Straits of Hell

by Taylor Anderson

  “I suppose we may as well get started,” Matt suggested to Adar. Adar glanced down the table at their visitor and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Commander Herring will no doubt complain that we reveal too many plans to the ears of strangers, but Will’s folk cannot possibly want to betray us to the Grik!”

  Herring sat back from the table, wiping his lips. “On the contrary, Mr. Chairman. I’ve already spoken with Mr. Bradford about the . . .” He paused and frowned apologetically. “They don’t really have a name for their people other than ‘people,’ which seems fairly universal. Most claim British descent, but that might grow confusing with the Imperial presence here. . . .”

  “Call us ‘Maroons,’ if ye mast name us,” Will said around a mouthful of eggs. “’Tis what we are.”

  Herring nodded thoughtfully. “In any event, I’ve interviewed Mr. . . . Will, and a number of his associates, and fully endorse his presence here. As Colonel Chack stated, the Maroons have already done us a number of services, not the least of which was the expulsion of the Grik from a couple of smaller settlements down the coast. This was done without the aid of modern weapons, I might add. I suggest they be incorporated into our land forces in some capacity without delay. Scouts and coast watchers, at least.” He blinked. “I’m sure we all agree that our most pressing need is troops, after all.”

  Adar nodded. “Indeed. COFO Jis-Tikkar’s limited reconnaissance flights in the P-Forty floatplane have confirmed that the enemy is massing an . . . intimidating force across the strait on the continent, though how they mean to get it here is not apparent. We have yet to determine where the enemy’s primary naval bases are.”

  “We must get more eyes on what the Grik are up to,” Herring stated unhappily. “One plane cannot scout sufficiently and with other unknown participants possibly in the game, I dislike continuing to risk our only modern aircraft.” He looked at Tikker. “The Nancys do have the range.”

  “Barely,” Tikker conceded reluctantly. “But they’re our only real strike aircraft. An’ we’ve lost so many to combat and fatigue—most fought in the battles around Madras, after all—that I can’t like spending them or their pilots on reconnaissance flights. We’ll quickly wear them out. They’re also, well, kinda slow compared to the Pee Forty, an’ the Grik have gotten better at hittin’ ’em with their caanister mortars.” He blinked a warning at Herring. “And don’t forget the new weapon we found.”

  Near the airship field in Grik City, they’d discovered what amounted to a massed battery of hundreds of rockets. They were ridiculously simple—just large signal rockets—like they’d seen during the battle—but with small charges in their noses detonated by a contact fuse. Bernie Sandison had been amazed by their ingenuity and confessed he’d considered something like them for engaging Grik zeppelins from the ground, but the deployment of the P-1 Mosquito Hawks, or “Fleashooters,” had made him abandon the scheme as too wasteful in time and materials. But like all Grik weapons, how wasteful they were didn’t seem a concern, and he was worried about their potential. It was probably very fortunate that the field had been overrun before any aircraft flew over.

  “In any event,” Adar continued, redirecting the discussion, “it’s clear that the Grik will come, and rather soon, I should think. It must be difficult for them to feed even the masses of warriors we have seen.” He cleared his throat. “Our forces, on the other hand, are . . . limited. Some reinforcements have arrived; the two Austraalan regiments that were staging at La-laanti—or ‘Diego Garciaa’—have brought General Maraan’s Second Corps back near full strength, and the oilers and supply ships that accompanied them were welcome. Our ammunition and fuel reserves were grievously low. Other troops and replacement ships and aircraft are on their way directly from Baalkpan, but . . .” He paused, refusing to meet Matt’s eyes. “Since it was not originally contemplated that we attempt to take this place so soon, it may be some time before further replenishments of any sort arrive.” Matt nodded. He’d already said all he intended to on that subject. Belaboring it now was pointless.

  “What about General Alden and General Rolak?” Safir asked. “With the Grik General Halik expelled from Indiaa, First and Third Corps should be free to come here.”

