the overhead that protected them from the incessant dripping. The cart itself looked like an oversize rickshaw, complete with gaudy decorations. The beast pulling it had never been seen in Baalkpan before it and a large herd of its cousins arrived from Manila a few weeks before. It looked a little like one of the stunted brontosarries from a distance, although it was smaller and covered with fur. It also had a shorter neck and tail, even if both were proportionately beefier and more muscular. The head was larger too, with short, palmated antlers.
The Fil-pin ’Cats called them paalkas, although Silva’s insidious influence had reached Baalkpan before them and here they were almost universally called pack-mooses, even by the local ’Cats. They were herbivorous marsupials, of all things, and Matt was glad to have them. He wondered why no one had ever imported them to Baalkpan before; they were obviously more sensible draft animals than the ubiquitous brontosaurus. They were much more biddable and, from what he’d seen, at least as smart as a horse. They could even be ridden, although no kind of conventional saddle would serve. They were half again as big as a Belgian draft horse, and any rider would have been perpetually doing the splits. Matt primarily wanted them to pull his light artillery pieces and they should be great for that. Shinya and Brister were working on ways the gun’s crews could ride them.
Other creatures that could be ridden like a horse had arrived from Manila. They were me-naaks, and nobody objected when their name was changed to “meanies.” They looked like long-legged crocodiles that ran on all fours, as they should, but their legs were shaped more like a dog’s. They ran like dogs too, fast and focused. Their skin was like a rhino-pig’s, thick and covered with long, bristly hair, and they had a heavy, plywood-thick case that protected their vitals. Matt was dubious about them, and admitted they were scary. When he’d first seen them in Manila, they’d borne troops in Saan-Kakja’s livery, apparently on errands. The crowds gave them a wide berth and Matt had noticed their jaws were always strapped tightly shut. They seemed to obey well enough, and Saan-Kakja had since assured him that they’d make fine cavalry mounts-once he’d explained the concept to her-as long as a rider didn’t mind the fact that his mount’s fondest wish was to eat him.
Cavalry, and the mobility it provided, was something Matt had been wanting for a long time. It wasn’t something ’Cats had given a great deal of thought to, since, as little as most of them ever envisioned fighting, they’d never envisioned fighting an open-field battle. The terrain just didn’t suit. For the campaign taking shape in Matt’s mind however, cavalry of some sort-or at least mounted infantry or dragoons-would come as a nasty surprise for the Grik indeed.
“How… interesting,” observed Jenks, staring at the conveyance.
Matt shook off his reverie and smiled. “More practical than walking.” He gestured around at the aftermath of the squall. “Especially in this muck.” Sandra smiled at him and gravitated to his side.
Jenks looked at her briefly, then shook his head. Apparently, what he’d been about to say or ask wasn’t something he wanted to discuss just then. He peered into the cart. “Is there space for all of us?” he asked doubtfully.
The paalka dragged the cart through the bustling city. There was so much activity that, except for the remaining damage, it was difficult for Matt to tell a massive battle had raged around and through Baalkpan not so very long before. It was easy to remember they were at war however, since much of the seemingly chaotic commotion was geared toward military preparation. Squads of troops squelched by in cadence, either toward or from the expanded drill field. Quite a few of these wore the distinctive black-and-yellow livery of Saan-Kakja.
Matt, Alden, and Letts returned the salute of a platoon of Marines that marched by on the left, heading for the parade ground. Matt had finally allowed the reconstitution of the Marines as an independent force. They’d be needed as such and the ’Cats’ various guard (or, increasingly, army) regiments had sufficient veteran NCOs and officers now to lead them. The Marine uniform was also strikingly regular, now that it had become official. It consisted of a dark blue kilt with red piping along the hem for veterans. NCOs sported red stripes encircling their kilts, from the bottom up, to designate their rank. All wore thick white articulated rhino-pig leather armor over their chests as well. Stamped bronze helmets like those the destroyermen wore (except for the ear holes) completed the basic uniform. Baldrics, straps, belts, and backpacks were all black leather, and had become universal among Allied forces.
