Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  “Do it,” said Matt. He looked at Jenks. “What other… surprises can we expect?”

  “Probably not much you haven’t already seen, at least at sea. The gri-kakka, you call them, are considerably larger off the coast, and something like your ‘flashies’-perhaps the same species-are just as thick in the shallows as you’re accustomed to within the barrier. Sharks too, like the one that disabled Revenge and caused all that trouble for Task Force Garrett.”

  “Say,” said Campeti, “I wonder how that’s going?”

  Matt shook his head. “No way to know. The comm post we set up on that mountain on New Britain can probably still hear us; our transmitter is a lot more powerful. But Palmer said everything from there finally faded out last night. We’re cut off, comm-wise.” He brightened. “At least we know Admiral McClain, the fleet, and our oilers are on the way-a day late.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it, I guess.”

  “Skipper, you know no big fleet ever sailed on time, with such short notice,” Spanky consoled.

  “Keje and First Fleet did,” Matt replied. “And so did Task Force Maaka-Kakja.” He rubbed his face. “I hope that was the right thing to do. With that murderous Jap ’can running around…”

  “I told you to expect such things,” Bradford reminded him. “My theory regarding how objects and people arrive on this world is still all ahoo, but I’m convinced that metal and magnetism, or electrical conductivity is somehow involved. With a global war underway back home, brimming with magnetic or conductive weapons scattered prolifically about, we’re likely to have more visits here as time goes by.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Matt said slowly. “I mean, I agree with your theory for the most part, but I’m not convinced that nothing from ‘here’ ever wound up ‘there.’”

  Courtney stared at him blankly.

  “Jenks’s ‘dragons,’” he explained. “The ‘sea monsters.’ If a few things from here got snatched the other way over time, that could explain a lot of human mythology.”

  “Don’t forget the ‘mer-lizards’ of Chill-Chaap!” the Bosun snorted through clenched teeth, trying not to laugh.

  Courtney’s eyebrows furrowed. “Blast!” he said suddenly. “My beautiful theory is assailed! Now I shall lie awake at night, trying to reconcile this new variable, deprived of sleep!”

  “Don’t sweat it.” Matt laughed. “When you get it all sorted out, I’m sure it’ll make perfect sense. Remember, we came with the ship, and we’re not magnetic!”

  “But…” Courtney clamped his mouth shut. The ’Cats on the bridge were just beginning to “believe” in the invisible force of gravity. He didn’t want to distract them with even more “invisible” powers just now. Maybe some of the ’Cat EMs would understand, and he was sure Matt did, despite what he’d just said. Spanky and Palmer probably did as well… Suddenly, he realized he’d inflicted consideration of the greatest “invisible” power of all upon Walker ’s crew just that morning. He shook his head. “I am the most incredibly inconsistent creature alive,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, but at least you’re consistently inconsistent,” Gray jabbed.

  “Lookout reports a sail, off the starboard bow!” Minnie interrupted.

  “Range?” Matt asked, raising his binoculars.

  “Lookout say ‘on horizon.’ It so clear, an’ with no range-finder.

  …”

  Matt thought for a moment. The sea was calm, the sky cloudless.. . and the kid needed to get back on the horse. “Call the air division to action stations and have them stand by for flight operations,” he ordered.

  Lieutenant Fred Reynolds heard the call he’d both dreaded and craved. He yearned to get back in the air, but he hated that somebody had to ride the “Nancy” with him-somebody who might wind up dead because of him. Kari Faask, his friend and former spotter/wireless operator/ bombardier and copilot, had remained aboard despite Selass-Fris-Ar’s misgivings, but she was still recovering from serious wounds. Fred spent almost all his off-duty time with her, escorting her around the ship, gently helping with her therapy-and generally treating her like a china doll. It helped salve his conscience. His first real taste of responsibility as an officer had resulted in a lost plane, a wounded friend, and a severely shaken self-confidence that hadn’t had much to rebuild on. He’d manage, he was a good flier, but without Kari in the backseat… He wondered who Mr. Palmer would replace her with.

