out, but we can handle that and be back on the move in a few days. If you head north along the coast, bomb or shell anything you see, then park your ships to cover that low-tide causeway…”
“If the water is deep enough…”
“Well, sure. Anyway, we can sweep up behind you, guided by the ‘Nancys,’ and maybe we can catch ’em between us, out of hope, out of gas, out of supplies and artillery, and hopefully by then, out of their goddamn minds!”
CHAPTER 20
New Dublin
The battle for New Dublin raged furiously throughout the rest of the night as the Doms fell back toward the bastion in the northwest part of the city. Chack, Silva, and Lawrence rejoined the companies pushing north with Jindal, and after a brief meeting when Silva told them what they’d seen from the air-and Lawrence squirmed under the amazed scrutiny of strangers-the push resumed with a better idea of what they faced. More and more townsfolk, either honestly rising to aid in their liberation or cynically taking what appeared to be the winning side, swelled Chack’s and Jindal’s ranks to the point that they finally reestablished communications with Blair’s larger force on what had become the allied left. He’d known they were coming through the coastal suburbs and palatial estates of the elite by the numbers of Doms-and their sympathizers-streaming past his own right toward the bastion. When the flood became a trickle, he knew the linkup was at hand, and he and his staff met them as the moon began to fade in the brightening sky. The entire allied line was finally reestablished among the affluent-and far less congested-homes southeast of the bastion between the mountains and the glimmering, graying sea.
“We meet again, Mr. Silva!” Blair said, extending his hand.
“We do?” Dennis asked, clasping it, and shaking vigorously.
“Well… yes. I was but a lieutenant of Marines at the time, but we met at a quaint dining establishment in Baalkpan before I sailed with Commodore Jenks and the squadron bound for the west.”
“Zat so?”
“Perhaps you’ll remember later,” Blair said uncomfortably. He saluted Chack. “A most interesting night. I’m glad you’re well, sir. I apologize for the… disorganized nature of the assault.”
“I’m glad you made it, Mr. Blair. And as for the confusion”-Chack blinked-“my Marines have never fought a battle like this before either.”
“Yeah,” said Silva. “More like a drawn-out street brawl in Olongapo-with no SPs-than any battle I ever saw.”
“What’s the situation here?” Chack asked.
“The enemy has skirmishers in the dwellings ahead, but the greatest threat is that they’ve massed their artillery on this front of the bastion.”
“If we could flank the fort, they’d be at our mercy,” Chack observed.
“True, but we can’t move along the cliffs on this side of the mountains. The slopes are bare and within range of their guns. They would see the movement and merely shift their batteries accordingly. And even if we could embark enough troops on ships in all this chaos to get beyond the fort, we’d have to take them nearly to Bray-which is in enemy hands-before we reach a suitable place to land them.”
“Mortars?”
“Most of the crews brought their weapons up to the edge of the city, hoping to support our movements, but we had no contact with them through the night. They showed admirable initiative, and would have saved us if we’d been repelled,” he admitted, “but their utility now is questionable. They’re low on ammunition, and they haven’t the range of artillery. If we move them close enough to drop their bombs into the bastion, they’ll be slaughtered.”
“We can try to get air support,” Chack suggested.
“Uh, maybe,” said Silva. “Lieutenant Reddy, the pilot of the plane that brung me and Lawrence…” He saw Blair’s surprised expression. “Yeah, he’s the actual cousin of ‘Himself,’ if you can imagine.” He chuckled. “I guess it’s a small world, even when two of ’em get mashed together. Anyway, he’d know what we can get and how to do it, but I ain’t got a clue.”
“Semaphore back up the mountains and down to Waterford?” Jindal suggested.
“Maybe,” Silva allowed, “but everything at the lake looked like a mess to me-before we might’ve sorta made it a little worse,” he added cryptically. He saw the others stiffen. “Don’t worry, I reckon the Doms in the valley are the least o’ your concerns, and the garrison there should be safe enough, but things were already a goose pull at the command level even before…” He grinned. “I like that Lieutenant Reddy. He has a elegant approach to fightin’ I can appreciate!”
Chack’s tail swished with… nervous anticipation, but Silva didn’t elaborate.
“Anyway,” Dennis resumed, “we might get word to Sor-Lomaak, who can holler at Cap’n Lelaa, an’ maybe she can sort it out. But what about them flyin’ Grik? Is there more of ’em? Where’re they roostin’? Tough to bring more planes in when they might just get knocked down.”
“I can’t answer that,” Blair said. “We’ve taken few prisoners and none would speak. The loyalists we’ve asked never saw them before last night, so it’s doubtful they ‘roost’ in the city. Yet further proof this… treachery was planned and begun long before the attack on New Scotland! The question of where all these Doms and their support elements have been preparing still remains, however.”
“Oh.” Silva shrugged. “As for that, I got the word before we got tangled up with them Grik birds. Cap’n Lelaa sent a recon north, and several Dom ships was seen steamin’ toward here outta the west. She figgered they were troopships, from your folks’ description of their warships still bein’ under sail. She recalled them scouts to be armed an’ sent to sink ’em! What’s west o’ here where the Doms might stage up?”
“The India Isles?” Blair speculated. “A couple are substantial, but not particularly suited for habitation. They’re rarely visited.”
“Sounds ideal,” Silva agreed. “They use ’em for a stagin’ area for here. If there’s anything left on ’em after this fracas, just park a couple ships there an’ starve ’em out.”
“Indeed, that seems the most likely explanation,” Blair said, “and the best way to eliminate the problem… there. We still have our problem here, though.”
“Why not just starve these creeps out too?” Silva asked. “I mean, you said yourself we’ve about got the boogers bottled up in that fort. Leavehem to rot.”
Chack was surprised by the relatively passive suggestion, considering the source.
“No,” Blair said, determinedly. “They’ve invaded our country, and we’re only beginning to learn the extent of the atrocities they committed here in the name of their sick Church! They’ve ‘sacrificed’ hundreds of people, mostly women, and not even most were indentures! Most were daughters of citizens! We must destroy them root and branch so any here that sympathize with them will learn the cost of treason!”
“I agree,” Jindal growled with no less intensity.
“I as well,” said Chack, less eagerly but with equal determination. “We have a much wider war to consider. Our forces cannot be tied here waiting for the enemy to starve.” He looked at Silva. “I’ve faced these ‘people’ before, and they fight with near the same determination and fanaticism as Grik. Unlike Grik, however, their fanaticism is based on thought and teaching, not instinctual rote. They do as their priests demand of them believing it is right! As long as they hide behind those walls, we must keep sufficient forces here to protect against an attack from within, and they are smart enough to plan an attack to coincide with our moment of least preparedness. They might inflict heavy casualties before they’re stopped, and may even raze the city completely. Worse, they won’t care if all die in the attempt, because the leaders of their faith assure them they’ll be gathered into paradise at the very instant of death!”
“So these ‘padres’ o’ theirs are like Hij gen’rals, er somethin? What’s the top dog look like?”
“Like those that attacked Scapa Flow, a ‘Blood Cardinal’ is present, and would be their overall commander,” Blair said. “His vestments resemble their flag: a red cloak with a barbarously shaped gold cross embroidered upon it. Their headgear is ostentatious, but its shape is different from one to the next. The descriptions I’ve heard of the one here makes it sadly clear it’s not that damned ‘Don Hernan,’ who orchestrated the plot on New Scotland. He must have fled east, back to their lands after all.”
