know how you want to get the guns ashore.” Garrett was glad Chapelle’s priorities mirrored his. Surviving the night would be an accomplishment, but it would mean nothing without the guns to defend them.
“Float them in if you can,” Garrett said. “If that can’t be managed, we’ll have to drag them.”
“Drag them!” Dobbin sputtered. “Drag them two-ton monsters a quarter mile through the sand and surf?”
“Yeah,” Garrett replied. “Secure them to cables and throw them off their carriages. Donaghey can pull them most of the way with her capstan. We’ve got almost a thousand men and ’Cats, probably three hundred already ashore. We’ll drag them ourselves if we have to. The carriages too. They’ll sink, but they’re mostly wood. They won’t weigh nearly as much in the water.”
“Oh,” Dobbin said thoughtfully. “I guess fellas do become officers for a reason.”
Garrett chuckled at Dobson’s unconscious, backhanded compliment. “Lieutenant,” he said, addressing Bekiaa, “stay here on the beach. Any more Marines that come ashore, send them to Lieutenant Graana-Fas; he’s with the supplies. I expect he’ll send any Marines with dry muskets or bows to bolster our pickets. If any arrive with wet weapons or none, he’ll probably give them something dry or put them to work here.” He glanced at his watch. Fortunately, the precious device hadn’t gotten wet. ‘This night may be all the time we have; our only grace period. We’d better be prepared for a Grik probe, at least, by dawn. Maybe it’ll come then, maybe it won’t, but we have to be ready if it does. When it does, we can expect exponentially stronger Grik attacks very soon thereafter. If we’re not dug in tighter than a tick, with heavy guns ready and waiting, we will die here.”
“Ay, ay, sur!”
First Fleet
Like a massive herd of brontasarries, interspersed with the smaller, swifter, horned beasts they cooperated with in the wild, First Fleet raised its anchors and began to steam or sail forth from Andaman harbor. Salissa ’s battle group was the first to leave, shaking out into its underway formation with the first rays of the sun. She was screened by the steam frigates, or “DDs” Scott, Dowden, Nakja-Mur, and Kas-Ra-Ar, which made up “Des-Div 1.” The fleet oilers and transports followed, screened by the steam frigates of Des-Div 3; Tassat, Haakar-Faask, Naga, and Bowles, along with the swift, razeed corvettes, or “DEs.” By the time Humfra-Dar ’s battle group, consisting of the carrier, Felts, Saak-Fas, Davis, and Ramic-Sa-Ar of Des-Div 2, cleared the harbor entrance, everyone knew it would be dawn on Ceylon, and the risk of discovery to TF Garrett increased with every hour.
At least they knew most aboard the two stranded ships had survived the night. Everyone had been surprised when the transmissions never ceased. Chief Signalman (“radioman” just didn’t seem appropriate anymore) Clancy, aboard Donaghey, had apparently managed to preserve his equipment and there’d been a blow-by-blow account of the grounding and the following, feverish effort to establish a defensive position. So far, the defenses sounded awfully thin, but ingenious attempts were underway to bolster them. Given enough time, the castaways might just manage to hold until help arrived. Occasionally, “Nancys” from Andaman’s patrol wing (PatWing) 2 buzzed the ships on their predetermined scouting missions to ensure no Grik ships lurked nearby to observe the departure of the fleet. Once they were out of range of the island-based planes, Tikker and Humfra-Dar ’s COFO would coordinate an almost-continuous CAP, or “Combat Air Patrol” to cover the fleet’s advance. They might have to launch the long- awaited invasion of Ceylon at a time and place not of their choosing, but the enemy didn’t have to know that. Chances were, even after TF Garrett was discovered, it would never dawn on the Grik that that was where the invasion would come.
There was a brisk wind, more out of the south now, when Alan Letts stepped to Salissa ’s starboard bridgewing rail. He’d come to find Keje, but the “Ahd-mi-raal” wasn’t on the bridge. Drawn by the panorama of the mighty fleet they’d built, he forgot his errand and couldn’t help but stand and stare.
“It’s a… stunning spectacle, is it not?” came a voice beside him. Letts turned to see Captain Risa-Sab-At, Chack’s sister, standing beside him. Once a “wing runner” like her brother, a member of the “forewing clan” on this very ship, she commanded “ Big Sal ’s” Marine contingent these days.
