River of Bones

by Taylor Anderson

  Ortiz stepped briskly back to him. “But, sir . . . that was amazing. We can win a great victory here.”

  Greg waved to the east. “Those other ships’ll be up before long,” he cautioned. “We can’t take ’em all. And we need to get word back about everything we’ve learned. Part of that, it looked to me, is that Dom liner we hammered had armor plate bolted on.”

  “Are you certain?” Mak asked.

  “No. It could’ve been the range or the angle, but I saw some of our shot skate off her bow and hit the water. May be nothing, but if they have even thin armor at their bows, think what they might wear over their engineering spaces. On top of everything else, Admiral Sessions—not to mention admirals Jenks and Lelaa—needs to kick that around.”

  CHAPTER 18

  ////// USNRS Arracca (CV-3)

  TF Bottle Cap

  Off the Mouth of the Zambezi

  December 15, 1944

  “I hope you have a pleas-aant flight,” Commodore Tassanna-Ay-Arracca told Russ Chappelle, Mikey Monk, and Dean Laney as they prepared to step into the launch floating inside the great carrier’s boat bay. The launch would take them out to the big PB-5D Clipper floating alongside Arracca, and the plane would fly them directly to Mahe, where Savoie now awaited their arrival. The rest of Santa Catalina’s exhausted crew had departed almost immediately, aboard USS Ramic-Sa-Ar and the battered Felts, as soon as she received emergency repairs. Felts was in no shape to fight or even sail; all her masts had been shot away. But her hull was essentially sound and she could steam. Ramic’s place in the screen would be taken by the very last Scott-class steam frigate, USS Revenge (DD-22). She’d actually been completed after James Ellis and was the third Allied ship to bear that proud name.

  “I guess this is it, then,” Russ said, extending his hand. He was anxious to go, yet still somewhat reluctant, and he looked past Tassanna at his surroundings as if to find a reason to stay. There was nothing where he was. The large bay was a holdover from Arracca’s life as a sailing Home that hunted gri-kakka for their meat and oil, and the long, narrow boats that chased them had been kept here, ready to race directly out of the ship in pursuit of their prey. It had been an ingenious expedient that allowed quick egress and kept the people from having to stow the boats above, where they’d be in the way, susceptible to deterioration, and would have to be lowered the precarious distance to the water below. Unfortunately, not only did the heavy doors enclosing the space present formidable engineering and time-consuming construction challenges, but they represented a natural vulnerability in the otherwise incredibly stout hull. No large ships were built with them now, and even the very first purpose-built carrier, Maaka-Kakja, which otherwise followed traditional hull designs, had dispensed with the boat bay. And there were no gri-kakka boats left in Arracca. Instead, a shoal of motor launches floated there, ready for rapid dispatch to floatplanes in distress or the occasional Mosquito Hawk that had to ditch. Quickly getting to those was essential for their pilot’s survival in this malicious sea.

  Tassanna took Russ’s hand and blinked encouragement, correctly gauging his emotions. “Cap-i-taan Reddy needs you, Saavoie needs you, and we will all need her when you get her ready to fight.”

  Russ stared down. “I just . . . It’s really hard to leave my ship while she’s still fighting.”

  In addition to the incessant night bombing, which inflicted terrible casualties on the fixed battery that Santa Catalina had become, the Grik had finally made another move against her and her cruiser consorts the day before. They’d expected it, and even had photographs of the preparations to look at, taken from a high-flying Nancy and its observer/copilot equipped with a Brownie camera. Brownies had been the most common cameras brought to this world by the crews of Walker, Mahan, and S-19, and a couple of functioning examples had even been discovered aboard Santa Catalina. Steve Riggs, the Minister of Communications and Electrical Contrivances, often in consultation with Enrico Galay, had been in charge of making the 120 film they required. They’d practiced developing techniques on old film in the cameras, and when finally successful, the ’Cats had been amazed by images from another world. Steve, Alan Letts, and a few others who’d seen the pictures had experienced almost surrealistic emotions. The worst were when the pictures depicted friends they’d lost, happily posing in front of still-familiar sights in a very different Philippines and China.

