“Yeah,” Matt resumed, “we’ll have to convince Jenks to keep them in the dark. I think we can, once we show him what we’re up to-and then offer to let him see some of the stuff in action! If he accepts, and I bet he will, maybe we’ll have some time to work on him.” There was a knock at the door.
“Enter.”
Juan swept the door open and Ensign Irvin Laumer stepped inside, hat under his arm, and stood at attention. He was towheaded and lanky, but not particularly tall, and he didn’t look quite old enough for the uniform he wore. The seriousness of his expression meant he did have some idea why he was there, however, and Matt felt a tug of uncertainty. From what he’d heard of Laumer, he had high hopes for the boy. The kid had good sense, clearly. He’d been the highest-ranking survivor of S-19’s complement, but he’d allowed the more experienced chief of the boat take de facto command. The decision must have been a tough one, because Laumer didn’t seem the type to defer responsibility. Hopefully that meant, like any good officer, he knew when to take responsibility and when to delegate it. Matt’s main concern now was that maybe Laumer felt he had something to prove.
Actually, he did, in a way. All of Matt’s senior officers, human and Lemurian, were veterans of fierce fighting now. All but Laumer. If the ensign was ever going to be followed where he led, he did have to prove himself, Matt reflected. He only wished Laumer’s baptism didn’t have to be on such a difficult and potentially important mission. He’d love to send Spanky or Brister, or any of half a dozen others, but he couldn’t. They were just too necessary where they were. The simple, hard fact of the matter was that Laumer was the only one he could spare with the experience and technical expertise.
“Sir, Ensign Laumer, reporting as ordered!”
“At ease, Ensign,” Matt replied mildly, and gestured at the stool Jenks had just vacated across the desk. “Please have a seat.” Irvin sat, still rigid, upon the creaky stool. “Coffee?”
“Uh, no, thank you, sir.”
Matt waited a moment, staring at the ensign. He decided to get straight to the point. “I want that submarine,” he said simply.
Irvin Laumer nodded. He’d obviously expected as much. “I’ll get it for you, sir, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Alden grunted. “Son, that’s the point. We want it, sure, but we don’t want it to be the last thing you do. You or the people you’ll command.”
Matt glanced at the Marine and nodded. “Exactly. We’ve discussed this at some length and decided your mission will have a hierarchy of agendas. First, of course, you must determine whether she can be salvaged at all. She might not even be there anymore. Remember too, given the nature of some of the creatures on this world-and under its seas-it’s not imperative that we get the submarine back as a submarine, if you get my meaning.”
Laumer looked troubled, but nodded. “Yes, sir, I think I do.”
“You must know you do, because that’s the deal. If she’s still there, it’ll be up to you to decide if you can get her off the beach. Don’t fool around too long trying if it’s not practical. If you can, swell. You’ll have fuel, and Spanky, Gilbert, and Flynn all say at least one of her diesels ought to come to life. If you can get her under way, hopefully Saan-Kakja can provide an escort to get you to Manila. After that, bring her here if you can, but that’s not essential either. What is essential is the stuff she’s made of. Decide quickly if you can get her off, because if you can’t, you’ve got to strip her-and I mean strip her! I want her engines, batteries, wiring, screws, gun, bearings, instruments, sonar-hell, I want every bolt you can get out of her; is that understood? Even if you get her all the way back here we might strip her anyway, so that’s the absolute top priority. Like I said-and I can’t stress this enough-we need what she’s made of more than we need her. Her whole, intact carcass would be nice-she’s got as much steel as Walker -but this is strictly a ‘bird in the hand’ operation. Get what you know you can get.”
Irvin gulped. “I understand, Captain.”
“Very well. Now.” Matt leaned back in his chair. “We can’t afford to send much with you, but you’ll get what we can spare. You can have five of your submariners if you can get them to volunteer. Concentrate on those with critical engineering and operating skills.”
“Flynn?” Irvin asked.
