Blood In the Water (37 page)

Gravois looked at him. “Ah, and you are Adar, High Chief of Baalkpan and chairman of the Grand Alliance! Your accomplishments, and those of your people, have left me in a state of amazement. I am a great admirer of yours.”

Adar's eyelids blinked so rapidly in surprise they were almost a blur.

“And normally you would be right, of course,” Gravois continued.
“But we, under the instructions of our government, have already taken what small steps we are able, in order to rectify the situation as best we can.
Savoie
has been cast out, her actions disavowed. Her crew will be evacuated to the two other of our vessels you may have seen, bound for their homes, and her senior officers will be dismissed from the service of the League of Tripoli! Observe.” He motioned their attention to
Savoie
. Her amidships arc lights had been directed at her mainmast, and even as they watched, her French Tricolor and the other strange flag she flew bowed away in the darkness as they rattled down their halyards. For a giddy instant, Sandra thought they were actually
surrendering
the battleship to them as reparations. Then, with a rush of dread, she saw another flag flutter to the top of the mast: the Rising Sun of Imperial Japan.

“Oh my God,” she moaned. Then she spun to face Gravois. “You appalling, unspeakable bastard. You're giving that ship to
Kurokawa
? Whatever crazy agenda you think you're advancing, if you know so much about us, then you've got to know he's a maniac!” She looked at Muriname, half expecting to be struck for her statement, but the Japanese officer remained impassive.

Gravois regarded her. “My dear Lady Sandra,” he said, his tone aggrieved. “I must confess that I admire you above all others in your cause. Your devotion to healing, and to your formidable husband, is sufficient to inspire us all. That you have followed Captain Reddy in all his mad adventures—and indeed, he is quite mad in his own way, is he not?—does you enormous credit.” He paused and cocked his head. “Your fidelity, even to the point of carrying his child into harm's way, strikes tremendous envy of the man into my heart.”

Sandra nearly panicked then, but steeled herself. How could he possibly know that? Of those present, Adar and Diania knew she was pregnant. How could they not? Otherwise, fewer than a dozen people in all the world had been informed. Some of those were in Baalkpan, though, notified via coded wireless. Alan Letts, for one. And if he knew, so did his wife, Karen, and . . .
Well, it isn't as if we'd intended to keep it secret forever,
she mentally defended her friend,
but this means they've either broken the Allied code for sure, or they have spies everywhere
. She started to deny it, or point out that she and all the rest aboard
Amerika
had been leaving the war zone when they were attacked, but realized that would be pointless.

Gravois interrupted her thoughts. “Of course General of the Sea—and whatever else he calls himself—Kurokawa is raving mad.” He nodded at Muriname. “That is no secret to anyone here. But having disavowed
Savoie
, as my government and conscience demand, I cannot simply entrust her to her former officers once again, the very ones who caused so much embarrassment and consternation to the League.” He shrugged helplessly. “Nor can I scuttle her, or cast her adrift.” Glancing at Muriname, he wryly raised his eyebrows. “I honestly do not believe our generous hosts would allow such a thing. So, as you can see, I have no choice but to turn her over to them. I do fear she may yet pose further problems for your Grand Alliance in their hands,” he smiled sadly, “but never again in ours.”

“You are a monster,” Becher Lange stated simply, speaking for the first time.

“I think that's the biggest load of steaming bullshit I've ever heard in my life,” Gunny Horn said, almost wonderingly.

