The deck shuddered beneath their feet and the apparent motion of the ship, slow as it was, came to an abrupt halt, spilling quite a few soldiers and Marines to the deck with a clatter of equipment. The curses that followed were almost as loud. Runners came and went, barely visible, and there was a muted discussion near the wheel. Rolak and Safir looked on with interest. After a short time Commodore Ellis joined them.
“We’ve hit a snag or something,” he said. “Who knows, maybe we strayed from the channel. The lead showed deeper water… It doesn’t matter. This is as far as we go. I’d hoped to take you another mile or so, but we knew it was dicey. No friendly pilots on This river.”
“Is the ship in danger?” Safir asked.
Jim Ellis shook his head. “Nah, we’ll back her off okay once the troops and equipment are off her. We could probably back off now, but we’re running out of night anyway.” He regarded the two generals, his friends, in the gloom. “Just keep an eye on that right flank,” he reminded them. “Especially now. We’ve got no idea what’s out there and we won’t be able to cover you much with the ship’s guns for a while. At least until daylight shows us the channel better.” He paused. “Be awful careful, both of you. This whole thing is… different. We’ve never done anything on a continent before. Pete’s scouts saw nothing on the northeast side of the river, and the enemy you’ll be facing was kind of strung out. Like in the plan, if they don’t get wise, you shouldn’t have much trouble establishing a strong beachhead anywhere along here. The forest opens up a lot past the shore… supposedly.” Jim shook his head. “Captain Reddy’s right. Being blind is sure a pain. I’ll be glad when Big Sal ’s planes show up and tell us what they see! Anyway, if they stick to their usual routine, they’ll run around like chickens with their heads cut off for a while until they get sorted out. Use the time to dig in and wait for ’em to come at you, then slaughter ’em!”
Safir blinked amusement in the dark. “We have done this before, Commodore, and we know the plan well. We will ‘watch our flank,’ and I have high confidence in that aspect of General Alden’s strategy. It should work, and it might well be the only way to prevent ‘seepage.’ ” She grinned predatorily.
“I know,” Jim agreed. “I guess I just wish I was going with you.” He turned to his exec, who’d drawn near during the conversation. “Send: ‘This is it. All forces will immediately disembark and proceed to their relative positions according to General Alden’s plan. There is no geographic objective other than the shipyard, and that needn’t be taken intact. The only real objective it to kill Grik and practice new tactics. Maintain maximum communication and physical contact with adjacent units. Nobody is to go running off on their own.’ ” He took a breath, wondering if he’d forgotten anything. He started to add “be careful,” but decided that, like Safir, the various commanders would probably think he was carrying on too much about the obvious. “Send: ‘Good Hunting,’ ” he said instead, then turned back to Safir and Rolak. “Just promise you’ll remember: just because the Grik have always done things a certain way doesn’t mean they always will. I guess I don’t really expect anything fancy-this time-but keep reminding your NCOs particularly to expect the unexpected. Someday they’re liable to get it.”
The landing was discovered fairly quickly, but that didn’t mean surprise was totally lost. Guttural shrieks and excited, high-pitched cries echoed from the trees along the shoreline in the vaguely graying, predawn haze. One of the strident Grik “battle horns” brayed insistently. Only a few barges actually made it to shore before the Grik in their area knew something was up, but the commotion arising along the roughly three-mile shore upstream of the Rangoon docks appeared to confuse the enemy far more than it rallied them to any sort of coordinated effort. Several companies piled ashore in the face of headlong Grik counterattacks, but these were poorly timed, terribly executed, and totally unplanned. Each may have been composed of anywhere from a dozen to two hundred warriors, and they simply attacked what they saw. In other words, they behaved in a perfectly predictable fashion. So far. Except for a couple of companies of the 5th Baalkpan that took some casualties from one of the larger attacks that met them right in the water between the barges and the shore (and the short, greenish “flashies” drawn by the splashing), the rest of the Allied troops brushed aside the ad hoc enemy efforts. Immediately, the army began to expand its foothold all along the shore.
