be in the service of the Empire?” he inquired. He gestured about. “Your people and all these other… creatures?”

Kutas snorted, and Minnie chirped in shock.

“You misunderstand, Admiral,” Matt said tightly. “I wish we’d had time to explain. We don’t serve the Empire; we saved it from the Doms and its own homegrown traitors. Now we’re allied for the purpose of destroying your enemies… and ours. As for the ‘creatures’ aboard, you can call ’em’Cats, Lemurians, Mi-Anaaka, or Americans, but if you call them ‘creatures’ again, I’ll have you thrown to the fish, and I guarantee your Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald won’t even blink when I tell him why.”

“Then please accept my most abject apologies,” Rempel gushed.

The yardmaster was equally impressed by the old four-stacker, but he was also sensible to the extent of the emergency on a level Matt doubted Rempel had yet reached. “There’re two steam frigates and a sloop of war now ready for sea,” he reported. “Another frigate can steam, but her masts were sorely damaged in a recent storm and repairs aren’t complete. They shouldn’t be stressed.”

“If she can steam, she can fight,” Matt said. “Make sure all commanders understand they must make all preparations for getting underway immediately. We’re sending some Company ships over to you, and we need them officered and crewed as necessary as well. Do whatever you like to them that you and the officers who’ll command them think will improve their combat readiness. Oh, and under no circumstances will you leave any Company officers or officials aboard them. Elements of the Company are allied to the Doms, and we don’t have time to sort out which ones are or aren’t right now.”

The yardmaster looked at Rempel, but the man said nothing. “Very well, Captain Reddy. It’ll be as you say. Plenty of Imperial officers on the beach here, waiting for a ship.”

“Good. Send each ship over to the Naval Headquarters area as it’s ready. We’ll muster the ‘fleet’ there.”

“Yes, sir. Ah, sir? How long do I have? I mean, when do you need them?”

“We’re waiting to find that out now. Did you see the flying machine that took off at dawn?”

“Yes, sir. Astounding!”

“It’s our scout. Everything depends on what it finds, but proceed as if you have only hours to complete your task.”

“Hours? God help me!” the man blurted.

“Let’s hope so,” Matt agreed.

“Monterey Bay” was just below, and Reynolds nosed the plane down and banked slightly left for a better view. Columns of smoke rose from the stacks of transport steamers; he counted sixteen. There were no warships. He was tempted to bomb them, but he had only two bombs on board, to save weight and extend his range. Besides, all the troops and supplies had probably been off-loaded. Better to stay high, quiet, and hopefully unobserved.

“Send to Walker that the transports are here all right,” he shouted through his speaking tube. “A few more than reported, but still no sign of the main fleet. We’ll swing out to sea a bit and head south.”

“Wil-co!” Kari replied, and Fred grinned. A few minutes later, Kari’s voice reached him again. “Mr. Paal-mer say ‘Roger,’ an’ be careful. You hear that? Careful is order!”

“Yes, Mother,” Fred answered, but despite his flip response, he meant to be very careful. Not only had he learned his lesson about being too aggressive on his bomb runs, but there were those damn giant lizard birds to consider. He didn’t think they were nearly as fast as he was in level flight; they’d actually had trouble keeping up with Walker in a sprint. But he’d seen them dive like bats out of hell. He shaded his eyes and scanned the sky above.

There were plenty of “ordinary” lizard birds, and other flying creatures, but so far nothing bigger than gulls or pelicans. The midmorning sun made it tough to watch inland very closely, but what he saw of the “California” coast gave Fred the creeps. Beyond the bay, dense forests of mighty trees marched right up to the water’s edge, teetering on the edge of sheer cliffs. He’d never flown over this coast “back home,” but he’d seen it from sea level and it was utterly unfamiliar. The… wrongness of it all probably went a long way toward preventing the somewhat shocked disorientation and melancholy he’d experienced when he first saw the “Hawaiian” coast. Of course, he hadn’t reached the San Diego area yet-his childhood home. He wouldn’t either, not this trip. The PB1-Bs had better range than the prototype, about six hundred miles one way-but he had no intention of making this a one-way trip. He had just enough fuel to (probably) spot the Channel Isles in the distance before he had to turn back. He was surprised by the sudden relief that caused.