“It is,” he said, almost wonderingly. “I’ve seen these things built”-he gestured around at the frigates-“or turned into flat-tops like Big Sal, but the only time I’ve ever seen them move is when I’d shove wooden boats around on a map in Baalkpan. My God, I needed this! I love my job, my wife, my daughter; shoot, I love my life in Baalkpan, working for Chairman Adar. But finally seeing all this, being part of it… makes me realize how important everything I’ve been doing back home is.”
“You are both glad you came, yet wish you were home?” Risa asked with a rumbling chuckle.
“Yeah…” Alan said thoughtfully. He shrugged. “But I had to come; somebody needed to sort out the logistical mess, and I’ve made a start. Besides, maybe desk weenies like me need to see the sharp end once in a while to keep a grip on what they do best”-he grinned-“ just like crazed killing machines like you ought to push wooden boats around a map every now and then.”
Risa coughed and swished her tail. “No thank you! I’m a Marine now, but being attached to the ship keeps me out of the fighting enough as it is. This war has changed a lot. Marines don’t fight on the ships so much anymore.”
Below them, on the flight deck, a PB-1B “Nancy” floatplane brought its engine up, and the noise stifled their conversation for a moment. With a signal to one of the ’Cats to the side, the plane plunged forward amid a kind of vapor of hydraulic oil and soared away over the purple-blue sea. A crew of Lemurians retrieved the cradle trolley from the end of the flight deck and hauled it back into position where the crane would place another plane upon it.
“Ingenious,” Alan remarked.
“But slow,” Keje said, joining them at the rail. “ Humfra-Dar has two catapults,” he added enviously, “that don’t spray oil all over the deck. We don’t he to use them when the wind is fair, such as now, but the pilots need the practice. I’m told the experience is quite exhilarating… much like being fired from a cannon, no doubt.” He looked at Alan. “You were looking for me?”
Suddenly at a loss, Letts had to concentrate to remember why. “Oh yeah. Actually, I was looking for you, Pete, Lord Rolak… and Rolak’s pet Grik. I was going over all the jillion things an operation like this involves when I had a weird thought…”
Gathered in Keje’s sprawling quarters, joined not only by those Alan requested, but by Risa, Nurse Lieutenant Kathy McCoy, General Queen Safir Maraan, and several other ground force commanders including even Billy Flynn, Letts seemed a little self-conscious. “Gee, guys,” he said defensively. “I just got struck by a cockeyed notion. I didn’t expect a staff meeting over it.”
“This ain’t a staff meeting,” Pete said, “but a lot of the stuff you dream up is worth paying attention to.”
“Are we still in contact with Donaghey?” Alan hastened to ask.
“Yeah,” Pete confirmed. “They’re digging in, hand over fist. Haven’t seen so much as a sand crab so far, but I doubt that’ll last.”
“Maybe it will,” Letts hoped. “Maybe the spot they went aground is secluded enough, the lizards won’t notice.”
“Maybe,” said Pete doubtfully.
“You’ve been getting too much sun again, Mr. Letts,” Kathy suddenly clucked in a motherly way. “What would Karen say if she saw you all red and peeling like that?”
Taken aback by this unexpected chastisement, Alan felt even more self-conscious. The sun did terrible things to his fair skin. “Why, I guess she’d be sore…” He shook his head. “Look, all I wanted to do is ask the lizard a few questions.” He looked at Hij Geerki, standing attentively behind Rolak ’s stool. The old Grik cocked his head. He came from a class of Hij required to do sums and inventories, and Letts intended to learn as much as he could from the creature about Grik logistics-among other things. Geerki understood written English and was beginning to pick up spoken words. He carried a writing tablet and a piece of chalk to answer questions.
“Do step forward, Hij Geerki,” Rolak commanded. “You will answer this man’s questions to the best of your ability.”
“Aye, Lord,” Geerki replied. He could say that much. He stepped closer to Keje’s ornate table, careful not to touch it. This was the first time Letts had gotten a really good look at Rolak’s “pet.” Its feathery crest was long and graying and the once dun-colored, striated “pelt” of downy fur was shot with white, but still… Though it was ravaged by age, most of its teeth broken, lost, or worn to nubs, its claws clipped and rounded, it was still a fearsome sight. Even if its skin hung loose over atrophied muscle, it was bigger than Lawrence, and while Rebecca’s friend had become “one of the guys,” and wasn’t really a Grik at all, this thing still had a profound aura of savage. ..
