Iron Gray Sea d-7

by Taylor Anderson

  He shook his head again. No, that Grik honcho may be sneaky, but taking advantage of this would take subtlety-and a lot better understanding of strategy and tactics than any Grik has ever shown. Flynn often based his decisions on what human-or ’Cat-opponents were likely to do and then threw in a double handful of “wild-ass Grik” to compensate for the unpredictable nature of the enemy, but he supposed he usually gave the Grik, and even their new leader, too much credit. Better safe than sorry. Right now he suspected he was giving the enemy way too much credit. He looked at the cav ’Cat. “Well, get on with it.”

  “Yes, sur!” cried the ’Cat, and jangled away, back in the direction they’d come. Like all the cav, he held his shortened, carbine-length Baalkpan Arsenal musketoon tight against the sling that kept him from dropping it-but also let it beat the crap out of him if he didn’t hold it that way when his mount was moving quickly. Flynn thought the cav was probably the only Allied force in the west to retain the old smoothbores. His Marines had the Allin-Silva. 50–80 breechloaders and soon the whole army should, but the cav liked the ability to fire heavy loads of buckshot at close range.

  The Rangers reached the summit of the low, broad hill and began digging in and throwing up breastworks around the perimeter. Axes thocked against the trees that stood fairly dense atop the hill, and the trunks and brush joined the defensive structure. Two batteries of artillery-a full dozen of the much-improved twelve-pounders-and carts of supplies loaded with food, ammunition, water butts, even the field transmitter/receiver joined them. The comm ’Cats in charge of the wireless set began to assemble the apparatus and prepared to string an aerial in the remaining trees. The 1st Battalion of the 2nd Marines maintained a rear guard back to the pass with their quick-firing breechloaders and another battery of guns, until the leading elements of the 1st Sular pushed out of the gap and headed toward their own position about seven hundred tails away. The Marines remained in place until the first Sularan companies began to establish themselves. Then they limbered their guns and pulled back toward the northern hill. By then, as the sun crept closer to the western horizon, two more companies of the 6th Cavalry had deployed in the mouth of the gap, screening the advance of the rest of the corps.

  “That went very well,” a satisfied Bekiaa said to Flynn. “Though it has been a long day,” she amended. Everyone was tired, but Flynn had been limping slightly for most of the long march. In his forties, he’d spent most of his life in submarines. Those had been dangerous years, but they’d left him ill prepared for a return to infantry life and he ached from his back to his toes all the time, it seemed. Even his shoulder ached from carrying his ’03 Springfield. Sometimes in the past he rode a paalka to give his ankles a rest, but that day he’d refused.

  “Mmm,” Flynn replied, listening. “Say, I think our long-range recon is coming back.”

  The breeze was laying with the late afternoon, and soon the distinctive sound of Nancy engines was plain. “There they are!” someone cried as the planes grew against the evening sun. One plane banked toward the north hill, the other to the south, and streamers fluttered down. A rider fetched the closest one and brought it to Flynn. He unwrapped the note from the small rock it was tied around and spread the sheet to read it:

  MANNY MANNY GRIK AT CROSROADS AROWND RIVER BRIJ ABOUT 80–90 MILES WEST YOR POSISHIN. MOST COMING FROM WEST OF THER, BUT SOM NORTH. SAW LOTS OF DINO COWS.

  “Damn it, I knew it!” Flynn said, waving the sheet at the planes as they disappeared east over the crags. “I wish somebody would teach those airedales how to make a report, though. ‘Many’ is awful vague, and what were they doing? Were they crossing the river or just plopped there? And where were the dino-cows? Orderly!” he shouted.

  “Here, sur,” came a voice directly behind him.

  “Tell those comm ’Cats to get a move on. I need comm!”

  In the distance, beyond South Hill, a rumbling, roaring horn suddenly sounded, and all conversation stopped. A second horn joined the first, then another. In seconds, the air was filled with the bone-chilling and utterly unmistakable bellows-powered calls that signaled a general Grik charge! The slopes beyond South Hill, so still and peaceful just moments before, erupted with movement as seemingly dozens of shapes burst from beneath every tree and joined the growing, howling swarm flowing down toward the narrow plain below the Sularan position.

