we don’t even know where he is! Our… reports…” He glanced around. Even though there were no Grik on the bridge, he was still hesitant to discuss radio or the wireless set and operators that Niwa had been given when Muriname arrived in India. “Our reports indicate that the enemy has established his base of operations at Madras. Do we have the fuel to achieve that port?”
Akera considered. “To steam entirely around Ceylon and that far north… we would not make it back to our own coaling station.”
“But we could make it to Madras?”
“I believe so… but then what would we do?”
Kurokawa ignored the impertinent question and smiled. “There is plenty of coal at Madras,” he assured Akera. “It was the primary export there, after all. Looking back, I do wish we had chosen oil to begin with, like the Americans, since the Grik possess such vast reserves of it, but when we refitted Amagi at Colombo, coal was all that was available. Now most of our coal reserves are under enemy control! We shall take it back!” He paused, peeking through the viewing slits. “We are not under attack at the moment. Rig the signal staff,” he said, using the euphemism for the wireless antennae, “and signal the other battleships-and General Niwa-that the fleet will make for Madras! We will drag the American monkeys into battle, if we must, and General Niwa will provide the troops we need to secure the port!”
“Of… of course, General of the Sea,” Akera said, “but the enemy will see where we are going. They will have time to prepare!”
“Excellent!” Kurokawa barked.
Aboard USS Salissa (CV-1) “Big Sal”
“So, what do you think?” asked Ahd-mi-raal Keje-Fris-Ar, CINCWEST, from a simple chair in the large ready room, or pilot’s wardroom, aboard Salissa. Captain Jis-Tikkar sat across from him, as did nearly two hundred pilots, OCs, and senior support personnel. Sandy Newman and Kathy McCoy were the only humans in the compartment. The ready room was still mostly illuminated by lamplight, but a single, globular, incandescent lightbulb dangled from a chain-reinforced socket in the center of the compartment, its glare harsh. Soon, all Salissa ’s lights would come from “bulbs”; they were safer and used the electricity the ship produced in abundance. But the light lacked the soft normalcy of lamps.
Tikker was clearly exhausted, and if the “big board” hadn’t been there on the long bulkhead to remind him, he wouldn’t remember how many sorties he’d flown. Lemurians usually wore as little as they could get away with, but the pilots had taken to wearing their flight suits all the time. Not only did they need them in the air, but it set them apart from “ordinary” People in ways perhaps similar to the old clan structure. Tikker’s flight suit was soiled and stained, and crackly with dried, foamy sweat.
“I think they are licked in every respect but the one that matters most,” Tikker replied with a toothy yawn. “We have destroyed most of their smaller steamers and all the Indiaa-men we could find, but nothing we do seems to faze the iron-clad battleships.” He nodded at Sandy, who’d coined the term. “They alone, and six of their smaller steamers, continue on as if they have won, and they are no longer groping in the dark for us; they are clearly bound for south Saa-lon.”
“They can’t find us, and have given up trying,” Keje surmised. “They cannot know we are faster than they, at any rate.” He considered. “They know we must have forces at Colombo, but do not make for there. They may know we have a base at Trin-com-lee, on east Saa-lon-but Colombo would be the closer, more logical objective. To me, this change of theirs can only mean they intend to round Saa-lon and threaten Maa-draas-or Andamaan!”
“I don’t see how they can even know about Andaman,” Newman objected. “They haven’t acted like it, anyway. Elements of their big bombing mission that sank Humfra-Dar off Colombo made it all the way to Aryaal and Baalkpan, but none of them even flew over Andaman.”
“The sea is vast,” Keje said. “We cannot watch it all. They may have sneaked a scout ship past us. As for their failure to bomb Andamaan, that only means they either don’t know about our presence there or they don’t want us to know they know,” he groused.
“Growing a bit paranoid?” Kathy asked with a small smile. Keje didn’t smile back.
