Straits of Hell: Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  Blas snorted beside him and he glanced at her. “Let that suffice,” he told her. “I do thank God for General Shinya, but am somewhat unhappy with him myself. He should know who he can trust by now, in any situation.” He looked at the wide-eyed messenger. “Go,” he ordered, then turned to the heavy gate leading to the north lunette. It wasn’t barred, since corps-’Cats were still carrying wounded out, and Blair had visited the regiment there himself. “Open it,” he shouted to the guards on the rampart to either side, manning stout levers that could also be latched in place. As the gate swung wide, the roar of battle intensified and the battered remnant of Blair’s division wearily, painfully, filed into the crucible once more.

  CHAPTER 31

  “Charge them! Charge them now!” Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald urged Sergeant Koratin. Assisted by the failing light, they’d crept within two hundred yards of the north gate of the fort before the gully abandoned them and left a closer undetected approach impossible.

  Koratin glanced at the setting sun, then looked back at the Doms now swarming around the lunette. The firing was intense and the great guns churned bloody gaps in the Dom horde surging against the earthen wall, but the Doms weren’t breaking. It was if they sensed that here, at last, they’d found the weak point that would take them past the inner wall. They might be right, since there weren’t nearly as many guns backing the lunette, nor could as many troops fire down on them from above once they broke through. Koratin considered. The attack also had the feel of desperation to him. He didn’t know what was happening on the other side of the fort, but the volume of fire was amazing. The main attack must still be there. But this one was pressing as hard as it could, five or six thousand strong, and heavy as it was, there appeared to be no reserve. “We can’t just charge them, Your Majesty!” he objected with an amused blink. “We owe it to our audience to perform for maximum effect!” Rebecca hesitated, then smiled while Saan-Kakja blinked uncomprehendingly.

  One of Koratin’s greatest joys in his former life was helping to organize little dramas; plays, performed by younglings in the forums of Aryaal. At the time, his life had been focused on drama and intrigue of a far more serious nature, but the innocent little plays he arranged had been his sweetest pleasure. All that was gone and dead, as was the person he’d been, he hoped, but he’d learned a little about creating a vivid impression. “With your permission, Your Majesty?”

  Rebecca nodded. “Of course. I told you that you command here today.”

  “Col-nol Garciaa, Your Excellency Saan-Kakja, and…” He grinned. “Col-nol Santa Madre,” he said to Sister Audry, “when I give the word, I want the entire force to rush forward one hundred tails and form into line, facing the enemy, with our backs to the setting sun. The line will be long and with the glare, the Doms cannot know it consists of but a single rank. At my command, the Redentores will fire a volley. That should get the attention of the enemy and our friends—we don’t want to be shot down by our own people! The Redentores will reload as quickly as they can, and the entire command will fire a volley together. More will be looking then, and it will appear most impressive!” He looked at Rebecca. “Then we charge, with the first Maa-ni-la firing their breechloaders as we go! They will think a third rank charges with us that had not yet fired, and our nine hundred troops will seem two or three thousands at least!”

  Rebecca grinned back at him. “Very well. But if we are to perform a drama, let us make the most of it!”

  Horns and whistles trilled and blared, and the Redentores and 1st Maa-ni-la erupted out of the draw and ran forward, their polished weapons glaring red beneath the setting sun. At one hundred yards, the horns blew again and the entire force slammed to a stop, quickly dressing their line, and poising their weapons high in the prescribed manner of Imperial troops. Behind them, exhausted horses, tied together, were led forward as well; not that they’d be of any use in the attack, but to create an impression of additional mass and movement. Flags were uncased at intervals to stream in the freshening afternoon breeze. There was no “Union” flag as yet, but the Stainless Banner of the Trees unfurled, as did the striped flag of the Empire of the New Britain Isles. The regimental flag of the 1st Maa-ni-la, a golden sunburst in a black field, was joined by the flag of the Redentores, which represented Sister Audry’s chief contribution to the formation of “her” regiment. Painted on another stainless field was the image of Saint Benedict holding a cross and his book of rules, surrounded by several prayers and phrases, roughly translated into English, which the Imperial troops who fought alongside them could easily understand and embrace. All seemed particularly appropriate to the soldiers fighting under it: “May He protect us in the hour of death,” “May the Holy Cross light my way,” and “Begone Satan!” Perhaps most fitting on that day were the phrases “Let not the Dragon be my guide” and “The drink you offer is Evil. Drink it yourself!” Above all was the simple word “Pax” that Sister Audry had insisted on.

