and where will they be put?”
“ Maaka-Kakja has sufficient space for three full regiments, all their field artillery, pack train, and supplies,” Lelaa said proudly. “It will be crowded, of course, with thirty assembled aircraft and another thirty stowed, but you forget; the ship was built for this, not merely converted from a Home. Her hull dimensions are much the same, as you can see”-she pointed at the distant shipyard, and the monstrosity dominating the fueling pier-“but inside, she’s laid out much differently and needs only a crew of about a thousand, including flight crews and support elements.”
“We can also carry another full regiment, split between the oilers,” Sandra prompted.
“I should think so,” Shinya said thoughtfully, gazing at the troops on the parade ground. “Roughly four thousand Fil-pin soldiers and Marines,” he mused, “would initially outnumber the existing Imperial troop levels, if Captain Reddy’s assessment is accurate. What are Saan-Kakja’s thoughts regarding sending such a large percentage of her army to this ‘other’ war?”
“She doesn’t like it,” Sandra admitted, “but backed by Matt’s and Princess Rebecca’s arguments, she recognizes the necessity. The Empire and the Holy Dominion are very far away-impossibly far, Meksnaak, her Sky Priest, still says-but there’s nothing but the hostile sea between them and the Fil-pin Lands, and now they know we’re here. She’d much rather have a friendly Empire of the New Britain Isles as a beholden, distant neighbor, than this… perverted, expansionist, ‘Holy Dominion.’”
“I see,” Shinya said. “In that case, four regiments it shall be.” He turned from the group and raised his voice. “Orderly! Pass the word to all commanders; I don’t care if they’re here or on maneuvers in the mountains! Mandatory officer’s call at my HQ tent at”-he glanced at his watch-“nineteen hundred hours-that’s fifteen hand- spans from now! I’ll be choosing ‘volunteers’ for a mission, and if they aren’t here, they’ll definitely miss the show!” He looked at Lelaa and grinned. “Now, tell me truly; not even a ‘girl’ could ignore such an attractively phrased invitation!”
Suddenly, they were all alarmed by the distant, insistent gonging of a harbor alarm bell, coming from the direction of Fort Maara-vella. It was quickly echoed by others, and the wind-muffled thud of one of the great guns in the fort, firing a warning. Shinya ordered another orderly to assemble all officers immediately; then he, Sandra, Lelaa, Irvin, and Lawrence quickly followed the roughly mile-long path Silva had taken earlier down to the ferry pier. They arrived, breathing hard, to find Silva and a group of assorted prospective passengers still waiting for the wide-beamed steam ferry only now approaching from across the bay.
“I bet you’re wonderin’ what all the fuss is about,” Silva grumped as a greeting. He pointed at the mouth of the bay, beyond Corregidor. No one but the humans had ever seen anything like it. Creeping along, black smoke wheezing into the sky, was a medium-size freighter, a Japanese “maru” by the look of her, beneath the easily defined white flag with a red circle in the center, streaming from her foremast. She was low by the bow and seemed somewhat the worse for wear. “Goddamn Japs is inva-din’ the Philippines,” Silva growled. “Again!”
Shinya rapidly collected an armed party of about forty Fil-pin troops and commandeered the ferry to take them out to the wounded ship. Silva went, of course, even though he didn’t have his trusty BAR, or even his giant “Doom Whomper” musket, made from a 25-mm Japanese antiaircraft gun. He did have his M-1911. 45, ’03 Springfield bayonet and the pattern of 1917 Navy cutlass he always carried. For him, those weapons should be sufficient for nearly anything. Lawrence, Irvin, and Shinya all accepted Maa-ni-la Arsenal “Springfield” muskets, and black leather cartridge boxes of ammunition. Shinya was annoyed to see Sandra and Lelaa take muskets for themselves, naturally intending to accompany him to investigate the intruder. He fumed. If those on the strange ship were hostile, a single machine gun… He had to put it out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he could order them to stay behind. Lemurian females and the few American women could be so… infuriatingly uncooperative! The women beginning to arrive from the Empire behaved more as he was accustomed to, but then he was as horrified as anyone by their formerly “indentured” status. He wondered what that said about him.
“Take in all lines,” Silva roared, effectively taking command of the ferry’s small deck crew.
Shinya stepped into the cramped, offset, pilothouse directly in front of the single, smoldering funnel. Inside, the small vessel’s equally small captain stood alone. The little guy was blinking nervously. “Steer to intercept that ship,” Shinya said. In the background, he heard Silva’s loud command, “Shove off!”
