Iron Gray Sea d-7

by Taylor Anderson

  “Send to Salissa!” he shouted. “These Grik got some kind of huge bomb, I don’t know how, and… I don’t think we can stop them!” He pushed on the throttle, but it was already at its stop. He tried to force it even farther, but knew it was no use. He was gaining on the trailing zeppelins, but figured he might get two or three at most before they dropped their bombs. He glanced down in the nose of the plane and horror clenched his heart. He didn’t have enough ammunition left for two or three! He’d be lucky to get one! He pounded his leg with his fist; then a chilling calm flowed through him. He could get two-if he fired very carefully at one-and then flew his plane into the other.

  USNRS Salissa

  Salissa was horribly jolted that time by a succession of heavy hammer blows, and Keje’s heart was torn by the chorus of screams that arose above the bedlam. The range was such that the enemy shot no longer plunged as steeply, and a long section of the flight deck beside the bridge structure had splintered and peeled away. Exhaust gas swirled in the pilothouse from a capricious eddy that carried it up and forward from a pair of punctured funnels. One 5.5-inch gun had taken a direct hit and was knocked askew on its battlement platform. Its crew was either dead or crawling on the deck, wounded and helpless. The crew of the other gun wasn’t much better off. Fragments of the shot or pieces of the first gun had scythed them away from their own weapon. Most of the windows in the pilothouse had been shattered by a blow that fell on the platform above, and broken glass crunched beneath the sandals of the bridge watch as they shook themselves out, returned to their posts, or raced off on errands.

  “Damage report!” shouted Captain Atlaan, lurching forward to peer through the empty window frames. He was bleeding in several places, cut by glass. Keje joined him, miraculously untouched. Before them, the Grik battleship seemed hove to, almost still, silent for the moment while the smoke of her guns and fires drifted downwind. They had to get past that thing so they could continue their pursuit of the others! For the first time, Keje noticed one of the armored frigates-the last, he thought-was churning away from the stricken ship under full sail, her stack billowing black smoke.

  “What’s the status on the great gun?” Atlaan asked anxiously.

  “Preparing to fire!” answered his talker. “They were… delayed in their loading by some strikes around them! They have splinter casualties, two serious, and request assistance!”

  “Corps ’Cats and replacements to the number one gun!” Atlaan commanded. Keje looked at him. Salissa was still his ship, his Home, but Atlaan had become her captain of necessity. An Ahd-mi-raal had to worry about far more than the operation of a single ship, and as CINCWEST, Keje had been almost overwhelmed. Atlaan was earning his post well, he thought.

  “Ahd-mi-raal!” cried a signal ’Cat, “ Scott is coming up!”

  “She was ordered to remain back!”

  “Nevertheless, Cap-i-taan Cablaas-Rag-Lan is steaming to join us. He says in case we need assistance.”

  Keje blinked irritably. He didn’t want to contemplate the possibility, but they might just need it. “Very well, but by the Heavens, tell Scott to stay behind us! I will deal with her cap-i-taan later!” He turned to face forward. Judging by the time that had passed, Salissa could expect another enemy salvo at any minute. He hoped she would survive it. The Grik battleship across their path was getting close! Suddenly, without warning, the number one gun fired and its huge smoke cloud swept back toward the bridge. The wind took it quickly, and Keje actually saw the massive projectile, like a black dot, rise into the sky. The line looked good. He almost lost it when it reached the top of its trajectory, but there it was! Nosing down, down-a large brown-black explosion shrouded in a mighty waterspout convulsed the Grik ship just forward of amidships. Smoke jetted from the forward funnel, then the funnel itself tumbled into the air on a cushion of scalding steam. Some of the Grik guns fired almost simultaneously with the hit, but they only churned the sea a few hundred yards from the ship.

