She shut her mouth and crossed her arms over her breasts, unwilling to speak further.
“I take your point. About our people, I mean,” Gherzi told her gently. “Perhaps the Triumvirate can be persuaded. I’ll try.” He looked at Matt. “But that’ll be much easier for me if you can secure the ‘pig’ I mentioned.”
Keje blinked, and Matt shook his head, uncomprehending.
“See?” Silva groused. “It ain’t even in the poke.”
“Whaat are you taalking about?” Keje asked.
“Leopardo took no part in last night’s action and Victor Gravois isn’t dead. He won’t respond to our transmissions, however, so I may assume he is, for the purposes of our negotiations. I’m also fairly certain I can convince the Triumvirate that he was entirely responsible for the disaster that befell our forces in this hemisphere.” He paused and regarded Silva’s hulking, bloody form. “But he is rather ‘slimy and squirmy,’ with a remarkable talent for avoiding consequences. I think we’d all be better off if you managed to catch him.”
“Where is he?” Gunny Horn asked harshly. Like Matt, he held Gravois most responsible for his, Sandra’s—and Diania’s, of course—brutal internment by Kurokawa, not to mention Adar’s death and the slaughter of the wounded on a hospital ship. Gravois had been the hidden architect of so many of their woes in this war, all across the world.
“We intercepted a transmission from Leopardo to Canet—another destroyer—directing it to proceed south in company toward Puerto del Cielo. Canet ignored us as well, after Gravois commanded her to do so.” Gherzi hesitated, as if reluctant to put other countrymen at risk, but decided he must. “They were expecting to meet Ramb V—an armed auxiliary I’m sure you’re aware of—and an oil tanker, but they were dispatched to carry Don Hernan upriver to New Granada and he never released them to return.” Gherzi smirked. “We couldn’t reach those more distant ships either. Perhaps Don Hernan controls them now, or our wireless equipment simply wasn’t sufficient. It’s not in best repair,” he added ironically, “but Gravois’s messages directed at them struck me as . . . perplexed.”
“So if he wants enough fuel to run, he has to go up the ‘River of Heaven’ to ‘Lago de Vida,’” Matt said, “right where Shinya’s hammering New Granada. We’ll have him bottled up.” He paused and looked searchingly at Gherzi. “Any other ways out of there? Other rivers or anything?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Gherzi answered truthfully. “But the Dominion never provided maps of their interior. We were to consider ourselves ‘fortunate’ they gave us charts of their waters,” he added bleakly.
Matt nodded. “Very well, Admiral Gherzi, you’ll have your armistice. High Admiral Jenks and Sir Sean Bates, if we can pry him loose, will negotiate for the Empire. Admirals Sessions and Semmes’ll probably want in, from the NUS, and Doocy Meek, and whoever’s in charge of Courtney’s fleet, can represent the Republic. Commodore Tassanna”—he paused, glancing at Keje before he subtly shook his head—“and Lady Sandra will speak for the United Homes and the American Navy Clan.”
Sandra’s eyes went wide before they narrowed in fury. “Matthew . . .”
“No, Sandra!” Matt stated forcefully. “Not this time. I need you here to speak for me—who knows my mind better?—and there’s way too many wounded who need you even more. Going with me this time would only be pointless and selfish, and . . .” For an instant they all saw the desperation on his face before he forced it away, but a hint of pleading remained in his voice. “Look, all that’s true, but there’s another reason I couldn’t even use last night—but last night’s going to make me use it now. We’re going down a hole after a cornered rat and I don’t know what we’ll find. More importantly”—his eyes strayed to the line of dead—“after last night, I don’t know if I can still fight my ship like I may have to with you aboard. It’s more than I . . .” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “I’m asking you please, this one time, to do what I say.”
Sandra’s fury vanished like a puff of smoke and tears sheened her eyes when she realized Matt was right, about it all. He did need her here, and so did the wounded. Worse, she had been selfish, and caused him needless stress and anguish, when that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. “Yes, my love,” she said. “I will.”
Matt jerked his head in an abrupt nod. “Admiral Gherzi, please accompany High Admiral Jenks aboard USS Madraas when she arrives. The least we can do is improve on the manners we showed when you came aboard here.”
