Storm Surge

by Taylor Anderson

  “Fend off there, you lizard-faced buggers!” cried the Lemurian coxswain as the launch approached the dock and Imperial sailors jumped to comply. Orrin smiled. The humans and Lemurians in the U.S. Navy had developed a kind of mixed patois that incorporated many words from both languages. Those new to the Navy still butchered it with a kind of pidgin but could usually make themselves understood. This new association with Impies had begun to add even more terms and phrases to the odd, almost universal language that was developing.

  Line handlers, bored with the routine visits of the launch, quickly straightened and creditably snatched the tossed lines when they saw who was aboard. A squad of Marines, ’Cat and Imperial, quickly gathered to receive the unexpected brass. Hopping ashore and exchanging salutes, Jenks dismissed the offer of an escort to Government House. He’d been there many times, and if there was anywhere on earth he and his companions should be perfectly safe from the enemy, it was within the military anthill Elizabethtown had become. They might get smushed by a toppling mountain of supply crates, trampled by hurrying troops, frightened horses, or mooing palkas, but those were hazards everyone had to guard against ashore these days, and an escort likely wouldn’t save them.

  “What a sight!” Orrin said, amazed. Even with the focus of the wider war inevitably shifting west, the city was a far cry from the half-starved ghost town it became at the tipping point of the Dom invasion, when the defenders were on their last legs. It was also clear that regardless of the shift in priorities, Allied industry and food production was starting to hit an impressive stride. Granted, a lot of what was arriving now had already been in the pipeline, before the Battle of Madras, but the Fil-pin Lands were still committed to sending nearly everything they produced—except more troops—and the Dom defeats had prevented them from strangling Imperial production.

  “It is impressive,” Shinya allowed, looking around as they hurried up the dark, gravelly street toward Governor Humphries’s palace. Orrin didn’t respond. He still disliked Shinya. Quite simply, the man was a Jap, and his experiences as a prisoner in the Philippines before his later arrival here had been much different from his cousin Matt’s. He’d obey Shinya’s orders—when his air wing was tasked to do so by Lelaa or Jenks—and he even kind of understood Matt’s high opinion of the man, but he couldn’t “forgive and forget” the treatment he and so many others received at the hands of other Japanese, not to mention the murderous hell they’d endured aboard Mizuki Maru. The hellish ship was gone now, along with some good men and ’Cats who’d fought her against still other Japanese, but deep down he was glad the damn ship no longer existed.

  Imperial Marines stamped to attention as they mounted the steps of the palace, and the three men and one Lemurian returned the armed salutes before a small man in a civilian frock, tricorn, and gaudy cravat opened the tall entrance doors and bowed low. Inside it was dark and noticeably cooler, and the four visiting officers removed their hats and placed them under their left arms. Another, taller man they recognized as Governor Humphries’s factor bowed as well.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen . . . and, uh, Lady Admiral Lelaa,” he said a little awkwardly. “The Governor and Colonel Alexander are expecting you.” He paused and lowered his voice. “I believe the Governor’s feeling a bit better today,” he added. “Perhaps the improved diet—and the discovery of some dozen tortoises that survived unmolested by the damned Doms on one of the neighboring isles has helped. He’s quite devoted to our tortoises, as you know.”

  Jenks nodded diplomatically.

  “Yes. Well, please follow me,” the factor said.

  “Governor Humphries,” Jenks said when they entered the broad drawing room. “Colonel Alexander. How are you today?”

  “Very well, thank you, High Admiral,” Alexander replied, standing. Humphries remained seated behind a small table, the remains of a light meal strewn before him. He beamed. “Good afternoon, Harvey! I’m so glad to see you. I’ve had the most excellent news!”

  “I heard, Your Excellency. Congratulations.”

  Humphries brushed it aside. “It was none of my doing. Your timely arrival”—he nodded at Lelaa—“with our Lemooan allies saved us all. Including the tortoises. None of us could have endured another week without you, I’m sure.”

  Jenks shifted uncomfortably. “That may be, Your Excellency, but now we must look to the future. Any advantage we currently enjoy will be fleeting if we give the bloody Doms a chance to recover. Obviously, they’re much closer to their source of supply than we, and now they’ve experienced our technical advantages, they might quickly match them. That would have the same effect as surpassing them, with their numbers compared to ours.”

  “Indeed,” Humphries fulminated. “We must drive them! How quickly can we take the war to them?”

  “That’s the problem, Your Excellency,” Lelaa interjected. “We likely can’t for a time. As you know, there have been setbacks in the West that will materially affect us here. Because of that, a grand, overwhelming invasion is out of the question for the foreseeable future.” She looked sideways at Jenks, then Shinya. “I do believe we can—must—do something, however.”

  “But . . . what can we do?” Colonel Alexander asked. “If we cannot invade, what can we do to hurt them?”

  “From a naval perspective, we can systematically hunt down and destroy what remains of their navy,” Lelaa said confidently. “It is not inconsiderable, but for now, ours is overwhelmingly more capable. I suggest a combined air and sea campaign to destroy anything afloat that flies the Dom flag. Not only that, but with proper reconnaissance, we can destroy their shipyards and other coastal faa-cilities. We prevent them from building a new, better navy, even as we destroy the old one.”

