Keje had taken the idea from the hideous green-topped wardroom table aboard Walker, and he encouraged the same kind of free-flowing back and forth he’d witnessed there. His table wasn’t green, however; it was a well-oiled, polished, inlaid thing of beauty; hand-carved with delicate raised relief and possessed of deep, dark, mysterious grains. It would probably never be used for surgery, but it served all the other necessary purposes. Those around it all sat on stools, an essential compromise, and one that didn’t inconvenience humans or Lemurians. ’Cats and their tails always had a difficult time with human chairs.
Keje glanced around the table, listening to the gently rumbling conversations, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. Pushing back his stool, he raised his large cup of seep.
“My friends, comrades in the Holy Crusade of our time, let all Fleet elements that participated now add the word ‘Raan-goon’ to the folds of their flags, to commemorate this great victory!”
There followed applause, foot stamping, and a little gentle knocking on the magnificent table amid the hoots of approval. Even the captains of Scott and Kas-Ra-Ar were pleased. They’d both initially been put out by the rumored proclamation, and Captain Cablaas-Rag-Lan of Scott even transmitted a protest to the flagship. He’d suggested that Salissa herself shouldn’t claim the honor if they couldn’t. Keje patiently replied that Salissa brought the planes and Scott and Kas-Ra-Ar escorted Salissa, so of course they had “participated.”
“Let it be recorded on the flags,” Keje continued, “and let it be set down in the very Sacred Scrolls! Let the Scrolls also reflect that Commodore Ellis led First Fleet to its first victory, and General Aal-den designed the battle that exterminated the Grik from the environs of Raan-goon!” There was more acclaim, and Keje poised his cup to drink. “My friend Adar, once Sky Priest of this very Home and now Chairman of the Grand Alliance, has received my report and asks that I offer these words: ‘May we all pray to the Heavens above in whatever way we choose, that this victory will be the first of many, leading to that final, ultimate victory when the Grik vermin are no more!’ ” Everyone drank then, and the room thundered around them. Keje sat and motioned for more seep. “Now,” he said, as the celebration waned, “tell me everything that went wrong.” There was no accusation in his tone, only a genuine desire to learn what hadn’t worked so they could fix it next time. Next time there might be no room for error at all.
“Your Excellency,” Jim began, addressing Keje as the head of state he was, but Keje held up a hand.
“Commodore Ellis-yes, you will retain that designation for now-we have finally solved that… bureau-craatic… issue quite nicely, I believe. Mr. Letts struck upon the solution while holding his drooling new youngling, as I understand it.” There was laughter. “It strikes me as… appropriate, and even elegant, perhaps.” He looked around. “I have accepted a ‘Reserve Commission’ in the Amer-i-caan Navy! While I command First Fleet, I am aahd-mah-raal only. I still have a vote in the Allied Council, but as a different person, representing a different Home. I think Mr. Letts was pondering the profound contrasts between being both a father and Adar’s chief of staff at the same time. He realized that the one duty need not preclude the other. In any event, Salissa has accepted a reserve commission as well, and for the purposes of First Fleet, she is the U.S. Navy Ship CV-1, Salissa!”
There was another round of enthusiastic acclaim and Ellis smiled. It was elegant. He knew it couldn’t be “regulation,” but sometimes they had to improvise. “Admiral,” he revised, nodding with a grin. “We need to work on logistics-a lot. We’re not exactly starting from scratch, as we learned quite a bit before Baalkpan, but we had Letts around to handle it. Besides, defensive and offensive logistics are just as different as defensive and offensive tactics. I wish Alan Letts was here now, but we’ve got to sort it out. It could have been a lot worse at Rangoon, disastrously worse, but at least we had everything we needed. It just wasn’t necessarily where we needed it.”
“That chore will largely and necessarily fall upon you,” Keje said, “and by extension, every executive officer of every ship, battalion, regiment, and company in this command. You are my ‘executive officer’ and chief of staff. You must coordinate this effort.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
“It will become massive quite soon,” Keje warned. “The troops, equipment, munitions, ships-all are ‘in the pipeline,’ as you say, right now. You must put yourself in front of this situation.”