“Too bad these Imperials don’t have a telegraph system,” he muttered to himself. There were Imperial outposts at both “Los Angeles” and “San Diego,” although they called them something else. A telegraph line would have given some warning if the Doms were in those places. A line of semaphore towers dotted the coast, but it had been cut at “Monterey.” Of course, a telegraph line would’ve probably been cut as well. There was nothing like a pair of eyeballs on the scene. He was struck again by how people-of every race-chose many of the same ports here that folks had back home. The subject had been often discussed. Bradford or the Skipper (he couldn’t remember which) once said, essentially, a good place for a harbor or a city was still a good place, no matter who or where you were. It made sense. He wondered briefly if any towns or settlements existed in any of the really stupid places humans had established them where he came from.

He shrugged and glanced at his gauges. He was flying at about three thousand feet. Fuel was… okay, but oil pressure and cylinder temps were nominal. The wind was currently out of the east, and the air was dry, cool, and refreshing. He looked in his mirror at Kari and saw her scanning the sea below with an Imperial telescope. So far they hadn’t seen any ships at all, besides the Dom transports, and that was an ominous sign. He’d been told to expect quite a few ships and coastal luggers-if the ships were free to move. Apparently they weren’t. That meant somebody was preventing them.

An hour later, they were nearing the extreme limit of their fuel, and sure enough, the overlarge, misshapen forms of the Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel islands appeared hazy on the southern horizon. They’d have to turn back within ten or fifteen minutes if they wanted any return cushion at all, but they decided to push just a little farther. Fred used a lot of rudder, and Kari scanned as far forward as she could bring her glass to bear.

“I see some-ting,” she ddenly announced excitedly.

“What?”

“Maybe ships between them two big islands! Yes, ships! Some smok-een, others not.” She paused. “That them! It must be them!”

Fred still couldn’t see, but he took her word for it. He glanced at his fuel gauge and cringed. “Well, we need a better look. Make a report with the position of the sighting, but we’ve got to get closer to make sure it’s the enemy and not just a few Imperial ships snugged up, hiding from them.” Soon, however, Fred could make out the distant shapes for himself. There were a lot of ships coming through the slot between the islands, and more were appearing west of San Miguel.

“Okay,” he said a little nervously. “No luggers, just full-grown ships-and I see a few red sails. That confirms it. Make this report.” He glanced at the chalkboard strapped to his right leg, comparing his calculations of flight time, air speed, wind speed, etc., with rough, remembered distances. Except for the looming islands, he’d had no real landmarks. “Ah, we’re approximately two hundred and fifty miles, almost due south of Saint Francis. Probable enemy fleet sighted about fifteen miles southeast of our position on an apparent course of three, three, zero degrees!”

A large, dark, winged shape suddenly plummeted past the starboard wingtip, missing it by inches.

“Shit!” Fred screeched, his voice many octaves higher than usual. He looked up and saw many more shapes dropping toward them. “Get that off right now!” he shouted, pushing the stick forward and advancing the throttle to the max. “Then see if you can keep those devils off us!”

The sudden dive had left them less helpless, but the giant lizard birds had tucked themselves into an almost-perfect aerodynamic shape and were still gaining fast. Kari slammed out the message and ended it with a “Mayday! Lizbirds!” Then she grabbed one of the two shortened muskets stowed in the plane. One of the creatures was right above her, beginning to flare out and extend its claws. “You hold steady,” she shouted. “I get this one!” She fired. The heavy load of buckshot impacted across the hideous thing’s chest and throat, and with a croaking cry, it tumbled away. Kari pitched the musket into the compartment at her feet and retrieved the second one. The “Nancy” had begun to accelerate away by now, and the closest monster was maybe twenty yards back. She aimed as carefully as she could at its face and squeezed the trigger. Fire and smoke trailed aft along with two ounces of shot that shattered the thing’s head. Kari began reloading the second gun but looked over her shoulder, forward, at Fred.

“What you do?” she demanded. Fred was leveling off, just above the water, but he pointed up. High above, another flight of the creatures was nosing over into the attack.