  In any event, the blurry photos from the “new” equipment allowed Tassanna to warn Chack, and he’d been as ready as he could be when the usual preparatory rocket barrage ended and hundreds of galleys, full of thousands of warriors, swept in to strike with the sunrise. It had been a near-run thing; the cruisers couldn’t get between Santy Cat and the wreckage-choked river bend to break up the assault with their rams, and modern weapons or not, Chack had his hands full. Particularly when the cannon-armed galleys got close. The absolute worst, however, were the ones equipped with firebomb throwers, which inflicted terrible casualties and left Santy Cat’s splintered wooden decks burning far into the night, making her a fine target for Grik zeppelins, which punished her even more. Still, not a single Grik warrior made it aboard, but that was solely due to a profligate expenditure of ammunition on the part of the defenders. Tassanna had dispatched all she could spare upriver—she couldn’t leave her fighters helpless against Grik zeps—and was worried there wasn’t enough .30-caliber ammunition in the entire theater to feed Santa Catalina’s hungry machine guns. Especially if such attacks continued. They had to expect they would.

  “There is some good news,” Tassanna stated. “We now know where some of the enemy air-ship bases are. I’ve had Naancys with extra fuel tanks following the departing attackers at a discreet distaance, and they’ve discovered two of them.”

  “Great,” Monk said. “Now you can hammer ’em.”

  Tassanna blinked regret. “Soon,” she assured. “The problem is, COFO Leedom suspects there are at least four primary air-fields. If we attaack the two before we find the others, the enemy may determine how we found them and become even more evasive. That could make it more difficult to discover the rest.” Her tail swished and her tone hardened. “I would like to find at least one more before I ask Col-Noll Maall-ory to direct Jumbo to attaack them with his heavy bombers. Aafter yesterday, however . . .” She paused. “Haaf is better than none. We must take some of the pressure off Chack. I’ve given COFO Leedom just another week to pinpoint the finaal air-fields. Then, whether he does or not, we will attaack what we caan in daylight, when all the zeps are on the ground.”

  “Might be costly in daylight,” Laney groused. “If they got them goddamn rockets guardin’ ’em.”

  Tassanna blinked. “We will not know until we try. The Naancy scouts couldn’t tell in the darkness. There could be no rockets, or there could be maany.” She blinked determination. “I will also ask for an immediate strike if we see another mass gaalley attaack building—though even massed, it is difficult to destroy enough of them to seriously haamper their operations.” She brightened. “We haave some replacement air-craft, as you saw, aarriving on fast traansports, direct from Baalkpan. Others—more dilapidated, I fear—came from Grik City. Most that were stationed there haave been sent south to operate from air-fields improvised by Ian Miles and his irregulars har-aassing the dwindling Grik in the jungles of Mada-gaas-gar.” Her eyes narrowed. “Still,” she said, “even the new aarrivals barely returned us to one part in three of our complement, and in the end, holding the river must primarily remain Chack’s responsibility.” She looked steadily at Russ with her large, shining eyes. “Ensuring thaat his sacrifice and the one you already made has meaning will rest in no small paart with you.”

  * * *

  * * *

  It was cloudy and actually fairly cool for a change when the big Clipper thundered in and landed on the water in the harbor on the northeast end of Mahe Island the next morning. They’d stopped at the Pat-Wing 22 base on th
e Comoros Island of Mayotte for fuel, but the flight crew discovered a bad oil leak from the starboard outboard engine. That meant they had to change planes, which was a tedious and painful process for some of Arracca’s wounded flyers they’d brought with them. After a couple of hours, during which Russ, Monk, and Laney all sacked out in Jumbo Fisher’s tarred canvas–covered bamboo HQ, Santa Catalina’s groggy senior officers boarded the “new” plane. It was a longer-serving veteran and looked worse than the other, with its patched holes; its faded, salt-washed paint; and plenty of oil-stain streaks of its own, but the engines sounded healthy, and Jumbo had pronounced it his personal favorite. It had survived the sinking of USS Andamaan, as well as numerous raids over Sofesshk. Thus, somewhat dubiously reassured, they continued on their way and reached Mahe at about 0700.