  The Doms saw none of this. The flags were only dark silhouettes against the sunset. But they’d also learned their enemies didn’t fight beneath nearly as many flags as they did, so four of them added to the impression of numbers. “Volley fire, present!” Sergeant Koratin roared, his voice carrying all the way to the enemy. “Fire!” The volley roared, amazingly tight, and slashed the Doms’ right flank with “buck and ball”—four hundred musket balls and twelve hundred pieces of buckshot. Koratin allowed a pause while the Redentores reloaded their muskets, ramrods flashing above their heads and drums thundering behind the lines, ratcheting up the tension. A few shots came at them, but the Doms were likely mostly empty, shooting at the Lunette, or, having fixed their plug bayonets, were unable to fire anymore. A moan swept through them, punctuated by the shrieks of the wounded.

  “Present!” Koratin yelled again, and every rifle and musket was leveled this time. “Fire!”

  The second volley was devastating, collapsing the whole right flank of the Dom attack like hundreds of human dominoes. The defenders in the lunette, taking quick advantage, furiously poured a renewed fire into the enemy as well.

  “Fix bayonets!” Koratin bellowed, repeated by Garcia, Rebecca, Saan-Kakja, dozens of noncoms, and even Sister Audry. With feral shouts, the Redentores and 1st Maa-ni-la drew their long, wicked blades, and flourished them at the enemy as if to show them what was coming before fastening them onto their barrels. Then, with the drums still thundering and the panic in the Dom ranks reaching a fever pitch, Sergeant Koratin gave a final command as loud as he could:

  “Charge bayonets!”

  In the lunette, Blas saw it all. She’d miraculously avoided any real wounds throughout the long, bitter day, but had just about decided she’d die of exhaustion anyway. The fighting was brutal, and had quickly gone to the bayonet in spite of the big naval guns emplaced there that fired torrent after torrent of canister. The noise was stupendous in the confined space, and through that and all the firing, she never heard the first horns and drums blaring from the relief force to her left. All she could do was concentrate on the fight right in front of her. Her arms ached so badly that she could barely heft her rifle anymore, much less parry and thrust with her blood-blackened bayonet. Her breath came in ragged heaves, and the smoke remained so thick that no breath seemed very useful. One of her two “bodyguards” had been killed, but the other stuck with her—as did Spook, though he’d replaced his beloved BAR with an Allin-Silva at some point. There was no more ammunition for the automatic rifle. Stumpy was still alive, the last she saw him, and Colonel Blair still survived, though the yellow facings on his uniform had turned just as red as the rest of his coat. He appeared occasionally, helping out at critical points with a mobile reserve he’d formed.

  It had grown increasingly clear that with the bloody stalemate in the gap between her old position and the inner wall, this was where Nerino hoped to end it and had sent everything he had left. A few Nancys bombed the advance and their dwindling mortars clawed at it, but they quickly e
xhausted their mortars and just as had been the case all day, there wasn’t enough air to make a serious difference. The planes had confirmed that no other significant enemy force remained in close reserve, however, and Shinya had reinforced the lunette from the south wall before he was even asked. Nonetheless, the planes had evidently reported something else, because General Shinya himself suddenly appeared at Blas’s side.

  “Check fire on the left!” he shouted. “Check fire on the left! We have friendlies approaching out of the sun!” It was then that Blas saw the ranks deploying across the field, their flags unfurling to stand out from their staffs, the muskets poised high and coming down… .