  The deck crew chief, Jeek, met him as he emerged from beneath the amidships deckhouse and handed him his leather helmet, goggles, and scarf-pretty much the only “special” equipment he required to fly. After his previous flights in the open-air cockpit, he’d taken to wearing a peacoat, which he already had on. It seemed hot as hell right now, but he’d welcome the coat’s warmth when he got in the air. Jeek escorted him to the “new” plane they’d assembled from parts stowed in the torpedo workshop, aft. Jeek, or somebody, had painted the word “No” on both sides of the forward fuselage this time. Jeek had painted it on Fred’s first plane after he returned from the action against “Company” warships sent to intercept them, and Reynolds somehow contrived to shoot his own plane in the nose with a. 45. Despite his resistance, the tradition stuck, but now it seemed appropriate. He viewed the warning as a reminder not to pull any stupid stunts.

  “The engine is still warm,” Jeek assured him, uncharacteristically serious. He worried about his pilot and the funk he’d settled into. “We ran it up for morning GQ.” Implicit also was Jeek’s reminder that Fred should have been there for that. Reynolds looked at the plane and did a quick walkaround. It looked just like his old one, a PB-1B with its broad, high wing and single four-cylinder engine. If not for that and the reversed position of the prop, the thing looked much like the old PBY Catalina that inspired its form.

  “That’s fine, Jeek,” Fred said. “Thanks.” He clambered up the ladder to the cockpit and settled himself in the wicker seat, strapping himself in. The rest of the air division scampered about, preparing the plane for launch. They hadn’t done the “real thing” for a while, but they drilled for it every day. Fred was impressed by how efficient they’d become since that first awkward time. He felt the plane settle slightly aft as his new spotter clumsily joined him. He didn’t look back to see who it was, not yet; a ’Cat was hooking the forward lifting points to the crude davit arrangement that would hoist them up and lower them into the sea, and he always liked to make sure that was carefully done. “Cast off the tie-downs,” he shouted, noticing way coming off the ship by the diminishing wake alongside. “Take her up!”

  The mostly wood and fabric plane creaked as the davit took its weight, and taglines, attached to the pin-release lifting points, controlled the plane’s orientation as it swung out over the water. He motioned for the ’Cats oavit to let him down. With a shuddering splap! the “Nancy” was in the sea and Fred lost no time. “Contact!” he shouted aft.

  “Contact,” confirmed a familiar-wrong-voice. He turned.

  “Kari!” he shouted back, incredulous. “What the devil are you doing here? Doc’ Selass’ll skin you!”

  “She not here. Beside, she release me for light duty,” Kari said. “Sit in airplane while somebody else fly not hard. She no say I not fly!”

  “That’s because it never occurred to her you’d be so stupid!” Fred roared. Somehow, Kari managed to stand and grasp the prop.

  “You been actin’ too goofy to fly with anybody not say how goofy you are. You think I let you fly with some dope not know you?” She paused, waiting for a response. “You say ‘contact,’ right?”

  Fred turned back to stare straight ahead. “Contact,” he confirmed in a subdued voice. Propping the motor was bound to hurt the wound in his friend’s side, and Kari-Faask didn’t even like to fly.

  The takeoff was uneventful, and soon, amid the contented drone of her plucky motor, the “Nancy” was winging her way toward the distant contact while Walker resumed her twenty-knot gallop to close.

  “Just one ship, it looks like
,” Fred instructed Kari to report, through the speaking tube. From about two thousand feet, he could see the horizon beyond the stranger, and nothing else was in view. “White sails,” he added with mixed relief. Dominion warships wore a red suit-but that didn’t mean the contact was friendly. “I won’t get any nearer than necessary to make an identification,” he assured his companion self-consciously.

  “You go close as you have to,” Kari scolded. “You go in mast high, an’ I drop my little bombs if Cap-i-taan Reddy says. You fly close enough to shoot them with you pistol again, you have to. Hear?”

  His face hot, Fred could only nod. Evidently, they were seen before too much longer, and the ship suddenly hove to, its sails flapping in helpless disarray. A few white puffs from small-arms fire, at ridiculously long range, blossomed on the deck. They were more a reaction of panic at the sight of such a strange contraption as the plane, Fred thought, than any type of disciplined response. Still, conscious of what happened last time, he maintained his altitude and settled into a banking orbit about a thousand yards out.

