Deadly Shores (34 page)

Herring gulped. “I've, uh, never fought the Grik—like that—before,” he reminded.

Matt rubbed his face. “You might just get to today.”

//////
USNRS
Salissa
(CV-1)

A
pair of rearmed and refueled P-1 Mosquito Hawks hurtled into the air, one after the other, from the front of
Big Sal
's flight deck. These carried a fifty-pound bomb under their centerlines in addition to ammunition for their wheel pant–mounted “Blitzer Bug” machine guns. They'd discovered it was possible to get the little planes in the air with that much weight if they were launched into a sufficient wind, and the wind was certainly freshening. The Nancys were operating from the sea alongside a stationary
Amerika
. The old liner had sufficient cranes to lift damaged planes from the water, and a maintenance division had gone aboard with plenty of ammo, fuel, and spares to get the job done.
Salissa
and her escorts were steaming in circles around the big iron ship, launching planes when they came into the wind.

Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar turned to regard Adar as the roar of engines diminished, and two more of the little pursuit ships were wheeled over to the catapults. “The situation is spinning out of our control, my brother,” Keje gently told his lifelong friend, “as I warned you it would.” These words he added with a blink of vindication.

“As the Amer-i-caans would say, you ‘told me so,'” Adar agreed. The hood of his Sky Priest's robes was thrown back over his shoulders, and his ears lay flat. “But why did not Cap-i-taan Reddy press me—us—more closely about our ambitions? He could have planned better had he known!”

Keje glared at him, blinking reproof. “You dare blame
him
—after you demanded stra-tee-gic command so you might take the blame for any failures? He gave you, all of us, ample opportunities to specifically state our ambitions, even as he counseled caution. We were afraid to tell him the truth, so he prepared for what he knew would be the least of our aims, as always agreed. Yes, he could have pressed. Perhaps he should have. But that would have diminished your position, the position you were so emphatic about. He does not want to rule us, my brother, so he could not challenge you more forcefully than he did! You
will not
blame him for that!”

Adar bowed his head. “It would still have worked,” he said dejectedly. “Everyone was prepared for what they suspected would happen, even Cap-i-taan Reddy himself! But no one could predict a sandbar might trap his ship!”

“War is full of ‘sandbars,' Mr. Chairman!” Sandra said hotly, storming up behind them. She'd clearly heard most of the exchange. “And Matt's dealt with a lot of them before. Now he's stuck on one, and my question to you is, what are we going to do about it? You've got everybody out there fighting to conquer Grik City now, and one way or another, that's become the objective. Even Matt acknowledged that! We can't just pine away and lament how it would've still worked. We've got to
make
it work! We can't just pull back now. Even if we wanted to, the Grik won't let us. Second Corps is in close contact,
Walker
's stuck, and nobody even knows where Chack is! If we're ‘all in,' let's go all in!” She paused, looking Adar in the eye. “You wanted to be in charge. Take charge!”

“What would you have us do?” Adar asked.

“I don't know!” Sandra practically yelled. “I'm
not in charge
!” She gestured around at the surrounding battle group. “But there are an awful lot of people and ships out here that aren't doing much.”

Keje nodded thoughtfully. “Cap-i-taan Reddy might not approve,” he considered.

“It's a little late to worry about that now, isn't it?” Sandra demanded. She looked back at Adar. “Matt gave you the lead, so lead!”

Adar blinked, then nodded slowly. Finally, he took a breath. “Ahd-mi-raal Keje,” he said formally, “we will continue to try to contact Chack and his brigade of raiders, but regardless of whether we do or not, it is my order as chairman of the Grand Alliance that we shall capture Grik City at all costs! Assemble every ship in the fleet except those DDs directly supporting Second Corps. We will advance into the harbor and when it is secure, we shall land every soldier, sailor, or Marine from every ship capable of bearing arms. Is that clear?”

Keje blinked amazement. “Of course,” he said, almost eagerly. “But what of air operations? And
Salissa
's batteries are much reduced.”