  “They are, and will,” Adar assured, “but Third Corps is strung out between Lake Flynn, the Rocky Gap, and the low-tide crossing between Indiaa and Say-lon. General Alden has left all his cavalry, including Colonel Dalibor Svec’s ‘Czech Legion,’ to guard against Halik’s return, but First Corps must still march across half of Indiaa before it can embark. General Linaa-Fas-Ra’s Sixth Corps might be brought more quickly, but it consists mostly of green recruits, still in training.” He looked at Matt and Keje. “We have decided that it should remain behind to replace First and Third Corps when they come.”

  There was murmuring over that. They needed troops now, green or not. Most rightly suspected that General Linaa, a representative of Sular on the Island of “Saa-leebs” and a powerful opponent of uniting the various land and sea Homes into a single nation, had “objected” to a more active role for his corps. Politics already, Matt thought with a grimace.

  “What help can we expect from First Fleet?” Jarrik-Fas asked.

  “Arracca’s battle group, escorted by Saanta Caata-lina, has been ordered to join us, but repairs to both larger vessels will require perhaps another week,” Keje replied.

  “So a month or more, at Arracca’s best speed, to arrive,” someone murmured.

  “Furthermore,” Adar added sadly, “it has been determined that Mahaan cannot be sufficiently repaired at Madraas for combat, or to endure the long voyage here. Nor can an SPD be spared to carry her to Baalkpan. Cap-i-taan Reddy has ordered that she be maintained at Madraas until she can be properly repaired or moved.” Everyone looked at Matt, knowing how hard it must’ve been for him to order work suspended on Walker’s mangled sister, particularly since it had been one of Walker’s own errant torpedoes that nearly sank her. “The advantage to this arrangement, however, is that Mahaan’s entire experienced crew will transfer to one of the new-construction destroyers about to join First Fleet. That ship’s current crew will be disappointed, no doubt, to transfer to one of the captured Grik dreadnaughts, but I think their disappointment will fade when they discover the interesting . . . improvements our people are making to them.” He sighed, and looked at Jarrik. “To fully answer your question, however, it is my order—after consultation—that all elements of First Fleet now marshaling at Madraas, besides Saanta Caata-lina and Arracca’s battle group, must wait to escort First and Third Corps to us. The sea between there and here is too terrible to risk so many troops upon without powerful protection.” He bowed his head to Herring. “And we still do not know the motives of the ‘unknown participants’ who attacked us with the strange sub-maarine, or if they have more.”

  “So . . . what does this mean?” Becher Lange asked, stirring on his stool. “How long before we can expect significant aid?” Everyone knew Lange was no coward, but as time passed with no response from his own Republic of Real People in southern Africa, he grew increasingly nervous. The Republic had agreed to join the war against the Grik by attacking from what the enemy considered a relatively safe direction, the “frigid” wasteland to the south. The Allied forces had initially conceived the attack as a mere demonstration to distract the Grik from an eventual attempt to seize Madagascar, but now the Allied forces needed the attack to prevent the Grik from focusing all their power against the island. The Republic had maintained wireless silence for a very long time to avoid unwanted attention, but when they struck, there’d be no reason to continue that policy. The lingering silence meant not only had they not yet attacked, but they might not have even received the news that they needed to.

  “A month for Arracca and her battle group, as has been observed. Perhaps another for the rest,” Adar replied. “I’m afraid that, for now, we will have to make do with what we have.” />
  “We will make do, Mr. Chairman,” Matt said, then added, “Somehow,” with a wry smile. “And on paper, it doesn’t look so bad. With Second Corps back to strength and everything else ashore, we have close to thirty thousand troops. That’s as many as we defended Baalkpan with. And these are mostly veterans with way better weapons. We’ve got more ships, artillery, mortars, and air power than we had then—and the supply ships brought up some of the stuff we’d wanted to take this place: more Blitzerbugs, shotguns—and the first good copies of a Browning thirty cal.” He grinned. “You all know what a chore it’s been to perfect those!”