Matt shook his head. “No. Two reasons. First, we need him here. Second, and don’t take this wrong; he assured me he has the utmost respect for you, but… to be honest, he’s had enough of subs in these waters.” Matt shrugged. “I already asked him, but… well, let’s just say we’ve had a little experience with people who’ve been through too much and pushed too far.” Matt was thinking of his old coxswain Tony Scott. “Sometimes they lose focus and make mistakes,” he added in a quiet tone. “We’ll use Flynn in the shipyard for now, but he’s asked for an infantry regiment, if you can believe that.” To Matt’s surprise, Laumer actually smiled.
“Yes, sir, I can believe it.”
Instead of asking the ensign to elaborate, Matt pushed on: “You’ll have two of the prize ships to transport equipment and personnel, and bring back what you can salvage. You won’t command the ships, obviously, but you’ll be in overall command of the expedition.”
“Thank you, sir,” Laumer said. “Thanks for the opportunity.”
Matt grimaced. “There may be plenty of ‘opportunity’ to get yourself killed, and I’m ordering you to avoid that. Period. Otherwise, besides those previously mentioned, your orders are to depart Baalkpan aboard the prize USS Simms in company with another prize sloop…” He shook his head. “We’re really going to have to sort that out.”
The destroyermen, ’Cat and human, found it difficult and confusing to use the old terms for sailing warships. A small faction insisted “sloops” ought to be destroyers and “frigates” should be cruisers. This caused contention among the frigate sailors, who thought they ought to be destroyers and sloops were mere gunboats. God only knew how weird it would get when they had even bigger ships-and seaplane tender /carriers like Big Sal. The fact was, no one of either race wanted to give up the title “destroyerman,” no matter what they served on.
“Anyway,” Matt continued, “you’ll escort Placca-Mar.” He hoped he said it right. His ’Cat was finally improving, as was his pronunciation. “She’s the Home Saan-Kakja’s returning to the Filpin Lands aboard, along with plans and some of the large machinery we’ve completed. Colonel Shinya and the prisoner will also be aboard. The colonel will be escorting Commander Okada, but his primary mission is to take charge of training Saan-Kakja’s troops in Manila. While you’re with Placca-Mar, you’ll be under Colonel Shinya’s direct command, and if you run into any marauding lizards, his orders will supersede any I’ve given you today. In other words, feel free to disobey the one about avoiding opportunities to get yourself killed, because you will defend Saan-Kakja to the last. Understood?”
Irvin gulped, but nodded. “Aye-aye, sir.”
“Barring incident, you’ll depart company with Placca-Mar in the Sibutu Passage, hug the Sulu Archipelago to Mindanao, and proceed to your destination.”
“What about mountain fish, if we run across any?” Irvin asked hesitantly, and Matt looked at him, scratching the back of his neck.
“Sparks-I mean Lieutenant Commander Riggs-is working on stuff. So’s Ordnance. I also hope to squeeze some advice out of Jenks, if I can. We’ll do everything possible to make sure you have solid communications as well, but”-he shrugged-“who knows? You might wind up on your own.”
Irvin knew the entire mission was a test of sorts, as much for the captain to evaluate him as for him to evaluate himself. He’d missed all the fighting and really had little reason to expect such an opportunity-and an opportunity was how he viewed it. Somehow he’d prevail. He had to.
“I’ve been on my own before, Captain,” he said at last. “Sort of. Before you took us off Talaud in the first place, we didn’t even know what had happened. Even if we lose communications, I’m confi
dent we’ll manage.”
Matt looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at the others in the chamber. “I sincerely hope so. I implied earlier that you’re the only man we can spare for this, but remember, the war’s just begun. We can’t spare anyone in the long run.”
“No, sir.”
As was customary by midafternoon, the rain had stopped by the time Captain Reddy, General Alden, and Commodore Jenks gathered at the base of the great, scorched Galla tree. As was also customary, the remainder of the day would be humid and oppressive and the clothes worn by the little group had barely begun to dry before perspiration replaced the moisture. Sandra, Keje, and Alan Letts had joined them. Shinya had departed to prepare the troops for “inspection,” and Matt had asked the Bosun not to attend. Chief Gray uncomfortably agreed. His and Jenks’s antagonism toward each other was well-known, and Matt wanted the commodore as comfortable about the tour as possible.