“I’ll see to it,” Ellis said, looking around the table with an expression even Lemurians could read by now that said, “There better be a continuous procession of ‘execs’ to see me ASAP.”
“Next?”
“We need better contingency planning,” Pete said. “My fault, this time. Jim asked me to add aircraft to the plan, but I didn’t think things through well enough.” He nodded at Tikker, sitting opposite and to the left. “A couple of times, we could have used close support again after Captain Tikker flew home. We didn’t have any contingency for that possibility. I just came up with some guidelines and said ‘do this.’ Granted, it might not have worked anyway. Our communications are limited and I don’t know if I could’ve even gotten through to him later. Things got really tangled up toward the end. Frankly, comm discipline went straight to hell, and we’ve got to fix that. As long as we’re stuck with a single frequency, we’re just going to have to work around it. Still, if I’d only thought to have Tikker put a squadron on the water, maybe carried some bombs and fuel on a couple of ships, we could’ve had air support and recon throughout the latter part of the fight.”
“Excellent point,” Keje said. “In fact, I think it should become policy that all ships carry enough fuel to resupply several aircraft-just as Walker and Mahan once did.” He paused. “That brings us to another issue. Captain Tikker, all things considered, the Wing performed extremely well. You are to be commended. I would like for you to explain, however, the reasons for the number of aircraft and crews we lost in this action.”
Tikker stood. He’d already discussed this with Keje, and he hadn’t expected to be called out. “First of all, Aahd-mah-raal, the very nature of air operations is dangerous in the extreme. It is also new. Unlike many of the new things we learn, however, aviators are not standing on the ground or upon the deck of a ship when they try the ‘real thing’ for the first time. Everyone makes mistakes, but in the sky there is no room for them. It takes only one.” Tikker looked down, then met Keje’s eyes again. “One of the mistakes was one we have tried to train away, based on Major Mallory’s cautions. He called it ‘target fixation.’ I know I witnessed it firsthand in one instance, when we lost a plane directly in front of General Aal-den’s Marines.”
Pete was nodding. “I saw it. I’ve seen it before too. It was a classic case. The kid clearly meant to drop on a particular group of Grik… and just followed the line a little too long. Hit the trees.” He shrugged. “It’s a terrible, wasteful, tragic thing, but it can happen to anybody if you’re not careful. It happens on the shield wall! You get to paying too much attention to the enemy in front of you and the bastard next to him sticks you with his spear.” He looked at Keje. “Hell, it can even happen to admirals.”
Keje nodded. “That is exactly the point I wanted to make. To everyone, not just Captain Tikker. We lost three aircraft to this ‘target fixation’-one each from three of four squadrons we sent to battle. A few of the planes had mechanical problems and returned to the ship, and one had to land in the river near Donaghey due to engine failure, but all their crews were safe. We had one plane and crew that simply disappeared. No one saw it go down or where it went. In total, we lost four crews and eight planes out of thirty-two! Granted, four of those planes and crews were recovered and will fight again, but they were out of this fight! That is a higher percentage of losses than any other force engaged! Do not let it be said that the Naval Air Corps does not ‘pull its weight’! Still, the one greatest single cause of our loss was this ‘target fi
xation,’ and General Aal-den is correct; it can happen to anyone. My friends, perhaps the greatest example of this is what we planned for and did to Amagi herself! Let this thought linger in your minds as we prepare for the invasion of Saa-lon. Never let it be far from your thoughts as we plan. Think on it now as we discuss the mistakes of the enemy, and the things we did right!”
Lord General Rolak glanced at Safir Maraan and his eyes twinkled.
“Old warriors and their heroics,” Safir bemoaned. The laughter lifted fallen spirits.
“Through the noble efforts of General Aal-den and myself,” Rolak began, “as well as the superfluous presence of a pair of youngling Marines, we have gained a most useful asset for the Alliance! We will soon know everything there is to know about Saa-lon in particular, and the Grik in general.” His tone lost its humor. “I expect we will learn more about our enemy, at last, than we can bear to know after a meal.” He gestured to a pair of Marines, and together with Risa, they entered one of the inner chambers of the admiral’s quarters. A moment later, they returned with a living Grik! Some of those present had been expecting this, but most hadn’t known and there were a few gasps and growls.