“As CINCWEST, do I have any choice? Perhaps General Aalden and his Second Corps would not be in the predicament they are now if others exercised a touch of paar-aa-noiaa now and then!” The statement was the first time he’d openly criticized Alden-even though Alden had already been criticizing himself almost daily. It showed how frustrated Keje was becoming. He glanced around, blinking apology.
“Forgive me,” he said. “General Aalden is our greatest field commander. He planned his campaign based on what we know of the Grik. Unfortunately, what we ‘know’ is not always right and has shown a depressing capacity for change of late.” He sat straighter in his chair. “General Aalden will consolidate his force and rescue Second Corps-and General-Queen Maraan! In the meantime, we must deal with this other threat.” He sighed. “I agree that Andamaan is most likely safe. The defenses are well established and many ships are gathered there, preparing to come forward. In addition, the P-Fortys will soon arrive, able to carry a single, but heavier bomb. Maa-draas must be the enemy objective. But if those… battleships achieve it, they will block General Aalden’s line of supply. We must stop them.”
Kathy looked around the room. “These guys have flown their hearts out and it seems clear there’s nothing more they can do. They’re beat, Admiral.”
There were cries of protest, but Keje nodded. “Agreed. We have lost half a wing of aircraft, at any rate, between us and Arracca, and even though the enemy no longer shoots them down, the machines are failing. We will make for Maa-draas immediately. The aircraft based on Saa-lon can defend against any landings there. We will use the time to rest our aircrews and machines, then use them to help General Aalden.” He grinned. “Do not forget, my friends: We still have a powerful surface fleet of our own! We have Commodore Ellis and his DDs, in addition to our own, and Salissa and Arracca have mighty batteries! Perhaps we are not encased in iron, but I will match our stout sides against anything the Grik can build!” There were cheers and stamping feet. “Even if we have no further help by then,” Keje continued, “we will offload all aircraft and their necessary support, and clear our carriers for a surface action such as this world has never seen!”
CHAPTER 22
March 20, 1944
USS Walker
Northwest Fil-pin Sea
“Hold on!” shouted Super Bosun Fitzhugh Gray as he grabbed the little anchor crane far forward on Walker ’s fo’c’sle. The bullnose and jackstaff disappeared as the knife-sharp bow-just a few paces away-pitched down beneath another gray-green roller. The torrent of seawater would have swept his repair detail away like crumbs on a plate without his warning, and even Gray felt his feet leave the deck as the flood cascaded past, erupting against the splinter shield of the number one gun and booming against the bridge structure beyond. He glanced quickly around at the ’Cats in his detail, making sure he hadn’t lost anyone. Like him, they’d been scrambled around a bit, but they were all there. “Hurry the hell up!” he roared, regaining his feet with the help of the cold iron crane.
“We almost done!” cried Pack Rat, pounding a big, corklike plug into the hole in the deck where the starboard anchor chain vanished below. God knew what happened to the old cover; fell apart and washed away, most likely, but the chain locker was more than half-flooded and the pumps had more than enough to do.
Gray turned around. “How ’bout you?” he asked Jeek, the flight-crew chief for the Special Air Division. Jeek had a new plane now, a day out of Samaar, where they’d taken it aboard and filled Walker ’s growling bunkers with oil. But with the plane carefully stowed aft, he was part of Gray’s damage-control division, and it wasn’t like they’d be flying that day!
“This damn hatch cover leak no matter what I do,” Jeek said angrily. He was trying to seal the hatch over the forward companionway. “Them gals in chief’s quarters just gonna have to live with it. It ever not leak?”
“No,” Gray admitted. “Just thought we might try somethin’ while we was out here. Leave it be.” The hatch had always leaked, leaving the deck in the Chief’s quarters slick when the sea was high. The swooping, elevator- ride experience of living under the fo’c’sle was unpleasant enough even without the damp, but you got used to it. The only thing was, Diania lived in there now with Tabby, so she could be close to Sandra. She hadn’t made a peep
