“I’ll say!” Letts and Brister chorused.
Herring looked at his fellows. “I presume we could find civilian employment, but what are the terms of enlistment?”
“It’s voluntary, but it’s for the duration,” Letts replied. “The ’Cats don’t have many rules, but they’re serious about the ones they have. All military personnel are governed by Rocks and Shoals. We’re still sorting out the pay scales-they didn’t even use money here before-but I think you’ll find the wages sufficient. In your cases, you’d go in with your current ranks or ratings, and we’d put you where we need you most.”
“Sounds fair,” Herring said softly, looking at his comrades. “Well, men, I hate to break up the gang, but it’s up to you. It is nice to be able to choose our fates for a change.”
“I have only one question,” Conrad Diebel said, pointing at another pair of P-40s sporting over the bay. “Can I fly one of those?”
“You’ll have to earn one of those,” Ben answered immediately, “but you’ll fly.”
“Then I’m in.”
“How’s the chow?” Gunny Horn asked abruptly.
“Weird,” Alan confessed, “but good, I guess-and regular.”
“Hmm. Well, hand over the enlistment papers, Commander Letts. We’ll ship over,” Horn said, speaking for himself and Lance Corporal Miles, while looking at Commander Herring as if for permission. Miles didn’t speak, but he frowned.
Herring nodded. “Thanks for… everything, Gunny.”
“No thanks necessary, sir.” He looked at Letts. “You’ve got a lot of these ’Cats running around calling themselves Marines. Maybe I could help with their training?”
“Maybe so, Gunny,” Letts said thoughtfully. “But I think you’ll find they know their business pretty well. I may have another, more independent assignment for you.”
“I’ll join,” said Leading Seaman Henry Stokes; then he hesitated. “But only if Commander Herring does. Even then, I’d like to stick with him. He might need a hand.”
“Glad to have you, Stokes,” Herring said, glancing at Alan. “ If I join. Like I said, I’ve got some thinking to do… And I believe I will go down and observe those Grik captives you mentioned. Have I your permission to talk to others? In the various industries and military commands as well?”
“Knock yourself out,” Letts replied. “But don’t take too long making up your mind.” He shrugged. “There’s a war on. When you decide, we need to talk to Chairman Adar. You’ll like him. If he’s not in too big a huff over the way you ran us around, I’m sure he’ll be delighted that we may soon have our own Office of Naval Intelligence. Less work for all of us, and maybe as a new eye, you’ll spot an opportunity we’ve been too close to the problem to see.” He looked at Stokes. “And you’ll need a staff.”
CHAPTER 3
First Fleet
TF Arracca
SE Coast of Grik India
February 24, 1944
Commodore James Ellis, Walker ’s former exec, had a virtual fleet under his command. His task force was built around the reconfigured and recently arrived carrier Arracca, her battle group of four new steam frigates, or “DDs,” and a train of oilers and supply ships. The latter were mostly converted Grik Indiamen taken at Singapore, and more of them arrived every day. In addition, he had another thirteen DDs, including some of the older ones, such as his own Dowden, and almost forty other ships clustered out of range of anything ashore but in full view on the horizon. Those ships were mostly oilers and supply ships, and there were a few of the new destroyer and seaplane tenders. It was hoped that the Grik would think all were troopships.
Dowden, as flagship, had temporarily joined Arracca ’s screen. The thirteen other DDs of Des-Div 4 steamed inshore, just south of the low tide crossing between Ceylon and India, adding their fire to a furious bombardment. Nearly a hundred field pieces already floated on barges parallel to the crossing, pounding Grik positions within the bordering forest on the India side. There was very little answering artillery. It was a stirring sight, as Jim watched through binoculars on Dowden ’s quarterdeck. The ships streamed smoke from their guns and stacks and moved slowly with all sails furled and broad American battle flags flowing taut to leeward. To Jim, the sound came as a continuous, rumbling thunder, and dense woods beyond the beach churned with smoke, geysers of earth, blizzards of splinters, and tottering trees. The screams are probably pretty loud too, he thought with grim satisfaction, but they just can’t compete with the rest of the noise and the distance. Something caught his eye and he raised the binoculars higher. A squadron of “Nancys” from Arracca swirled above the enemy, occasionally adding their own bombs to the abattoir below. Other planes flew higher, spotting and scouting and ready to raise the alarm if any Grik zeppelins appeared.
The thought of the shocking and totally unexpected appearance of enemy dirigibles over First Fleet, Aryaal, and even Baalkpan itself still burned Jim’s soul. In his mind’s eye, he again saw the mighty Lemurian Home-turned aircraft carrier Humfra-Dar erupting like a fiery volcano as bombs fell on her crowded flight deck. There’d been very few survivors of the holocaust that engulfed the great ship. Some had been aloft flying missions and were recovered aboard Keje’s Salissa, or “ Big Sal,” (CV-1), but perhaps the only thing that preserved the few awkward swimmers, flailing in the terrifying sea long enough to be rescued, was the stunning underwater acoustics of the terrible explosions.
The zeppelins had swarmed them in their scores, loosing sophisticated bombs in a density a flight of B-17s might have envied that not only destroyed Humfra-Dar, but also heavily damaged several of her screening DDs. The only consolation was that many of the Grik “air lizards” must have been extreme amateurs at the time, and a large number of their airships made no compensation for the sudden loss of their bomb load and practically rocketed into the sky and were destroyed by structural failure or the catastrophic expansion of their gasbags. The resulting spectacle created a viscerally satisfying, almost grim amusement, but little comfort for their loss. Most of the surviving zeppelins escaped over India to God knew where, although Captain Jis-Tikkar “Tikker,” Commander of Flight Operations (COFO) for the First Naval Air Wing, managed to claw high enough to get a good look at the things and even bring one down.
Only a few airships attacked Aryaal, and they were repulsed after inflicting only minor damage. The larger raid on Baalkpan was decimated by Ben Mallory’s P-40s. No zeppelin that survived either raid was likely to have had the fuel to return, so their losses had probably been total, but First Fleet had seen groups of the things again, several times, so they must have established bases for fueling and maintenance somewhere in India. Jim frowned. Every time we think we’ve got the damn Grik figured out, they pull something new out of their hat. That crazy Jap Kurokawa is probably behind a lot of it, but not all. Apparently not all the Grik, their Hij, at least, are fools. We KNOW they’re building a new fleet. I hope to God it doesn’t come as big a surprise as their zeppelins did!
“What’s the dope?” he asked aside as he became aware of Niaal-Ras-Kavaat, his dark-furred exec, standing beside him.
“The scouts report that the enemy continues to gather, preparing for our assault.” Niaal blinked pleasure and grinned, showing his wicked young canines. “And we continue to kill them!”
“Good. Hopefully we can keep it up for a while, before they get wise.”
“Not much chance of that,” Niaal said in a contemptuous tone.
“Of them catching on? I don’t know,” Jim countered softly. “Pete-I mean, General Alden-thinks the Grik have a new cheese who knows what he’s about. Flynn’s Rangers-shoot, the whole Third Division of Queen Maraan’s Second Corps-ran into something that nearly ate it alive, and it sure gave everybody the creeps.”