“Aye, aye, Aahd-mah-raal.”
The room sobered and Keje nodded to Newman, who stood and uncovered a map on the wall. “Now, gentlemen-and ladies. That brings us to another issue. This task force is still some distance away from
… well, we’ve been calling it ‘First Fleet’ because like as not, we’ll have more than one before this is over. Anyway, First Fleet, for various reasons, is going to hit Rangoon”-he pointed-“here, in a couple of days. Commodore Ellis now believes it essential that we remove this possible threat to our forward-most base on Andaman. For the same reasons he made that decision, Admiral Keje now agrees as well. The thing is, we want in on the scrape. Commodore Ellis is the man on the spot, and he and General Alden will run the show, but this will be a good opportunity for our pilots to rack up some combat experience before we move against Ceylon.”
“I thought it was our intention to keep this ship and our aircraft secret from the enemy as long as possible,” Tikker said.
“It is,” said Newman, “and everyone’s pretty sure we can operate against Rangoon and still accomplish that. Nothing’s getting in or out of there by sea, and if they try to send a message overland, we hope to have Ceylon long before it could arrive.”
Tikker looked at Leedom and scratched his ear around the hole with the highly polished 7.7-millimeter cartridge case thrust through it. The hole and the ornament were souvenirs of his first “solo” flight, and also served as a reminder of just how incredibly lucky he’d been. His was a risky job by definition, but he preferred that his risks be as calculated as possible nowadays.
“Sounds okay,” he said guardedly. “We need to know what they will expect of us, and how big an effort we should make.”
“As of now,” Keje said, “they don’t expect anything from us. Commodore Ellis has made the request, and I told him I wanted to discuss it with you before I agree. Schedules will have to be revised to coordinate our participation, but that participation ought to be advantageous to all concerned, I should think. Commodore Ellis might have to delay his attack until we get within range of your aircraft, but he should agree that a full-scale aerial assault by our entire wing can accomplish numerous objectives. First, I feel certain that such an attack would have a disastrous effect on enemy morale, and General Alden could take advantage of that and control the battle with far fewer casualties. Second, of course, I believe the wing should inflict a substantial number of casualties itself. Finally, and Captain Reddy would certainly appreciate this, I’m sure, your timely observations of the battlefield from the air should help General Alden shape his battle with much greater certainty.”
“The entire wing?” Atlaan asked softly.
“Yes. Captain Tikker needs to practice organizing such an assault, just as much as the fliers need to practice making one, and this seems the best, least risky way to do it.” Keje regarded Tikker once more. “What is the farthest distance you feel comfortable striking from with such a force?”
“We need to keep everyone together,” Tikker said, “which means the first to take off will be burning fuel until the last ships join them.” He shook his head. “That is too long. We should probably attack in two waves.”
Mark Leedom was nodding. “That makes sense. If the first ships only have to wait for the last ships in that wave, each wave should have a couple of hours’ flying time to reach the target, hang around long enough to find somebody to bomb, and still make it back to the ship. I’m assuming this ship will be a little closer by then?”
“Of course,” Keje assured. “Possibly by as many as fifty miles or so.”
Tikker was silent a moment, then sighed. “Well, as I said, it sounds okay. Fifty miles is a nice buffer as well. Coordinate the timing with Commodore Ellis based on those numbers, and I’m as confident as I can be that Salissa ’s first action as an aircraft carrier will be a success. Remember, though, we are all new at this, and no matter how well we plan or how carefully we prepare; regardless of how good our pilots are, or how well made their aircraft, I fear some lives will be lost.”
“You suspect the Grik may have developed some defense against aircraft?” Risa asked, speaking for the first time.
“No,” Tikker answered. “Not yet, and if so, not at Rangoon. Honestly, I don’t much fear we will lose many planes and pilots in action… yet. I am more concerned about our own inexperience and ignorance.” He shrugged and looked around at the others. “Bear in mind that all of us, even our human Americans-our ‘original’ destroyermen-have no real experience with this kind of war. We still, essentially, make it up as we go.”
CHAPTER 9
Eastern Sea
When Walker sounded her “drowning goose” general quarters alarm for predawn battle stations, Matt was surprised to hear the thunder of drums on the ships nearby, sending their own crews to action stations. He remembered that Jenks had expressed interest in the practice several times. Evidently, Matt’s explanation that they did it because dawn was a dangerous time of day when enemy ships-and in their “old” war, submarines in particular-might see their silhouette before they saw the enemy, had made eminent sense to the Imperial commodore. It looked like Jenks was beginning to institute the practice among all the ships of his command. That was certainly for the good-if they all became true allies someday. Matt realized, however, that he might have given away a serious advantage if the Empire and Alliance ever found themselves on opposite sides. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Right now, they had the same cause and they needed their friends to be prepared
That morning, instead of standing down into a morning routine, Matt gave the order to “make all preparations for getting underway.” Sparks began to rise from nearby stacks, and black and gray smoke curled into the air as Walker and the “squadron,” consisting of Achilles, Icarus, and Ulysses, raised steam and prepared to pull their hooks. Their immediate destination was an old Imperial outpost-probably the first. Jenks said the island, called Respite, was the first hospitable place his ancestors had encountered on their voyage to the East, and it was there they’d rested, victualed, and taken on fresh water before continuing in search of the most remote place they could find. Some few had stayed, tired of the seemingly endless journey, and Respite had been almost constantly inhabited ever since. Over time, it became the regional capital of all the surrounding islands and until recently, the western frontier of the Empire. It had been to one of the newer, slightly more northwestern outposts under Respite’s jurisdiction that Rebecca’s one-armed protector, Sean O’Casey, had been fleeing the Imperial hangman after an unsuccessful rebellion against Company usurpation of Imperial authority. It had been only wild coincidence that Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald had been dispatched aboard the same doomed ship by her father, the Governor-Emperor himself. In his effort to provide for her safety from increasingly dark Company machinations, he’d set the wheels in motion that left her marooned and presumed dead these two long years. In the end, the Company had snatched her anyway.
The best thing, from the perspectives of Matt and Jenks, was that Respite’s inhabitants had become increasingly dissatisfied with the arbitrary policies enacted by the distant Imperial government-particularly as the Courts of Directors and Proprietors fell increasingly into the hands of the Company. The “Respitans” had always been a self-sufficient, individualistic lot, and Jenks suspected they would have supported O’Casey’s rebellion if they’d caught wind of it in time. He was sure that when USS Walker and her consorts arrived with news of the fight that Walker and Achilles had had with Company and pressed Imperial warships bent on murdering the princess, they would find themselves among a sympathetic population and territorial governor. A perfect place for the Allied supply ships and tankers to head for.