Deadly Shores (31 page)

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The Great Raid

Grik Madagascar

August 4, 1944

T
he sea was choppier than General Queen Safir Maraan would've preferred as she approached the almost mystical homeland of her people in the jet-black, predawn darkness. Grik City was dimly lit by indoor lighting, much like the Grik outpost at Raan-goon had been, but even by that meager illumination, she could tell this place was much, much larger. She'd seen the drawings made by Miyata from memory, and the aviators from observation, and knew they were as precise as minds and hands could make them. She'd seen what the human destroyermen called “photo-graaphs,” however, and for perhaps the first time she understood why the failure to make the little machines that produced them, and the “film” they required, had recently become such a sore subject with her friends. They had some of the machines, probably enough, that had belonged to nearly every human American from any of their ships, but the film had just never been the priority they all now recognized it should have been. She shook the thought aside. Her friends had performed enough technical miracles, in her view. Sometimes the simplest, overlooked things could be decisive, but with everything else they'd been focused on, she forgave them—and the “backseaters” in the Nancys were chosen largely for their artistic skill, after all. . . .

She glanced around. Almost a hundred of the broad-beamed little landing craft surrounded her in this first wave of nearly four thousand troops. She couldn't see many of them, but their four-cylinder engines rumbled in the night, and the turbulent foam kicked up by their dory-shaped hulls churned purple-gray around those nearby. She doubted they could possibly be seen from shore, but they might be heard when they drew near enough for the engines to drown the brisk surf here. Behind her, she saw no sign at all of the small fleet supporting them, not a light, or anything else that might give them away. Having disembarked the first wave,
Salissa
would be moving away, preparing to commence air operations.
Amerika
and the smaller support ships would join her when their similar task was complete. She was satisfied, and suspected they'd achieve surprise—at least for the critical time it took to establish a beach head. She hoped so at any rate. There was no telling what kind of Grik they'd encounter in this place.

She stared hard to the northwest, trying to observe the least glimpse of
Walker
and her little “mosquito fleet” of PT boats headed for the mouth of the harbor, but they were just as invisible. She missed the comfort of seeing the old four-stacker moving to attack the enemy fleet at anchor, but knew that whether she saw the sleek ship or not, it was there. That was better from the perspective of surprise, and good enough for her. Like most, she had absolute faith in Captain Reddy.

“It is not far now,” she said to General Grisa, whose 6th Division, minus the 3rd Maa-ni-la Cavalry, had won the honor of being the first ashore on what they were calling “Lizard Beach One.” It wasn't a very imaginative name for such a momentous place; they'd used the designation before, on Say-lon. But they weren't at Say-lon now, and there was no need to confuse the enemy—or the troops—with new code names. Besides, it somehow seemed appropriate.

“Yes, my gener-aal queen protector,” Grisa replied tartly. He was still distressed that she'd insisted on coming along with this first, and likely most dangerous element of the assault. Not even Captain Reddy or Adar had been able to prevent it. She still took her role as “protector” very seriously. Besides, Chack—the male she loved with all her soul—had been ashore for several days now, fighting northward against terrible monsters by all accounts, and nothing under the Heavens could've prevented her from joining him in danger after all the time they'd lost. A sense of uneasiness gripped her when she thought of Chack. Nothing had been heard from him for two days now. The communications division that was supposed to shadow his movements along the coast was still in contact, but Chack's Brigade wasn't. It had reported unexpectedly serious delays imposed by ferocious creatures. No Grik had been encountered, but apparently Miyata had been right about the bulk of Madagascar being kept as a preserve for examples of the many predators the Grik had discovered over time. She wondered why that would be. In any event, Chack's last report had stated that he meant to strike hard and fast away from the coast by an avenue he'd discovered, and doubted he'd risk more runners, or even small groups, to carry further dispatches. Safir remained supremely confident that Chack would meet his objective, but she didn't like his brigade being entirely on its own.

She blinked away that anxiety and focused on Grisa's form in the darkness. “Do not sulk, Gener-aal,” she chided gently. “It does not suit you. I will not take a rifle and lead a charge of bayonets against the Grik, I assure you, as long as you do not either.”