“Most colorfully put. Do you really think so?” Gravois asked cheerfully, suddenly dropping all pretense of remorse. “I shall fine-tune the explanation considerably, I am sure, but the fundamental truth does remain.” He looked seriously at Adar, then back at Sandra. “Contre Amiral Laborde
did
act against the express wishes of the League of Tripoli when he engaged and sank your ship. He
has
been dismissed from the service for his act. The League truly does
not
want war with you—or your enemies, even the Grik.
All
that is true. The fact remains, however, that
Savoie
did what she did, and there were survivors in the water. Believe what you like, I am thankful for that fact. In any event, some will be rescued. They probably already have been, and will report what they saw.” He looked at Muriname and sighed. It was probably the first genuine gesture of regret that he'd made. “I do not
want
to turn over
Savoie
. She is not the most capable League vessel by any means, but is still quite powerful and is likely to upset the careful balance of power that we have struggled so diligently to achieve in this sea. Yet I simply have no choice. Only with her flying the flag of your already avowed enemy can we plausibly deny responsibility for what these”—he waved at Laborde and Dupont—“imbeciles have done.”

“But our people know where she came from,” Horn said stubbornly.

“Of course,” Gravois agreed. “And it will be my regretful duty to
report that, following her rudely rebuffed efforts to prevent the Republic from joining your misguided war against the Grik,
Savoie
proceeded here on a mission of goodwill.” He gestured at Muriname. “Unfortunately, and entirely unknown to her commanders, these people were already engaged in the very same struggle, on the other side, and seized her for their own ends. It was they—perhaps flying her former flag to confuse the issue, should the subject arise—who destroyed SMS
Amerika
. Not the League.”

“So how will you spread this bullshit?” Sandra snapped. “Obviously, you won't send us to tell my . . . Captain Reddy this fantasy.”

“No,” Gravois agreed. “As much as it genuinely pains me, I must consign you to the custody of General of the Sky Muriname.” Sandra's fear reached new heights, and she saw Gunny Horn stiffen. She'd expected as much, but to hear it at last . . . “I do wish I could take you with me, but it is quite impossible—and unnecessary in any event.” Gravois addressed Adar. “Contre Amiral Laborde informed me of what you said: that you are not as important to your alliance as one might initially suspect. From what I understand of the fledgling nation you are building, I am forced to agree. Pity.” He looked back at Sandra. “And you, my dear, I absolutely
cannot
take—when I personally bear my ‘fantasy' tale to Captain Reddy on Madagascar.”

Sandra was struck utterly speechless, and without another word, Gravois smiled, bowed slightly, and turned to go. Rizzo followed, still wearing what appeared to be a genuine frown. Laborde, Dupont, and the other Europeans chased after them, leaving the stunned prisoners alone on the dock, surrounded by Japanese sailors with rifles.

“This world is full of madness,” Hideki Muriname said softly, surprising them. His English was heavily accented but quite understandable. “I went mad long ago, I fear, but it is that fear, I think, that allows me to continue to behave as if I am sane. I
pretend
sanity to avoid tumbling into the same pit as Lord Kurokawa.
He
is dangerously mad, as you know, but he does not know it. Therefore, nothing . . . balances his insanity.” He managed a pained smile. “Still, he has preserved us this long and I am bound to serve him.” He nodded in the direction Gravois went. “That one knows he is mad, I am almost sure, but actually seems to enjoy it. It . . . liberates him from his conscience, and any small compulsion to speak the truth. He will leave us soon, to do what he said, but I think he leaves also because he has finally accomplished his mission.”

“What mission is that?” Becher Lange asked, finding his voice first.

Muriname nodded at
Savoie
. “I suspect even he must realize how important all of you truly are to your people in general, and your Captain Reddy in particular. He gives us a battleship that Lord Kurokawa will find it impossible not to use at once, but also brings you here as a lure for your people. What better way to bring about our complete mutual destruction?”

Sandra gulped, realizing at once that Muriname was probably right. Gravois would go to Madagascar and tell his lies. Whether anyone believed them or not, they'd believe it when he told them that she and Adar, Lange and Horn, Diania and three Lemurian sailors were being held by Hisashi Kurokawa. He'd seen them and could describe them all—down to her pregnancy!

Adar cleared his throat. “So, what will happen to us?” he asked.