  “She is rolling!” Atlaan guessed loudly. “We have gutted her!” Cheers swept Salissa as the enemy did indeed begin listing radically toward them. Keje tried to imagine the monstrous, glorious hole the great gun must have blasted in the ship, probably just below the waterline. The effect must have been much like the terrible torpedoes Captain Reddy so craved. Tons of seawater would be filling the ship, heeling it ever farther onto its shattered beam. Guns would be breaking loose and crashing across the canting decks and he thought he could almost hear the frantic shrieks of the likely thousands of panicked Grik inside their ironclad tomb. Another boiler went, and the opposite casemate, just coming into view, vomited iron plates, shattered timbers, and gouts of steam.

  Keje grinned, his sharp teeth bright against his dark fur, and embraced Atlaan beside him. “Three down, and just three to go! Perhaps we do have a chance to save Maa-draas!”

  “Ahd-mi-raal, Cap-i-taan Atlaan!” the talker almost screamed. The signal ’Cat hadn’t even taken time to run to the bridge. “The Grik zeps! They are almost upon us-and Cap-i-taan Tikker says they carry some new, giant bomb! He cannot stop them! His OC sends that he thinks they will ram-but it will make no difference!”

  The report followed them even as Keje and Atlaan rushed out on the bridgewing. “ Arracca also reports zeps closing on her and her charges!”

  “ These are here already!” Atlaan gasped. The tight gaggle of airships was directly above Salissa, about eight thousand feet up. One Nancy was descending at a steep angle-probably trying to keep airspeed with a dead engine, Keje guessed. Behind them, a single, last Nancy was climbing hard, trying to catch them. “Send to COFO Jis-Tikkar to break off! There is nothing he can do now but waste himself-and he is liable to bring one of those things down on top of us!” Keje shouted back to the talker. “Get everything at Maa-draas that will fly in the air! Arracca has only her reserve squadron to defend the rest of the fleet!”

  “They have not dropped their bombs yet,” Atlaan observed suddenly. “Shouldn’t they have dropped them by now?”

  It was hard to tell, but Keje was sure the zeppelins had crossed well beyond the optimum release point, and no bombs had fallen. “I believe they should have,” he agreed guardedly. He realized he’d been steeling himself for something like what he’d seen happen to Humfra-Dar. He squinted his eyes. “I am no aviator, but surely if they drop now, they will miss far astern. Could they have decided to go after Arracca or Des-Div Four instead?” That made no sense. The battered DDs still lay in the enemy’s path, but Arracca was north, with most of the rest of the fleet they’d pulled out of Madras as a precaution, and apparently already targeted.

  “Look! Oh, look!” Atlaan shouted. “The Grik formation fragments! It splits apart!”

  Keje snatched the Imperial spyglass to his eye. Atlaan was right! The Grik gaggle was splitting up, turning in all directions-and bombs, big ones, like Jis-Tikkar said, were falling now. A single large bomb dropped from one, three, seven of the zeppelins-but the last two never had a chance to release theirs because they suddenly blew up.

  “P-Forties!” Keje shrieked with glee as four of the amazing aircraft bored in for the kill. He’d never seen a P-40 before, but he’d heard about them, of course, and he’d known they were coming… but he hadn’t really expected them! Now he understood why the Grik had hesitated-then panicked. They must have seen the planes boring in! “Oh, by the Heavens, are they not wonderful?” he chortled as three more airships erupted in flames, then two more, before the sleek, dark shapes hurtled past the aerial conflagration and turned toward the final two survivors.

  Lieutenant Newman appeared, grinning hugely. “Colonel Ben Mallory’s respects, Admiral, and he’s sorry it took him so long to get here!”

  “I wasn’t expecting him at all!” Keje laughed. “I knew he was expected at Andaman today…”

  “He was afraid to blow in case the Jap-Griks might be listening. He refueled six of his ships at Andaman and came straight on,” Newman said. “Two had to turn back with engine
trouble, though. They were cutting out. Plugs probably fouled. Ben says he hopes to God those grass strips on Ceylon are ready for him, and somebody can get gas, ordnance, food, and booze-in that order-there in a hurry!”

  “He should be able to land there,” Keje said more soberly, “but it may take a few days to supply him. We had to pull our ships out of Trin-con-lee in the face of those”-he gestured at the battleships forward-“and the supplies are crossing the highlands from Colombo.” Keje blinked sudden eagerness. “Did he bring any bombs of his own?”