“May I present my new pet, and special advisor on Grik affairs!” Rolak said with a flourish. “Hij-Geerki!”
With rapid, nervous glances around the room, the old but still ferocious-looking creature hesitantly bowed.
CHAPTER 16
North of Tjilatjap (Chill-chaap)
G ilbert Yeager leaned over the rail, staring down at the water and the bubbles gushing up from below. He was chewing some of the yellow tobacco leaves, and occasionally he’d spit in the tumbling, gurgling water. Laney was down there in a hardhat and diving suit, welding Santa Catalina ’s open seams. The obnoxious bastard had guts; there was no doubting that. He was still an asshole, though, and it was fun to spit “on” him. Lieutenant “Mikey” Monk stood next to Gilbert, also looking down, as did a squad of musketarmed Marines. Apparently there were no flashies in the swamp, something they’d speculated on before, based on the less salty water and the “frog folks,” who couldn’t prosper here if flasher fish were around. Even if none of the voracious silvery fish were present, there were doubtless other things-and the frog folks themselves, of course. Ever since the “Battle for Santa Catalina,” however, the slippery, sticky-tongued devils had left the salvage party alone. Chapelle wasn’t sure how to take that. He was glad, no question, but he hadn’t expected them to give up so easily. That indicated a level of intelligence beyond the Uul class of Grik at any rate. They’d taken a lot of casualties, sure, but there were a lot of them. Every night they surrounded the ship, croaking, thrumming, and chirping at one another, and the lights reflected hundreds of glowing eyes. Even now, in the light of day, eyes could be seen, barely above the water, peering at them like little crocodiles-or big frogs. They kept their distance, and the Marines were ready to shoot any that ventured too close to Laney, but after the previous violent encounter, they now seemed completely content just to stare.
“You got some more of that tobacco?” Mikey asked.
“Sure,” Gilbert said, fishing a pouch out of his shirt pocket. He handed it over. “Didn’t know you chewed.”
“I didn’t,” Monk confessed. “Got to now, until we figure out some way to smoke this stuff.” The “local” tobacco, a product of the environs of Aryaal, tasted like real tobacco and probably was, of a sort. The problem was, the leaves were coated in some kind of vile, waxy, resiny stuff that made people who tried to smoke it violently ill. It tasted terrible too, until one chewed through the coating and spit it out.
“Me an’ Isak been workin’ on that,” Gilbert confessed quietly, looking around to make sure no one else heard. When they finally made their momentous breakthrough, they intended to keep the process secret and corner the market on “smokin’ tobacco.” It was common knowledge that the Mice had been experimenting, but there’d been no progress announced.
“Getting any closer?”
“Well, no,” Gilbert admitted. “But we rule stuff out with every failure.”
“Hmm. Say, where’s Isak anyway?”
Gilbert gestured down. “He’s in the aft hold, watchin’ Laney work from the other side. There was a couple of places where the plates were buckled out a little and him and a bunch o’ ’Cats are pryin’ ’em back in place. Last time Laney was up, he said one more plate should finish the patch.”
Monk nodded. “Yep. One more plate and we should be able to pump out the hold. I just hope that’ll float her. It’s mighty shallow water hereabouts.”
“Yeah,” Gilbert agreed. “The engine should work. All the steam lines is fixed and most were tight to start with. This old tub’s crew was nice to her… once. Course, we can’t test the engine ’til the screw’s clear of the bottom, but like I said, it should work.”
“Then it’ll just be a matter of steamin’ this old bucket outta this creepy place,” Monk said.
“Hopefully. Providin’ the water’s deep enough. Might have to lighten ship and take her out at high tide. Hell, them fellas got her in here somehow, didn’t they?”
Monk pulled a small wad of leaves from Gilbert’s pouch and stuck them in his cheek, grimaced, then handed the pouch back while he vigorously chewed to get past the initial foul taste. Gilbert grinned and aimed another splurt of tobacco juice at Laney’s bubbles.
“You don’t like Laney much, do you?” Monk asked, nodding at the water.