To encourage further disarray among the enemy, at least at first, the big thirty-two-pounders of the steam frigates, and Donaghey ’s eighteens pulsed with fire, flashing on the dark water of the Ayarwady through the mist and gunsmoke like the most intense cloud-to-cloud lightning imaginable. The thunderous booming of the guns was muffled some by the dense air, but the pressure of each report seemed even more intense. The fused case shot that had worked with such surprising efficiency and reliability at Singapore had long since been replenished and then some. Now it flashed over the landing troops like meteors, trailing short, luminous, sparkling tails. Half a mile inland, it detonated unseen except for periodic brief stabs of light that rained fragments of crude iron down through the trees and among the rudely awakened camps of the enemy. Rolling booms reached the ears of the army several seconds later, and droplets of moisture shivered from the leaves.
Safir Maraan strolled slowly along in the rapidly brightening dawn, hands clasped behind her back. She uttered no orders. She’d come ashore with half her personal guard, her Silver Battalion of the Six Hundred, and they had things well in hand. For organizational purposes, the Six Hundred was considered a regiment with two battalions, Silver and Black. Unlike the rest of the B’mbaadan and Aryaalan troops who’d adopted their own distinct colors, the Six Hundred still clung to their old black and silver livery. They also trained right alongside Pete’s Marine regiments and were crack troops. They knew exactly what they were doing and needed no distractions from her. Thrashing, hacking, chopping sounds reached her from the front as the perimeter was expanded. For just an instant, she allowed her thoughts to stray to her beloved Chack, and as she’d expected, his presence, his very scent suddenly filled her heart just as quickly as she opened it. The Sun and the Heavens only knew what unthinkable distance separated them, but for a moment he was with her, beside her on the field that day. Back where he belonged.
A paalka squealed behind her and she coughed loudly to stifle the sob that had risen to her lips. Consciously, she restored the stones to the wall that protected the Orphan Queen from herself at times like this-times she’d never known before she’d met the “re-maak-able” wingrunner-turned-warrior. Times when she didn’t want to be a queen or general or even a warrior anymore, but just a mate to the one she loved.
The paalka squealed again and she shook her head, turning to see a pair of the heavy beasts, their palmated antlers bobbed and capped, being dragged from a barge and taken to a picket line. She still marveled at the creatures. They were infinitely better draft and artillery animals than the stupid, lumbering, dangerous “brontasarries,” as the Amer-icaans called them. They were really too broad and large to ride, but except for their annoyingly high-pitched cries they were among the greatest gifts the Allies had yet received from Saan-Kakja and the Maa-ni-los. She watched as the barges withdrew, headed back to the ship for more troops or equipment, and another barge landed to disgorge its cargo of two more paalkas and four light guns under the anxious, tailtwitching glares of the gun’s crews. None too soon.
“My Queen,” cried a “lieuten-aant,” rushing to stand before her. “Cap-i-taan Daanis begs to report a substantial Grik force marshaling to our front!”
Safir peered upriver. The coming day had actually made it suddenly, if likely briefly, more difficult to see in the haze. “Are we well connected to the 3rd B’mbaado and the rest of Lord General Rolak’s command?”
“Yes, my Queen.”
“What is Cap-i-taan Daanis’s definition of a ‘substantial force’?”
“Perhaps six or seven hundreds so far. There may
be many more on their flanks. It is… difficult to tell.”
Safir nodded. “Of course.” She glanced around at the beachhead they’d secured. She would have preferred it bigger, deeper at least, but it was sufficient. As long as they had a contiguous battle line and enough room to land their subsequent waves in relative safety, it would be enough for the time. “Very well. Tell Cap-i-taan Daanis that his company may lay aside its garden tools and prepare to receive the enemy!”
“Yes, my Queen!”
Safir paused while a squad of signalmen raced past, unspooling a long roll of wire with little red ribbons tied to it at intervals of about a tail. They had to stop a moment and wait impatiently while the gun’s crews moved their pieces forward by hand. She turned to Colonel Anaara, who’d been pacing along beside her. “The Silver Battalion will ‘stand-to,’ if you please.”
