gestured about. “Your people and all these other… creatures?”
Kutas snorted, and Minnie chirped in shock.
“You misunderstand, Admiral,” Matt said tightly. “I wish we’d had time to explain. We don’t serve the Empire; we saved it from the Doms and its own homegrown traitors. Now we’re allied for the purpose of destroying your enemies… and ours. As for the ‘creatures’ aboard, you can call ’em’Cats, Lemurians, Mi-Anaaka, or Americans, but if you call them ‘creatures’ again, I’ll have you thrown to the fish, and I guarantee your Governor-Emperor Gerald McDonald won’t even blink when I tell him why.”
“Then please accept my most abject apologies,” Rempel gushed.
The yardmaster was equally impressed by the old four-stacker, but he was also sensible to the extent of the emergency on a level Matt doubted Rempel had yet reached. “There’re two steam frigates and a sloop of war now ready for sea,” he reported. “Another frigate can steam, but her masts were sorely damaged in a recent storm and repairs aren’t complete. They shouldn’t be stressed.”
“If she can steam, she can fight,” Matt said. “Make sure all commanders understand they must make all preparations for getting underway immediately. We’re sending some Company ships over to you, and we need them officered and crewed as necessary as well. Do whatever you like to them that you and the officers who’ll command them think will improve their combat readiness. Oh, and under no circumstances will you leave any Company officers or officials aboard them. Elements of the Company are allied to the Doms, and we don’t have time to sort out which ones are or aren’t right now.”
The yardmaster looked at Rempel, but the man said nothing. “Very well, Captain Reddy. It’ll be as you say. Plenty of Imperial officers on the beach here, waiting for a ship.”
“Good. Send each ship over to the Naval Headquarters area as it’s ready. We’ll muster the ‘fleet’ there.”
“Yes, sir. Ah, sir? How long do I have? I mean, when do you need them?”
“We’re waiting to find that out now. Did you see the flying machine that took off at dawn?”
“Yes, sir. Astounding!”
“It’s our scout. Everything depends on what it finds, but proceed as if you have only hours to complete your task.”
“Hours? God help me!” the man blurted.
“Let’s hope so,” Matt agreed.
“Monterey Bay” was just below, and Reynolds nosed the plane down and banked slightly left for a better view. Columns of smoke rose from the stacks of transport steamers; he counted sixteen. There were no warships. He was tempted to bomb them, but he had only two bombs on board, to save weight and extend his range. Besides, all the troops and supplies had probably been off-loaded. Better to stay high, quiet, and hopefully unobserved.
“Send to Walker that the transports are here all right,” he shouted through his speaking tube. “A few more than reported, but still no sign of the main fleet. We’ll swing out to sea a bit and head south.”
“Wil-co!” Kari replied, and Fred grinned. A few minutes later, Kari’s voice reached him again. “Mr. Paal-mer say ‘Roger,’ an’ be careful. You hear that? Careful is order!”
“Yes, Mother,” Fred answered, but despite his flip response, he meant to be very careful. Not only had he learned his lesson about being too aggressive on his bomb runs, but there were those damn giant lizard birds to consider. He didn’t think they were nearly as fast as he was in level flight; they’d actually had trouble keeping up with Walker in a sprint. But he’d seen them dive like bats out of hell. He shaded his eyes and scanned the sky above.
There were plenty of “ordinary” lizard birds, and other flying creatures, but so far nothing bigger than gulls or pelicans. The midmorning sun made it tough to watch inland very closely, but what he saw of the “California” coast gave Fred the creeps. Beyond the bay, dense forests of mighty trees marched right up to the water’s edge, teetering on the edge of sheer cliffs. He’d never flown over this coast “back home,” but he’d seen it from sea level and it was utterly unfamiliar. The… wrongness of it all probably went a long way toward preventing the somewhat shocked disorientation and melancholy he’d experienced when he first saw the “Hawaiian” coast. Of course, he hadn’t reached the San Diego area yet-his childhood home. He wouldn’t either, not this trip. The PB1-Bs had better range than the prototype, about six hundred miles one way-but he had no intention of making this a one-way trip. He had just enough fuel to (probably) spot the Channel Isles in the distance before he had to turn back. He was surprised by the sudden relief that caused.