“What about New Dublin?” Jenks asked.
“Admiral Lelaa will follow us down to Puerto del Cielo, escorted by Gray, and stand ready to supply air cover as necessary.” Matt paused, considering the damage reports he’d skimmed. “Mahan and Ellie will join Walker in escorting Sular up the river. Sineaa and Daanis will stay with you, but you’ll have the Repub fleet to protect you, and help with ongoing damage control.”
“Sular?” Jenks asked.
“We brought her and Chack’s troops to reinforce Shinya,” Matt reminded. “This way, they don’t have to march through the forest to get there.” He glanced at Gherzi. “Tourville’s hard aground?”
“She is, in fact, rather sunk, I’m afraid,” Sartre replied. “I doubt she could ever be pulled off the reef. She’d certainly sink entirely if she was.”
Matt looked back at Jenks. “Try to find sheltered water for everything else, a cove or bay. At least until you’re ready to start towing ships to Martinique.”
“When will you leave?”
Matt took a long breath. “As soon as I can. As soon as rescue operations are complete and Sular has some of her dories back. In the meantime, the DDs that are going need to take on fuel and replenish ammunition.” His eyes were roving around the ship as he spoke, as if inventorying what they could fix or do without in the time they had. The Repub ships were getting closer and the sun was coming out, still low behind them, burning through the cloud cover. It would start getting hot. Then the line of mattress covers caught his attention and he called to Spanky. “Mr. McFarlane, we’ll be having funeral services almost at once. As soon as that’s finished, gather all the seriously wounded on the fo’c’sle for transfer to the oiler when we take on fuel.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Spanky said, looking out at USS Steele’s mangled hulk. “They’re never gonna save that poor girl, an’ her ’Cats are killin’ themselves trying. Let me pass the word to scuttle her. We can sure use her people aboard here. Mahan had a lot of casualties too.”
“What’s the word on Tassat?”
“Tight as a drum from her engine rooms forward. She’ll float, but that’s all she can do. She needs a whole new stern.”
Matt was wondering how the hell they’d ever get all these ships, and those at Martinique, back to shipyards that could do the work they needed. Even if the Nussies got some of the spoils, they didn’t have the know-how or facilities. The closest—marginal—place was back through the Pass of Fire at the Enchanted Isles. Or maybe they could go all out and finish the base the Impies had ceded to the Navy Clan near where San Diego ought to be? There was little more than an outpost there, though they’d started work on a large dry dock. No matter what they did, however, it would be a monumental undertaking.
“Very well,” he said tiredly, “I’ll talk to Steele’s captain myself, but we need to break this up. We have a lot to do.” Looking around at his friends, his wife, his enemies still standing, watching him, he raised his eyebrows at the boarding party. “Give their swords back, Chief Gilbert.”
Gilbert hesitated. “What if they try to poke somebody?”
“They’ll each have a hundred holes in ’em before they hit the deck,” Gunny Horn promised.
Matt turned to get busy and didn’t hear Gherzi when he spoke to his wife in a courtly tone. “You were right about the people, Lady Sandra. They truly are our most precious asset. But good leadership is necessary
to get the most from them. Perhaps someday we’ll find it, as your people have.”
CHAPTER 51
TF-CENTIPEDE STOMP
////// The Caribbean
August 6–7, 1945
The little task force turning toward the Dominion bastion at the mouth of the River of Heaven on the evening of the sixth was steaming under an unusual name, more like one might expect for an operation. But the task force was the operation and its purpose was simple: kill Gravois and reinforce Shinya’s assault on New Granada. No one expected those things to be easy, but just getting there might be the hardest part. At some point during the day, as the battered, fire-blackened, leaking, and rusty Walker, Mahan, and Fitzhugh Gray raced to provision, replace torpedoes, and complete what repairs they could, and Tikker and Jumbo scrambled to balance the air wing on Lelaa’s New Dublin, somebody (probably Silva, as usual) coined the moniker “TF-Centipede Stomp” and it gradually stuck. Centipedes on this world grew very large and their sting was deadly but they were fairly rare, probably because they got too big to hide from things that would eat them. Everyone knew what they were, however, and didn’t like them a bit.