  “My God,” Flynn exclaimed. “That lizardy son of a skuggik really did it this time! He Custered us! Drummers, sound ‘Stand To’!”

  “What does that mean, Colonel?” Bekiaa shouted over the thundering drums that suddenly competed with the horns. “What’s ‘Custered’? You said something like that in the highland pass on Ceylon, before the battle there.”

  “General Halik, or whatever the hell his name is, figured out where we were going, how we were moving, then let us stick our necks through that damn, rocky noose! There were Grik all over those damn heights on our flanks all day, just waiting for this! He tried the same stunt in the highlands, but this time it worked-and I let it!”

  “But their guns! The planes saw no artillery, and no way they could get any up there!”

  “Don’t you get it? They don’t need artillery, not yet. They aren’t going after the whole corps right now, just us! They can keep General Maraan bottled up in the Rocky Gap while they eat us alive. Between us, the Marines, the Sularans, and the Cav, that’s around thirty-five hundred troops, and a fair-size chunk of Second Corps!”

  A gun flashed on South Hill, downward and away, the vent jet stabbing at the sky. Then another fired. Both reports were drowned by the growing, snarling, hissing shriek of thousands of Grik charging down out of the hills, where they must have remained hidden to crossing aircraft.

  “What have we got coming at us here?” Flynn demanded when a ’Cat lieutenant raced up from the west side of the hill.

  “Nothing yet. They seem all go at First Sular, yonder. They lots still not to top of hill. No dig in.”

  The sun had touched the horizon at last, and the long shadows would soon be replaced by a very long night. Musket flashes and more cannon firelit the distant hill.

  “They mean to take us one at a time,” Flynn decided. “My guess is they’ve probably got a lot more out there than are even coming off the hills. Probably have some guns stashed too. If they wipe us out, or even if they don’t, they can keep Second Corps stopped up in that gap until that ‘many’ force gets here from the east. After that, it’s all attack, attack. Their kind of fight.”

  “But even they get us, Second Corps get away!” the lieutenant said, blinking furiously.

  “Boy, have you even been with us the last couple of days? Remember the dino-cows? They didn’t cook this up on the fly. I guarantee they’re hittin’ Second Corps from behind and in the flanks right damn now! They’ll cork General Maraan in that lousy gap from both sides!”

  “But… well, what we do?” the young officer almost wailed.

  “You’re relieved, Lieutenant,” Flynn said, almost gently. “At least until you pull yourself together.” He looked at those who’d gathered around him. “ All of us better do that right quick, or we’ve had it. Saachic!”

  “Sur?”

  “Take all the cav and scoop up both companies of the Sixth in the gap. Whoever’s behind ’em will have to take the load when it lands. After that, haul ass to South Hill. If it looks like they can hold off the first shove, help them do it, then tell them to run, not walk, the hell over here.”

  “Yes, sur… but what if they not holding?”

  Flynn took a breath. “Then spike what guns you can and get everybody out who can climb in the saddle with you. We’ll cover your run back here.”

  “Meanies don’t like extra riders,” Saachic warned. “And even if we all get some, we can’t get all.”

  “I know.”

  The battle for South Hill intensified as darkness fell, flaring and slashing with fire. Every instinct Flynn had told him to march to the aid of the Sularans, but h
e knew that was probably exactly what the Grik wanted him to do. With the darkness, he had no way of knowing how the enemy deployment was developing. The cavalry was keeping a clear line of communication between the hills-the Grik seemed to respect their me-naaks-but he already had reports of Grik circling around South Hill to threaten that line. One way or the other, the Sularans had to pull back here soon.

  In the meantime, his Rangers were digging like fiends and heaping the damp earth in front of their lines. Stakes were being cut, sharpened, and driven into the ground, and details were busy spooling out the new barbed wire they’d just recently received from Baalkpan. It was crummy, lightweight stuff compared to what Flynn had seen in France as a youngster, but this would be the first time the Grik ever ran into such an entanglement, and it was going to cost them. Other details were starting work on several bunkers to give them some overhead protection, and revetments were taking shape around the guns. The Marines maintained their position on the south side of the hill, throwing breastworks in front of their own forward battery, which was prepared to fire down the flanks of the gap held by the cavalry when the Sularans finally came out. When they were withdrawn into the fortifications, their guns would serve as a mobile reserve for any hot spots that might develop.