A two-wheeled cart appeared out of the bustling activity of the city, the driver reining his animal just short of the overhead that protected them from the incessant dripping. The cart itself looked like an oversize rickshaw, complete with gaudy decorations. The beast pulling it had never been seen in Baalkpan before it and a large herd of its cousins arrived from Manila a few weeks before. It looked a little like one of the stunted brontosarries from a distance, although it was smaller and covered with fur. It also had a shorter neck and tail, even if both were proportionately beefier and more muscular. The head was larger too, with short, palmated antlers.
The Fil-pin ’Cats called them paalkas, although Silva’s insidious influence had reached Baalkpan before them and here they were almost universally called pack-mooses, even by the local ’Cats. They were herbivorous marsupials, of all things, and Matt was glad to have them. He wondered why no one had ever imported them to Baalkpan before; they were obviously more sensible draft animals than the ubiquitous brontosaurus. They were much more biddable and, from what he’d seen, at least as smart as a horse. They could even be ridden, although no kind of conventional saddle would serve. They were half again as big as a Belgian draft horse, and any rider would have been perpetually doing the splits. Matt primarily wanted them to pull his light artillery pieces and they should be great for that. Shinya and Brister were working on ways the gun’s crews could ride them.
Other creatures that could be ridden like a horse had arrived from Manila. They were me-naaks, and nobody objected when their name was changed to “meanies.” They looked like long-legged crocodiles that ran on all fours, as they should, but their legs were shaped more like a dog’s. They ran like dogs too, fast and focused. Their skin was like a rhino-pig’s, thick and covered with long, bristly hair, and they had a heavy, plywood-thick case that protected their vitals. Matt was dubious about them, and admitted they were scary. When he’d first seen them in Manila, they’d borne troops in Saan-Kakja’s livery, apparently on errands. The crowds gave them a wide berth and Matt had noticed their jaws were always strapped tightly shut. They seemed to obey well enough, and Saan-Kakja had since assured him that they’d make fine cavalry mounts-once he’d explained the concept to her-as long as a rider didn’t mind the fact that his mount’s fondest wish was to eat him.
Cavalry, and the mobility it provided, was something Matt had been wanting for a long time. It wasn’t something ’Cats had given a great deal of thought to, since, as little as most of them ever envisioned fighting, they’d never envisioned fighting an open-field battle. The terrain just didn’t suit. For the campaign taking shape in Matt’s mind however, cavalry of some sort-or at least mounted infantry or dragoons-would come as a nasty surprise for the Grik indeed.
“How… interesting,” observed Jenks, staring at the conveyance.
Matt shook off his reverie and smiled. “More practical than walking.” He gestured around at the aftermath of the squall. “Especially in this muck.” Sandra smiled at him and gravitated to his side.
Jenks looked at her briefly, then shook his head. Apparently, what he’d been about to say or ask wasn’t something he wanted to discuss just then. He peered into the cart. “Is there space for all of us?” he asked doubtfully.
The paalka dragged the cart through the bustling city. There was so much activity that, except for the remaining damage, it was difficult for Matt to tell a massive battle had raged around and through Baalkpan not so very long before. It was easy to remember they were at war however, since much of the seemingly chaotic commotion was geared toward military preparation. Squads of troops squelched by in cadence, either toward or from the expanded drill field. Quite a few of these wore the distinctive black-and-yellow livery of Saan-Kakja.
Matt, Alden, and Letts returned the salute of a platoon of Marines that marched by on the left, heading for the parade ground. Matt had finally allowed the reconstitution of the Marines as an independent force. They’d be needed as such and the ’Cats’ various guard (or, increasingly, army) regiments had sufficient veteran NCOs and officers now to lead them. The Marine uniform was also strikingly regular, now that it had become official. It consisted of a dark blue kilt with red piping along the hem for veterans. NCOs sported red stripes encircling their kilts, from the bottom up, to designate their rank. All wore thick white articulated rhino-pig leather armor over their chests as well. Stamped bronze helmets like those the destroyermen wore (except for the ear holes) completed the basic uniform. Baldrics, straps, belts, and backpacks were all black leather, and had become universal among Allied forces.
