“Get a move on,” Horn urged the ’Cat above him on the netting as he climbed. He’d discovered the gap wasn’t all that great, with the proper motivation. “Hurry up!” he shouted as musket balls started slapping the thick wooden hull around him. “Shit!” he added, as the ’Cat cried out and fell. Another stiffened and went limp, dangling from the net. They were climbing through a storm of musket balls and splinters now. Their troops already at the top, as well as some Arracca ’Cats, were shooting back, but they had to be careful as well.
Silva had almost reached the vast opening to the hangar deck when the entire ship seemed to heave, bashing his knuckles and bouncing him on the net, which whipped like a shaken blanket and slammed back against the hull. One of the Grik-like Khonashi lost his grip and dropped screeching toward the roiling water below. He didn’t make it. Whatever caused Arracca’s heavy lurch had finally driven her hard against Santa Catalina’s butchered side, and the Khonashi’s scream chopped off as he was mashed between the ships.
“Aww, hell!” Silva muttered, a sudden chill coursing down his spine. The firing fell off as Santa Catalina was jolted as well, and Silva, Horn, and the rest of their survivors clambered past the stanchions onto the massive, practically empty hangar deck. “Empty” was a relative thing, however. There were few planes, mostly heavily cannibalized wrecks, but lots of people. Most were gathered in an impromptu hospital area aft, being triaged by harried-looking corps’-Cats, but many were running back and forth, trying to move the injured. Haggard troops were being organized to defend the bay openings, provide cover for those remaining on Santy Cat’s fantail, or pull more wounded aboard.
To Silva’s secret delight, he almost immediately saw Lawrence, standing as if waiting for him—with the Doom Stomper in his arms. A very nervous-looking Petey cringed behind what Silva—with a startled blink—recognized as his own sea bag. Petey immediately bolted forward and up to his customary place behind Silva’s neck. For once, for now, he didn’t squawk about food or anything. He didn’t make a peep at all.
“There you are!” Silva declared at Lawrence as if he’d caught the Sa’aaran deliberately malingering. “Where the hell’ve you been? An’ I hope you didn’t scratch my darlin’ rifle—or bang my poke around too bad. You know Captain Reddy’s pistol’s in there!”
“Hvat you care?” Lawrence snapped back. “You just ’eave it ’ying there! Your stu’id ’ag too. Lucky you, I, and so’ others go ’ast our quarters.” His outrage dimmed. “I got Risa apht, and Colonel Chack send I to get her here. She’s hurt in the leg.”
Silva’s facade faded as well. “She’s okay?”
Lawrence hesitated and didn’t answer directly. “Lieutenant Cross is ’ith her.” He jerked his snout toward the greater mass of wounded.
“What the hell hit the ship?” Gunny Horn demanded. “It almost shook me off.” He shuddered, probably remembering the Khonashi who fell.
“We get raammed! Raammed baad!” cried a ’Cat running past. Silva, Horn, and Lawrence all shared horrified looks and rushed to port, where many others were moving. They were closely followed by the mixed group of defenders that had latched onto them.
Nearing the portside hangar bay, they were lit by a blazing inferno below. A Grik cruiser, maybe the first to break out, and which they’d seen set afire by Santa Catalina’s guns, was fully engulfed in flames. Somehow, probably steering belowdecks, its crew had aimed it at Arracca, and all her guns couldn’t sink it before it hit her hard. Peering over the side, heat blasting his face, Silva saw that the damn thing had bashed a big, deep hole in Arracca’s side with its underwater ram. Hoses were already starting to play on the blazing wreck and steam billowed, forcing Silva back.
“We haave to get underway at once,” said a familiar little-girl voice nearby, and Silva wrenched his head around to see Commodore Tassanna-Ay-Arracca standing with several officers. She’d obviously hurried down to see the damage herself.
“But, Commodore!” one of the officers protested. “We caan’t push the wreck from the wound it made, and it will tear away if we move, making the wound even larger!”