  “That would afford us a number of advantages,” Jenks agreed. “Combined with the captured maps and charts, we finally managed to take a few Dom officers on the other islands, who were willing to tell us what they could in exchange for honorable surrender.” He glowered. “Not that they deserved it after what they did to our fishermen living there! Feeding them to their damned dragons . . .” He shook himself. “Well, I doubt they had much choice. None of the senior officers were taken, and at least the junior ones demonstrated some basic humanity for the men under their command. In any event, where before we knew only a few of their port cities and had only the most basic charts of their coast, we now have a greater grasp of the scope and geography of the Dominion than ever before. We even know approximately where their capital, this Templo de los Papas, lies.” He frowned. “Nowhere near where we’d thought it was!”

  He pointed to the new map Alexander had prepared and placed in the room. The Temple of the Popes, the holiest place in all the Dominion and seat of its wicked power, was not shown in the Valley of Mexico, as had been so long assumed, but in the vicinity of a much larger valley, or plain, in the north of the South American continent. Orrin and Shinya called it Venezuela, and the maps of Jenks’s ancestors called the region the Viceroyalties of New Granada and Peru. The exact location of the capital city wasn’t marked, apparently beyond the scope of the map, to the east.

  “We always tried to be careful about revealing too much about the Empire to strangers,” Jenks said ironically, “but then allowed a Dom presence there! The Company was largely behind that, as it turns out, for motives of its own, but the fact remains that we never learned much about the Dominion beyond the few ports they allowed us access to. Sadly, Company influence wasn’t the only reason we failed in that respect; for far too long, we felt safe surrounded by our vast ocean, and frankly, simply didn’t care. Without this latest intelligence, our disinterest would’ve returned to roost, as it were, and we still wouldn’t know enough to launch a major operation, even if we already had the means. Now I think we do.”

  “Perhaps,” Shinya said cautiously, gazing at the map of an empire extending from a strangely shaped Baja Peninsula in the north, as far south as Valparaiso. It hugged the Andes back northward until it sprawled eastwar
d across Colombia and Venezuela. From there, it included all of Central America up to what was described as a terrible desert stretching as far north as where the mouth of the Rio Grande probably was—if the trend of major rivers being approximately where they were expected to be continued. For some reason, the Doms claimed the apparent desert sweeping west, northwest from there—all the way to the proposed American Navy base at San Diego. Beyond that, except for Imperial outposts in California, nothing was shown.

  “But even with the captured maps and information we’ve gathered from prisoners, our map remains glaringly, apparently deliberately incomplete,” Shinya continued. “Particularly regarding the region around Panama and Costa Rica. We have our own maps, from the old world, that might help in general ways, but we all know there are often significant differences.” He shrugged. “Why does that place, of all others—even the general location of their capital—remain mysterious?”

  “I don’t know,” Jenks confessed. He looked at Colonel Alexander, and the garrison commander shook his head.

  “I believe the prisoners told us what they could,” Alexander insisted. “Why not? They’re dead to their country, by the act of surrender, and we secured no high-ranking officers. The junior officers, though intelligent and professional, are not well educated beyond their duties. Even the rank-and-file Dom is a good soldier, certainly, but has been deliberately kept ignorant of the most basic things. Much like the Grik, if I understand the latest theories,” he added oddly.

  “Well, I wish we had some of their naval officers to question,” Governor Humphries brooded. “They’d have to know the coast of their own land, surely.” He looked at Lelaa. “Please do try to acquire some of them for us. Won’t you, Lady Admiral? That . . . mysterious region seems to beg our most ardent attention.” There were nods. Lelaa looked at him and smiled, glad the man who reminded her so much of Courtney Bradford seemed to have recovered his wits.

  “We know where most of their port cities are now,” Jenks said. “And I rather doubt the ones we already knew are the most important, or they’d never have allowed us there in the first place.” Absently, he twisted his mustaches. “As Admiral Lelaa suggests, all their ports, important or not, should be our focus now . . . for another reason beyond those she mentioned. One thing we’re fairly sure of—and our new map confirms—is that the Doms have few roads beyond this coastal highway that stretches such a distance.” He pointed. “Like the Grik in that respect, they rely tremendously on coastal shipping, not only for commerce, but apparently even communication. A campaign like Admiral Lelaa suggests would not only further secure us, as well as all Imperial holdings, here, but might also isolate large parts of the Dominion from itself.”

  “Exactly,” Shinya suddenly enthused, “which might make it possible for us to stage smaller landings, to conquer the Dominion in detail!”

  Jenks blinked. “That’s . . . a very distinct possibility! Certainly, once we learn more about their strategic stance and what targets would most thoroughly disrupt it, quick, destructive raids at the very least—much like Captain Reddy has proposed in the West—would be valuable in terms of intelligence for us, and confusion to the enemy.”