  There’d been those who wanted to make Gatling guns all along, in the same.50-80 caliber as the “Allin-Silva” conversion muskets, but though they’d had the ability to do that for some time, Silva himself had suggested to Bernie that they concentrate all such efforts on making the far less complicated Brownings. The only thing holding them back had been good barrel steel to cope with jacketed bullets, and they’d accomplished that at last. They’d even provided a water jacket for good measure. Silva, Bernie, and eventually Matt had resisted Gatlings because, as Silva put it in a nutshell, “They’re five times as heavy, six times more complicated, and with black powder loads at the ranges we been fighting, the smoke they make means you’re done aiming as soon as you turn the crank. They’d still need gun carriages and at least one paalka each for the heavy damn things, so I say stick with twelve-pounders and canister—that you can aim between shots!”

  Matt’s announcement was greeted with pleasure, but he continued. “In reality, as you all know, things aren’t so rosy. The Grik have better weapons too, and they don’t always just run right into the meat grinder anymore. Worse, this time it’s us that’s overextended, and we have to expect them to try to make the most of it. That means a fairly rapid counterattack in my opinion as well. The ideal thing would be to stop them in the channel, the ‘Go Away Strait’ as they call it—for whatever reason—before they land. But with just Walker, the sail/steam DDs of Des-Ron Six, and Big Sal’s planes, we can’t stop ’em if they mob us with transports, escorted by a really big mob of heavies we know they still have. If that happens before we get help, they will get ashore, so we have to prepare for it. General Queen Protector, if you would?”

  Safir Maraan stood, shrugging off the revelation that they were on their own. She’d been on her own before. She stepped to a large painted-fabric map displayed on the wall opposite Adar that depicted northern Madagascar. It had been rendered as carefully as possible from captured Grik charts and aerial observations. Hopefully, the Maroons would help fill in what lay beyond the wall of trees. Safir drew her sword and pointed at the bay. “Assuming the enemy gets past the navy, we may also make a few other assumptions. They know this harbor even better than we, and I doubt they’d be foolish enough to attempt an attack through its mouth. The channel is too narrow, as we discovered to our pain. Sink one large ship there and no others could pass it by. We will mass captured guns—there are hundreds in the warehouses—at the eastern approaches, in any event.”

  “Why not the west side as well?” Jarrik asked.

  Safir looked at him and blinked. “The eastern guns will range across, but mainly because all the Grik we ran from the city are there. They are rapidly eating one another up and I do not want to waste troops to kill them, but I doubt they will let us emplace guns in their midst.”

  “A shame we can’t talk to them,” Courtney Bradford said. “Perhaps we could have Rolak fly his pet Grik, Hij Geerki, down to have a chat. He may even get them to surrender.”

  “It could be done with one of the big ‘Clippers,’ if it carried enough fuel,” Herring speculated thoughtfully.

  “Why?” Adar asked, suddenly interested.

  “They appear to be predominately civilian Grik, Mr. Chairman,” Herring replied. “The first large group of such we have ever encountered. In the past, at Colombo for instance, the warriors slew them all, most likely to prevent their capture. Hij Geerki is living proof that civilian Grik will surrender,” he added, “and just think what we might learn from them.”

  “There must be forty thousand of them!” Keje declared. “We could not feed so many!”

  Herring shrugged. “Then we wait. There won’t be so many for long.”

  Adar blinked disgust at the notion but bowed his head to Herring again. “The idea is worth considering. I will do so.” He added a blink that amounted to wry amusement. “And, of course, if we kept the Clipper that brought Geerki, we’d have another long-range reconnaissance aircraft. . . .”

  Herring acknowledged the point with a nod.

  “But doesn’t such a large number of Grik, right on the shore and virtually in our midst, provide the perfect place for the enemy to land?” Jarrik prodded.

  “I would be more concerned about that if the enemy had any way to know they were there,” Safir replied, “but it is one of the better places the Grik may attack. We already have a large percentage of my corps entrenched between the wall of trees and the harbor to keep the refugees where they are. That force is equally well situated to prevent a landing. But that brings up the pertinent point. The biggest problem we face on land is the scope of the perimeter we must defend around Grik City. We simply don’t have enough troops to be strong in more than a few places at once. The western shore where we landed would be just as suitable for the enemy. We have improved the existing fortifications and made many more, but we cannot fill them all. We have even begun moving Grik guns to emplacements excavated in the wall of trees itself, though an attack from the jungle is my least concern. Even if the enemy attempted it, they could not move swiftly enough or maintain the necessary cohesion to storm the wall before we discovered their plan”—she nodded at Will—“and massed to meet them.”