“But… maybe we let Navy ships, closer in, deal with it!” He gestured at one of the speaking tubes beside the wheel. “My signalman already report!”
“Good. Then tell him to send that we’re investigating the visitor before it has a chance to study our harbor defenses!” The defenses he referred to were already manned, their heavy guns trained on the apparent Japanese ship. Except for the warning shot, none had fired, however. Their crews were under standing orders not to fire on any “anomalous” vessels that might appear without direct orders-unless they were fired on first. “You might also recall that this ferry is a naval auxiliary and you hold a reserve Navy commission.” Shinya waved at another voice tube. “If that connects you to the engine room, do tell your engineers to ‘step on it’!”
With the loud, monotonous, whackety-whack, whackety-whack of the early-model compound engine belowdeck, the relatively new, but already hopelessly outdated little ferry turned toward the strange intruder that seemed to be slowing in response to their approach. “Lay us as close alongside as you can,” Shinya instructed, and taking the ’Cat’s speaking trumpet, he moved back outside.
“What do you make of her?” Silva asked.
“Probably the same as you,” Shinya replied. “She’s a Japanese freighter from our ‘old’ world. Most likely, she arrived here the same way we did. When is the first question that strikes me. When and where she ‘came through,’ as well as how much trouble those aboard her will cause for us.”
Silva looked at the dilapidated, heavily damaged ship, and grunted. “She don’t look in any shape to cause much trouble, unless she sinks in the main channel and we have to steer around her from now on. Look at all them bullet holes!” Dennis couldn’t hide the glee the sight of a shot-up Japanese for the wve him. “I bet she got strafed by planes!” he chortled.
“You may be right,” Shinya agreed as they drew closer. Many of the holes did appear to have been caused by heavy machine-gun fire. He let Silva’s attitude wash over him with as little notice as a clam gives the marching waves. He knew it wasn’t personal, not anymore. He’d long since become almost as “American” as the Lemurian recruits who joined the Navy. He hadn’t taken the oath they took, the same oath every human destroyerman had once taken, but he was still “one of them,” sworn to the same cause they fought for on this world. If Silva had been given to considering his words before they flew out of his mouth, even he might have been more careful of his tone. The others joined them.
“It’s a Jap ship, all right,” Silva announced. “A ‘ma-roo.’ You can kind of tell, even without that damn meatball she’s flyin’. Jap-built ships always have a sorta funny look to ’em, like you’re lookin’ at regular ships through the bottom of a beer bottle. Not ugly, like Dutch ships,” he hastened to add, glancing at Shinya, “just
… weird.” His expression changed. “Say, I never got a chance to ask… anybody who’d know. How come Jap freighters an’ such always hang ‘Ma-roo’ on the end of their names? Seems like it’d be confusin’.”
A little startled by Dennis’s unusual chattiness, particularly with him, Shinya tried to explain. “There’s a… spiritual root I’ve never closely studied, since I’ve not been particularly spiritual. I suppose the simplest translation of ‘maru’ to a sailor might be something like ‘beloved home,’ but the term also implies an invocation of spiritual protection.”
“Didn’t work,” Silva observed, poking a yellowish wad of Lemurian “tobacco” leaves in his cheek. The local stuff was even worse than the Aryaalan substitute he’d used before, but if there might be a fight, he wanted a chew. “Looks like she’s been through a shredder.”
“Who knows?” Shinya replied absently, as the damage to the ship became more apparent. “Maybe it did.”
Dennis looked at him. “I thought you just said you didn’t believe in all that. You gettin’ religion, after all?”
Shinya managed a chuckle. “I said, ‘I’ve not been’ spiritual, and that’s true. I didn’t say I am not.” He shifted uncomfortably, just as unaccustomed to sharing his inner thoughts with the big man, or anyone-with the occasional exception of Pete Alden, Adar, Captain Reddy, and maybe Lieutenant Laumer-as he was to hearing them. “When I consider all we’ve been through and accomplished, in the face of such a clear distinction between our cause and the evil we resist… I find it… difficult to imagine there has not been some… divine force at work,” he admitted.
“Me too,” Silva proclaimed with pious conviction, and sent a yellowish stream arcing over the rail. “Say, I see folks movin’ around on her now.” He squinted his good eye. “None of ’em seems to be pointin’ anything noisy at