  Newman shook his head. “They had to leave them for extra fuel. All they’ve got is a half load of ammo and empty auxiliary tanks. Ben says his plane has some AP and he’ll give that a try, but he really needs to get on the ground.”

  “Ahd-mi-raal!” Atlaan blurted. He was gazing through his own glass.

  “Yes?”

  “The… the bombs that fell from the enemy! They are still falling-back toward us!”

  “What?” Keje looked. The bombs were very large, he thought again-and getting larger! How can that be? His glass fixed on one of the objects that seemed to be falling diagonally from east to west now, perhaps a mile off Salissa ’s starboard beam. “It is a long, white cylinder with a blunt nose and extra-large fins on its tail,” he muttered, “and… are those little wings?!” The glass shook in his hand. “Send to Col-nol Maallory at once! Ignore the Grik battleships! Destroy the zeppelins making for the remainder of the fleet at any cost- any cost!”

  “What do you see?” Atlaan demanded, trying to look for himself.

  “Those bombs are also little aircraft! They are controlled, probably by a Grik lying inside on his belly!”

  “Then perhaps they are not bombs! With a pilot-”

  “Of course they are bombs!” Keje roared, as much to convince himself as Atlaan of the horrifying madness of the scheme. “They have no engine! They will hit us-or the water. Which do you think they were brought here to try?”

  “Ahead flank!” Atlaan bellowed, dashing into the pilothouse. “Right full rudder! Sound the collision alarm!”

  Almost calmly now, Keje refocused on the flying bomb he’d been watching and saw it turn toward his ship. He wasn’t prepared when a much closer one, descending through Salissa ’s own smoke, plunged down through the forward flight deck and exploded.

  CHAPTER 29

  South of the Rocky Gap

  India

  “So, here we are,” General Pete Alden said softly, unnecessarily, gazing out over the long, narrow, forest-crowded lake. The water was dappled by the last rays of the sun, sinking beyond the mountains to the west, and great, wide trees hung low over the shallows. Angrily squawking duck-shape lizard birds wheeled and darted in rough formations, trying to find undisturbed moorings while weary planes jockeyed toward the open shorelines, their tired engines echoing across the water. Compounding the aggravation of the lizard birds, hundreds of now-free-roaming dino-cows dominated a lot of the shady shallows they preferred, capering and bugling happily in the superabundance of water they apparently craved and had been denied by their former wranglers. Musketry still rattled in the distance, punctuated by the heavy rumble of artillery and mortars.

  “Yes, here we are,” observed General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan with sharp irony. She had discarded her black cloak at some point in the fighting that brought them here, and her silver armor was dented and dark. She sounded utterly spent, but she was growing impatient with Pete’s self-recriminations. “We are here, alive, because you bravely and brilliantly saved us from the trap you sent us to,” she said bluntly. “A trap that General Rolak might have warned us against, but didn’t. A trap Colonel Flynn and I should have recognized because it was not dissimilar to one the enemy tried on us before. The Grik grow more… adaptable… than we had thought, were willing to believe, they were able.” Her tail swished irritation at herself. “Now we know. Henceforth, we must design our battles as if we were fighting against ourselves, not thoughtless animals.” She shrugged. “The majority of them may still be such, but those who design their battles are not!”

  Pete Alden reluctantly nodded. “I guess. Rolak’s Corps has fully replaced yours, and nothing’ll get past him as long as he has enough ammunition.” He stopped, as if unwilling to admit he’d done something right. “We carted a lot of ammunition out of Madras before…” He shrugged. “We’ve got a fair amount of fuel too, since we didn’t have to worry about hauling water.” Nobody would drink lake water without boiling it first, but there was plenty of it. “We’ve got a good perimeter here, from the Gap down to the river that runs out of this lake,” he continued, “and we rounded up a lot of those dino-cows the Grik were staging in the jungle, so we won’t starve for a while. Eventually, ammunition and fuel are going to be a problem.” He rubbed his neck, then nodded at the lake. “I guess it might’ve been kind of pretty here once, without all the floating junk.”