“No. Does anybody? ”
Lieutenant Monk snorted. “Well, come to that, I guess not. Must get lonesome.”
“Laney?” Gilbert asked incredulously. “He wants everybody to hate him. He likes it.”
Monk didn’t point out that Gilbert and Isak both acted like they didn’t give much of a damn about anybody either, except Tabby. They’d finally established communications with one of the portable transmitter /receivers, a generator, and the ship’s own wireless antennae array. The first news they’d heard was about the victory at Rangoon-and the storm trouble Walker had encountered. Included was a list of her dead and injured. Tabby’s bravery had been mentioned, but so had her condition. Monk knew Gilbert and Isak would never show it, but they were both worried about the absent member of their strange little tribe.
“Do you hate him?” Monk asked.
Gilbert looked surprised. “Only when he’s around. Otherwise, I don’t think about him one way or another. An’ it ain’t like I’d go over there an’ stand on his air hose or nothin’. Now, if somethin’ swum up an’ ate his sorry ass…” He paused, thoughtful. “Ya know, I guess it’ud be a shame, sorta,” he admitted. “Not ’cause I like him or anything, but there ain’t many of us ‘born’ destroyermen left, after all. Less than a hunnerd, from two ships now, not countin’ them pig-boat pukes. ’Cats are swell, but they’re, well… new. ’Sides, if Laney got ate, who’d put on that brass hat an’ jump in the water? You’d probably make me do it an’ I don’t even know how!” He spat again. “Naw, Laney’s a turd, but he ain’t a useless turd. That’s somethin’, I guess. Biggest problem I got with him now is that just ’cause he used to be in charge o’ me an’ Isak, he thinks he still is.”
“I’ll fix that,” Monk promised.
“Yeah? How? He thinks he’s still in charge o’ you too.”
Isak was back on deck with the others when they hoisted Laney out of the water, and he, Gilbert, Sammy, and Monk helped him over the rail of the low-sided basket he’d been standing in and onto the ship. Monk undogged the helmet and he and Isak twisted it off.
“Chop the compressor,” Monk called.
“Shit,” Laney proclaimed when the stuttering drone subsided. “Somebody gimme a drink and a chew!” They eased him down on a bench they’d positioned near the ship’s rail, and he sprawled on it while they helped him out of the suit.
“Did you finish?” Chapelle asked, offering a canteen.
“Best I could,” Laney gasped after a long swig. “Water’s murky as he
ll and the hull’s covered with weed. Had to do a lot of scrapin’. No barnacles, though. Maybe the water killed ’em? Between that, the bubbles, the fire, an’ all them creepy toad lizards gawkin’ at me all the time…” He seemed to shiver involuntarily.
“You actually saw them?”
“ Saw ’em! Hell, them slimy devils was on the basket with me before I was done! Didn’t you hear me bangin’ on the hull plates?”
“I did,” Isak confessed. “Wondered why you was doin’ that.”
Laney glared at Isak, then at the Marines gathered near. “Fine lot of good any o’ you did! They could’a been gnawin’ my bones right now, and you’d all still be standin’ here starin’ at the water wonderin’ how much longer I’d be!”
“We were startin’ to wonder…” Gilbert said.
Chapelle gave him a warning look.
“You have my most sincere apologies, Mr. Laaney,” Lieutenant Bekiaa-Sab-At said. “We watched them as closely as we could, but we only saw the eyes above water that they let us see. We had no idea any were that close to you. You continued to work, so we assumed you were safe.”
Laney snatched Gilbert’s tobacco pouch and furrowed his brow. “That’s the weird thing,” he said. “First one o’ them buggers came driftin’ into view, why, I was tempted to be a touch nervous. I hollered some, but I knew you’d never hear me over the compressor, so I waved the torch at ’em a little. They stopped, but didn’t go away.”
“There more than one?” Moe asked in his clipped English. He’d joined the group, as had half the crew who’d been working nearby.
Suddenly conscious that he was the center of attention, Laney nodded grandly. “D’rectly, there was swarms of ’em, just floatin’ around me!”
“Why didn’t you yank on your line?” asked Ben Mallory, who’d been drawn from his inspection of one of the damaged aircraft crates, aft.
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