“I’m trying to get us closer to shore. If those devils knock us down, I don’t want to land in the water! Too many flashies!” Ahead was a narrow strip of beach. On the one side were the near-vertical cliffs; on the other, a boisterous surf. He risked a look upward. “Here they come!”

Kari never got the musket reloaded. Even without the wild gyrations, buffeting, and evasive maneuvers of the plane, she was just too scared to make her hands obey the complicated orders she gave them. One mon- ster plunged into the sea directly ahead of them. Another missed aft, almost tearing the tail off with its outstretched claws. The whole plane shuddered and nearly flipped into the sea when one of the creatures-that had to be lighter than it looked-slammed into the port wifasnd just clung there, slashing at the fabric with its teeth. Another lit right next to it and went for the blurry, spinning prop. With a horrifying Splack! Smack! Whack! Crack! the prop shredded the creature’s head and sprayed blood and gore and shards of bone all over Kari. Of the prop itself, little remained but spinning stumps. Horribly out of balance, the crank likely sprung, the valiant little engine tore itself apart, and all Kari could do was hunker down and hope most of the pieces would miss her.

“That’s done it!” Fred shouted, his voice tight with tension. The first beast had probably been torn apart by fragments of the engine, propeller, or its comrade, because it no longer tore at the wing, but the damage was done. Fred struggled against the loss of thrust and lift to coax the plane onto the beach, but they’d never make it. Forty or fifty yards short, the “Nancy” stalled, then pancaked into the surf. Kari screamed when a marching swell caught the tail and flipped the plane onto its back. There was a kaleidoscope of images: rushing bubbles and surging foam. Her eyes grew dim and her lungs felt as if they’d burst. Then, even through the seething waves, she heard the wing drag against the sandy bottom and with a terrible, rending crunch, the “Nancy” began breaking up.

“That was it, Skipper,” Ed Palmer said, looking down. He stood in the curtained passageway leading to the wardroom from aft. “After that last ‘Mayday,’ nothing.”

Matt merely nodded, but he thought his heart would break. Reynolds had been the youngest kid on the ship before the Squall, and he’d demonstrated buckets of guts more times than he could count, staying at his talker’s post on the bridge throughout many major actions. Kari, a B’mbaadan and daughter of that city’s greatest warrior, hadn’t been a warrior by nature, but she’d been a sweet kid with her own share of guts, doing what she had to do. Somehow, Fred and Kari had become inseparable, and their friendship and devotion to a very dangerous duty had been an inspiration to everyone. If they had to go, at least they’d gone together. Matt didn’t think either would want to go on without the other. Selass sniffed, and Matt smiled gently at her.

“Okay,” he said gruffly, standing over the green-linoleum-topped table and peering down at the map laid out on it. Jenks was there, as were Rempel and several Imperial officers. Spanky, Selass, and Bradford were the only others from Walker. Gray had already left to join the militia so he, Stumpy, Pack Rat, and Jenks’s few Marines could try to cram some of Chack’s and Blair’s tactics into their individualistic heads. “The…‘Nancy’ didn’t report actually seeing it. They meant to overfly the lowlands on their way back here, but they did confirm the ships, so we have to assume there’s an enemy column approaching from the south.” He looked at Jenks. “You’ve got to stop it. I don’t have any mortars for you, but you should have plenty of artillery-if you can crew it.”

“We have enough professionals for the artillery,” Jenks said, “but the militia will have to hold.”

“They’ll hold, if no one else will,” Rempel said, somewhat antagonistically. “They’re ill-disciplined, and their drill is laughable… but this is their home. They’ll fight for it.”

“Good,” Matt said. “That leaves us with the enemy fleet. The forts should be able to keep most of it out of the bay, but if just one ship gets through, it can raise absolute hell with the infrastructure here; infrastructure we’re going to need to take the war to the Doms. We can’t count on the forts. We must at least whittle the enemy down befor in arrives.”

“Two hundred and fifty miles at last report,” Jenks mused. “The wind remains in our favor to a degree, so they can’t make best speed. Give them six to eight knots. That will put them here… day after tomorrow. Evening most likely.”