Muriname looked at him, eyes narrowed in curiosity. “I have never spoken to one of your kind before,” he confessed. “I did not know it would be so like speaking to . . . anyone else.” He shook his head. “To answer your question, however, I do not know. I personally do not believe you have tainted yourselves with the sin of surrender. No shipwrecked crew, even of an enemy warship, truly surrenders when they are plucked helpless from the sea. But it is not for me to decide. I will try to protect you, but I . . . cannot risk the wrath of Lord Kurokawa. Sometimes only I am left to stand between his rages and my people here. I must do my duty to them. I promise you will be well treated until he returns, and perhaps he will let that stand. But it will be up to him.”

“Where has he gone?” Sandra asked.

Muriname looked at her, and despite his mild manner, his eyes held . . . hunger for her, as a woman, she realized with a dreadful chill that twisted her insides. He quickly conquered his expression and pointedly looked away, as if disgusted with himself. “He has taken a portion of our fleet to destroy your convoy steaming down from Madras,” he said simply. “Your ‘Task Force Alden,' I believe it is called.” He finally looked back at her. “The one transporting all your reinforcements for Madagascar.”

CHAPTER
26

1st Fleet (TF Alden)
140 Miles NE of Mahe Island (Seychelles)
USS
James Ellis
Dawn, October 12, 1944

“What the hell's that?” Chief Bosun Carl Bashear demanded, shading his eyes and staring into the rising sun. He'd been standing on
James Ellis
's aft deckhouse, observing the 'Cats on the number four gun go through their morning drill exercises as another pleasant day began, when something . . . strange caught his eye. The gun captain, a burly Lemurian with a gray-streaked brown coat, initially called “Hopalong,” and then just “Hoppy” for reasons Bashear couldn't fathom, tilted his helmet down and squinted as well. “I not know, Chief. I not see nothin'.”

“Hmm.” Bashear grunted. “I don't see it either now. Too goddamn
bright. Just caught a glint. Maybe it's the night patrol Clipper comin' in. They don't usually scout
behind
us, though.”

James Ellis
was steaming at the very rear of the task force that morning, escorting
Sular
back into formation. The big ex-Grik troopship had blown a steam line late the night before, forcing her to secure the four boilers in her forward two firerooms, slowing her by a third. Nobody had been injured when the line let go, and the repair hadn't been difficult, taking only a few hours—just long enough to let the boilers and lines cool off enough to do the work, and then raise steam once more. But instead of slowing the whole task force, Commodore Kek-Taal had ordered
Ellie
and
Bowles
back to shepherd
Sular
along until she could rejoin. Bashear doubted General Alden would've been happy about leaving most of I Corps behind, even with protection, but then Kek-Taal was kind of a turd and probably wouldn't have even told him until Pete noticed
Sular
was missing from the formation.

That sort of thing had become more and more common in First Fleet, and it wasn't only Kek-Taal. Just as the shipboard clan structure that had always prevailed aboard seagoing Lemurian Homes had reignited age-old above and belowdecks rivalries on individual ships, an interservice competitiveness had begun to take root as well. Things of that sort weren't all bad, Bashear reflected, and often even improved performance as chiefs berated their “deck apes” or “snipes” not to screw up in front of the other faction. And the enthusiasm of the various services to show the others how it's done wasn't necessarily bad either, as long as they didn't keep one another from doing so through subversion or misinformation. Bashear suspected that a dose of the latter was starting to creep in. It hadn't been bad when Captain Reddy or Keje had been directly riding herd on the fleet, but he'd seen more and more of it since First Fleet (South) had split away to begin its campaign against the heart of the Grik Empire on Madagascar.
Just wait until Captain Reddy and Keje see how it's gotten. Guys like Kek-Taal'll wind up skipperin' harbor ferries, I bet.
He squinted again.

“Hey,” he murmured. “That ain't no Clipper! There's . . . Shit! Whatever they are, there's a
bunch
of 'em!”

