than anyone. He holds my life, my very honor, in his grasp, and can do with it what he will. But he is not here, and we must deal with this situation in his stead. Knowing him as I do, I am positive he would bless this course since it is our only option-and it is a thing that must be done. Knowing him as you do, I am equally positive you must agree.”
Sandra slowly wilted under Rolak’s intense gaze, and finally she nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She sighed. “I only wish we could tell him. It’ll be days before he starts to wonder why we haven’t made our daily comm check. Even then he won’t worry, not for a while. We’ve missed it before due to bad weather or atmospherics.” She looked at Riggs and he nodded confirmation.
“She’s right,” he said. “And even when he does start to wonder, he won’t have any reason to be alarmed. Everything was fine when we made our last report, and he knows we’d have days of warning, at least, if the Grik were on the move. He’ll just think the radio’s busted”-he snorted-“which it is. But that might not mean we can’t get in touch with him.” The hall grew silent, and he had everyone’s attention. “As you know, Radioman Clancy is with Walker, but he, Ed, and I have been working on simple crystal receivers. There’s not much to them, really, and we’ve got all the stuff we need to make a few. We located some galena for the crystals, which is good, but we could have done it by mixing powdered sulfur with lead. They’re passive receivers and don’t even require batteries. Just a little copper wire and a headset-or we might even try building some simple speakers. That won’t help us right now, although they’ll come in handy, but I think we can put together a simple spark-gap transmitter that might reach the captain. We’ll need stuff: lots of wire, for example, and power, of course. Mahan ’s generator would do nicely, but since she won’t be here… I think we can make some wet-cell batteries. Lead acid. I’m pretty sure we can do it, and it shouldn’t take much time.”
“How much time?” Letts asked.
“We should have done it already,” Riggs admitted. “We’ve all just been so busy, and we had a good radio… I’ve been so occupied building the semaphore towers and training the operators…” He shook his head. “No excuse. A week or so, I guess. We’ll have to make everything from scratch.”
Letts looked at Nakja-Mur. “Highest priority,” he said. “Use whoever and whatever you need.”
“So I guess it’s settled, then,” Ellis said, rubbing his scalp. “We go. What have you got for me, Bernie?”
The dark-haired torpedo officer’s eyebrows rose, and he took a deep breath. “Not as much as I’d like. We’ve got twenty of the new projectiles cast, turned, and loaded in shells for the four inch-fifties, but we’re just now gearing up to manufacture the primers, so that’s it. The primers have been the hardest part, actually. Up till now we’ve had to make them one at a time, with a swage, and a stamp to make the anvil-not to mention some very dangerous experimentation with fulminate of mercury. We’ve got that sorted out now, but it’ll be another three or four days before I can get you more.” Ellis was shaking his head. “I know, too late. But.. . at least you’ll have a few to test… if you need them. Remember, though, they’re just solid copper bolts, no explosive, and they’re loaded with black powder, so the fire control compu all the recipes and procedures-but it’s tricky stuff, and we haven’t finished making the things to make it with, if you know what I mean. The reloads should work fine against wooden ships in local control, though. They ought to shoot through and through. Sorry, that’s all I’ve got. Obviously we’ve been working on other stuff, but nothing’s ready yet.”
“What about the torpedo? Should I take it?” The only torpedo they had left, between Walker and Mahan, was an old MK-10 submarine torpedo Bernie had salvaged from a shack in bombed-out Surabaya before they abandoned it in their own world. He’d thought it was damaged somehow, since it was with others that were condemned. After exhaustive inspection, he’d determined there was nothing wrong with it after all.
“No,” Letts decided. “The captain has plans for that fish. We have no real reason to suspect Amagi ’s ready to move, and that’s the only thing you’d have any business shooting it at. Besides, it might get damaged. The torpedo stays here.” Ellis nodded agreement, and Letts looked around at the others. “So I guess it’s settled then- except for the other ‘angles’ I mentioned at the start.”
“Like what?”
“Like that plane didn’t get here by itself,” Mallory interrupted with absolute certainty. “It was a ‘Dave,’ just like the one we tangled with, and it doesn’t have the legs to make a trip all the way from Aryaal and back. They must have rendezvoused with at least one, and probably two ships, to refuel on the way. They’ll still be out there, and I bet they’re the armed ones that showed up when Greg tried to go back for Pete and the queen.”