  “We did it,” Chack reminded her.

  “They weren’t looking.” She grinned at him, then faced the others, the grin fading away. “To hold the city, we must keep looking all the time, and we must have early warning where the Grik will strike.”

  “Me paple’ll halp wi’ that,” Will assured, “but let us fight! We want tae fight!” he urged.

  “The Maroons shall fight,” Adar decreed. “Bring your people in, and we will train them, even arm them if we can.” He looked questioningly at Keje, and his friend nodded.

  “We have many of the old muzzle-loading muskets aboard all the ships. As production of the newer ones improved, it was easier for the arsenal to ship finished arms wherever they were needed than to keep track of where—and to whom—the conversion barrels and hammers had and hadn’t gone.” Keje blinked irony at Matt. “No sense throwing away perfectly good weapons—and you never know when they might come in handy!”

  “Well. That’s settled, then,” Courtney declared happily. “Muskets for the Maroons! But might I suggest we’re overlooking yet another source of the scarcer commodity: troops!” All the Lemurians blinked questioningly at him. “Oh, come now! Haven’t we been told that a large population of Lemurians still exists in the southern reaches of the island? Your very own ancestors! How can you stand not to meet them? How can we afford not to recruit them?”

  “They willnae fight with us,” Will declared, glancing around.

  “How do you know?” Adar asked, and Will shrugged uncomfortably. “Me paple’ve . . . skarmished ’em, fram time ta’ time. Thay’re nae lak . . .” He shrugged again and looked at his plate. “Thay’re . . . daffrant fram ye hare. Wild mankeys is all thay are. Thay run away.”

  Bradford goggled at him. “You said nothing of this before!” He looked at the others. “But it makes no difference!” he insisted. “Let us ask them,” he pleaded to Adar. “Let me!”

  “I will go with him,” Chack promptly declared. “Risa and Major Jindal can lead the First Raider Brigade as ably as I, and in any defensive stance they will be under General Maraan’s direct command in any event.” He looked intent
ly at Adar. “I myself was once . . . unhappy with fighting. Perhaps I can persuade them with the same arguments that once persuaded me.”

  “If you can even talk to them!” Keje snorted. “The La-lantis were difficult enough to understand.”

  “You may go, and may the Heavens aid you,” Adar said, “once our situation here is more secure.” Courtney’s face fell. “Do we even know where these people are?” he asked Will.

  “Nay. Not surely. Jas sout, alang tha mantains, east an’ west, in tha jangle an’ tha barren lands both. Different tribes.”

  “So they would have to be found before we could even contact them,” Keje muttered, and looked at Adar. “I must counsel against it at present. We cannot spare officers such as Chack and the necessary security he and Mr. Braad-furd would require on such an indefinite mission.”

  “If they are as shy as Will suggests, a large force would only frighten them,” Chack countered. “A smaller group might fare better; only Mr. Braad-furd, myself, and perhaps a few others.” The last was directed at Captain Reddy as a question, and Matt almost groaned, but then reconsidered. Why not?

  “If you go, and if Silva’s fit, he can go with you,” Matt agreed. “But if he causes any trouble, shoot him.” He suddenly had an inspiration. He’d asked that Ensign Hardee be summoned to the meeting so he could get a feel for him. All reports said the kid had picked up PT tactics from Winny Rominger and then Irvin Laumer better than anyone. Maybe an independent command would be a good test—before giving him the whole MTB squadron, as he’d been contemplating. “Mr. Hardee?”

  The kid had been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. If possible, they got even wider and he bolted to his feet. “Sir?” he squeaked.

  “You take them, if Adar agrees to the mission. Draw one of the new Brownings for the Seven boat too. It’s time all the PTs had something to defend themselves with.”