The drums-another of Captain Reddy’s imported innovations-thundered in the gradually fading morning mist as youngling drummers blurred their sticks. Even as the battalion fell in, preparing their bows and spears and locking their shields; while artillery crews rammed fixed charges of canister down the mouths of their gleaming bronze six-pounders and gunners sighted the tubes, the raw, visceral roar of the first mass charge of Grik warriors fell upon them. The Battle of Raan-goon had begun.
Lord General Rolak heard the sound of the Grik charge, the whoosh of arrows, and then the stuttering Ka-burr-Burr-aak of a battery of guns on his left. He could see little, but he wasn’t much concerned. There’d been none of the raucous, thrumming horns, calling and answering like skuggik cries on carrion, so even though he doubted that Safir was completely ready, he expected her to handle this first thrust with little difficulty. The distinctive sound of Grik “infantry” crashing against a shield wall confirmed his confidence that the Silver Battalion had made ready for the charge. The odd trees of the forest muted the sound, of course, but he could tell from experience that the blow had not been a heavy one. Arrows and canister had certainly blunted it as well.
So far, the 5th B’mbaado was not involved, which meant the charge had fallen either on Safir’s center or left. Rolak hoped she’d had time to deploy the follow-up regiments between herself and Captain Garrett’s forces. Even if she hadn’t yet, he doubted she’d have too much trouble. Runners had just reported stiffening resistance-in the form of sporadic attacks-against Garrett’s landing at the port facilities. He had heard horns from there. With any luck at all, most of the enemy was being drawn to those horns even now. Garrett’s landing had been the first, most exposed, and by far the largest in apparent size. He had to make the deepest penetration against the largest known enemy concentration and establish the biggest beachhead. He had two full Baalkpan regiments, one Aryaalan regiment, and one fresh, unblooded Maa-in-la regiment to accomplish this, but he also had the most mobile artillery and mortars. Additionally, General Alden’s 1st Marines would follow on Garrett’s heels and he could call on them if he had to, but supporting him was not their main objective.
Rolak snorted. They’d already discovered one major weakness in the Allied military organization: logistics. At least as far as large-scale expeditionary efforts were concerned. Previously, they’d noticed an annoying disconnect between naval and land forces regarding what equipment and troops should be loaded on what ships and barges, and where those barges should land. A lot of it had to do with preparation and simple sequencing, but the Lemurians (and a few humans) weren’t that good at those tasks yet. Particularly on something of this scale. They had a lot of work to do to improve that situation, and hopefully this “live fire exercise” would highlight the most egregious discrepancies. The worst so far today was that the 1st Marines, which were supposed to land here on the right flank, had instead been mistakenly loaded on barges towed behind Donaghey -towed behind Haakar Faask!
Discovering the error after it was too late to repair had resulted in radical last-minute alterations to the plan. Rolak was glad he hadn’t been there when General Alden learned of the foul-up. A few officers had doubtless become privates or seaman’s apprentices, but really it was not unexpected. They were all amateurs at this sort of thing. They’d practiced numerous landings and even faced a few hostile ones now, but as Commodore Ellis had said, this was different, and their next landing would be even more different still. In any event, now the Marines would have to double-time nearly three miles behind the-hopefully by then-contiguous beachhead, to reach the point where their real mission would begin. In the meantime, there was that right flank Jim had warned them about, just hanging out there.
There might be nothing beyond it, and if there was, he was confident he could refuse the flank with the forces he had. The entire 9th Aryaal was wrapped around, anchored to the river, deployed to do just that, even if it deprived him of close to a third of his own front. The one good thing was that some of the Maa-ni-lo Cavalry meant for Garrett had already arrived here. He would keep it and use it to warn of any threat gathering on his right.