  Flynn looked around. He’d done his best to prepare, he thought. There was little more he could do but make North Hill so costly to take that the Grik would choke on it.

  “Col-nol Flynn! Col-nol Flynn!” he heard called in the deepening gloom.

  “Here!”

  One of the comm ’Cats hopped closer. “Col-nol, we got contact with Maa-draas HQ! Gener-aal Taa-leen wants to know what the hell is going on! We can’t get Division or Corps. Them damn hills round the pass block us, I bet.”

  “I’m on my way.” He paused for an instant, listening. High above, he heard the sound of motors, lots of them, and they weren’t Nancys. The night suddenly brightened with the lights of what looked like falling meteors that illuminated the bellies of Grik zeppelins in the sky. The things didn’t light up until they’d fallen some distance from the ships, and he guessed that made sense. They were using some kind of delayed-ignition system to protect their hydrogen-filled airships. The first meteor struck out on the plain and burst amid a roiling ball of spreading flames. It was followed by many more. None landed on North Hill. They probably couldn’t see it in the dark. Some probably burned Grik when they fell, but several splashed fire on South Hill, and Flynn swore.

  “C’mon,” he said to the ’Cat. “Now they’re throwing Grik fire at us! If the Air Corps can’t keep those bastards off us, they’ll burn us out for sure!”

  ***

  “What the hell’s going on out there?” General Pete Alden demanded, storming into the briefing room adjacent to the comm shack in Madras.

  General Taa-leen commanded 1st Division, and while it occupied the city, he was essentially Pete’s Chief of Staff. “A counterattack, General. A big one. Beyond that?” Taa-leen spread his arms.

  “Where?” Pete asked, shoving through milling, confused staff officers to stand before the most current map they had, tacked to the wall. He did a double take when he saw Hij-Geerki lying on a pair of the common Lemurian cushions in a corner, as inconspicuous as he could make himself. He’d thought Rolak had taken his pet Grik south. He shook the distraction away.

  “Everywhere. Or so it seemed at first,” Taa-leen answered.

  “Show me what we know; then we can wonder what it seems like.”

  “Of course. In the south, Third Corps has not been directly attacked, but a strong force has assembled opposite it. Fifth Corps is heavily engaged and has been forced to pause its advance and assume a defensive posture. Its supply lines south have been cut. General Rolak has encountered increasing spoiling attacks, he calls them, but continues to push First Corps south even now. He thinks the large enemy force that he hoped to fix in place for Fifth Corps to hit from behind has turned to crush Fifth Corps, or at least drive it south and prevent it from linking up with him.”

  “Nobody could ever call Rolak timid,” Pete said respectfully.

  “No, sur.” Taa-leen blinked. “And perhaps he is right to push. Where he had been the anvil, he might now become the hammer, and the result could be the same.”

  “Is that what you think?” Pete asked, eyebrow raised.

  “It is. The Air Corps saw no indication that fresh enemy troops had moved against Third Corps. Co-maander Leedom believes it faces the same battered troops that the fleet gave such a pasting.”

  Lieutenant Commander Mark Leedom had been assistant Commander of Flight Operations on Salissa, and was acting COFO of the 5th and 8th Bomb Squadrons and the 6th Pursuit-all from the lost Humfra-Dar. He also had two new squadrons that had literally been assembled in Madras, right off the transports.

  “If true,” Taa-leen continued, “it cannot be a steady force and is likely there only to fix Third Corps in place.”

  “Okay,” Pete agreed. “We’ll give General Rolak his head. If anybody can keep it together in a night march, it’s him. We’ll know more about the big picture in the morning. In the meantime, if he runs into anything he even thinks he can’t handle, I want him to pull back.”

  “Yes, sur.”