“Too bad these Imperials don’t have a telegraph system,” he muttered to himself. There were Imperial outposts at both “Los Angeles” and “San Diego,” although they called them something else. A telegraph line would have given some warning if the Doms were in those places. A line of semaphore towers dotted the coast, but it had been cut at “Monterey.” Of course, a telegraph line would’ve probably been cut as well. There was nothing like a pair of eyeballs on the scene. He was struck again by how people-of every race-chose many of the same ports here that folks had back home. The subject had been often discussed. Bradford or the Skipper (he couldn’t remember which) once said, essentially, a good place for a harbor or a city was still a good place, no matter who or where you were. It made sense. He wondered briefly if any towns or settlements existed in any of the really stupid places humans had established them where he came from.
He shrugged and glanced at his gauges. He was flying at about three thousand feet. Fuel was… okay, but oil pressure and cylinder temps were nominal. The wind was currently out of the east, and the air was dry, cool, and refreshing. He looked in his mirror at Kari and saw her scanning the sea below with an Imperial telescope. So far they hadn’t seen any ships at all, besides the Dom transports, and that was an ominous sign. He’d been told to expect quite a few ships and coastal luggers-if the ships were free to move. Apparently they weren’t. That meant somebody was preventing them.
An hour later, they were nearing the extreme limit of their fuel, and sure enough, the overlarge, misshapen forms of the Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Miguel islands appeared hazy on the southern horizon. They’d have to turn back within ten or fifteen minutes if they wanted any return cushion at all, but they decided to push just a little farther. Fred used a lot of rudder, and Kari scanned as far forward as she could bring her glass to bear.
“I see some-ting,” she ddenly announced excitedly.
“What?”
“Maybe ships between them two big islands! Yes, ships! Some smok-een, others not.” She paused. “That them! It must be them!”
Fred still couldn’t see, but he took her word for it. He glanced at his fuel gauge and cringed. “Well, we need a better look. Make a report with the position of the sighting, but we’ve got to get closer to make sure it’s the enemy and not just a few Imperial ships snugged up, hiding from them.” Soon, however, Fred could make out the distant shapes for himself. There were a lot of ships coming through the slot between the islands, and more were appearing west of San Miguel.
“Okay,” he said a little nervously. “No luggers, just full-grown ships-and I see a few red sails. That confirms it. Make this report.” He glanced at the chalkboard strapped to his right leg, comparing his calculations of flight time, air speed, wind speed, etc., with rough, remembered distances. Except for the looming islands, he’d had no real landmarks. “Ah, we’re approximately two hundred and fifty miles, almost due south of Saint Francis. Probable enemy fleet sighted about fifteen miles southeast of our position on an apparent course of three, three, zero degrees!”
A large, dark, winged shape suddenly plummeted past the starboard wingtip, missing it by inches.
“Shit!” Fred screeched, his voice many octaves higher than usual. He looked up and saw many more shapes dropping toward them. “Get that off right now!” he shouted, pushing the stick forward and advancing the throttle to the max. “Then see if you can keep those devils off us!”
The sudden dive had left them less helpless, but the giant lizard birds had tucked themselves into an almost-perfect aerodynamic shape and were still gaining fast. Kari slammed out the message and ended it with a “Mayday! Lizbirds!” Then she grabbed one of the two shortened muskets stowed in the plane. One of the creatures was right above her, beginning to flare out and extend its claws. “You hold steady,” she shouted. “I get this one!” She fired. The heavy load of buckshot impacted across the hideous thing’s chest and throat, and with a croaking cry, it tumbled away. Kari pitched the musket into the compartment at her feet and retrieved the second one. The “Nancy” had begun to accelerate away by now, and the closest monster was maybe twenty yards back. She aimed as carefully as she could at its face and squeezed the trigger. Fire and smoke trailed aft along with two ounces of
