“Then you came. Not for loot or conquest, or for anything from us at all. You came to help!” She shook her head and blinked with remembered surprise. “Sea folk!” She glanced quickly at Jim Ellis. “The other iron ship had been here for a time and we knew it had great power, but in our shortsighted, uncurious way, neither Aryaal nor B’mbaado had any use for it or its people once we knew it would not help either of us against the other.” She blinked apology at Jim. “Besides,” she said, “it was badly damaged. Every day I expected to look out and see that it had sunk. When the Grik came, it tried to help us against them, but it couldn’t move. All it could do was use its power to keep a passage clear between Aryaal and my home.” She bowed to Jim Ellis. “For that, I thank you.”
She looked back at Matt, and again at the surrounding officers. “But then you came, with yet another iron ship, and the great Homes of the sea folk. You erased the Grik from the bay! It was the greatest thing I ever saw. I am sure that were it not for Fet-Alcas’s treachery the battle for Aryaal would have been just as one-sided, and just as complete.”
She paused and blinked significant resolve. “I have come to realize that this war you fight to destroy the Grik forever is not just a war for honor, as we’ve so often fought, but an honorable war—and one we must be part of.” She looked around. “Until the end,” she added grimly. Then she straightened her back with an air of solemn dignity and spoke once more.
“I, Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of the People of B’mbaado, beg you will accept my nation and my warriors into your Grand Alliance to destroy the Grik menace once and forever.”
There were appreciative howls and stamping feet, and the humans that could clapped their hands together. Matt stood and watched while the queen bowed formally, acknowledging the praise, and he managed a smile. Behind it, however, as he so often did, he was considering ramifications. The B’mbaadans were considerable warriors. Much like the people of Madura were reckoned in the world he came from. The question was how best to integrate them into the shield wall. They would have their own ideas how to fight, and he hoped they wouldn’t prove too difficult to teach the new way of fighting, as they’d done with the others. If the battle had taught them anything at all, it was that the tactics Matt had suggested and Shinya and Alden had drilled into their troops worked. The last thing they needed was a gaggle forming part of the line.
Surprisingly, Queen Maraan immediately answered the question for him.
“I was, of course, impressed by the skill and courage with which you fought,” she said. “As an ally, might I presume you will teach us these skills of war?”
Matt stirred with relief when Adar told him what she had asked, and he cleared his throat. “Certainly, Your Highness. I’m sure something can be arranged.” He waited until Adar began telling the queen what he’d said. “Lieutenant Shinya?” he whispered quietly.
Shinya stepped up beside him. “Sir?”
“See to it, if you please. Set up an abbreviated drill for our new allies. Or if they’re willing, maybe we can integrate the B’mbaadan troops directly into our existing regiments, at least for now. Sort of a ‘jump right in’ form of basic training. God knows, we need the replacements after yesterday.” While he spoke, he noticed the queen of B’mbaado staring at Chack with as close to an expression of interested speculation as her face was capable of. Perhaps Adar had mentioned him? Maybe she’d asked about the powerful young Lemurian who stared brazenly back at her from beneath the jaunty angle of his dented helmet. “I know you’ve learned to speak ’Cat pretty good, Lieutenant,” Matt said in a thoughtful tone, “but use Chack as your liaison. If you want him to keep the Second Marines that’s fine with me—hell, he helped train them—and that’d be a good outfit to put their officers in to work them up.”
Lieutenant Shinya nodded. “That was my thinking exactly, Captain.”
Matt looked at the battle line commanders for a moment before addressing them. “All of you are not just captains but also heads of state. You have an equal say in this matter. Do any of you object to this alliance?” There was only a respectful silence from the Home high chiefs, although Anai-Sa of Fristar seemed oblivious. “Good.” He turned to Safir Maraan. “Your Highness, as commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, it’s my honor to accept your nation into our alliance on behalf of its other members, with my gratitude.” There was another short cheer, and Queen Maraan bowed graciously once more. Matt took a breath and regarded Lord Rolak, who stood watching what transpired with a tired, wistful posture. “Lord Rolak.”