“Grik always travel in threes,” Ellis said, pondering. “Maybe we can catch them and destroy them on the way back to Aryaal. Maybe even get the plane, if it was damaged.”
“That would be ideal,” agreed Letts, “because otherwise they’re going to know all about our defensive arrangements. Maybe they’ll think they got the plane and the ship, which might be good, but maybe they won’t. Regardless, they’ll have a good idea what they’ll face when they come.”
“I fear the events of the last week, the attack on Donaghey, and the destructive scout mission, proves they will come soon. Sooner than we planned,” Nakja-Mur interjected. “Why else should they do those things now? Why not wait until they are ready-unless they already are?”
“Well, we need to know that too,” Letts agreed. He looked at Ben. “How soon can you fly?”
Ben was exhausted and hurting, and his brain wasn’t working right, so it took him longer than usual to form a reply. “Uh, we can have the starboard engine reassembled in a day. Another day or two to install it and check it out… No sense putting the cowl back on; shredded as it is, it’ll drag worse than the motor.” He fell silent again, contemplating. Finally he sighed. “Three days, if we have plenty of help and everything works. We still need something for a windscreen, though.” He looked speculatively at Ellis. “Maybe some of Mahan ’s spare window glass?”
“Very well,” said Letts, realizing he was treading on another of Captain Reddy’s orders: never fly the plane without established communications. Nothing for it. 1 Amagi and the Grik fleet are up to, and head straight back. Can you do it?”
Ben shrugged. “It’ll probably be the roughest flight of my life, but we should still be able to go higher than they can shoot. Yeah, provided the wings don’t fold up on us.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. In the meantime, Felts sails tomorrow, whether Clark’s ready or not. He’ll warn Tarakan, in case those three Grik ships didn’t head back to the barn, and then proceed to Manila. If we can’t get a transmitter going, he’ll be the quickest way to inform the captain the Grik are up to something.” He looked at Nakja-Mur. “Yeah, I feel it too.”
Brevet Captain-General Pete Alden and Captain Haakar-Faask lay in the undergrowth near the beach, taking turns with Pete’s binoculars and watching Grik warriors disembark from the three ships closest to shore. Those three had no cannons they could see, but they suspected the other three, keeping station to seaward, did. The tactic was far too methodical and sensible for Alden’s taste. He looked at Faask and arched an eyebrow. Faask almost snorted a laugh-he found the face moving of the humans hilarious-but he understood the gesture, even if he had little English. Fortunately, Alden had picked up a functional ’Cat vocabulary by now. “I think they’re through messing around with us,” was a rough translation of what he said.
Two weeks had passed since he and Queen Maraan were marooned with the rest of the refugees, long enough for the three Grik ships that drove Donaghey away to return to Aryaal with news of the battle, prepare this expedition, and return. It was also past long enough for Donaghey to make it to Baalkpan, damaged as she was, and another relief force to be dispatched. The problem was, with the allied navy scattered from here to the Philippines, could they even scrape together a force large enough to come to their aid?
He had no doubt that, eventually, help would come. If nothing else, Garrett would return as soon as his ship was repaired, but that might be a while. In the meantime, the better part of a thousand Grik warriors were about to start beating the brush for the less than three hundred souls left in Faask’s and his care, mostly males by now at least, but mostly civilians too. Less than a hundred had ever borne arms, but ever since he’d been left behind, Faask had been training all the refugees, females and younglings included, for just this eventuality. Fortunately, most of the latter had already been rescued. There were still a few, those who wouldn’t leave their mates, or females who’d been separated from their younglings and still hoped against hope they might turn up. A few elders had remained as well, too old and frail to wield a sword or spear, but who wouldn’t leave until everyone else was rescued. Many were ill, due to either malnutrition or exhaustion. That left Alden’s “effectives” at just over two hundred.
His scouts had discovered a force of two thousand or more closing from the west-northwest, pushing them back from observation points overlooking the bay they’d used to such good effect, and now this blocking force was landing in their “rear,” cutting off their egress to the sea.
“We better get back to the rally point and tell the queen what we’ve seen,” he said. Motioning a pair of