  The relatively small harbor, nestled against some modest mountains, was incredibly (too vulnerably, in Russ’s view) packed, just as it had been before TF Bottle Cap sailed for the mouth of the Zambezi. A lot had happened since, and though some of the residents were the same—USS James Ellis and USNRS Salissa were back after supporting the operation against Zanzibar, and the Fleet Carrier USS Madraas and USS Sular, the great Grik BB–turned–armored transport, apparently hadn’t moved—there were a number of new additions. Some of the new cargo ships based on enlarged versions of Scott-class steam frigates had arrived from Austraal with more troops to cram on the little island, their tents now crawling up the denuded flanks of the mountains. Another dozen MTBs were there, half tied to their own wharf on one of the little islets in the harbor, the other half patrolling the narrow channel. A couple of the remaining steam-sail frigate DDs patrolled offshore, but the rest were undergoing dockside repairs.

  With the defeat of Kurokawa, the air threat had been diminished, but Ben Mallory, back from Mayotte himself, had a constant combat air patrol over the island. Jumbo had told Russ that Ben’s two remaining P-40Es had been brought from Zanzibar on Salissa’s hangar deck, where they’d been joined by the banged-up specimen that made it ashore after the Battle of Mahe. That damaged plane represented almost the very last of their reserve of parts. A final two P-40s were still in Baalkpan and might be ferried out, but Russ didn’t know if that had been decided.

  Swirling clouds of lizardbirds dwarfed even the human and Lemurian bustle. The occupation of their island had resulted in a boom for the avian predators. The invader’s refuse was much appreciated, as was the smorgasbord of dead and injured fish churned up by the activity on the water. But what drew Russ’s attention most, staring through the waist gunner’s opening in the wallowing fuselage of the Clipper, was the massive angular form of Savoie. USS Savoie, now, he corrected in his mind. The great French battleship, a true superdreadnaught from the Great War, was certainly imposing, even under her various scars. Guns seemed to bristle in all directions, and she exuded an aura of indestructibility.

  That was a false impression, of course, countered by the many rusty scorch marks and the dried, diagonal slime lines testifying that nearly her entire stern had been submerged. She might’ve even sunk if she hadn’t been beached. But she floated level now, and smoke hazed the top of her forward funnel while the one aft of a battered seaplane catapult was being re-erected. Interestingly, even while repairs proceeded, painters were already at work, starting from the bow, applying the ragged “dazzle” scheme. Soon, hopefully, she’d be ready for action—and she was his.

  Russ still couldn’t believe Captain Reddy had taken his old destroyer up against her, virtually alone. Of course, the battleship’s attention had been intensely—and painfully—focused elsewhere at the time. Even so, for Matt to attack her in his aged, battered Walker, and then capture her . . . Russ shook his head. He and his people had been through a lot, but seeing Savoie reminded him they hadn’t been the only ones. That’s something easy to forget when you’re in the thick of it, he realized.

  On two engines, the Clipper rumbled up to a pier where another PB-5D floated, surrounded by a cluster of Nancys, tiny in comparison. The engines clattered to a tired stop, and line handlers secured the plane. Russ, Laney, and Monk were the first ashore, anxious to get out of the way so the wounded could be moved, and Russ was stunned to see Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar, generals Pete Alden and Muln Rolak, Colonel Ben Mallory, and even Commander Steve Riggs—who’d been in Baalkpan, the last he knew—standing in front of a company of ’Cat troops, rigid at attention.

  “Pree-sent . . . aarms!” Rolak shouted. He and the other officers snapped crisp hand salutes while the troops raised their Allin-Silva rifles vertically in front of them.

  “Santa Catalina arriving,” Pete Alden roared.

  A massive lump formed in Russ’s throat and he blinked rapidly. Somehow, he managed to return the salute as sharply as he ever had. Monk and Laney did the same. They held it there for a long, long moment before Rolak finally belted, “Order aarms!” Then, “Rest!” When he did that, the troops went to the position of parade rest, but Keje, Alden, Rolak, Riggs, and Mallory advanced and shook their hands. Keje actually embraced them, disconcerting to them all, particularly Laney.

  “You did very well,” Rolak said, eyes blinking earnestly in his gray-furred face.

  Russ straightened. “I lost my ship,” he said simply.