Grik horns blared almost directly to his front. The naval bombardment had paused while the ships sought to maneuver in the clearing morning light, and it sounded like the horns were coming from the area they’d recently been “pasting.” He grinned with the certainty that the guns would resume firing with the same elevation once the ships had rearranged themselves. He glanced at the river and saw that Dowden had finally cleared the snag and was working her way a little farther upstream. While he watched, he saw a cart being wheeled into position beside the tent that had been established as his “See-Pee” (what a strange term, if he translated it correctly) and a small group of ’Cat signalmen began stringing wires from the grotesquely heavy “baat-eries” in the cart to the transmitter already inside the tent. Another haggard, filthy crew of signalmen raced up, panting, with their spool of wire unrolling behind them. Still another crew was hoisting a pole with an aerial attached. Good. If all worked properly-he snorted again-the entire Expeditionary Force would not only have hard communication within itself but wireless communications with the ships-and eventually Big Sal ’s planes.
The sound of battle to the left had faded, but the horns thrummed again. This time there were more.
“Lord General!” Colonel Taa-leen of the 5th B’mbaado spoke as he returned. He’d gone to try and view the action. “The assault against the Silver Battalion has failed.”
Rolak nodded. “Did you speak to the Queen Protector?”
“I did, briefly. The enemy came on in ‘the same old way,’ but they did not break as they were slaughtered.” Taa-leen blinked uneasily. “All but a handful were slain, but the Silver sustained heavier than expected losses. Not heavy,” he hastened to add, “but… more than would usually be expected. I personally viewed the Grik corpses heaped before the shield wall and they do look poor. Not starved necessarily, but ragged and lean.”
“They have a wider range to forage here than was the case on Singapore,” Rolak speculated.
“My assessment as well, Lord General, but the Silver recovered one of their diseased standards. It was the same as some of those taken after the Battle of Singapore.”
“So. We knew they were attempting to evacuate that place before we blockaded it. I would presume they took the better troops first, perhaps even before we cut them off. Some of those may not have been taken all the way to Ceylon, but deposited here instead.”
“Indeed. Which makes it likely we face still more of the vermin responsible for the… atrocity… committed against our homes, General, as well as all Jaava.”
Perhaps a dozen horns were sounding now, more stridently than before. They would soon be ready. Dowden and Nakja-Mur opened fire again, and as Rolak watched, mortar teams prepared their tubes. Case shot shrieked overhead and thunderclaps pealed through the trees. Orders swept up and down the line and the three regiments under Rolak’s command, far better prepared than the Silver had been, readied for a much larger test.
“Indeed,” Rolak said, “but that only means they know us
better-and even their insane youngling minds may comprehend that fleeing will do them no good.”
The “Raan-goon” harbor facilities were a dismal wreck by anybody’s standards even before Haakar Faask and Donaghey started in on them. They’d been something once, before the Grik planted their next outposts at Singapore and then Aryaal. Nobody really knew much about how the Grik ultimately expanded behind their frontiers. Ceylon was fully integrated into the “Grik Empire,” and evidently so was much of India. It was like they’d stopped there for a while, until it was nearly filled up, before pushing on again. Still, Rangoon had been big once, apparently for quite a while. Now it looked a little like the rats were taking over. At least it had. Most of the strange city was now ablaze.
General Pete Alden hadn’t been to the American southwest before, but Grik architecture, at least here, reminded him of a Mexican border town in a western movie. Everything was wood and adobe, though how they kept the adobe from melting under the nearly daily rains was beyond him. Maybe they’d developed some kind of cement? They might mix it with their nasty spit for all he knew. Whatever it was, the adobe didn’t burn, but there was plenty of other stuff that would. Cannon fire still rumbled from the ships, but it was mostly ranging longer now, exploding in the jungle or among the crumbling dwellings that probed into it. A few Grik guns still responded-that had been an unpleasant surprise-but the ones that remained seemed intent on shooting at the ships. Grik gunnery had been notoriously poor ever since they revealed their first cannons, and judging by the relatively light shot they were throwing, these were probably some of those early weapons. They might have been left here or off-loaded from the partially sunken ship. It didn’t matter. As long as they were shooting at the ships, they couldn’t do much damage even if they managed to hit one-and the Grik weren’t using them against his infantry anymore.
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