The Aryaalan seemed to clear his thoughts as he quickly knelt before the captain. “Yes, Lord?”
Matt understood that much of the People’s speech, and he rubbed his eyes with his good hand and peered down at the Lemurian, cursing the fact that he’d never found the time to become fluent in the tongue. No time, he asked himself then, or just too lazy? Maybe too arrogant? He honestly didn’t think so, but it was high time he learned to speak without an interpreter. “Adar,” he said, “please try to explain to Lord Rolak that he’s not a slave. I know what he did—what he risked and what he lost—in order to keep his word. I don’t doubt his honor or his courage, and no one else should either. I admire it. Tell him that. Then tell him I’d be grateful for his service, and the service of all those who followed him and fought so well at our side. Not as slaves or vassals, but as friends.”
Matt carefully lowered himself until he was kneeling on the ground. As Adar spoke, Rolak lifted his gaze until it rested heavily and searchingly upon Matt’s face. With an encouraging smile, Matt extended his hand. Rolak looked at it, unsure, until Adar quickly explained the human custom. Then Rolak slowly, almost tentatively, extended his own hand. Matt grasped it between them and pumped it up and down.
Seeing Matt’s difficulty in rising, Shinya and Sandra helped the captain back onto the stool, where he sat, puffing slightly and watching the Aryaalan.
Rolak stood and brushed sand from his knees. “We are friends then, yes,” he said, talking to Adar. “But that in no way absolves me of my honor debt. If anything, it makes it a greater burden. Sometimes friendship can be the cruelest slavery of all, but in this case I accept it gladly. Tell Cap-i-taan Reddy he is my lord, as Fet-Alcas once was, and my sword, my life, and my honor are still his, but they are freely given as a friend and not as a slave.”
Matt listened to Adar’s translation and sighed. It was probably the best compromise he would manage for now, given the dire nature of Rolak’s original pledge, and he was grateful that, however it happened, the alliance had grown still more.
“Now,” he said, holding himself as still as possible while the pain of his exertions subsided, “that’s over with. I’ve heard your reports, but this meeting is to get everyone on the same page regarding our current situation. Mr. Shinya, would you describe the disposition of the enemy?”
“Yes, sir.” Shinya shifted and spoke so his voice would carry to all those present. “As far as we can tell, they’re gone. Our original estimate of their embarked force seems to have been . . . a little off, and several hundred of them, at least, escaped at the end of the battle. There is no indication that they retreated in any semblance of order, though.
They just fled. I would recommend that when the Catalina flies in from Baalkpan this afternoon, Lieutenant Mallory be requested to fly a quick search pattern, fuel permitting, to ensure that the enemy has not reconstituted himself nearby.”
“Do you think that is likely?” Keje asked. He spoke very carefully because he, like Matt, was trying to remain as still as he could.
“It’s possible. I do not think it likely, however.” Shinya paused and his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to decide how best to explain himself. Before he could, Courtney Bradford spoke up.
“If I may, Lieutenant?” Shinya nodded and the Australian cleared his throat. “Well. First of all, when the Grik finally broke, it was quite spectacular. Quite spectacular indeed! They just ran in all directions, like bees!
As if they’d entirely lost their minds. Although I wasn’t, um, actually in the very thickest of the fight, I saw the end from what might have been a better vantage point than most. Their demeanor couldn’t have been more different from one moment to the next. It was as though one just pulled a cord and flipped a light.” He looked owlishly at Keje. “It was like the deck of Big Sal all over again, the day we first really met. Many hundreds—I couldn’t possibly count them—were slaughtered without attempting to defend themselves at all. It was as though the solitary thought in all their heads was escape. Quite spectacular indeed. Even if they did at some point recover themselves, I doubt they’d have the slightest notion how to reassemble into anything like a threatening force. Besides”—he grinned with what could only be described as anticipatory glee—“I am reliably informed that Java is populated with quite a variety of fascinating predators. Perhaps not as terrifying as some inhabiting the inner reaches of Borneo, but . . .” He looked around and arched an eyebrow. “Well. Certainly we should mount an expedition to go and see?”