Tassanna glared at him. “It will tear away as it sinks as well, after it sets us afire!” She looked at Silva, her huge eyes filled with a sadness not unlike another he’d seen there before. “Chief Sil-vaa,” she said formally. “This ship has haad many upgrades, including some ingenious modifications to her waater-tight integrity, but they were added, not built in. I don’t imaa-gine they caan preserve it for long. On my way here I already received word of flooding beyond the bulkheads. The pumps could still control it, but we must tear away from that”—she pointed at the inferno alongside—“before it burns us all. In doing so, I expect further daam-age that will overburden the pumps.” She took a deep breath, blinking too rapidly for Silva to decipher the meaning. “This ship—my Home—must sink.”
Silva nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “That’s more than likely so, Tassy—I mean, Commodore. What’re we gonna do?”
“We will get underway, lightening the ship as much as we can, and fight our way through the Grik cruisers until I caan beach us there.” She pointed at the sloping bank on the south side of the river, where the Grik batteries were emplaced, still firing. Seeing Silva’s expression, she explained, “It’s the only place in reach thaat an assault force—including the surviving Raiders, Maa-rines, and every soul aboard this ship not serving her guns, might successfully get ashore.”
“In the face of sixty damn guns,” Silva brooded.
“I doubt there’s more than thirty left in action,” Horn piped up sarcastically. “Probably just a measly half-million Griks defending them too.”
“Nevertheless,” Tassanna said, “I see no other option.” She turned to a messenger. “Cap-i-taan Saaeen will get underway, making a wide turn to port that will ground us as close as possible opposite the south-shore battery. Once we’re grounded, the starboard guns will fire on the baattery while the portside guns continue to engage the enemy fleet. I’ll be up shortly.” She hesitated. “Hopefully in time to beach the ship myself.” The messenger saluted and fled.
“What about Chackie an’ the rest still on Santy Cat?” Silva demanded, a kind of desperation growing in his gut. He wasn’t afraid of the hellish fight to come, but they couldn’t just leave their people behind!
“Sever all connections to Saanta Caatalina,” Tassanna told another messenger. “Make sure Col-nol Chack understaands the situation. Itaa and Ris will continue his evaac-uation. Hopefully, we’ll draw most of the enemy’s attention when we move.” She turned back to Silva. “It’s all we can do for them. In the meantime, I’ll open the aarmories to every member of this crew. The weapons are the old-style rifle-muskets, for the most part, but nearly everyone has received basic training in their use, and they’re still better than what the Grik possess, it seems.” She looked directly in Silva’s eye and blinked challengingly. “You will haave nearly three thousaand combat-aants, added to the remainder of the Raiders and Maa-rines we took aboard. I suggest you use your experienced troops as NCOs to form detaachments as every cook, mechanic, clerk, even pilot on this ship aarives to be aarmed. You have very little time.”
Shit, Silva thought, stunned. I know I told Chackie I wanted to play somethin’ new, but this ain’t what I had in mind. I can’t LEAD such a thing! He did a quick mental inventory. Risa’s hurt. So’s Gutfeld. Don’t know where his XO, that yella’-furred ’Cat named Flaar, is, or Major Galay neither. They’re prob’ly still with Chackie, if they’re still livin’. An’ sure as shit, Chackie’ll be the last one off Santy Cat, no matter what. No doubt other junior officers had made it aboard, but it suddenly dawned on Silva that he and Horn probably were the only ones with a reputation . . . crazy enough for everyone—Marines, Raiders, and sailors alike—to follow on a suicidal stunt like this. He sighed. “How’re we gonna do it? No matter how close you get, we can’t just wade ashore.”
A great rending crash thundered through the ship, rattling the heavy timbers beneath their feet as Arracca began to move. Silva looked out at the Grik cruiser, a little lower in the water but still burning fiercely, and saw it start to jackknife. Its bow, deep in Arracca’s guts, gouged and twisted with a terrible, booming, splintering rumble. Tassanna blinked rapidly, as if feeling the pain in her own side. “I must leave you now,” she said. “More Grik cruisers are already on the loose, and I must continue to fight my ship. You have even more to do.”
