Deadly Shores (29 page)

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First Fleet South

July 29, 1944

U
SS
Walker
eased slowly, carefully shoreward on a calm sea, beneath a meager moon. The only sounds within the confines of the darkened pilothouse were the rumbling blower and soft commands and acknowledgments of Spanky McFarlane, who had the conn, and the Lemurian helmsman. Periodic, muted cries rose from the fo'c'sle declaring the depth Chief Gray's detail found with the lead. Steaming in column in
Walker
's wake were the DDs of Des-Ron 6, now carrying the entire 1st Raider Brigade. Soon they would anchor, and swarms of broad-beamed boats that looked (and stacked) much like dories would pull for the beach. The motorized landing craft, now stowed aboard
Amerika
and
Big Sal
would carry Safir Maraan's II Corps ashore at Grik City, since it was assumed they'd be most likely to face opposition.

Matt was on the port bridgewing with Chack and Courtney Bradford, anxiously glassing the silver surf that broke upon the forbidding shore the 1st Naval Air Wing had described and Chack had chosen. Beyond the shore was a dark, junglelike forest of tall, broad trees unlike any Matt had seen except perhaps for the Great Tree in Baalkpan. The things were
huge
! Matt's companions were aboard because Chack would lead the landing in
Walker
's motor launch, since she was the most capable ship to close the beach during the landing operation. Bradford had insistently declared that he must accompany him and be among the first to set foot on this almost holy, if equally evil land.

“I think this is it,” Matt practically whispered aside to Chack.

“Yes, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” Chack agreed formally. “I believe you are correct.” Matt looked at the brindled Lemurian he was so fond of, knowing how nervous he must be. Chack had seen a great deal of action and was amazingly capable, but this was an entirely different situation for him. He was in complete command of this element of the operation, and the operation itself was risky beyond anything they'd ever tried. Matt was tempted to pat his arm, but he knew that was out of the question. Instead, he turned and spoke to Spanky. “All stop. Stand by to anchor. Have the launch made ready in all respects.”

“All stop and stand by to anchor, aye,” Spanky replied. “The launch is already swayed out and ready to lower as soon as you give the word.”

“Very well.” Matt looked at Courtney. “Last chance,” he said, then shrugged. “It's really kind of, well, stupid for you to go. You're not a soldier. And what if something happens to you?”

Courtney eyed him. “What if something happens to any of us? The assignment you have set yourself is not without risk! Besides, if I was once of some importance, I am no longer—I mean, to the ‘cause' of course! I remain quite important to me! But this is a moment I have dreamed of as ardently as our dear Adar, if for slightly different reasons.” He grinned. “And besides, who are you to say that I'm no soldier! I've been training with Chack's Raiders these last weeks, and if I'm no physical match for them, I daresay I shan't slow them down too dreadfully. I've never felt more fit! And I still have the Krag Jorgenson rifle I carried about so uselessly during the Battle of Baalkpan! I assure you, I know much more about it now, and Chack still has a similar arm.”

Matt nodded reluctantly. Essentially, Courtney had stated the simple fact that they were
all
soldiers now, and he was ready to do his part. Matt had no doubt the man had become proficient with the Krag, and Chack still kept his own as a constant companion. He found that a little odd. They didn't have a lot of '03 Springfields, but they were shorter and more powerful than the Krags. If anyone “rated” one, it was Chack. But he still stubbornly clung to the old Krag he'd been given—right after the Battle of Aryaal, if Matt remembered rightly. He smiled and nodded. “Okay, Courtney. If you say so. Just be careful, will you?”

“‘Careful' is my very favorite word, Captain Reddy!”

The splash of the anchor hitting the sea distracted them, and they all glanced forward.

“I will take my leave now, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” Chack announced, still speaking formally, “and I wish you the best of luck.”

“Sure, Chack,” Matt replied, falsely cheerful. “And you be careful too! I'll see you back aboard—or on the steps of that creepy, dumpy, palace in Grik City!” He silently cursed himself, realizing
he'd
just encouraged Chack to go beyond the parameters of his mission! All the 1st Raider Brigade was
supposed
to do was provide a diversion in the Grik rear to take pressure off II Corps when it became time to disengage. The brigade would then filter back into the jungle and be withdrawn by the DDs that would steam back down the coast to take it off.
Damn it! What's the matter with me?
Without a further word, Chack took a step back and saluted. Matt returned it as sharply as he could, and then Chack and Courtney were gone.