Sandra leaned forward and whispered in Matt’s ear. “Sometimes I wonder if everything that’s happened since we came through the Squall has been God’s attempt to overwhelm Courtney’s curiosity.”
“Never happen,” Matt whispered back, then raised his voice. “Perhaps at some point, Mr. Bradford, but first let’s win the war. Speaking of which, could you tell, from your ‘vantage point,’ what broke the Grik? What caused their extraordinary behavior? They still had us pretty badly outnumbered, as I recall. Mr. Shinya? You were speculating on the remaining enemy force. We should have a better idea now how many„ lizards there were to start with?”
Shinya looked grim, but that same expression of bewilderment returned as well. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally waved at the plain beyond the barricade, black with skuggiks and enemy dead. “It’s impossible to say for sure, Captain, but our best estimate is almost nineteen thousand enemy dead. More than we thought they even had.” His face became a stony mask and there was a sharp intake of breath by some of those nearby. “No prisoners, of course. No wounded.”
“Of course.” Matt already knew their own losses had been more than seven hundred killed, with almost twice that number seriously wounded. Five more of his precious destroyermen had died as well, and a knot appeared in his throat when he remembered their names. Tom Felts, Glen Carter, Gil Olivera—the ordnance division had certainly had a bad day. Loris Scurrey and Andy Simms had made it almost as tough on the first deck division. He could see their faces in his mind—all of them—and he felt he’d failed them too, just like Marvaney, the first man they lost after coming through the Squall. He would have to try to forget for now, to push them away. There’d be plenty of time later, in the darkness of his quarters, for them to demand his full attention.
“Ten to one, Skipper,” said Gray, sensing his mood. “Them Romans knew a thing or two, I guess.”
“Not all Roman,” Matt replied absently, then blinked and shook his head. “Very well. I’ll ask you again, Mr. Bradford. Why?”
Courtney tucked the hand of his unwounded arm in his belt and stood on the balls of his feet. “Captain Reddy, you cannot possibly appreciate the position you have placed me in! To speculate upon such behavior based upon so little—”
Adar interrupted. “You already have a theory, one we have discussed. Otherwise, instead of bouncing on your toes, you would have removed your ridiculous hat and wiped your hairless scalp.” Adar had sensed the need to lighten the mood. He may be a Lemurian Sky Priest and no type of real preacher, parson, or holy man, in any of the destroyermen’s eyes at least, but he’d gained tremendous respect for his wisdom—hell, he could talk English as good as Chack! He could predict the weather better than anyone alive, and he definitely had a sense of humor the men could appreciate. A lot of worse fellows calling themselves priests came aboard back before the War.
“Grik Rout,” Bradford confirmed. “We saw it once aboard Big Sal and again, well, yesterday. I don’t think it’s a phenomenon we can feel certain enough of to base any strategy upon.”
“What do you think it is?” growled Chief Gray.
Bradford shrugged. “Some kind of massive, instinctual panic attack that renders them totally incapable of concerted efforts—such as war. Be lovely to turn it on and off again at will, but so far the only things I’ve seen do the trick are massive doses of automatic weapons, heavy artillery, and having their assault stopped cold by what were, at least briefly and locally, superior numbers that attacked them with mindless ferocity.” He beamed at Lord Rolak.
Matt frowned. “So, in other words, pretty much the same thing that has stopped every other attack in history.”
“Indeed. But the effect was still significant, don’t you think?”