  Orrin Reddy cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. “That’s swell,” he said, “and a good idea, but it’s going to be dangerous as hell. We don’t hold nearly as big an edge over the Doms on land as we do at sea and in the air. Our small arms are generally better, but not by a lot.” He looked at Jenks. “Imperial Marines still have flintlocks, for God’s sake, and none of the new breechloaders have made it out here yet. Who knows when—or if—we’ll get any of the new repeating carbines, those Blitzer Bugs they’re talking about. We’re a long way from home, and the more advanced weapons have been going to fight the Grik.” He paused, thoughtful, and everyone waited until he continued. “Captain Reddy’s plan is kind of based on a similar operation I told him about on our old world, and I’m sure something similar would drive the Doms nuts. We need to improve our recon regardless—that’s a fact. But they still have those damn Grikbird ‘dragons’—that can tear hell out of my planes.” He shrugged. “We’re better against ’em now, and if we ever get some of the new pursuit ships out of Baalkpan, I bet we can eventually get complete control of the air. As it is, though, we go in there with nothing but Nancys, we’re going to lose a lot of planes and pilots. The second time we go in, we’ll lose more. Eventually, if they ever figure out what we’re up to, they can throw a continent’s worth of ‘air’ at us all at once—and there goes all our planes.”

  Shinya nodded solemnly. “Lieutenant Reddy is right. We must either plan a raid—a big one—that will destroy as much of the enemy’s industrial and strategic infrastructure as possible, and then get out, or we must discover if we can sustain a continental foothold that can survive independently of air support, for a short time, at least. Properly supplied, such a thorn in its side might draw a disproportionate amount of attention from the enemy.”

  “You realize you’re suggesting placing yourself in the same position General Alden is in?” Jenks asked.

  “Not at all,” Shinya denied. “We would have access to and control of the sea, for purposes of supply. And if we run into more than we can handle?” He shrugged. “We pull out under cover of darkness—and perhaps land again in a place the enemy has stripped of troops!”

  Orrin nodded. “That could work. We’ll still need recon either way.”

  “True,” agreed Lelaa, looking at the flyer. “Your Nancys are faster than Grikbirds. If you are just looking about, they should not catch you.”

  “Yeah. And we can make it tough on the ones that try. We’re still going to lose guys and machines, though. If only we had just a few of those Blitzer Bugs—or some honest Thompsons, it would save a lot of lives.”

  “What are the chances of that?” Jenks asked Lelaa. “Getting a rush shipment of those weapons for this operation?”

  “Not good,” Lelaa replied, blinking disappointment. “They are only now tooling up to make them in Maa-ni-la, so all would have to come from Baalkpan. Even if they have them to spare, it would take months for them to arrive, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless we could talk them into using one of the big Clippers.”

  “Could one large plane carry enough of these Blitzer Bugs and the necessary ammunition to protect your aircraft?” Jenks asked Lieutenant Reddy.

  Orrin considered again. “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t seen a Clipper before and don’t know the specs. I doubt one of the old ‘Buzzards’ could do it.”

  “A Buzzard could not,” Lelaa stated firmly. “And even a Clipper could not possibly make it all the way here unless it carried so much fuel that there would be no capacity for cargo. A pointless gesture. But with the new facilities Sor-Lomaak raised at the islands called Midway, one can bring the weapons as far as New Britain. I understand there is already passenger service that far.” She looked at Jenks. “There are several islands between here and there that would have served us well just now.”

  Jenks nodded grimly. “Tiny, barren, remote little things that would’ve been useful for tending seaplanes, I believe, but of no use otherwise, I fear. Now that the notion has struck us, we should certainly emplace such outposts. But the cart must precede the horse in this instance—if you’ll pardon the expression—and our tardy realization cannot benefit us in the very short term.”

  “We could send tenders—” Shinya began.

  “We don’t have any to spare.” Orrin practically cut him off. “And even if we did, it would take the same weeks to get them to those little bumps in the water—I’ve seen ’em on the charts—that it would take a ship to get here from the New Britain Isles.” He shook his head. “Then a Clipper pilot would have to find the damn things! That’s asking too much. Most ’Cats didn’t even believe in this part of the world not long ago!”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Lemurians always knew the world was round and must have a bott
om. But based on their very literal concept of gravity—“Whatever it is, it always pulls down”—they’d believed you could fall off if you went too far from the “top,” which was obviously centered somewhere between their ancestral home of Madagascar and the Fil-pin Lands. For that reason, and because the notion that you wouldn’t fall off assailed some of their most closely held liturgy, many ’Cats back in Baalkpan, maybe even Adar himself, still had a hard time grasping the sheer distances involved in the conflict in the East. Most probably understood their teachings were a little off by now, but understanding and acceptance aren’t exactly the same things, and one didn’t inevitably lead to the other.

  “Finding those little dots in so much empty sea is too damn much to ask of them,” Orrin continued. “Chances are we’d lose them—and the cargo we’d been waiting for.”

  “Very possible,” Jenks agreed. “Perhaps at another time an attempt can be made, with picket ships lining the route. The planes that fly as far as my homeland are often in range of vessels passing below—or any number of convenient islands. So. It will still take some weeks to ship the weapons here, in our fastest steamers,” he calculated.