for the Sun to see it.”
Safir slapped the admittedly old but still rock-hard arm this time. “Shortly we will be in position, I hope, and the Sun will not be long in coming! If you die any kind of death today, the Sun will watch me taunt your corpse! Do you understand me, ‘Old One’?”
Rolak patted her shoulder. “Yes, my Queen!” he replied lightly.
“Besides,” Safir added, suddenly somewhat concerned for Rolak’s state of mind, “you cannot die. You still owe your life to Captain Reddy! I was there when you made the pledge, remember? You may only die in his service, you know!”
“This is not?”
“Absolutely not! You must be at his side, protecting him from something ridiculous and foolish!” she declared.
The deck shuddered beneath their feet and the apparent motion of the ship, slow as it was, came to an abrupt halt, spilling quite a few soldiers and Marines to the deck with a clatter of equipment. The curses that followed were almost as loud. Runners came and went, barely visible, and there was a muted discussion near the wheel. Rolak and Safir looked on with interest. After a short time Commodore Ellis joined them.
“We’ve hit a snag or something,” he said. “Who knows, maybe we strayed from the channel. The lead showed deeper water… It doesn’t matter. This is as far as we go. I’d hoped to take you another mile or so, but we knew it was dicey. No friendly pilots on This river.”
“Is the ship in danger?” Safir asked.
Jim Ellis shook his head. “Nah, we’ll back her off okay once the troops and equipment are off her. We could probably back off now, but we’re running out of night anyway.” He regarded the two generals, his friends, in the gloom. “Just keep an eye on that right flank,” he reminded them. “Especially now. We’ve got no idea what’s out there and we won’t be able to cover you much with the ship’s guns for a while. At least until daylight shows us the channel better.” He paused. “Be awful careful, both of you. This whole thing is… different. We’ve never done anything on a continent before. Pete’s scouts saw nothing on the northeast side of the river, and the enemy you’ll be facing was kind of strung out. Like in the plan, if they don’t get wise, you shouldn’t have much trouble establishing a strong beachhead anywhere along here. The forest opens up a lot past the shore… supposedly.” Jim shook his head. “Captain Reddy’s right. Being blind is sure a pain. I’ll be glad when Big Sal ’s planes show up and tell us what they see! Anyway, if they stick to their usual routine, they’ll run around like chickens with their heads cut off for a while until they get sorted out. Use the time to dig in and wait for ’em to come at you, then slaughter ’em!”
Safir blinked amusement in the dark. “We have done this before, Commodore, and we know the plan well. We will ‘watch our flank,’ and I have high confidence in that aspect of General Alden’s strategy. It should work, and it might well be the only way to prevent ‘seepage.’ ” She grinned predatorily.
“I know,” Jim agreed. “I guess I just wish I was going with you.” He turned to his exec, who’d drawn near during the conversation. “Send: ‘This is it. All forces will immediately disembark and proceed to their relative positions according to General Alden’s plan. There is no geographic objective other than the shipyard, and that needn’t be taken intact. The only real objective it to kill Grik and practice new tactics. Maintain maximum communication and physical contact with adjacent units. Nobody is to go running off on their own.’ ” He took a breath, wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He started to add “be careful,” but decided that, like Safir, the various commanders would probably think he was carrying on too much about the obvious. “Send: ‘Good Hunting,’ ” he said instead, then turned back to Safir and Rolak. “Just promise you’ll remember: just because the Grik have always done things a certain way doesn’t mean they always will. I guess I don’t really expect anything fancy-this time-but keep reminding your NCOs particularly to expect the unexpected. Someday they’re liable to get it.”
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