The “Army” had begun a similar attempt to provide uniforms for its troops, but the colors varied, since its forces represented different members of the Alliance. In the case of Baalkpan, which fielded numerous regiments, the leather armor was a natural dark brown and the kilts were bright green. This was the color of Nakja-Mur’s livery and Adar hadn’t changed it. The various regiments had gold numbers embroidered on their kilts.
Matt, and everyone else, had been surprised and gratified to learn that the Aryaalan and B’mbaadan regiments (formerly bitter foes) had been integrated by Lord Rolak and Queen Maraan and had chosen red-and- black kilts, also with regimental numbers, and gray leather breastplates.
As much as Baalkpan’s industry had recovered, and even leaped ahead after the battle, none of this would have been possible without Saan-Kakja’s support. She’d ordered as much material and supplies, and as many troops and artisans, be brought forward as her nation could realistically afford. Until the frontier could be pushed back, Baalkpan remained the front line of the war, and without her aid, another battle like the last would have finished it. Of course, Amagi was no longer a threat, but as things had stood, she wouldn’t have been needed.
A lot of Baalkpan’s runaway population had returned as well. Perhaps goaded by shame that they’d left in the first place instead of defending their home, they set to work with a will. Matt believed that, with the returns and additions, Baalkpan’s population was now greater than it had been when his old, battered destroyer first steamed into the bay.
Smoking pitch assaulted their sinuses as the paalka drew them past the expanded ropewalk, and sparks flew from forges as swordsmiths shaped their blades. Iron had been known to the People, but had been little used except for weapons. Now, an abundance of good steel wreckage was available, as well as a new steady supply of iron ore from the interior, and the Lemurians were drawing out of the Bronze Age at last. Matt watched Sandra’s face as the sparks fell and sizzled on the damp ground. He knew what she was thinking. The various Lemurian cultures had been very fine, and with some exceptions, almost idyllic before they came here. Now all was in a state of flux, changing forever to meet the necessities of a nightmarish war. For a bittersweet instant, Matt wondered what changes the war back home would bring to America.
They eased through the congested area surrounding the new sawmill. The big, circular blades sprayed chips and sawdust in great arcs, while brontosarries plodded through a slurry of muck, turning a massive windlass that transferred its rotation through a series of gears that spun the great blades. The quaint display of ingenuity had come from the quirky minds of the Mice. They had certainly risen to the challenge of this new world, Matt thought proudly, as had all his destroyermen.
As they neared the waterfront, the buildings were no longer elevated. Instead, all the shops and warehouses stood right at ground level. A great berm lay beyond them with but a single gated opening, and swarms of workers thronged in and out of the bottleneck. A squad of Marine sentries watched keenly for unknown or suspicious faces. Fortunately, the only faces they had to examine closely were human, and the hundred-odd remaining Amer-i-caans were well-known to them. When the paalka brought them to the gate, the crowd parted and the sentries waved them through.
If anything, the chaos beyond the gate seemed more apparent than in the heart of the bustling city, but only at a glance. Here, the warehouses, workshops, and open-air industry that sprawled around the basin teemed with what only appeared to be disconnected activity. The racket of tools, shouted commands, and roaring furnaces was overwhelming, and smoke and dank steam hung like fog. In the distance, across the yard, the skeletal frames of numerous ships rose above the activity and haze. Matt and his companions quickly perceived the underlying order- they’d all spent considerable time there, after all-and Matt suspected Jenks saw it as well.
“Here we are, Commodore,” Sandra said brightly as Matt helped her down from the rickshaw. Jenks hopped lightly down with the unexpected grace of an athlete and stared around with all the indications of amazement. Alden, Keje, and Letts joined them, and while the others stared about with expressions of proud accomplishment, Keje continued glaring at Jenks. He hadn’t been in favor of letting this stranger view their greatest secrets and he still didn’t trust the man. His initial dislike had only been intensified by the frequent attempts at espionage, and now they were going to give him a guided tour! He trusted Matt’s judgment, and intellectually he knew they had little choice, but he still didn’t like it.
“Most impressive, my dear,” Jenks replied, somewhat awkwardly. He glanced at his escort. “Gentlemen. Most impressive indeed. You have accomplished all this in the three months since your battle?”
“No, sir,” said Letts. “The basics were here when we first arrived. We added a lot while we were preparing for the enemy, and not much was damaged in the fighting. Evidently, they wanted these facilities preserved.