After the rather impressive Repub fleet arrived with its prize, and Courtney Bradford politely but firmly separated himself from the Kaiser’s service and relieved Tribune Nir-Shaang from his, he boisterously boarded USS Walker. His appearance coincided with the departure of Walker’s wounded—and Matt’s wife—and the homecoming he’d looked so forward to was nearly blocked by Captain Reddy himself. But Courtney insisted he simply must go since “diplomacy might be required,” and Matt was clearly in no “humor” to engage in any of that. Matt’s mood had grown increasingly dark, in fact, as the running totals of the casualties they’d suffered the night before continued to rise. Just the “dead and missing” had surpassed two thousand by the time Walker, Mahan, and James Ellis steamed south into the gathering twilight, and Matt had worked himself into a smoldering rage at Gravois and Don Hernan, equally responsible in his mind.
He was still thinking clearly, however, perhaps more so than he had in a while, since he could sharpen his focus so narrowly. Finally, he was relieved of concerns for a global strategy against disparate foes with wildly different capabilities, in improbable places. Their land forces here, even the Nussies, had an edge in technology and quality, if not quantity, but that was nothing new. And that would be Shinya, Chack, and General Cox’s problem in any case. Leopardo, Ramb V, and Canet were Matt’s personal prey. They’d outgun his three weary ships, but he was used to that too. Especially after last night. But the odds were closer to even than they’d been since he came to this world, and he was ready for a final, stand-up fight.
Planes were sent to scout Puerto del Cielo during the day and they’d spotted Leopardo and Canet entering the mouth of the river, but Matt decided his destroyers should test the city’s reception alone. Sular would follow with New Dublin at first, protected by Gray and two Repub battlecruisers. Matt had toyed with the idea of taking some of the little needlelike Repub torpedo boats upriver, but he expected a gunfight and they weren’t heavily armed that way. Besides, burning coal, they made too much smoke. In the narrow confines of an unfamiliar river, coal smoke might give the enemy too much warning of their approach.
“I’d forgotten how cramped Walker’s pilothouse is,” Courtney said cheerfully, beaming at Matt, Spanky, and Keje in turn, “but it’s so very good to be back with you all again!” ’Cats blinked appreciatively, and Bernie nodded, smiling. He and a couple of strikers were tinkering with the port torpedo director.
“We’re not all here anymore, Mr. Bradford,” Matt reminded, but then did his best to stow his dark mood. It was obvious Courtney was trying to lighten it and it did his friends and crew no good. Juan Marcos helped, covering Matt’s comment with an equally cheerful appearance, clomping up behind them bearing a tray of coffee cups. Matt always wondered how the little peg-legged Filipino never dropped anything. Two bandaged stewards, the only survivors of the destruction of the galley, carried a coffeepot and a large plate of sandwiches. Juan nodded at them. “That’s all we’ll have for a while, with the galley and refrigerator wrecked. At least they’re not soaked with sweat. . . .” His eyes went wide, and apparently to his own amazement, began filling with tears. Dashing them away, he went on, barely skipping a beat. “We’ll keep a steady supply available as long as the bread and coffee last.” He smiled at Courtney. “The Nussies have even better coffee than you found on Madagascar, and the bread you brought over from the Repubs is very good as well.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Courtney said, reaching for a sandwich. “Is that rhino-pig I smell? It’s been too bloody long!”
Matt noted Juan’s reaction to his reference to Earl Lanier. The two had never been friends, and yet . . . Matt would miss Earl too. Looking at Courtney, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d heard the Australian had changed a great deal during his time with the Repub army, and now navy, but he seemed pretty much the same. A little older and thinner, perhaps. Then it dawned on him. Courtney no longer displayed the slightest sign of awkwardness or self-consciousness on Walker’s bridge. As much as he’d professed to have missed it, he’d never been entirely comfortable there before. Matt snorted to himself. He was called “general” in Africa and briefly commanded a scratched-together corps. Then he was the “admiral” of the Repub fleet all across the Atlantic. He may be the same guy in all the ways that matter, but he’s not the same in others. None of us are.
