“My God!” Jenks exclaimed, staring through his telescope. He looked at Matt and handed the instrument over without a word.
Just becoming visible beyond the gaggle of limping Imperials, USS Walker steamed into view. Matt had never seen his ship return from a desperate battle; he’d always been aboard her. But now he knew how his people-and he unconsciously included the Lemurians in that category-must have felt every time he brought her in. She looked like a floating wreck. Several gaping holes were visible in her starboard side, surrounded by dozens of deep dents that ran her entire visible length, and she had a slight list to port. Water gushed over the side, and even a couple of auxiliary pumps were running, the hoses pulsing with pressure and adding to the torrent returning to the sea. The splinter shield on the number one gun was knocked askew, and the starboard bridgewing rail stood naked where the side plating had been battered in. The searchlight above her fire control platform was completely gone, leaving only the tangled rail and twisted conduits.
Matt absorbed the initial impact of what he saw, then began to observe details. At least two boilers were operational, judging by the smoke curling from her dented and shot-pierced funnels. There were no bodies strewn on her deck and “apes” were hosing blood and other debris from her fo’c’sle. Much of the junk included shattered wood and charred canvas that had to have come from other ships. The battle flag still stood out, straight and proud near the top of her foremast, and all the smokestained guns were trained fore and aft. In addition, the old girl’s heart was still as strong as ever, because the only reason she seemed to strain at all was because of the two savagely mauled Imperial frigates she was towing in her wake.
Jenks must have mistaken the expression on Matt’s face when he lowered the glass and unconsciously handed it to Gray. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Gray looked away from the glass he’d raised and glared at Jenks, eyes red. “What the hell for?” he demanded savagely. “She ain’t sinkin’. Sure, she’s taken a few dents an’ a little smut, but I seen her look worse the mornin’ after a hard liberty! She went toe to toe with Amagi! You seen her sunk-ass carcass at Baalkpan. You really think them pipsqueak battleships the goddamn Doms think are so hot are even close to a match for our ol’ Walker?” He slammed the telescope back in Jenks’s hand and stormed off, swearing, toward the dock Walker had steamed away from the morning before.
“Quite an excitable fellow,” Admiral McClain observed awkwardly.
“Indeed,” Jenks replied, “but right, more often than not.” He gestured beyond Walker and his own voice gained excitement. “And look there, Captain Reddy! I do believe I see the source of the other green rockets we saw!”
Appearing somewhat incongruous among all the war-ravaged ships returning to port, Achilles was just passing beneath the guns at the harbor mouth. Beside her steamed what could only be USS Simms. Both looked sharp and fresh despite their long voyage, and the contrast between them and the battered prizes trailing behind could not have been more profound. Two relatively unmarked Dominion transports were towing a pair of ravaged liners and the Stars and Stripes and the Imperial banner floated proudly above them all.
“Now that’s what I call a stylish entrance,” Matt said.
CHAPTER 31
Ceylon
N ’galsh, First Hij of Ceylon and Vice Regent of all India, personally awaited the longboat from Giorsh at the “Hunter’s Ramp” in the still strangely unpronounceable harbor at Colombo. (N’galsh, like Tsalka, was endeavoring to change the name.) N’galsh’s presence at the dock, even with his army of attendants, was unprecedented and demeaning, since this “General Halik” wasn’t born “of the Hij.” Halik was reputed to have “talent,” however, and that’s what they needed. N’galsh would sacrifice a few prerogatives, at least for now, and bend to the shifting imperatives within the realm of the Grik. His own personal concern regarding the cause behind those imperatives made it easier to choke down. Typically, a regent-or in his absence, a vice regent-was subordinate only to the Celestial Mother herself, but he’d been given clearly to understand that he would follow the directions or commands of the two generals in the longboat without question. The world had been gutted, turned upside down, inside out; its entrails exposed where they should be concealed. Personally meeting the longboat was a minor concession in the grand scheme of things and literally the least he could do under the circumstances. It might also be essential in the sense that, had he not come, it might have been the last thing he didn’t do. The way things were going, he just didn’t know, and he didn’t care to discover mistakes the hard way.
“In the name of the Mother, I greet you, General Halik…” He paused. “General Niwa,” he added. N’galsh loathed the “Jaaph” hunters, the “Hunters previously of the Iron Ship.” In his view, they were responsible for much of the vile change sweeping the Grik world. He didn’t know Niwa’s status, however, and suspected it would be easier to later retreat from excessive civility than to repair a slight.
Halik jerked a nod and Niwa saluted. “Vice Regent N’galsh,” Halik said. “Regent Tsalka and General Esshk extend greetings and blessings as well.” His eyes narrowed. “You will extend the same courtesy to General Niwa that you do to me.”
Good. N’galsh sighed. He’d guessed correctly. “Of course. Thank the Mother you both arrived safely. The prey-the ‘enemy,’ rather-has an ever-tightening grip on the sea approaches. Honestly, I’m shocked you were not intercepted. Nothing gets through.”
“We were intercepted,” Halik said bitterly. “A single of their ships, little different from ours, flying the ‘A’ery-can’ flag, destroyed our entire escort. Only its sacrifice allowed our arrival here.”
“Indeed? Then please accept my most profound congratulations. The enemy demonstrates a fascinatingly effective grasp of the Sea Hunt, at least. Their ships are well found, even those they took from us, and they are artists when it comes to this ‘gunnery.’ ”
“General Esshk says the same. That is one thing we hope to improve before we depart.”
N’galsh’s jaw fell slack. “Depart?” he asked weakly.
“As we have been commanded,” Halik replied.
“But… surely you will defeat the enemy first?”
“If we can,” Halik conceded. “But General Esshk is not hopeful. We will do what is possible-test new weapons, learn the ways of the enemy and bleed them with attacks when and where we can support them. We have new programs, new ‘trainings’ underway to make hunters that contest rather than conquer, but as you point out, even if those ‘troops’ were ready now, we could not get them here as long as the enemy controls the sea.” He took a breath. “We will do what we may, but we must be prepared in the event that the enemy succeeds in his campaign against this place.”
“Succeeds?” N’galsh murmured, suddenly distraught. “But the Celestial Mother cannot spare this land! It is the most precious of her eggs!”
“She can spare it… and she will, if necessary. Ceylon is precious, but not nearly as much so as other eggs and the sacred Ancestral Lands that lie closer to the nest. Certainly you understand that?”
“Of course, but… how can they be at risk while this one remains?”
“As long as the enemy controls the sea, no ‘egg’ is safe,” Niwa said, and Halik translated. “That will… not always be the case. Other programs are underway that will eliminate that control in time, but time is the essential element.”
“So… you have not come to save this land, but only to trade it for ‘time’ to save others?” N’galsh questioned, bitterness creeping into his voice.
“Essentially, yes,” Halik confirmed. “But fear not, Vice Regent, that same ‘time’ we hope to win here will ultimately allow our reconquest of this ‘egg,’ as well as those of the enemy.” He looked behind him, confirming that his and Niwa’s staff had all arrived ashore. It was composed of other… unusual Grik. They had a sizable personal guard of “elite” warriors as well. It would be interesting to see how they performed. “Now, if you please, do show us the tools at our disposal, the tools with which we might shape that time we need.”