  “Is ‘Comp’ny’ ship,” Kari declared, identifying the red-and-white-striped flag through an Imperial telescope. Her precious Bausch amp; Lomb binoculars had been lost in the last crash.

  “They can’t know the situation in New Britain yet,” Fred said. “Send it.”

  “What we do?”

  “We keep circling until Walker gets here. Company ships have cannons, and they might shoot them at us, if we get low enough. I bet they won’t shoot at Walker!”

  Reynolds was right. The old destroyer raced to within five thousand yards, put an intimidating and unanswerable shot into the sea just forward of the Company ship, and continued to advance while the target hove-to more creditably and “officially,” yanking her flag to the quarterdeck. Fred and Kari watched Walker churn to a halt off the sailing ship’s bow, guns trained out to port.

  “Signal at halyard,” Kari said. “Says ‘well done, return to ship, recover on swhiard side.’”

  “Sounds good to me,” Fred said, feeling better about their first jaunt together since that last, traumatic flight. “Let’s go home.”

  Six Imperial Marines were on Walker, under Jenks’s personal command. All the ’Cat Marines had remained on New Scotland either recu- perating from wounds or preparing for the campaign against New Ireland. Jenks, the Bosun, the Marines-and Chief Gunner’s Mate Paul Stites and his BAR-crossed to the “prize” in the rebuilt motor whaleboat. The Bosun was coxswain. Shortly after they went aboard the vessel-her lines similar to most employed by the Company for long-distance cargo transport, and little different from the Indiamen that inspired her-the whaleboat returned with Jenks, the Bosun, and two other men. Matt was waiting with a security detail when they climbed the metal rungs on the hull just aft of the amidships deckhouse.

  A portly, dark-haired man sporting an “Imperial” mustache was first aboard, eagerly saluting Walker ’s flag and everyone he saw. Matt suppressed a chuckle, imagining the warning Jenks or Gray must have given. The man goggled at the Lemurians and was clearly astonished to see the aircraft that had frightened him so being lifted to the deck, aft of the searchlight tower. Another, younger officer followed him, with similar behavior, and Jenks brought up the rear. The Bosun exchanged places with “Boats” Bashear, a ’Cat signalman, and the short-tailed Gunner’s Mate Faal-Pel (Stumpy), who hopped down in the boat with a Thompson before Bashear advanced the throttle and steered the boat back toward the “prize.”

  “I’m Captain Halowell,” gushed the portly man. “Honorable New Britain Company Ship, Pompey. I know Commodore Jenks by reputation, and he told me to expect a Captain Reddy. Are you he?”

  “I am,” Matt replied.

  Halowell was practically wringing his hands. “Honestly, Captain, you gave us quite a fright. I still don’t know whether to be distressed or relieved by his detention!”

  Matt wondered what it was about the situation that would cause relief, but he forged ahead with the first-agreed-protocol regarding just this possibility. “I’m sorry to distress you further, but I believe Commodore Jenks has a formality to attend to.”

  Jenks nodded and stepped forward, removing a folded page from a pocket of his weskit. “Captain Halowell, I’m pleased to inform you that the Company you served has been disbanded for its role in a murderous, treasonous plot against the Empire. You and your officers will face an inquiry, at which your logs will be opened and examined to ensure you played no part.” He glanced at the list. “The ship Pompey is now the property of a consortium of loyal stockholders who’ve formed the ‘New Wales Freight and Transportation Company,’ but she has also been commissioned for an indefinite period as an auxiliary to the Imperial Navy.”

  The man was nodding in what seemed a wholly agreeable fashion. “Splendid,” he said. “Damn the Company and good riddance, say I. There’s a warden aboard Pompey, sirs, a most disagreeable scoundrel! Do hang him, I beg, or drag him through the sea for the monsters to sample!”

  “If he deserves it, he’ll surely be hanged,” Jenks assured. He paused, glancing at Matt. “Judging by your… cargo, you’ve recently come from the Dominion. What’s the situation there? I should inform you that a state of war now exists between us.”

  “‘Cargo’?” interrupted Matt. He looked at the Bosun, just reachhe deck.

  “Broads, Skipper,” Gray confirmed. “Like we figured. Swarms o’ dark-skinned dolls packed in like Norway minnows.”

