In Garrett’s and Chapelle’s absence, Saraan-Gaani was in charge of the survivors at the “rest and reorganization” area. He sat on a stool beneath an awning, a “corps-’Cat” finally tending the many small wounds he’d received in the fighting. None was serious, but with his large percentage of white fur, he’d looked a lot worse than he was. Lieutenant Bekiaa was with him there, her own amazingly few wounds already attended, and she’d been teasing him over his discomfort at the hands of the medics. Saaran-Gaani wasn’t sure if she was still flirting with him, or if she ever had been. He liked her, but she was more… forward than females he’d known in the south, and he wondered if she actually was compensating a little for the horrors she’d endured. It didn’t matter. It was no time to contemplate such things. The spectacle before him on the broad, protected beach was sufficient to hold his attention.
Dozens of ships of various shapes and sizes were moored offshore; transports close in, with shoals of broad-beamed boats plying to and fro, depositing troops and supplies. Farther out were the “DDs” and “DEs,” guarding the helpless flock, and even more distant lay Salissa with her own screen of warships. “Nancys” flew back and f between the carrier and points inland, scouting, or throwing a few bombs at any enemy concentrations they saw. Now and then, one landed among the anchored ships, leaving a passenger to come ashore. A floating pier was already under construction to service the planes from the beach. The activity ashore looked chaotic to Saaran-Gaani, with some troops running around and others just milling about. Different regimental colors were mixed, but those of Baalkpan and Aryaal/B’mbaado prevailed. It looked like most of those in a hurry wore the blue and white of Marines, although the black and gold of Maa-ni-la was represented and seemed purposeful, for the most part.
He wondered at that. The Marines were all veterans, as were the majority of the Baalkpan and Aryaalan/B’mbaadan troops. But many of the Maa-ni-los were “green.” Maybe it was just that the less organized, such as his own people, simply hadn’t been given anything to do yet. The “rest and reorganization” area could boast little organization at all. Makeshift shelters had been rigged here and there, and the survivors of TF Garrett lounged on the beach in the morning shade, close enough to the shelters to escape the inevitable squalls of the day when they manifested themselves. Saaran-Gaani was a little chagrined to see that Bekiaa’s remaining Marines had at least bivouacked in a creditable way, while the crews of Donaghey, Tolson, and Revenge were mixed and scattered. He sighed. All the survivors had fought like Marines or they wouldn’t be here, but with no ship beneath them and no immediate task, the sailors had reverted to a complete “off-duty” state that contrasted strikingly with the more regimented Marines.
“I must come up with something for them to do,” he said, nodding at a group of sailors playing one of the many universal Lemurian “hand” games.
“They still need rest,” Bekiaa said. “Only two days have passed since their ordeal.”
Saaran-Gaani didn’t mention that it had been his and Bekiaa’s ordeal as well. “Yes, but once relief becomes lethargy, and perhaps fear, it will be harder to return them to their duty.” The medic finished applying the curative polta paste to his now-clean wounds and left them then. Saaran-Gaani sighed with relief and continued. “I must get them back on ships, I suppose-although many might resent being separated after all they’ve been through together. I wish Cap-i-taan Gaar-rett were here to sort this out, but he sent word last night that progress is slow on Donaghey.” He considered. “She must be saved if possible. She’s my ship, my Home, but she’s also the last of her kind
… and her role at Baalkpan must be considered. Perhaps the only more significant remaining name in our Navy is Walker. Her loss would be hard on the people of Baalkpan, and the Alliance in general.”
“As will Tolson ’s be,” Bekiaa agreed. “That’s bad enough.” She looked at him and blinked irony. “How very astute for a ‘South Islander’!”
Saaran’s tail twitched irritably. “I’m as Amer-i-caan as you, now.”
“Aa-ten-shin!” someone cried, and there was a general stir outside the shelter. Saaran and Bekiaa stood, although they couldn’t see who was approaching. The sailors who’d come to their feet parted, revealing General Alden, Admiral Keje-Fris-Ar, Colonel Flynn, and Lord General Muln Rolak, accompanied by a number of staff officers.
“Good morning, Lieutenants!” Keje boomed, and the officers with him returned the salutes they received.
“Good morning, Ahd-mi-raal, Gener-aals, Colonel,” Saraan-Gaani replied.
“How do you feel?” Alden asked them.
“Fine,” Saaran and Bekiaa chorused.
Keje grunted. “One of the reasons we came ashore…” He glanced around. “Where has Mr. Letts run off to?”
“He has gone to begin the chore of organizing this ridiculous mess,” Rolak muttered. “ Another of the reasons we are here,” he explained. “Thank the Heavens we did not face an opposed landing!”
“Yes. Well, one reason was to congratulate you two and your companions”-Keje gestured around-“for your survival and perseverance during the recent… situation.” His gruff voice grew soft. “We came as fast as we could.”
“We could not have asked for more, Ahd-mi-raal,” Bekiaa said, “and as it turned out, you were just in time.”
“Perhaps for some,” Keje hedged.
“That’s enough of that crap,” Alden said tiredly, clearly continuing an argument between the two. “Nobody can do anything faster than ‘as fast as they can’!”
“Just so,” Rolak agreed, taking Alden’s side.
Keje straightened. “Just so,” he repeated. “In any event, we must see to the disposition of your people here, Commander Saaran-Gaani, Cap-i-taan Bekiaa-Sab-At.”
Saaran and Bekiaa both gulped at the unexpected promotions.
“You have almost two hundred sailors and Marines fit for duty,” Keje continued. “I feel the most appropriate thing would be to transport them to An-da-maan to await the arrival and refit of Donaghey. Captain Garrett has… virtually demanded that he be allowed to remain here, in the fight, while Donaghey is repaired”-he shook his head-“but that is impossible. With his experience at sea, he is far too valuable to further risk on land. The same goes for Mr. Chapelle. Both may resent my decision, but there it is.” His tail swished and he grinned. “I am reliably informed that ahd-mi-raals may do as they please.” He paused. “That said, the notion they proposed has merit. I see several options for your people here. You may all go to An-da-maan as a single crew, and assist in Donaghey ’s refit. More ships are on their way, but it would be unfair to replace their crews as soon as they arrive. You may all go back to Baalkpan and be assigned one of the new steam frigates they’re now building. It would likely take more time than refitting Donaghey, but you’ve certainly earned the rest and a more capable ship. Or, some of your people might choose to join the fleet and be absorbed into one of the ship’s companies here.”
Bekiaa hesitated but managed to speak. “Is there an option that might allow my Marines and me, at least, to remain here and do as Cap-i-taans Garrett and Chapelle desired? If you please, we do have a score to settle.”
“This isn’t baseball, damn it; it’s war,” Alden growled. “There’s no such thing as an ‘even score.’ We fight to win, and your Marines are a ship contingent. The sailors aren’t infantry at all.”
“I propose that most of the sailors who fought at the Sand Spit are infantry now,” Bekiaa said. “And were you not once also part of a ‘ship contingent’ as well, Gen-er-aal? Did that make you less of a Marine?”