“By all accounts, there is little left in the harbor that will require
Salissa
's guns. Besides, she still retains her original five thirty-two-pounders per side. She once performed well enough with only those if I recall. General Queen Safir Maraan shall capture that broad expanse that we suspected had been used to operate Grik zeppelins at one time, though none are present. There is evidence they have been, and perhaps there is fuel. Even if there is not, or what there is will not work, we can move some there and the Fleashooters will have a place to land.”

Keje's eyes grew wider. “What of the Naan-cees?
Amerika
, at least, should remain outside the harbor to operate them.”

“Very well, but just outside, where her guns may be of assistance, and her people may join the fight on shore as well.” Adar blinked anxiously. “I only pray to the Heavens that I have not dithered too long!”

“Admiral,” called Lieutenant Newman, Captain Atlaan-Fas's exec, “Laumer's come alongside with his PTs. He wants fuel, Marines for all his boats, and mortars, sir!” He cast a worried look at Sandra. “He says he's headed back to
Walker
!”

“We will give him whatever he wants,” Keje ordered.

Sandra hesitated only an instant. “I'm going with him!”

“I do not think that is wise,” Adar said, glancing significantly at her midriff.

Of course he knows!
Sandra realized.
He's “in charge,”
and many of my medical division on board are bound to have seen the signs!
“Probably not for me,” Sandra agreed tightly, “but all
Walker
has are Pam Cross and a few assistants, pharmacist's mates, and SBAs. She's liable to need more than that before this is done. I'm going!”

USS
Walker

The final Grik cruiser had led a charmed life during its advance, and it seemed like nothing could touch her for a while. Her skipper was particularly skilled when it came to evading bombs from diving Nancys, and she'd even shot a couple down with her antiair mortars as the planes bored in ever closer to have a better chance of hitting. Even
Walker
's guns seemed to have less effect than normal, firing straight at her oncoming bow. The shots caromed off the armored, angled sides, and exploded in the water, or splashed into the bay far beyond, flipping end over end with a manic
whirr.
Maybe she was a newer, more heavily armored class, or maybe they'd all been as well protected from the start, and they'd just been lucky enough to catch them with plunging fire on their decks. Either way, the thing had gotten way too close with her one big, forward-mounted gun that would bear, and with the armored ram they saw between the feathers of seawater she kicked up as she closed. It was the machine guns, hastily carried to the fantail, that finally did for her. They chopped up her little flying bridge and slaughtered her apparently talented officers, sending the ship careening into the sandbar herself, just inshore and a little aft.
Walker
's guns finished her then, firing straight in at point-blank range. The frustrated Nancy pilots helped, and soon the other beached ship was a flaming wreck.

But the tide was inexorable, and they had only a brief respite before it became abundantly clear that the ever-growing Grik force on shore probably could reach the ship when the sea achieved its lowest ebb. Matt was pacing the deck, his sword and pistol belt clasped about his waist, watching Chief Gray heap abuse on those who couldn't handle the companionways as effortlessly as ballerinas—while carrying mattresses up from below. Spanky, a Springfield rifle slung on his shoulder, was with him, grimly viewing the Grik who'd decided to stay back until they could swarm forward in force. Following along behind was Lieutenant Miyata, looking nervously around, unsure what to do.

“I don't see any guns over there,” Spanky commented. “Prob'ly have 'em all massed against Second Corps and can't move 'em all the way over here.”