“It was certainly significant,” Shinya confirmed. “And if we could learn how to create it at will, even strategic perhaps.” He turned to Matt. “But Mr. Bradford is right. We cannot ‘plan’ for it. We have fought the Grik enough now to know that it does not always happen. In fact, sometimes their ‘rout’ can make them even more dangerous.” He was remembering the losses they’d taken in the hold of Revenge when they scoured the last of the Grik from below. Slowly he brightened, his hand still resting on the pommel of the cut-down katana/cutlass Sandison had given him. “But they are gone from here now!”
“Good,” said Matt with a genuine smile. “At least the ‘land’ lizards no longer seem a threat.” There were a couple of chuckles from the destroyermen nearby. “What’s the condition of the task force?”
“All is well, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” Keje said, but then he put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Adar continued for him. “No serious damage yesterday, or in the fighting with the Grik ships. Ammunition is depleted. We expended more than half of what we brought. As you know, weight and storage is not a problem, only production. We brought what we had. As more is made in Baalkpan, it will be sent.”
Matt nodded. “What about those feluccas we couldn’t account for?”
Rick Tolson spoke up. “We found one, Skipper. Hard aground in the shoals around those crummy little islands off the southeast coast of Madura. Everybody got off okay, but the ship was a total loss.” He shook his head. “Lucky we didn’t lose a dozen of ’em in there. No sign of the others. Lizards must’ve got ’em.”
“Poor bastards,” muttered Gray. Matt glanced at him, then looked at the bay where Walker had finally backed clear of the river. Even as he watched, her horn tooted exultantly, and Matt grinned in spite of himself. Dowden must have known he’d be as nervous as a cat. He had every confidence in his exec’s seamanship, but he still felt tremendous relief.
“Well, now that it’s clear our exuberant Mr. Dowden has saved my ship from further exposure to freshwater, I guess I’ll report that she came through the fighting with no damage except for some scorched paint, some busted glass, and the loss of one of her propeller blades.”
The Lemurian sea folk all nodded seriously at the news. They’d never seen Walker’s propellers, of course, but they’d seen drawings of the magical things that moved the iron ship so swiftly. Also, they’d seen the propellers on the PBY and knew the principle was the same. Matt had been taken aback that an airplane’s propellers weren’t harder for them to understand. If a PBY had shown up among his own ancestors two thousand years ago, he figured they’d have thrown spears at it or started a new religion. They certainly wouldn’t have acted like “Oh, yeah. Pretty neat. We can’t make one, but it makes perfect sense.”
The fact that their culture—at least that of the sea folk—revolved around the reality of moving air, or wind, must have given them a pretty good grasp of the idea that air had substance whether you could see it or not. There were enough creatures that flew to prove flight was possible too. So from there, the notion that people might fly in a machine of some sort wasn’t as big a stretch to them as it probably would have been among Bronze Age humans. Anyway, it was just another exam
ple of how sophisticated Lemurians could sometimes be. He didn’t know why it surprised him anymore.
“That brings up another matter,” he said, addressing Jim Ellis. “I want Mahan to make for Baalkpan as soon as possible. We don’t have a dry dock, of course, but there are facilities there. Whatever we decide to do next, Mahan’s in no shape to fight. If we can get her to Baalkpan, at least we can start to change that.” He paused and grimaced. “Before she leaves, though, I want one of her propellers if we can manage it.”
Jim whistled. “That’s a tall order, Skipper. How are we going to get at them? Hell, we can’t even go in the water.”
Matt was relieved that Jim didn’t show more resentment at the prospect of crippling his ship further. He hated to ask it of him, but he didn’t see any choice. If Walker couldn’t run on two engines, it would seriously hamper any plans they made for further offensive operations.
“I don’t know, Jim, but we’ll think of something. I’ll get with you after the meeting and we can hash it out. We’ll work out a schedule to get Mahan as seaworthy as possible too. Now”—he looked back at Rolak—“what’s going on in the city? I see guards on the walls, but no one’s answering the door.”
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