Forester’s face turned grim. “It is difficult to understand how the situation on the Grik front could be more pressing than the menace posed by the Holy Dominion, but I am prepared to concede it. You have fought both enemies on both fronts, and I trust your judgment. But do you really believe these Grik-mere savage… reptilians-may actually surpass our own technology?”
“Maybe not surpass, Your Excellency, but they can match it-particularly with the help of the Japanese Captain Kurokawa. I honestly don’t know what motivates him-other than insanity, I guess. But he’s already brought the Grik too close for comfort, and with their numbers-and frankly, ferocity-all they need to be is close.”
“But the Dominion has vast reserves as well,” Radcliff observed, “and other than your Walker and your flying machines, there is little material difference between us.”
“True, but we’ve hammered a big chunk of their fleet, and for now, our tactics are better. The Enchanted Isles are at risk because the Dom fleet is still respectable, particularly if it concentrates, and those islands are strategically placed to support future operations against them. That’s why I agree that Harvey Jenks needs to relieve them as soon as he can, because we’re going to need them. But otherwise, the Empire and its continental colonies are secured by a vast ocean, and I’m told, impassable territory between the colonies and Dominion territory. Our navies control that ocean.
“On the other hand, the Grik industrial base may actually be broader than the Dominion’s. We know they’re building a new fleet, and when they’re ready, we expect them to hit us with something huge and likely unexpected. Kurokawa-and some of the Grik Hij-aren’t fools. They’ve already hit us with flying machines of their own-much larger and more complicated than ours, and they had a lot of them.” He shrugged. “Ours were faster and better armed. That was the difference.” He looked at Sandra, then at Chack and the other Lemurians. “Trust me. The Grik have to come first.”
“Well, then. I will not argue it with you or anyone else at present,” Forester conceded. “Your people… your friends… have been generous. I do pray your evaluation is correct, however.”
“So do I.”
A servant attired in the white coat and knee breeches of the Respite militia appeared. “Dinner, if ye please,” he announced.
Matt was too accustomed to the spartan shipboard fare to fully appreciate the sumptuous feast prepared for them. The food was just too rich. The governor and his wife ate theirs with obvious relish, but Sandra, seated beside him now, only picked at her plate. She seemed to blush every time he caught her eye, still embarrassed by the sheer scope of the spectacle Lady Emelia was planning. She’d said she expected a big wedding on Respite, but the description Emelia continued whispering to her during the meeting outside was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
The visiting Lemurian officers were enjoying their meal, and Chack was curiously sampling a little of everything. Matt was amazed when Silva caught a server’s sleeve and ostentatiously asked if another of the chicken-size, broiled “lizardy-lookin’ guys,” might be brought out. When the server went to fetch it, Stites leaned in to Silva and muttered: “Good thing Larry ain’t here. He’d have to go hungry or turn cannibal.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. I seen him eat lotsa critters more like his relations than these little boogers,” Dennis answered in what his damaged hearing probably thought was a whisper, then looked up, surprised by the sudden silence around the table. “Course, maybe he woulda ate the fish,” he offered.
Chack couldn’t help it and burst out in a hacking laugh, blinking apology at the same time. The other ’Cats joined him, and soon everyone was laughing, even Sandra, who’d needed something to break her tension. Matt explained about Lawrence, and the comment better understood, the laughter redoubled. When it finally died down, it was replaced by a more lively conversation.
Silva can break anything, Matt thought with amusement, even ice.
“Oh, my dear captain,” Radcliff said at last. “I wish you had brought the creature along! I simply can’t wait to meet him.”
There was a knock on the great door that led to the dining chamber, and another servant went to investigate the cause.
“We don’t consider Lawrence a ‘creature’ anymore, Your Excellency,” Matt explained mildly. “He’s a Tagranesi… well, Sa’aaran, now, and if his Grik cousins are capable of achieving his level of intelligence, we’ve got a lot to worry about.”
The servant hurried over to stand beside the governor, a frown on his face, and waited for Radcliff’s attention.
“Yes, yes. What is it, Gomez?”
The dark-skinned servant, probably a descendant of the Spanish/Indian mix in the Dominion, handed over a bifolded page sealed with wax. “Which it’s a dispatch from the Allied wireless station, Guv’ner,” he said with a typical Imperial accent. “An’ it’s marked ‘urgent,’ as ye can see. Yer orders are never ta delay d’livery o’ such.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Radcliff replied, taking the folded square. After a brief hesitation, he offered it to Matt. “It’s most likely meant for you, after all.”
“Go ahead, Your Excellency,” Matt said, but his chest tightened. It was his sad experience that urgent communications rarely carried good news.
Radcliff nodded and broke the seal, then unfolded the sheet and held it at arm’s length to better see the words. The diners around the table were silent now, watching with curiosity. Matt’s stomach churned with dread when he saw the governor’s growing frown. Without a word, Radcliff passed the message across and Matt looked at it. Sandra caught her breath when she saw the expression forming on his face as he read, and she put her hands on his shoulder. Finally, he looked up and his gaze was bleak.
“Well, it’s started in the west. Alden has invaded India and has a solid beachhead at Madras. First and Second Corps are pushing inland, and Third Corps has crossed from Ceylon in the south. So far, the Grik are on the run.” He paused and there was a spatter of applause, but Matt’s tone didn’t reflect the good news. He continued.
“A little closer at hand, it would seem Commander Sato Okada’s Mizuki Maru, the armed… freighter that Saan-Kakja sent after the Jap tin can Hidoiame, met the enemy… and was apparently lost with all hands.”
Sandra gasped and Gray cursed aloud.
“Where… when?” Chack asked.
“The Sea of Japan.” He waved the sheet. “The position’s here. ‘When’ was almost a month ago!”
“But… why wait until now to tell us?” Sandra demanded.
“Because we were too far away to do anything about it, and Saan-Kakja’s fully aware of our damage and our weapons limitations,” Matt answered bitterly. “She probably didn’t want us to push things and hoped she could handle it on her own. Three ships sent to the last known position to search for survivors didn’t return, and the only one with a transmitter reported being under attack before contact was lost. Several squadrons of ‘Nancys’ were sent to locate the enemy. One squadron actually found her and bombed her, but no damage was seen-and four of the six planes were shot down!”
“Oh, my God!” Sandra whispered, her hand over her mouth.
“Nancys,” or PB-1Bs were single-engine floatplanes that looked like miniature versions of a PBY Catalina, and they were the current backbone of the Allied air arm. More advanced aircraft were in the works, but “Nancys” had proven to be reliable and versatile little planes. Each had a crew of two.
“The only good thing, I guess,” Matt continued, “is that nobody reported seeing the destroyer’s tanker consort, and she can’t go far without her. She probably ran around for a while trying to throw us off the trail to where the tanker is-but now she’s going to have to find someplace else to hole up, and she’s got to get her tanker and maybe break down and pack up whatever shore installations they’ve spent irreplaceable resources on first!”