“Yeah, no faster than their slowest ships, and in this case, their slowest are their most powerful. All the same, the wind could change and we need depth-behind us, I mean-to chase anything that gets past us. I think we should meet them.”

“Chase? Meet?” Rempel said incredulously. “Are you mad? After great effort, we have the equivalent of four warships, not counting yours, to meet twenty-five or more!”

“Not four, Admiral, nine- counting this one. We’ve reestablished contact with elements of Second Fleet. Achilles, Simms, Mertz, and Tindal will arrive early tomorrow morning, along with a pair of oilers. They’d have been here earlier…” Matt’s face clouded. “Let’s just say I’ve no proof of treachery, but I’m awfully glad I gave orders for them to depart company from the rest of Second Fleet if they thought its commander was advancing too slowly. Evidently, your High Admiral McClain gave the impression he was dawdling.”

“The Lord High Admiral!” Rempel gasped. “You don’t suspect he’s in league…?”

Matt shook his head. “I honestly doubt it, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about this mission from the start. I think he believed the threat overestimated.” He snorted. “He preferred to relieve the Enchanted Isles. Evidently, he’s strung out as far south as he can manage, to intercept any word from there. In the meantime, I doubt he’ll be a factor in the upcoming fight.”

“But still only nine ships!”

“Four are the finest anyone could hope for,” Jenks stated, losing patience. “Three are entirely new and more than a match for any Dom ship of the line-and you forget Walker, sir.”

“I do not! Though… honestly, I cannot see how she can be of any great use. Certainly she is fast, but she carries fewer guns than a brig!”

“That may be so, Rempel,” Jenks said, “but they’re unlike any guns you’ve ever seen. They can destroy ships like the Dom’s-or ours, for that matter-from twice, ten times the range they could hope to respond!”

Matt winced. I guess a little exaggeration never hurts when you’re trying to bolster a man’s courage. Twice the range, sure. Ten times? Not with black powder.

“Indeed? Yet they are so small…”

Spanky rolled his eyes but turned to Courtney. “Have you come up with any bug spray for them flyin’ devils, Mr. Bradford?” he asked.

Courtney’s almost perpetually cheerful, open expression contorted into a frown. “I’m not sure,” he temporized. “They’re not indigenous to Imperial territories, at least not specimens of such size and aggression, so little is really known about them.” He brightened. “One of the officers I had the pleasure to meet is impressively knowledgeable about the local fauna! I thought I was a naturalist! There’s so much I can learn from him. Fascinating, utterly fascinating creatures abide here! Some are even rather familiar to me, but others

…”

“Courtney,” Matt said dryly.

“Oh. Bloody hell! Of course,” Bradford fumed, but inhaled to calm himself. “Based on my own studies, I feel comfortable stating that, for all practical purposes, ‘lizard birds,’ ‘dragons,’ are flying Grik! Their physiology is somewhat different, of course-their arms and fingers have become the framework for wings; the tails are longer and the plumage more specialized. They’re also lighter for their size, but the corresponding flight muscles are greatly exaggerated.” He looked at Spanky. “Your ‘bug spray’ analogy might be as good as any, strangely enough. Their lungs are immense, and they clearly rely on a great volume of air to sustain their prodigious cardiopulmonary requirements…” He considered. “I don’t imagine they could thrive for long in a smoky environment, for example. Set fire to their ships, and I doubt they could loiter above them. The smoke alone might well choke them, or at least tire them quickly.” He shrugged. “That’s all I have for you, I’m afraid-besides what you already know: they’re vulnerable to gunfire, structurally and otherwise, and bleed rather copiously from any serious wound. Another drawback to their amazing ‘power plant,’ as it were.”

Jenks was watching Matt’s face. “Does that give you an idea, my friend?”

“Maybe.” Matt glanced at his watch. “In any event, you should probably go ashore and start sorting out your ‘army.’ I expect the enemy to try a coordinated attack of some kind, but we all know how hard that can be. You had better be in position as early as possible.” He looked at Rempel. “The ‘fleet’ will make all preparations for getting underway.”