  “Duck!” she croaked, dragging Spook to cover. Only a few balls verped by over her head, most striking the enemy—that was completely stunned by the unexpected fusillade. Even over all the noise and the deafness it had caused, she thought she heard a familiar voice call for a second volley. This had an even more devastating effect than the first, and the Doms right in front of her fell squalling and writhing in the dirt. The “Charge bayonets!” command was clear in the near silence that followed, and she stood to join Shinya, who’d never even crouched down.

  With a mighty roar, the new formation, utterly unexpected by her, surged forward at a sprint—and the Doms that had pressed her so closely, in the face of such terrible slaughter, just gushed away. There was no other way to describe it. One moment they’d been standing, fighting for all they were worth, and the next they simply turned and fled, flowing past her like she’d heard the Grik once had between Fort Atkinson and Baalkpan at the great battle there. She lowered her rifle, her fingers numb around it, until the butt-plate rested on the ground, and watched the spreading rout.

  “Friends! Friends! We’re friends!” came a growing shout in front of the lunette as fleeing Doms were replaced by another force and the firing gradually tapered off. “Gener-aal Shinya!” shouted Sergeant “Lord” Koratin, a Lemurian Blas knew well, as he trotted breathlessly up the berm, between stunned troops and gory bayonets. He seemed not to notice them, but Blas knew everybody there recognized him.

  “Sergeant Koratin,” Shinya replied, getting the old ’Cat’s attention, and Koratin saluted. Shinya returned it. “The Governor-Empress and their excellencies Saan-Kakja and Sister Audry are with me,” Koratin said loudly, for the benefit of Shinya and everyone else.

  “Cease firing!” Shinya ordered, though only a few were still shooting at the fleeing Doms. “Cease firing at once!” The three female leaders puffed up the rampart, avoiding the carpet of bodies, to a great, rising shout.

  “General Shinya,” Rebecca managed between deep breaths, “the First Maa-ni-la and the Redentores, around half of each at any rate, are at your service.” She smiled. “Considering the day we had and the march we made, they are remarkably fresh, if you consider it appropriate that they should continue the pursuit.”

  “Indeed?” Shinya asked, looking at Garcia, just now cresting the wall. Saan-Kakja, not as reserved as her “sister,” immediately embraced the Japanese officer she considered a dear friend. Shinya felt the same about her, but stiffened in her arms—as she’d expected he would. Sister Audry was also breathing hard, and beaming with pride.

  “Indeed,” Garcia confirmed. “The Redentores came to fight, as did the First Maa-ni-la. Let us pursue them!” he almost pleaded.

  “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Colonel,” Shinya said, “and I am glad you have justified our trust. By all means you may continue your pursuit—but wait a moment first. Open the gate!” he bellowed behind him, and as the gate swung open, all could see gathered there a large force, which immediately began filing into the lunette. It was led by Major Dao Iverson’s 2nd Battalion of the 6th (Imperial) Marines, but many more waited to follow. Blas felt a surge of resentment. None of the troops she saw looked like they’d been closely engaged that day. “As soon as I heard of your approach,” Shinya continued. “I hoped you would arrive in time to create the opportunity I have sought, an opportunity just like this. I’ve been preparing to break out here on my own, but you’ve provided a greater, less costly enemy reverse than I could’ve managed and I mean to make the most of it. Let the Doms, the ‘Blood Drinkers’ still on our northeast wall, see the enemy run from here a moment longer. Let the panic you caused infect them as well. Then we will all pursue them, those that can,” he added, glancing at Blas and blinking his version of something like regret.

  “What if the Blood Drinkers don’t run?” Blair demanded sharply, hobbling up to join them. “They usually don’t, you know.” Blas hoped he was just exhausted and not wounded, but she couldn’t tell in the deepening gloom.

  “Then we’ll surround them, take them between fires from inside and out, and exterminate them to the last man if we must,” Shinya said mildly. He sighed. “I told you before. We will win a great victory today, and many have contributed to it far beyond my expectations. You, for one, Colonel Blair.” He nodded at Sister Audry, Koratin, Garcia, Rebecca, and Saan-Kakja. “You as well.” His eyes found Blas, leaning now on her rifle. “And you perhaps most of all. I won’t forget.”