The “Army” had begun a similar attempt to provide uniforms for its troops, but the colors varied, since its forces represented different members of the Alliance. In the case of Baalkpan, which fielded numerous regiments, the leather armor was a natural dark brown and the kilts were bright green. This was the color of Nakja-Mur’s livery and Adar hadn’t changed it. The various regiments had gold numbers embroidered on their kilts.
Matt, and everyone else, had been surprised and gratified to learn that the Aryaalan and B’mbaadan regiments (formerly bitter foes) had been integrated by Lord Rolak and Queen Maraan and had chosen red-and-black kilts, also with regimental numbers, and gray leather breastplates.
As much as Baalkpan’s industry had recovered, and even leaped ahead after the battle, none of this would have been possible without Saan-Kakja’s support. She’d ordered as much material and supplies, and as many troops and artisans, be brought forward as her nation could realistically afford. Until the frontier could be pushed back, Baalkpan remained the front line of the war, and without her aid, another battle like the last would have finished it. Of course, Amagi was no longer a threat, but as things had stood, she wouldn’t have been needed.
A lot of Baalkpan’s runaway population had returned as well. Perhaps goaded by shame that they’d left in the first place instead of defending their home, they set to work with a will. Matt believed that, with the returns and additions, Baalkpan’s population was now greater than it had been when his old, battered destroyer first steamed into the bay.
Smoking pitch assaulted their sinuses as the paalka drew them past the expanded ropewalk, and sparks flew from forges as swordsmiths shaped their blades. Iron had been known to the People, but had been little used except for weapons. Now, an abundance of good steel wreckage was available, as well as a new steady supply of iron ore from the interior, and the Lemurians were drawing out of the Bronze Age at last. Matt watched Sandra’s face as the sparks fell and sizzled on the damp ground. He knew what she was thinking. The various Lemurian cultures had been very fine, and with some exceptions, almost idyllic before they came here. Now all was in a state of flux, changing forever to meet the necessities of a nightmarish war. For a bittersweet instant, Matt wondered what changes the war back home would bring to America.
They eased through the congested area surrounding the new sawmill. The big, circular blades sprayed chips and sawdust in great arcs, while brontosarries plodded through a slurry of muck, turning a massive windlass that transferr
ed its rotation through a series of gears that spun the great blades. The quaint display of ingenuity had come from the quirky minds of the Mice. They had certainly risen to the challenge of this new world, Matt thought proudly, as had all his destroyermen.
As they neared the waterfront, the buildings were no longer elevated. Instead, all the shops and warehouses stood right at ground level. A great berm lay beyond them with but a single gated opening, and swarms of workers thronged in and out of the bottleneck. A squad of Marine sentries watched keenly for unknown or suspicious faces. Fortunately, the only faces they had to examine closely were human, and the hundred-odd remaining Amer-i-caans were well-known to them. When the paalka brought them to the gate, the crowd parted and the sentries waved them through.
If anything, the chaos beyond the gate seemed more apparent than in the heart of the bustling city, but only at a glance. Here, the warehouses, workshops, and open-air industry that sprawled around the basin teemed with what only appeared to be disconnected activity. The racket of tools, shouted commands, and roaring furnaces was overwhelming, and smoke and dank steam hung like fog. In the distance, across the yard, the skeletal frames of numerous ships rose above the activity and haze. Matt and his companions quickly perceived the underlying order-they’d all spent considerable time there, after all-and Matt suspected Jenks saw it as well.
“Here we are, Commodore,” Sandra said brightly as Matt helped her down from the rickshaw. Jenks hopped lightly down with the unexpected grace of an athlete and stared around with all the indications of amazement. Alden, Keje, and Letts joined them, and while the others stared about with expressions of proud accomplishment, Keje continued glaring at Jenks. He hadn’t been in favor of letting this stranger view their greatest secrets and he still didn’t trust the man. His initial dislike had only been intensified by the frequent attempts at espionage, and now they were going to give him a guided tour! He trusted Matt’s judgment, and intellectually he knew they had little choice, but he still didn’t like it.
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