For the first time in a while, Silva realized the guns were still firing and heavy shot was still pounding the ship. Unlike the later purpose-built Fleet carriers, Arracca’s sides were thick enough that only the heaviest roundshot could really hurt her. But Silva had a sudden fear that other Grik cruisers might try to ram, seeing what the first had accomplished. “Aye, aye, Commodore,” he said, then looked at Horn, Lawrence, and the rest who’d followed them and still stood by. To his disappointment, Moe wasn’t there, and he didn’t even know if the old ’Cat had even made it aboard. Finally he blinked, almost apologetically. “Looks like we got our work cut out for us,” he said grimly. “I hope Chackie gets ashore double quick to take over, but as of now, we’re all a buncha goddamn officers.”
CHAPTER 27
////// Ign’s Grand Battery
South Bank of the Zambezi
Second General Ign pulled First General Esshk out from under the smoking earth and shattered bodies of his entourage. An enemy shell had detonated almost as it touched a caisson full of ammunition, and its resulting explosion—and that of two other caissons positioned rather carelessly nearby—managed to accomplish slight craters in the hard ground beneath them and probably accounted for seventy or eighty Grik. The splinters, shell fragments, and pieces of closer Grik had flattened Esshk and his escort.
“I yet live,” Esshk managed, somewhat surprised, staring intently up at Ign.
“Yes, Lord,” Ign replied, abruptly and very thoroughly examining Esshk for wounds. He was covered with the blood of his companions but seemed unhurt. Only three of those companions managed to rise, however, and resume their far-less-protective encirclement. A few others still moved, but they’d never be whole. Ign shouted for warriors to end their misery. Seeing Esshk trying to rise as well, Ign helped him to his feet. “You must leave this place at once!” he shouted over another salvo of shells exploding among the guns, shocked by his own boldness. Shortly before, Esshk had essentially condemned him to death, yet now Ign’s words and tone—directed at his Lord—sounded dangerously like a command. Esshk either was still too stunned to notice or fully agreed. “Direct the battle from elsewhere,” Ign pleaded. “We cannot lose you here!”
Esshk hacked dusty phlegm. “You are right, of course,” he paused. “And I was . . . mistaken to reproach you as I did.” He paused. “I have experienced the fury of the enemy’s weapons before, when they wrested the Celestial City from my grasp. I haven’t had occasion to endure their direct, deliberate attention since,” he continued ruefully, “and sometimes forget how quickly they can force us to alter our plans, regardless how meticulously prepared. We rush to embrace their weapons, but never seem to achieve parity. Even as we match what we have seen, they field better”—he waved his hand to indicate the flashing guns on the water, heralding another incoming salvo—“or make what we copied infinitely more effective!”
Most of the shells exploded among the furiously digging warriors this time, and Ign flinched, hoping Ker-noll Jash wasn’t hit. “I beg you, Lord General,” Ign implored, “leave this to me. You must direct the rest of the battle and ensure the greater plan proceeds.”
“Indeed,” Esshk agreed, straightening, smoothing his bloody cloak. Blood made the red garment, lit by gunflashes, seem spotted black. “All I said earlier is forgotten. I do tend to less patience than I once had,” he added—as close to an apology as he could come. “I go now to send the signal to loose the Final Swarm at last.” The pounding from great guns on the river had slackened, and they realized one of the burning cruisers had apparently rammed the great flying machine carrier that came to Santa Catalina’s aid. “If we are fortunate,” Esshk continued with growing excitement, “the enemy on the river has been dealt with. Perhaps it will burn, even explode! If not, the several of our cruisers now approaching or already engaged should keep it busy. It can’t stop the Swarm now, particularly if our warriors simply ignore it and rush past. Continue your bombardment, Second General Ign! I hope to maneuver Giorsh through the blockage in the river after the rest of the Swarm is loose. You will join me in her then.”
“It will be my greatest honor,” Ign proclaimed, but his tone was still urgent as he watched Arracca’s smoke- and fire-glare-blurred shape. She had been rammed and was fighting the flames of the burning cruiser, attacking the boarders on Santa Catalina, and directing occasional shots at the other closing cruisers—even as they pummeled her in return. Amazingly, however, though it was hard to be certain with such dismal visibility, Ign thought she’d actually started moving. He could only think of two reasons for that. “But do hurry from here, Lord,” he begged, then paused. “I would be grateful for one final indulgence.”