“I will not,” Grisa answered in a clipped tone. “I am fully aware of my duties and responsibilities!” he jabbed. Safir laughed. “Indeed! I am most glad to hear it—though I already knew that, of course!”

They settled into silence as the beach grew closer, and the muted lights of Grik City sprawled beyond. One thing they knew about this place that was different from any other beach they'd landed on was that precious little cover was to be found between the city and the water's edge. Much would depend on what, if any defenses the Grik had arranged, and how quickly they reached the outskirts of the rat maze of Grik City itself. If they were contested or delayed, their only hope would be to quickly dig in and wait for the successive waves to reach Lizard Beaches Two and Three, to disperse the defenders. And the shock of Captain Reddy's attack on the harbor, of course.

Barely a hundred tails separated them from shore when there was a sudden series of flashes, like musket fire, not far beyond it. Bright, white-green meteors arched into the sky, casting a dull, flickering light on the surf as they fell. Immediately, more of the eerie flares went up.
The Grik are shooting them from muskets!
Safir realized. The Allies had always used flares, as well as signal rockets. But the color of these was utterly wrong, and none of her people would've used them now, in any case. There were murmurs of alarm in the boats, and the tension ratcheted up. “What other surprises has Kuro-kawa given them?” she wondered aloud. Raising her voice, she yelled as loudly as she could. “Quickly! Quickly! Surprise is lost! To the shore as fast as we can, and
at
them before they gather what wits they can find!”

A mighty muzzle flash blossomed in the night, then another, raising greenish splashes among the boats. Throttles roared all around her as the landing dories accelerated into the teeth of a growing number of cannon that spat fire and shrieking iron.

*   *   *

“Something woke them up,” Chief Gray observed, standing beside Matt on
Walker
's port bridgewing. Like everyone else, he already wore his helmet, and the web belt with his .45 and cutlass.
Walker
's crew had been at battle stations ever since she turned to close the harbor. The lookout had just reported flares and cannon fire from the northwest coast of the city, in the vicinity of Lizard Beach One, but his alarm had been unnecessary; the flashes were obvious to all.

“We'll be opening the harbor mouth any minute,” Rosen called from behind the 'Cat at the big brass wheel.

“Very well,” Matt replied, glancing at Lieutenant Toryu Miyata, who'd joined the ship as the closest thing they had to a harbor pilot. He'd been a navigation officer aboard
Amagi
, and had actually sailed in and out of this very port, but he couldn't tell them much about the channel other than that it was marked. He shrugged apologetically at Matt. “Maintain your course and speed for the moment, Mr. Rosen. We don't know these waters at all. Any faster than one-third, and we're liable to ram smack into the ‘Celestial Palace.'” He spoke to Minnie. “Have the lookouts keep their eyes peeled for Mr. Miyata's channel markers, and tell Mr. Palmer he's free to transmit on the TBS. Whatever Safir's running into, our objective remains the same. Mr. Laumer will continue to advance his boats in line abreast of us, watching for shoals, then break off to go after the Grik BBs on the fringe. We'll launch port torpedoes at the ships in the center of the enemy formation, but when we turn to give 'em the other side, Laumer needs to be out of the way!”

“Ay, ay! Cap-i-taan, lookout says he glimpsing Grik waagons in cannon flashes! They still right where we marked 'em!”

“Good. I hate surprises,” he answered wryly. “Mr. Sandison,” he said to Bernie, “everything set?”

“Yes, sir,” the torpedo officer replied anxiously. The Mk-3 Baalkpan Naval Arsenal torpedoes he'd helped design had proven themselves once before, but they'd also shown they could be dangerously fickle. He was far more used to faulty weapons than ones that worked, however, and he'd been tweaking and tinkering with those aboard ever since they left Madras. He looked back and caught Matt still watching him in the dim bridge lighting. “They'll work, Skipper,” he defended.

Matt forced a smile. “I know.”