“I hope they're okay,” Spanky grumbled softly.

*   *   *

Dennis Silva himself served as coxswain aboard the launch, and Gunny Horn went along as “security” with his BAR. Silva had left Petey clutching to an indignant Lawrence, who'd gone down to the firerooms to try to “give” the ridiculous creature to Isak Reuben. Isak probably wasn't a good choice to take care of him either, but he'd always complained when anybody aboard had any kind of “pet,” and they didn't get one for the firerooms. If nothing else, the heat belowdecks might cause Petey to pass out, Lawrence had reasoned, and get him to let go.

Silva waited patiently while Chack and Courtney, and twenty other Raiders slid down the falls into the boat, before turning it toward shore and advancing the throttle with practiced ease. Chack watched him. “I didn't know you could steer a boat,” he said at last. Silva rolled his eye. “Lotsa stuff you don't know about me, Chackie. Just 'cause a fella don't do a thing ever' damn day don't mean he can't.” He nodded at Horn. “Why, me an' ol' Arnie there have tumped over a en-tire Jap
destroyer
with our bare hands, now! You missed that one.”

“I heard about it,” Chack said, blinking amusement. “And perhaps, in the future, you will remember not to ‘tump' Jaap ships over on top of
yourselves
!”

Dennis slapped his thigh. “That's what I told Arnie, but he never listens.”

“What a load of crap. I
always
listen to that maniac,” Horn mumbled, “and always get a whole cargo of hell dumped on my head too.” He stuck out his hand. “Gunnery Sergeant Arnold Horn.” Chack chittered a chuckle and shook the offered hand. He knew exactly what Silva and Horn were doing: trying to lighten the mood for him and all the troops in the boat. It was an effort he would've considered uncharacteristic of Silva, at least, for most of their acquaintance. But whether he'd admit it or not, Dennis had changed. He glanced around. The ploy was working too, he realized, judging by the other faces he saw in the moonlight.

“Kinda wish we was goin' with you fellas,” Silva added a little whimsically. “I know I've said I was retirin' from the jungle hee-roin' bizness, but a fella gets melancholy for his adventurous youth, from time to time.”

Horn snorted.

“You will have plenty to do at Grik City,” Chack reminded, just as the keel of the launch touched the sand amid the gently breaking surf, and Lemurians returned to their ancestral lands for the first time in . . . well, it was impossible to say. Chack hopped out without ceremony, and his troops filed out of the boat to join him. “Take this line,” Silva called, throwing a coil of rope at a 'Cat before he and Horn stepped out of the boat. He saw Chack's questioning blink and shrugged. “Just figgered we'd hang around an' watch the goose pull for a while.”

“Oh dear,” Courtney, the last in the boat, exclaimed, looking at the water. “You don't suppose you might, um, pull me in just a bit closer? Hmm. I thought not,” he added a little petulantly when there was no response. He jumped over the side and crashed quickly through the shallow water to join them on the beach.

If Dennis expected to be amused by a chaotic landing, he was disappointed. The 1st Raider Brigade had practiced landings on every kind of shore at the Baalkpan Advanced Training Center (ATC), and the boats rowed ashore by platoons and quickly formed into companies. They weren't under fire, of course, but the whole thing was accomplished with a speed and professionalism Silva and Horn could only admire. The only problems came from the animals. Barges of cavalry, mounted on restless, grumpy me-naaks, practically disintegrated as they neared shore and the irascible creatures, fed up with their long, confining voyage, spilled out in the surf. Fortunately, whatever predators cruised these beaches were like most of those elsewhere and stayed out of the shallows at night. There were a few light injuries, but no losses. The paalkas, large, somewhat moose-shaped animals, came next with greater dignity, but then they had to haul the guns and wagons off the barges and out of the surf with cables before they could be properly harnessed. This caused considerable aggravation, and the mournful mooing of the paalkas echoed back at them from the trees.