  “And you ever expected not to?” Keje asked gently, red-brown eyes blinking in the white fur surrounding them. The rest of his pelt was the color of rust, but the war had aged him. Rolak was much older, but his hide was gray all over and already so lined by scars, he never seemed to change. “Please spare us—and yourself—any pretext that your aac-tion could haave possibly ended any way but worse,” Keje continued. “You saw the necessity and did the best you could with what you haad. We haave all been forced to do the same too often. Accept our praise—and the mercy of the Maker of All Things—with a glaad heart. You deserve them.”

  “You went up the Zambezi knowing you’d lose your ship—at least—and did it anyway,” Pete agreed. “As it turned out, it was the right thing to do. And she’s not lost yet,” he consoled. “In the meantime, in the finest tradition of the American Navy Clan, no good deed goes unpunished, and we have another project to dump on you.”

  “I heard,” Russ replied somewhat wryly, glancing at Savoie.

  “She’s not as bad off as you’d think,” Steve Riggs said, a grin on his boyish face. He paused. “I flew out from Baalkpan as soon as I could with a new level-crosslevel we copied from Amagi’s. It’s the same one we put in the new cruiser, USS Fitzhugh Gray,” he said by way of explaining his presence. “That was one of the things Savoie was missing. We figure Gravois swiped it or threw it over the side before leaving her to Kurokawa. I’m not sure we could’ve licked her otherwise.”

  “One of the things?” Russ asked.

  “I’ll get to that. First, as I said, she was in pretty good shape electrically and otherwise. The Frogs must’ve taken care of her. There was quite a bit of recent neglect, but nothing we can’t sort out now that she’s patched, pumped out, and floating. Hell, she could fight now if she had to. We just don’t have enough people with the slightest clue how to operate her, much less fight her. Another one of the problems Kurokawa had.”

  “As to that,” Pete began, somewhat hesitantly, “almost sixty Japs volunteered to help.” He frowned. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you about that. They all came from Amagi originally—obviously—but swear they hated Kurokawa and the Grik. Say their world, their emperor, our war, is gone. Given a choice, they’d rather join former ‘honorable enemies’ in the American Navy Clan than anything else that’s available.”

  “Japs! No way!” Laney blurted.

  “Shut up, Laney.” Russ rubbed his short blond beard, thinking. “But Japs . . . Jeez, how can we trust ’em?”

  “As to that, believe it or not, we put one in command of the new cruiser. Toru Miyata.”

  Russ looked startled. “Yeah? Well . . . he’s different.
He’s like Shinya and already fought with us, going in the Cowflop after that fat Grik broad they worshipped.”

  “And besides you—and maybe some of those sixty Japs—he’s the only person we had available who’s conned a big warship,” Riggs said. He nodded at Keje. “Not counting our carrier skippers who sometimes think their ships are battlewagons with flight decks. But we damn sure can’t spare any of them.”

  Russ shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Maybe talk to some of them.” He shrugged. “I’ll have all my Santy Cats, right?”

  “Of course,” Keje promised.

  “And Ka . . . Surgeon Commander McCoy?” Laney asked. If his face wasn’t already red and peeling, he might’ve blushed.

  Keje looked at him and blinked amusement. “If thaat is whaat she waants.”

  Russ looked out at Savoie again. “Okay, so we’re probably good for engineering, but we’ll have to work up everything else. Maybe the Japs can help, maybe not. Did we get any of her former crew?”

  Pete grunted. “Just a handful. The XO for one, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw the ship. Scuttlebutt is, Captain Reddy had him and the rest of the Leaguers, including twenty-odd ground crew for the Macchi-Messerschmitts Colonel Mallory whacked, flown back to Baalkpan for Henry Stokes to squeeze.”

  Ben curled his lip. “Most either really don’t know much or keep squawking about being neutral! Shit. I think I’d rather trust the Japs.”

  “No foolin’?”

  Keje blinked distaste. “It is true. I caannot believe all subjects of the League could be of such . . . poor quality, unfortun-aately for us, but these remind me most of the ‘Honorable’ New Britain Comp-aany creatures we dealt with in the Empire of the New Britain Isles.”