“Maybe,” Matt allowed. He'd been pausing periodically to view the desolate landscape around Grik City and create a proper mental image of the place in daylight. The city itself was a filthy, sprawling, low-lying hovel, and Matt was strangely reminded of the dried mud mounds that rose around crayfish holes when the creeks around his childhood home ran low.
Thousands and thousands of wood and adobe crawdad holes,
he thought. Miyata had indicated the “Celestial Palace” to them; compared to the rest of the city, it was certainly impressive, at least. It was immense, for one thing, rising like a mountainous, stone cowflop in the center of the city.
Not a cowflop, exactly,
Matt thought, rejecting the first metaphor that came to mind.
More like a gigantic dome—or the top of a monumental cowflop-colored toadstool
. A broad stairway led up the northern flank to a broad landing and arched entrance about a third of the way to the top. There was apparently no other way in, higher than that, but there did appear to be openings, like skylights or vents here and there. Beyond the “palace,” they could see the top of the great peaked wall that separated the city from the jungle to the south.
A
helluva
lot like the wall in
King Kong
,
he mused,
but Chack's the most dangerous thing on the other side of
this
one,
he decided confidently. He blinked and stared southeast where clouds of white smoke rose above II Corps's pitched battle, to join the darker smoke rising above the ruined Grik fleet in the anchorage.
What a god-awful, terrible place. Not worth a single, solitary life, but as good a place to kill Grik as any, I suppose
. He looked back at his companions.

“They want to
take
your ship, Captain Reddy,” Miyata said, nodding at the Grik on shore. “That is the most likely explanation to me, why they have not brought more artillery.” He shrugged. “You must understand that to Kurokawa, USS
Walker
has been the symbol of all that has thwarted the Grik, and no doubt the Grik commanders, perhaps even their First General Esshk in particular, would like nothing more than to have her.”

“That's not gonna happen!” Spanky seethed, and Matt nodded. “No, it's not,” he said with certainty. He flinched slightly when the number two gun barked above them, from atop the amidships deckhouse. The bright, off-colored tracer slammed into the Grik on shore and blew many of them into the sky when it burst. The main battery was still slaughtering Grik, but ammunition was beginning to dwindle. Matt accepted that. When the Grik got too close, they'd be “under” his guns. Better use the ammo while they were bunched up at a distance. The machine guns would have to do when they got close.
Walker
had virtually no protection against boarders—or their muskets, which the Grik horde apparently possessed in considerable numbers. There were only the rail and the safety chains, and the crew was busily lashing mattresses to them, as many deep and as fast as they could. It didn't look good, but it was clear by everyone's attitude that there was no way the Grik would capture USS
Walker
while anyone aboard her lived.

“Captain!” cried Ed Palmer, catching up. He hadn't bothered with a message form, but if he came in person, Matt knew he had important news.

“What've you got, Ed?”

Palmer gulped at the sight of the Grik, and a frown spread across his boyish face. He jerked his gaze away from the enemy. “Uh, Keje's comin'. The whole fleet's comin'. All we have to do is hold on.”

Matt shook his head. “I'd be happy to see the DDs, but what the devil is Keje doing, bringing
Big Sal
in the bay? I'd rather have her planes.” He gestured at the channel. “Besides, with the tide this low, I'm not sure he can even get
Big Sal
's fat ass through the deep part!”

Palmer shook his head. “He's not just coming for us. They're going to land everybody and kill every Grik in the city!”

Matt rubbed his chin. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. No half measures anymore. I'm still worried about the channel, though.”

Palmer's face fell. “No reason to be, sir.” He hesitated. “It'll be a few hours before they can sort things out. Tide's liable to have turned by then.”

Matt nodded. At least his friends weren't being idiots, but that wouldn't help
Walker
much in the short term. “Any good news?”

“Uh, yes, sir. They'll keep as much air on the Grik here as they can. There might be a lull while they shift
Amerika
 . . . but Mr. Laumer's comin' in.”

“What good can he do? His boats don't have any guns.”

“No, sir, but he's bringing us reinforcements and some mortars.”

“That'll help,” Spanky grunted.

Matt noticed that Dennis Silva and Lawrence had drifted closer while he talked with Palmer, and that big Marine named Horn was with them. Petey was clutching Silva's neck much like he had Sandra's and Rebecca's before him, but he didn't seem nearly as relaxed as in the past. His head kept jerking toward the explosive sounds of the guns, and his eyes were huge, and constantly darting. Silva didn't even seem to notice him now, and he was grinning that special, gap-toothed “Silva Grin,” that implied he thought he'd just come up with the greatest idea the world had ever known.

“Good Lord, Silva,” Matt practically groaned. “What've you got in mind?”