The general alarm began to sound. Unlike
Walker
's new acquisition,
James Ellis
had no bugler. Nor was there an electronic alarm. New/old traditions had been combined, based on simple things that worked, and
the crude, pipe-shaped alarm gongs first used on Lemurian warships had been superseded by bells situated strategically around the ship. The first one started aft of the bridge, urgently ringing as a 'Cat rapidly whipped the dangling cord back and forth. Another sounded atop the amidships gun platform and an air division 'Cat raced to answer with the bell at the base of the mainmast/aircraft crane. A studiously calm but insistent Lemurian voice joined the ringing, coming over the crackly speakers tied into the shipwide circuit:

“All haands! All haands! Maan you baatle-stations! Staand by for air aaction!”

“Air action! Jesus!” Bashear swore. All the new 4
″
-50s were on dual-purpose mounts designed to allow the guns sufficient elevation to engage aerial targets. They were even theoretically capable of hitting them. But the need to do so had seemed confined to the ability to hit Grik zeppelins that got past the fleet's air cover, or maybe shooting in among flocks of Grikbirds once the new gun system made its way to the war against the Doms in the East. Even then, each weapon was still expected to fire in local control since they hadn't come up with a gun director for antiair purposes yet, relying on range, elevation, and speed
estimates
by the gun's captains. They'd practiced—a little—shooting at high angles, expecting plenty of time to correct their aim or change their fuse settings off shell bursts relative to the slow-moving zeppelins. But the things Bashear saw speeding in from the east weren't zeppelins, and he doubted they'd give them any time to correct their aim at all.

“Oh, hell,” Lieutenant Rodriguez said, climbing up the ladder from below to take his place at the auxiliary conning station at the front of the platform. He was staring aft. The flying shapes were in the dozens now, clearly conventional aircraft of some sort.

“You said it, XO!” Bashear snapped. “Somebody loaded the dice on us. Where'd the goddamn Griks get airplanes?”

“They aren't zeps,” Rodriguez agreed.

“Nope. Congratulations, sir! We're the horse's ass, and you're at the tip of the tail! Guess who gets first crack at those bastards? I'm headed forward,” he said, running for the ladder. Sliding down the rungs, he waited while the observation Nancy, its engine already roaring and its catapult just completing its turn out to starboard, suddenly rocketed away in a gush of prop-whipped smoke from the impulse charge. Making the little
floatplanes ready to go in an instant, at GQ, had been a hard-learned and costly lesson. The highly flammable aircraft were dangerous to have aboard in combat, and throwing them over the side whenever things got hot was a terrible waste. Bashear didn't even wait to watch it gain altitude before racing forward, passing 'Cats preparing machine guns and scampering up from below with belts of shiny ammunition. Running past the galley beneath the amidships gun platform, already breathing hard, he hit the stairs to the bridge at a leap and thundered up. He was gasping when he entered the pilothouse, finding a scene of controlled tension, excited voices calling updates on readiness and the general situation.

“The Clipper was just circling in and saw a formation of unidentified aircraft coming up behind us,” Captain Perry Brister told him. “Its observer counted maybe a hundred of the damn things and no ships in sight! No land either, so who knows where they came from.”

“They gotta be Griks, Skipper.” Bashear breathed heavily.

“Must be. That damn Kurokawa must've had 'em building planes for years. Anyway, they're here, and we have to keep 'em off the heavies.”

“Mr. Rodriguez aasks, can he shoot now?” cried a Lemurian talker. Perry paced to the bridgewing and looked aft. The leading formation of planes was about a mile astern, perhaps a thousand feet high, forming a ragged V. They were still just dark silhouettes against the rising sun, but their intention was clear. They weren't from the task force, there was nowhere else friendly planes could've come from, and there'd been no attempt at communication. They couldn't be good guys. Then he looked at
Sular
. The big ship was starting to pull away, accelerating
past
fifteen knots, steaming through the tail-end ships of the task force. Several more Nancys were already in the air, flying off other escorts, turning to intercept the oncoming planes. Some had been armed with .30 cals in their nose, but not very many. Most would have to rely on their observer/copilot shooting a Blitzerbug SMG from its aft cockpit—for whatever good
that
would do.

