Commodore Ellis leaned forward. “You’re right,” he agreed reluctantly. “That is a spooky thought. So far, they’ve always had numbers on their side, but their inflexibility and predictability has been their greatest weakness, while our flexibility and initiative has been our greatest strength. We’ve never been more than a step or two ahead of them technologically-the Japs see to that-and there’s no reason to think any advantage we have now will last very long. That’s been my reason to keep pushing as hard and fast as we can.” He interlaced his fingers on the table before him. “But. Right now we’re in kind of a holding pattern. We’re consolidating our position here on Andaman.” He paused. “Ought to call it something else,” he said absently. “On our world, this one big island was several smaller ones that used to be, basically, a British prison.” He shook his head and went on. “Anyway, we’re building fortifications and warehouses and generally setting up shop, but we’re not really pushing just now. We don’t have the forces to move on Ceylon yet, not until Big Sal and the other new ships and troops join the fleet. The whole show’ll be Keje’s after that.” He sighed. “You know, it’s tempting to leave him with it. I always wanted the Navy for a career and dreamed of being an admiral. Now I’m not so sure. It’s a lot easier to command a ship and fight her than send others out to do it.”
“You’ve already proven you can fight a ship superbly,” Safir said quietly.
“Yeah, if you don’t count losing her in the end,” he said with a brittle, false cheerfulness, “and I didn’t do too well at first. I had a good teacher.”
“We all did, Jim,” Garrett reminded him. He scratched his chin, looking at the map. “I’ve got to say that Pete’s convinced me, though. We’re just spinning our wheels, aside from stomping on the occasional Grik supply ship. Not many of those anymore. I think they’ve finally figured out that somebody’s beating up the mailman. We can’t move on Ceylon until the rest of the fleet arrives, but we can do something about Pete’s nest of snakes. If we leave them alone too long, maybe they will just wither on the vine, but they might cook up something behind us instead.”
Jim Ellis looked around the cabin at his commanders. Not all were present, of course, but these represented everyone. Pete still stood beside the map, but the rest were nodding, as if to themselves.
“Okay,” Jim said. “We’ll do Rangoon. I never really wanted to leave it for Keje to deal with, and you’ve presented good arguments. Actually, I have another, maybe even better, one. We’ve developed a lot of new tactics and equipment since Singapore. Not everybody has ’em yet, but this’ll be our first action with the new muskets in any numbers. I also hope, if Keje gets close enough by the time we’re ready, we might use a little of his ‘air.’ We might need this to work some of the bugs out of things before we hit something like Ceylon. That’s going to be the biggest thing we’ve ever done, and I’d personally like to be confident that everything works like we hope it will before we jump in with both feet.” He looked at Pete. “This’ll have to be different from Operation Singapore Swing. We need a lot more than a raid, but we don’t want to get ‘stuck in,’ if you know what I mean. We don’t need the territory right now.”
“Yes, Commodore,” General Alden replied. The relaxed discussion among friends was over. “It just so happens that I’ve been working on a plan.” There were a few chuckles. “Again,” he continued, “owing to the somewhat different topography we often encounter… here… the depot, outpost, fortress, or whatever they call it that we’ve been referring to as Rangoon isn’t exactly where the ‘old’ Rangoon was. The main river empties out a little farther down the coast, closer to what we’d call Kynonkadun. Weird, I know, but that’s where they are and it’s a pretty good anchorage. The problem we ran into with Singapore was that we just assumed the strait would block the enemy from escaping-not that we were that worried about it at the time. Trouble was, while the strait’s still there, it’s narrower than it ought to be, due to lower sea levels, but it’s also deeper, cut out by a hell of a tidal rush. Turned out there wasn’t a causeway, but they’d strung barges across for their hunting parties and such.”
“But what does that have to do with Raan-goon?” Rolak asked.
“Just this: this time, we don’t want any of the bastards getting away.”
Garrett whistled. “Tough fighting.”
“Maybe. Definitely at first, as always, but my…” He paused. “Well, my spies say we might actually have them outnumbered this time. If we can sneak upriver, land, and then push them south, they’ll only have two places to go-the sea, or that nasty, swampy country west across the mouths of the Irrawaddy.”
“What is that?” Safir asked.
“A maze of tributaries that open into the Western Ocean,” Jim explained.
“Are they still there… here?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Jim. “Before I sent Chapelle and Tolson to join Mr. Mallory’s expedition to Chill-chaap, he cruised off the Burma shore to map it and see if we wanted Rangoon. That’s when he discovered the Grik outpost. He said the place was a primordial, miserable, swampy hell with, quote, ‘absolutely Gi-Goddamn-Gantic brontasarry-like things romping in the shallows.’ ” He stopped and looked at Pete and Garrett. “Our first look at continental creatures,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Well, we’d already ‘taken possession’ of Andaman and confirmed Port Blair was still a decent anchorage, but with water shallow enough to keep the mountain fish away. It didn’t take a lot of thought. Disease-ridden swamp, full of God knows what, swarming with Grik, or beautiful tropical island with white sandy beaches. There’s a few weird critters here, and lots of gri-kakka in the channel, but plenty of room and, for some reason, no Grik.”
“But these ‘trib-u-taaries’ are still there?” Safir asked again.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry if I didn’t answer your question clearly. My point was that they are, and they’re even worse than they ‘ought’ to be. More of them, worse terrain, and full of scary monsters even the Grik can’t relish tangling with.”
“Good,” Safir Maraan replied with satisfaction. “It sounds like an excellent place to drive them!”
Rolak looked at her. “Yes, and a dreadful place to chase them. Do not let yourself grow overenthusiastic, my dear.”
CHAPTER 7
Baalkpan
Alan Letts, redheaded, with fair, peeling skin, stood up from behind Matt’s desk in the “War Room” office of the Great Hall when Adar swept into the chamber. Perry Brister and Steve Riggs also stood from their stools and faced the High Chief and Sky Priest of Baalk- pan, and chairman of the Grand Alliance. Despite his new, exalted status, Adar still wore only the trappings of his previous occupation: a hooded purple robe with silver stars embroidered across the shoulders. It was the vestment of a Sky Priest of Salissa Home, or Big Sal, as the Americans had practically rechristened her. A Sky Priest was all Adar had ever wanted to be, but like everyone, his American friends in particular, he’d been forced to become much, much more.
“Your Excellency!” the three men chorused.
“This is certainly an unexpected pleasure, sir,” Letts continued. “What can we do for you today?”
“First, you may cease calling me ‘Excellency,’ ” Adar grumbled, blinking frustration. “I don’t feel particularly ‘excellent’ at anything these days.” He stepped to a more traditional Lemurian cushion in a corner of the room and collapsed tiredly upon it. “If you simply must call me something official, I assure you ‘Mr. Chairman’ is sufficiently lofty and undeserved to spoil my appetite, but it does not imply that I have actually accomplished anything.”