  All of Leedom’s remaining Nancys, battered and dingy, either floated alongside a long “dock” of fallen trees, or choked one of the gravelly beaches they’d been dragged up on to keep them from sinking. Other planes, most from Salissa, had been coming in periodically from Madras, fleeing the approaching Grik. Arracca was overcrowded, and after what happened to Big Sal, her planes had nowhere else to go. Some looked okay, but most showed hard use. One of the latter was trying to touch down now, its overworked engine wheezing and smoking, the control surfaces in rags.

  “That will be Captain Jis-Tikkar,” said Safir. “We have comm again at last, and he sent that he was on his way here.” Her large eyes cut toward Pete. “He is the last.”

  “Orderly!” Pete shouted. “My compliments to Captain Tikker, and get his ass over here as soon as he steps out of that heap. Make sure you get some water in him-or anything else he wants to drink.”

  “ Big Sal? Pete asked when Tikker saluted him.

  “Afloat and underway,” Tikker replied. “Somehow.”

  Pete had heard that, but it was nice to have it confirmed. Salissa’ s comm was out, but Keje-thank God Keje was safe! — had reported via Scott that his ship was out of danger but was incapable of flight ops of any sort and couldn’t even defend herself. She had taken two direct hits from the crazy Grik gliding bombs, and all her upper works forward of the bridge had burned. There was also serious damage amidships on the starboard side.

  “I could see her burning all the way to Maa-draas,” Tikker reported, “but once the rest of the fleet joined her, they brought the fires under control. The entire fleet now retires to Andamaan, except for Scott, a gaas-o-leen tanker, and a few other DDs that will make a run to Trin-con-lee to offload whatever they can for Colonel Maallory’s planes and aircrews.”

  “They’re staying?”

  “I do not know, Gen-er-aal.”

  “Well… but otherwise, we’re on our own?”

  Tikker shook his head, blinking denial. “I cannot say, sir. All is still very confused. Three Grik baattle-ships are in Maa-draas, bombarding the empty city”-he snorted and blinked-“and if that were all there was, I think Ahd-mi-raal Keje would remain aboard Arracca. A broader combat air patrol could ensure against more Grik zeps getting close enough to use their gliding bombs-but reports from a picket ship off south Saa-lon say more Grik baattle-ships are on the way. Perhaps they were sent later, or were delayed by breakdowns… Regardless, since the only weapon we had to usefully combat them was Salissa…”

  “Yeah,” Pete said. “No sense risking the fleet if we can’t even dent the bastards. But that brings us back to Ben Mallory. His P-Forties could make short work of them with proper bombs. They brought something to Andaman they thought would work-”

  “Yes, sir, but they cannot, could not, bring them here. The range was too far to bring the bombs and the fuel necessary to make the trip.”

  “Maybe a ‘Clipper’…”

  “That is one discussion we monitored between Ahd-mi-raal Keje and Colonel Maallory,” Tikker said.

  “Rest assured, Gen-
er-aal Aalden,” Safir Maraan told Pete, “Cap-i-taan Jis-Tikkar is correct. Nearly every message we have monitored or received involves relieving this force. It has become the priority of the western war effort. All we have to do is hold out until help arrives, as it surely will.”

  Pete smiled at her. She made it sound so easy, but he knew she had no such illusions. She did have faith, though; that was plain. Faith that help would come and they would hold. Pete remembered his earlier mood with embarrassment. Clearly General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan still had faith in him in spite of everything, and he determined then that he would die before he disappointed her.

  “We’ll hold,” he said, his voice firm. He gestured out at the lake. “Tikker, you and Leedom have the biggest air wing in the world right now. Even after you strip the wrecks, you’ll have more planes than a carrier, I’ll bet. We brought some fuel out of Madras, and we’ve got incendiaries. Maybe the battleships shrug ’em off, but they kill the hell out of Grik in the open. The guys are digging in like fiends. We’ll see how the Grik adapt to trench warfare.” He grinned. “Which I never was a big fan of, by the way. We’ll let ’em get used to it and see how they like it; then, out of the blue, we’ll knock the shit out of ’em!”

  Grik Madras