Matt looked out at the pitch-black night, lit only by the spray of stars and phosphorescent spume peeling back from Walker’s misshapen bow. The holes in her side had been patched with quickly welded plates, as had the jagged gash in the fo’c’sle deck, after the erupted steel was hammered down with mauls. There’d only been the slightest sliver of moon the night before and there’d be none at all tonight. He wondered if he could trust his Lemurian lookouts to navigate an unfamiliar river by starlight alone. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
“When waas the laast time you slept?” Keje asked, blinking concern.
Matt smiled. “I honestly don’t remember.”
“Then sleep now,” Keje ordered. “I aassure you there are sufficient people aboard, myself included, to keep your ship off the rocks for a few hours. We’ll be off Puerto del Cielo about four hours before daawn and I understaand you waant to be on the bridge when we are, but you’ll be of little use by then without some rest.”
“Go, Skipper,” Spanky told him. “It’s my watch, anyway.”
Somehow, to his surprise, Matt did sleep. He didn’t even dream. He was back in his chair at 0200, however. “Anything to report?” he asked Tabby, who had the watch, though Keje had never left the bridge.
“We’re five miles off Puerto del Cielo, an’ I steered seero, nine, seero an’ slowed to one-third, as ordered. Lookout seen a mountain fish, the first one this side o’ the Paass o’ Fire. Some big pleezy-sores with tall, spiky fins on their baacks, like they got off Ja-paan, paced us for a while. They waas faast! Musta’ wore ’em out, though, ’cause they finaally fell behind. Chief Isaak saays he’s ready to relight the number one boiler, but number two’s done for. Silva an’ Caampeeti got the number one gun traackin’ again. Two an’ three never waas off, they just didn’t haave crews. They do now. Number four’s still only good for local control.” She shook her head. “Nothin’ else to report.”
“Very well. I’ll take the rest of your watch. You’ve got two hours’ sack time before morning GQ, then who knows how long you’ll be at it.”
“Ay, sir. Thaanks.”
Matt stopped her as she started to leave the bridge. “Your snipes work harder than anyone, keeping us going. Make sure they know I know, and I appreciate it.” He turned to a ’Cat talker by the aft bulkhead. “Inform Mahan and Ellie we’ll be turning to two, seven, zero, and will continue to steam back and forth for the next couple hours.”
; “Ay, ay.”
Keje stepped up beside him and handed him a cup of coffee. The burly Lemurian seemed just as fresh as before. “Don’t you need sleep?” Matt asked.
Keje grinned. “Yes, and I’ll get some now. Not being in commaand is a very liberating experience. You should try it sometime.”
“I will, someday. Maybe pretty soon,” Matt added cryptically.
Corporal Neely blew general quarters on his bugle to herald the morning watch at 0400. Dawn was still an hour away, but they needed to be ready if Gravois—or Don Hernan—left any surprises for them, and ’Cats were scrambling to their stations, though “stumbling” might be a better word. Everyone was wrung out. Minnie was putting her headset on, already making reports. “Lookout reports Graay an’ Sulaar approaching, five thousaand yaards, bearing tree, tree, seero, rel-aative. No comm.” The fleet of wrecks and their helpers around St. Vincent were jabbering away (though the radios of all the League ships were under guard), but TF-Centipede Stomp was silent again. Gravois must know they were coming, but there was no point broadcasting it.
Gray and Sular had joined them by dawn, though New Dublin and the Repub battlecruisers stayed over the horizon. Admiral Lelaa had promised to launch fighters and keep her bombers ready in case they were needed. Daylight revealed a shocking sight, however. The whitewashed stone fortress surrounding Puerto del Cielo was as they’d expected from reports made by Fred and Kari and others, but the city itself lay under a heavy pall of smoke.
“What the hell?” Spanky grumbled.
“I’m rather new here,” Courtney declared, “but I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Nobody was,” Matt told him. “It wasn’t burning when our scouts looked it over yesterday, and only five miles offshore, we should’ve seen the flames before dawn.”
“So . . .” Courtney mused, “you’re proposing that what’s happening there is happening now? What do you suppose it is?”
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