  “So, what’s the worst of it? There’s got to be more, or you wouldn’t have sent such an urgent message. There’s nothing going on here, so that leaves Second Corps.”

  “Yes, Gener-aal,” Taa-leen admitted, “I don’t think the Orphan Queen is in a jaam; I know she is. All physical lines of communication have been cut between here and the place they were calling Rocky Gap. Wireless transmissions report that her situation is dire indeed.”

  “What happened?”

  Taa-leen explained what they knew so far; that II Corps was basically trapped in the gap and the 1st Amalgamated, the 1st Sular, the 1st of the 2nd Marines, and several companies of cavalry were independently trapped beyond it. At first they’d been on separate hills, but now they’d consolidated. Losses, particularly to the 1st Sular, had been high. To make matters worse, a very large enemy force was assembling, and likely advancing from the west. “We are in wireless contact with Colonel Flynn and General Maraan,” Taa-leen continued, “but they cannot communicate with each other. Of the two, the smaller force is in the greatest jeopardy. I have just received confirmation that zeppelins are bombing it with Grik fire! I suspect the rest of Second Corps will soon receive the same treatment.”

  “Get Leedom in here,” Alden barked at an aide, who dashed out of the briefing room.

  “You will send planes up there? In the dark?” Taa-leen asked, blinking concern. “The air crews are all tired. Most have flown numerous sor-tees, and we lost two more aircraft today for no apparent reason. Commander Leedom blames hasty maintenance caused by the pace of operations.”

  “Night flying here is different than it was for those guys in Second Fleet,” Pete conceded. “India’s a hell of a lot bigger than New Ireland! But Leedom’ll take care of those damn zeps, if he has to do it himself,” he ground out. “I’ll tell him to ask for volunteers.” He looked at Taa-leen. “He’ll get ’em too. You know why? Because nobody in Ben Mallory’s Air Corps could sleep a wink tonight knowing the damn Grik are burning our people!”

  He turned back to the map. “So,” he muttered. “That’s the deal. I think you’re right about the south. It’s clever and might even work, but I think this General Halik has deliberately tossed his best dice at Second Corps, hoping to wipe it out. The question is, what the hell are we going to do about it?” He turned and looked at Hij-Geerki, who was watching attentively. “What do you think?” he blurted with a sour expression.

  “I no t’ink,” the creature answered tentatively in its strange but improving English. “I… ’e-long to Lord Rolak. I t’ink what he t’ink. I can’t… self t’ink like Gen’ral.” Geerki hesitated. “Ony… ’aybe dis Gen’ral Halik not t’ink like Grik Gen’ral.”

  North Hill was ablaze and the trees tha
t stood atop it flared like great vertical matches in the dark. A lucky hit by the first flight of zeppelins had landed on its flank and ignited one of the Marine artillery caissons and the resultant flashing detonation had drawn the attention of the other airships. Most had already dropped their firebombs and the plain between the two hills was dotted with dying fires. The tall, damp grass just wouldn’t burn, at least without a wind to fan the flames, but the few airships that still carried loads quickly dumped them on the illuminated hill. Finally out of ordnance, the zeppelins departed, but they left plenty of misery in their wake.

  “Get the wounded in the ditches!” Flynn roared over the hideous, wrenching screams. Bad as the cries of the wounded were, the agonized, squealing wails of scorched paalkas were probably worse. “Throw dirt on those fires… and put those poor damn animals out of their misery!”

  “What about the trees?” someone cried.

  Flynn wiped the soot from red, streaming eyes and looked up at the crackling trunks and naked limbs above. The flames were already diminishing. The tree bursts had been the worst, spattering the Grik fire over a broader area than the ground impacts. “Nothing for ’em. They’ll have to burn out.” He stared a moment longer. “I don’t think they’ll burn once the fuel is gone. Pretty wet wood.” For the first time, he was grateful for the almost daily rains and high humidity. “Jesus,” he mumbled, taking in the rapid activity and smoldering bodies around him. He didn’t know how he’d escaped with little more than a few light burns; most of the Grik bombs had fallen right around him. He coughed on air that was thick with smoke and the stench of burning fur.