Eventually, however, Chack's entire brigade of roughly three thousand officers and troops, eight 2-gun “company” sections of light six-pounders, and a full communications company had managed to assemble on the broad beach. The comm company had a short train of wagons and its own section of guns. It would follow the shoreline with two complete TBS sets and the associated paraphernalia, pacing the brigade's advance, so they could maintain communications with a single DD offshore. That ship could, in turn, keep the rest of First Fleet South apprised of Chack's progress. It was intended that silence be maintained for a while, until the “main” show kicked off, but Chack had strict instructions to call for help if he ran into anything he couldn't handle, or if he believed his advance had been discovered by the Grik.

“Well, Chackie, ol' buddy,” Silva said after a while, “it looks like you've got things straightened out here. Doubt I coulda done much better myself. I guess Arnie an' me'll shove off.” He started to offer his hand for a final shake, when the woods erupted with the deep crackle of Allin-Silva breechloaders, and the stutter of a single Blitzer Bug. “What the hell? Sounds like your pickets've already run into something!” A thunderous screech echoed in the forest, followed by more shots and a terrible commotion of crashing, snapping trees. “Somethin' purty big,” Silva added.

“I wonder what it might be?” Courtney murmured eagerly.

Chack's sister, Captain Risa-Sab-At, hurried up to join them. She flashed a quick, friendly, Lemurian grin at Silva, then turned to Chack. “Major Jindal seems to have encountered some kind of resistance,” she reported unnecessarily.

“Indeed,” Chack agreed, moving out in front of the troops that flanked him. “Action front!” he bellowed. “Fix bayonets! Front rank kneel, and prepare to receive . . . the enemy!”

His command was relayed down the long row of raiders, formed into four ranks in preparation for moving, by column, into the forest. Another roar reached them, and it was closer now, the flashes of rifles visible, and shouts audible in the darkness. The guns were quickly unlimbering and being pushed through the sand to join the infantry in line, their loaders already slamming charges down the moving barrels. Silva unsnapped the holder of his 1911 Colt, wishing he'd brought his monstrous “Doom Stomper” along. Horn readied his BAR.

Walker
's two powerful carbon arc spotlights suddenly snapped on and illuminated the tree line with their glaring beams. Apparently the flashes of gunfire had been seen since no message could've been relayed. The lights probed quickly around until they settled on . . . something, emerging from the forest.

“Gawd,” Silva blurted. He'd seen “super lizards”: giant allosaurus-like carnivores, according to Bradford, that inhabited Borno. He'd even killed a few. But this! It made a super lizard look like a chicken.

“Goodness gracious!” Courtney chortled.

The monstrous beast that crashed out of the jungle onto the beach and paused, squinting in the painfully bright beams of light, looked like a giant me-naak at a glance. It went on four legs and had a large head full of vicious teeth like a meanie, but it stood perhaps twelve or fourteen feet high at the withers. It also had a trio of forward-facing horns kind of like the mounts the Czech Legion rode, which was ironic as well, but it also boasted a horny crest that swept back along the top of its head and neck to provide a dangerous mouthful for anything that went for that vulnerable area. Probably only Courtney Bradford reflected on the implications of that just then, however.

“It's a tripto-serpent-top!” Silva exclaimed. Horn glared at him, amazed as always by how quick Silva's irreverent wit could be at times like this.

“Chief Silva! You will kindly let someone
else
provide a thoughtful, scientific name for something we meet for a change!” Bradford challenged hotly.

“Stand by!” Chack trilled loudly.

Just then, the air shattered with the sound of tearing canvas, and three orange flashes lit the area around the monster amid geysers of earth and a stuttering boom. Moments later, the reports of
Walker
's three landward-trained 4"-50s reached them.

“Good boys!” Silva crowed triumphantly. He turned to Chack. “Our friends'll hammer that booger to pieces before it gets too close to your fellas!”

He was right. Another salvo was already shrieking in on the suddenly confused beast. At least one struck, and mighty gobbets of flesh rocketed into the sky, surrounding a massive, tumbling foreleg.

“Such a pity,” Bradford mourned, even as a third salvo convulsed the roaring beast and the ground around it. The roaring snapped off.