Bashear joined his skipper. He hoped the ready fighters on
Baalkpan Bay
would get up quickly enough, not that there were very many of them. They'd started keeping six P-1Cs near the carrier's two catapults, as soon as they were in range of the Seychelles. The new airstrip on Mahe wasn't finished yet, but it was better than nothing. They could launch more fighters—slowly—as they brought them up from below.
The strapped-down P-40s were still in the way.
Crap! The P-40s! Ben Mallory's babies are sitting ducks!

“Very well,” Perry called. “Come right twenty degrees to unmask the battery to starboard. All ahead full. We'll zigzag up alongside
Sular
. Tell her and
Bowles
what we're doing. Guns one, three, and four, commence firing!”

The ship rocked as the guns stuttered, their shells
shhhsshh
ing away on high trajectories. Black puffs of smoke, widely scattered, erupted in front of the oncoming planes.

“
Sular
opens fire!” called a lookout to port. The big troopship had four 4
″
-50s of her own. There were more black puffs, even as
Ellie
's guns spat again. The blooming black clouds were popping at a fairly impressive rate—but they weren't hitting anything.
What did I expect?
Bashear wondered bitterly.
We've never even thought about shooting at anything fast!
He stared aft. The fire was having
some
effect, apparently at least scaring whoever was flying those planes. They tended to jerk away from the shell bursts, and the closest formation was breaking up. Two Nancys, then a third, roared by overhead, closing with the enemy at a combined speed of somewhere around three hundred miles an hour.

“Damn it!” they heard Stites yell from the fire control platform above. “All guns, check fire! I repeat, check fire until our guys are past, then be damn careful what you shoot at!”

This is crazy!
Bashear thought.
We can't hit the bad guys
on purpose
. How do we
aim
to miss the good guys?
But they had to try. There were a
lot
of planes coming in, and they had to assume they carried bombs or something else dangerous to surface ships. Why even attack otherwise?

Perry Brister's thoughts mirrored his Chief Bosun's. “Resume rapid fire,” he called up to Stites. “Our guys'll just have to take their chances. But keep reminding your gunners to adjust their fuses! Don't let them get too carried away for that!”

“Our planes gonna try an' cut off the second formation, or get aroun' behind 'em,” the talker cried.

“Very well,” Perry said, moving through the pilothouse to the port bridgewing. They'd caught up with
Sular
, but
Bowles
was lagging. Fifteen knots was as fast as she could go.
Nothing for it,
he realized.
Ellie
had to add her protective fire to
Sular
's. “Come left, thirty degrees,” he
ordered. “Bring us up to about three hundred yards off
Sular
's starboard beam, then come right ten. We need to keep a little wiggle room.”

“Ay, ay, sur!” answered the Lemurian quartermaster's mate, spinning the big brass wheel. “Comin' lef, turty degees! Right ten at tree hunnerd yaads!” The guns ceased firing for a moment until the first turn was complete, then numbers one and four resumed, joined by number two. A cheer sounded as one of the approaching aircraft disintegrated within a cloud of black smoke and debris fluttered down to the sea. Another plane, veering sharply, slammed into a third. Both crumpled and fell spinning toward the water. Staring through his binoculars, Perry finally got a good look at the enemy. “They look just like our Fleashooters!” he called. “Send it out! The enemy planes look just like ours, but they're green and gray. Maybe a little bigger.” He paused, watching the Nancys blast through the first group, scattering it further, but a clump of at least a dozen enemy planes were diving now, apparently targeting
Sular
—and
Ellie
. “Standby secondary armament!”