Esshk looked at him questioningly, and Ign nodded toward Arracca. She was moving, sluggishly but certain. “That ship came to aid the other. It has been seriously . . . inconvenienced, at least, but must have removed many of the warriors fighting on its consort. We already know, against all reason at times, our enemy rarely abandons its warriors to certain death. I don’t think Arracca would leave Santa Catalina without the bulk of its survivors aboard. Perhaps it is in peril of sinking or being stranded as its consort was, but I doubt it is fit to escape—even if it was disposed to do so.”
“Then . . . ?” Esshk trailed off.
“I expect it will either smash its way into the gap we exploited,” Ign predicted, then hesitated. “Or perhaps . . . I do not think it impossible that it may try to put those warriors ashore here.”
Esshk’s eyes widened, incredulous. “Why? What could they possibly gain? They must be sadly depleted, a very few hundreds left at most. And you just said they do not abandon their people to certain death!”
“They have, rarely,” Ign stressed, “when they had no other choice, or the prize was worth the sacrifice.”
Esshk was still confused. “What makes your position such a prize?”
“The same things that induced me to place our batteries here: the shallow-water approach that would prevent their captured cruisers from getting too close, sloping terrain that allows us to fire over the heads of our infantry, and the level ground beyond that made it simpler to move our guns in the first place. All make this an excellent spot for the enemy to attempt a landing. And”—he waved at the devastation around them—“as you can see, we have been seriously depleted as well.”
Esshk seemed unconvinced. “It would still be a pointless gesture. Mere revenge against the annoyance you caused them—extreme annoyance, no doubt,” he hastened to add. He was still somewhat chagrined by the way he’d treated his most loyal supporter. “Yet even if the enemy gained this position, the initial wave of the Final Swarm consists of only one part in four of the forces arrayed to exploit its success. Their few hundreds would be swept aside by the hundreds of thousands close at hand, which can quickly be called upon.”
“Nevertheless,�
� Ign persisted, knowing that calling upon such numbers, many still afloat in barges, and their timely arrival were two different things. “Whether for mere vengeance, or as part of an unfolding plan we cannot know, it is a possibility. I would request that you order several regiments of our new troops to reinforce this position, as well as the one across the river.”
A few shells started bursting overhead again, possibly from one of the cruisers moving out from behind the shattered wreck in the river. Arracca seemed to be heading directly for the gap and the cruisers emerging from it, still . . .
Esshk turned and began striding quickly toward his carriage. Somehow it and most of the detachment detailed to draw it had been spared the earlier wrath of Arracca’s guns. “Very well,” he said, stepping aboard the carriage. “I will make a preparatory command that two regiments—a division, you call it?—stand ready to join you, if the need arises and you send a messenger. Otherwise, dawn is not far away and you must disperse your guns and troops, as planned, before the enemy wreaks his vengeance from the sky!”
Jash arrived beside Ign, breathing hard, as First General Esshk’s carriage pulled away. “Your orders, Second General?” he panted.
Ign looked at him. “Why are you winded? Certainly you are not still concerned about our fate?” he added wryly.
“No, Second General, but some of my subordinates are. I have been forced to run back and forth along our line and personally order our infantry back to their labor.”
Ign’s jagged teeth bared. “We are back in favor. Kill who you must to establish that fact.” Out on the water, Arracca’s guns were firing on the cruisers—and back at them again, the shell bursts short at first, but quickly getting the range. More important, it seemed as if she’d begun a turn to port, something she wouldn’t do unless her steering was damaged—or she was heading here, toward them. “And tell them they are soon likely to practice their defensive training very intimately.” He turned. “Runner! I doubt First General Esshk will expect you so quickly, but catch his carriage even if you must run yourself to death. I believe we will need the reinforcements he promised.” He looked back at Jash. “You have your orders as well!”
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