“Exec says the PTs to staar-board is lagging,” Minnie announced, and Matt crossed to look. Visibility was gradually improving, and he could see the uneven wakes of the three boats off
Walker
's starboard quarter. It wasn't that bad, but Spanky was probably nearly nuts with frustration on the auxiliary conn on the aft deckhouse. “Very well. Signal Mr. Laumer to get his ducks in a row.”

Matt knew Irvin Laumer would take the mild reprimand too much to heart. The kid still thought he had something to prove. But they did need to emphasize the necessity of keeping the torpedo boats glued to their predetermined attack patterns. Better to jump on them now than run one down once the shooting started.

“Jeez! Look at that!” Bernie murmured, barely audible over the blower. Matt crossed back to port. The fighting on Lizard Beach One was boiling up into what looked like some kind of surrealistic lightning storm, and Matt felt a pang of loss, realizing how many of his friends were catching hell over there. It wasn't going all one way, however. Enough of Safir Maraan's forces must have landed to keep steady fire on the defenders, and even a few light guns were joining the fight.

“Havin' a hard time over there,” Gray remarked simply.

“There can be little doubt now that they did indeed see our reconnaissance flight and plan accordingly,” Commander Herring stated sourly, joining them. Matt looked at him. “No criticism, Captain. None at all!” Herring hastened to add. “We
had
to see what we faced, or we could've planned nothing ourselves. No, I was merely making an observation, and the conclusion it draws me to is somewhat unsettling.”

“They knew we were coming,” Gray interrupted, impatient with Herring's manner.

“Indeed,” Herring said, “and they are obviously
defending
the beach, which implies that the enemy here is composed, at least partially, of the ‘new' Grik that are capable of doing that!”

“But why would they have 'em
here
?” Matt asked, frowning. “Sure, they pitched in when they knew we were coming, but they couldn't have known for long.”

Bernie scratched his jaw. “And why keep such a valuable force here—unless they knew we were coming all along, which I doubt too—to defend a place they'd never suspect needed defending?”

“They must
train
them here!” Miyata said, suddenly certain. He hadn't spoken much since he came aboard, sensing a measure of hostility—mostly from Commander Herring, who, he understood, had been a prisoner of the Japanese—but this might be important. “They train them here where they can keep an eye on them—I saw Kurokawa's first, vile experiments with my own eyes, but only now did the significance of that return to me! These ‘new' Grik are very different, as your General Alden has reported, and I suspect they keep them separate from the vast majority of other Grik on the continent!”

“Makes sense, Skipper,” Gray grudged, “which might mean that maybe there's not an endless number of 'em . . . but why? Why keep them from the others?”

“That's obvious as well,” Herring said, bestowing a strained nod in Miyata's direction, and earning a resentful glare from Gray for his condescending choice of words. “According to the AEF in India, their General Halik has turned his whole army into something more than ‘ordinary' Grik. That might pose a problem, eventually, for their more, ah, traditional hierarchy.”

“You mean they're afraid to teach most of their peon warriors to think,” Gray guessed.

“That's exactly what I mean.”

The fighting on the northeast shore flared and strobed ever brighter—and began shifting south as well, as the reconstituted 5th Division came ashore at Lizard Beach Two. Whether there were numberless Grik here or not, Matt's friends, his
people
were landing on a terrible shore, barren of cover, and invested with far better defenses than they'd ever dreamed. He ground his teeth.

“Well, I hope you're right. But it won't be long before we maybe give them a little something else to think about,” he said, his voice tight and sharp.

6th Division
II Corps

“We cannot just crouch here and take this forever, General Grisa!” Safir cried over the thunderous sound of battle. The division was dug in behind a hasty mound of sand, firing independently at the Grik cannon crews when they saw them in the flare of the flashing muzzles. “They will eventually chew us apart!”

“We are taking few enough casualties, now we are ashore,” Grisa said evenly, apparently trying to calm her. “The Grik have no exploding shells, and if they have canister, they have not used it yet. Our own artillery is now in place, and we do have exploding shells and canister. The enemy cannot close with us without suffering a terrible slaughter!”