  “War?” declared Halowell, insensitive to the exchange. “Thank God! Then you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Why, the cause for my relief!” Halowell paused, seeing their expressions. “I see… or rather I don’t. I know not what sparked the war at home, but I assure you war has commenced already upon those dark, eastern shores!” He shuddered. “We were down the coast from Acapoolco at the usual place…” He looked about curiously, again taken aback by the gathering ’Cats, then specifically addressed Jenks. “As you know, Commodore, the ‘trade’ has been officially illicit for some time as far as the Doms were concerned. They’d rather cut the bleeding hearts from the poor wenches than sell them to us now! But commerce as usual hasn’t been much discouraged beyond the provincial capital. A veritable harbor city has arisen at Puerto Marco, where women bring us their own daughters to spare them the stone knives of that twisted faith. Stone knives, for the love of God!” The man paused, his horror obvious. “In the event, we were anchored with several other Company vessels, our cargo already shipped, awaiting only the tide. During the night, Doms-thousands of’em!-attacked every other ship and slaughtered all aboard. Only the whim of chance had Pompey moored the farthest out. Perhaps the fiends assigned to us became disoriented in the gloom and attacked another ship…” He began blinking rapidly. “It was horrific, sirs, the screams… You could tell by those that they even murdered the ‘cargo.’ ” He shook his head. “There was nothing we could do. We cut our cables and bore away as quickly as we could. Some galleys gave chase, but we caught a favorable wind that proved our salvation.”

  “Can you imagine why they’d do such a thing?” Jenks asked. Dominion atrocities didn’t surprise him, not anymore, but there had to be a reason.

  “Indeed, sir. From the time we entered Puerto Marco, we heard rumors of mighty fleets and large armies. There were no warships in port, save the galleys, but you can’t keep a secret like that. Our suppliers hinted, the victuallers warned, even the ‘cargo’ had heard things… and there was a distinct shortage of labor, particularly young men, to be had. We knew something was stirring, the other captains and I. That was why we had already determined to depart before our holds were quite full and travel in company. Alas, too late.”

  “Lucky,” grunted the Bosun.

  “For us,” Halowell granted.

  “Did you gain any notion where these fleets were bound?” Jenks asked.

  “The rumors were of the normal sort; nothing definitive. But enough agreed on a few destinations
: the Enchanted Isles garrison is perhaps the most probable, since it lies the closest and the Doms have always claimed the islands. Considering the treachery at home you spoke of, I now give greater credibility to the very heart of the Empire as a possibility. Certainly the colonies on the northern continent are at risk. Those three were mentioned most and strike me as most likely, particularly having heard your news.”

  “We expect an attempt on the colonies,” Jenks confirmed. “That’s why we hurry there.”

  Halowell looked around. “This one ship? Granted, she’s a wondrous thing, with amazing speed, but…”

  “This one ship, if she’s all we have,” Matt said. He looked around at the staring faces of his crew, his people, furry or not. “By the way, Captain Halowell, this ‘cargo’ you speak of, these women. I expect they’re ‘indentured’ to the Company, as usual?”

  “Aye,” answered Halowell, sensing something in Matt’s tone.

  “Then I must inform you that ‘trade’ of that sort has been stopped, by Imperial decree, and any such ‘cargos’ now in transit are considered contraband and subject to seizure. Pending a final ruling by His Majesty, the Governor-Emperor of the New Britain Isles, regarding the legal status of the people constituting said cargoes, the indentures of every human being aboard Pompey now belong to USS Walker and the United States Navy. How many do you have?”

  “Ah… just under two hundred, sir.” Halowell groaned, suddenly realizing the personal loss this meeting involved, namely his percentage.

  “From this point until you reach the Allied, United States Navy docks in Scapa Flow, those people are no longer ‘cargo,’ but passengers. They’ll be afforded every courtesy and fed and watered in proportion to anyone else on your ship to the extent of the crew going on half rations themselves, if necessary. Do I make myself clear?”

  Halowell looked at Jenks and saw an equally severe expression. He gulped. “Aye, Captain Reddy. Most clear.”

  “Good. Now, I believe we’ve all hung around here as long as we should. Commodore?”