  “Neither will I,” Blas promised, her tone tired and dark.

  Shinya nodded understanding. “You will rest,” he told her, “as will all who fought on the outer wall. But our larger force that your valor allowed me to keep within the inner wall has exercised only their rifles and guns today and remains ready to join the chase. You bought me that luxury, Captain Blas, and now we’ll begin what you’ve so long desired.” His voice rose so all could hear. “We will chase the Doms at last! We will chase them without pause or mercy!”

  “How?” Sister Audry asked. “Our supply lines will be tenuous at best, we are still outnumbered, and we have no air support.”

  “Our supplies are tenuous—for now,” he agreed. “And we’re outnumbered, though I expect that to change with your help. Do you think Guayak and Puerto Viejo are unique? This entire continent chafes beneath the heel of the Dominion. I have no doubt our ranks will swell as we advance. And as for air cover, I know you brought more planes to Puerto Viejo—and we are perhaps not as short of them as I have been leading the enemy to believe, in any case,” he added cryptically, then shook his head. “We can discuss all that later, but I believe you will appreciate my plan. For now, you, Saan-Kakja, and the Governor-Empress must retire inside the fort while we complete today’s victory. None of you can be spared, nor should you ever have personally come here,” he lightly scolded. “But now that you are here, please believe that this army, your army”—he smiled—“this ‘Army of the Sisters,’ I believe we shall call it, will soon have the initiative. And Don Hernan and the wicked empire he serves shall not draw a tranquil breath for the rest of the short time either one survives.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Gales in the West

  Battle of the “Go Away Strait”

  “2nd Grik City”

  USS Tassat

  September 17, 1944

  It was dawn over the Comoros Islands, and the southeasternmost one, the one infested by the largest number of Grik, was just a couple of miles to the southwest of Task Force Jarrik. The sky was like dull, weathered lead, and the sea was a similar, wetter, darker color, topped with slashes of near white. A stiff, northerly breeze stirred the sea and made it warm and humid—for now, but it was clear to all that a storm was brewing. USS Tassat, under Keje’s cousin, Captain Jarrik-Fas, and her consort, USS Haakar-Faask, under Lieutenant Commander Niaal-Ras-Kavaat, constituted TF-Jarrik, and had been cruising south of the islands under topsails alone, keeping the watchful station they’d been assigned when the rest of First Fleet South steamed northeast to deal with the gathering Grik menace at the Seychelles.

  Both DDs were Haakar-Faask Class square rig sailing steamers. Measuring two hundred feet in length with a beam thirty-six feet wide and displacing around sixteen hundred tons, they were not the newest wooden DDs in the Allied fleet, nor the oldest, and were two-thirds as long as Walker a
nd actually heavier. Both were capable of making fifteen knots even with the new armor applied to protect their engineering spaces, and they were well armed with twenty 32-pounder smoothbores, Y guns, and depth charges.

  Haakar-Faask carried 224 officers and enlisted, while Tassat had 230, about a quarter of whom were “exchange Impies.” These were Imperial sailors and Marines assigned to “Lemurian-American” Navy ships to put more Imperials in the war in the West, while all Imperial ships remained in the fight against the Doms. It was a satisfactory arrangement for all concerned. The influx of volunteers from the Great South Isle would help the war effort amazingly—eventually. But those volunteers still had to be trained, and “Aus-traal-ans” didn’t depend nearly as much on the sea as their cousins from the great seagoing Homes, or even those in Borno or the Filpin Lands. Most didn’t even have the basic knack for seamanship that had made other Lemurians such quick learners. Factoring in the dreadful losses sustained by those more experienced ’Cats and the pace of operations that kept the rest so long deployed instead of rotating home to teach their skills, the shipyards at Baalkpan and Maa-ni-laa had outstripped the Allied ability to provide trained crews for even newer, more complicated designs. A simple lack of trained crews had created the greatest bottleneck to the deployment of ships that, had they been available, might already have turned the tide in the war.