Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(119)
Kurokawa fumed. “Indeed,” he finally acknowledged. “But don’t disappoint me,” he warned.
“We will not,” Laborde assured. “Given enough time,” he qualified more quietly.
? ? ?
“Such a shame the mine layers couldn’t complete their task,” Captain Stuart Brassey murmured, lowering his telescope. He’d watched the whole thing with Silva from their hidey-hole, a patch of dense jungle east of the prison compound. From a blind they’d erected in a tall tree on a slight rise, they could see a great deal. They were able to watch the prison compound and confirm that Sandra, Diania, Lange, Horn, Adar, and two other ’Cats were indeed present, all together. They could see Savoie to the northeast and watch her preparations, and they’d made an exact count of enemy ships in the anchorage. Besides Savoie, there were still two unaltered ironclad BBs moored near her, and two more to the south, though they hadn’t seen much activity aboard them. They weren’t sure if that meant they’d been relegated to a secondary role or were ready in all respects for battle. A fifth had apparently been altered into an armored oiler. They guessed that by the number of ships that periodically went alongside it, and that, in the days they’d watched, three of the double-ended barge tugs arrived to replenish it.
That meant at least some refining was taking place on the continent, which stood to reason, since the Grik had been making a gasoline/ethanol mix for their zeppelins for quite some time. But oil barrels also went ashore, and Lawrence guessed they were going wherever more specialized aviation fuel was made. Frantic work continued on the damaged aircraft carrier, still lying inshore of the island in the middle of the bay, and it looked almost ready for action. Equally concerning, they’d counted a total of twenty of the formidable ironclad cruisers after a couple more arrived, probably from other harbors around the island. Eighteen, now, Silva reminded himself, all startin’ to bunch up in the vicinity of the North Channel, free of mines. They’ve worked on those cruisers, he thought. Reduced the sails, which means they must’ve improved their engines. They’re still not fast, but they’ve raised the armored bulwarks amidships. Maybe added some guns. They’d always been vulnerable from the air or to plunging fire, but were tough to crack at close range, from the surface. Even Walker’s guns had trouble punching through their armor and the heavy scantlings backing it. An’ maybe they’ve armored their decks now too, Silva speculated. They’ve got less weight in masts, so they’re more stable, but lie lower in the water, so they’re heavier.
“A shame, sure,” Dennis replied absently to Brassey’s statement.
“Just another mile and a half, and the mine layers could’ve sealed the North Channel as well! I hope Captain Reddy disciplines their commanders.”
“Not sure they deserve it. One went down,” Silva defended, inwardly shuddering at the fate of its crew. Even if their pursuers were inclined to rescue survivors, the voracious sea wouldn’t have left many—and their captivity would’ve probably been worse than the horrible but quick death the fish gave them. He glanced toward the compound, unseen in the dark. Or would it? Either way, it’s just as well none of ’em survived to blow. Prob’ly knew going in that they couldn’t let that happen. He shrugged. Just like us. “They were getting’ pretty beat up, Mr. Brassey,” he said. “I think they did enough. Quit worryin’ about it.”
Brassey regarded him curiously in the dark, wondering what Silva knew that he didn’t. Quite a bit, he suspected. For operational security, nobody but Silva, and maybe Lawrence, needed to know everything. They heard a hiss below, and Lawrence scrambled awkwardly up the tree. “Finally back, huh?” Dennis asked.
“As you see,” Lawrence replied dryly.
“Sneaky booger. Finally found somethin’ yer good at. Didja get the message off?”
“Aye. Ca’tain Reddy should soon know all us has learned.” A ship had appeared as scheduled, offshore from the burned-out zeppelin. They didn’t know if it participated in the mining or not, but it didn’t matter, and Lawrence flashed a rather lengthy report by Morse lamp. He and Brassey’s Khonashi had been roaming practically at will all over the southern part of the island. They’d been seen many times, but no alarm was ever raised and they hadn’t been forced to “eliminate” anyone. Apparently, just as it took the Allies too long to realize their enemies had learned Lemurian, compromising their communications, and that the Doms and League had spies in the Empire and Republic—probably everywhere—it hadn’t dawned on Kurokawa that the Allies could have Grik-like scouts ashore on Zanzibar. One group, led by Lawrence, had explored the harbor defenses and industrial sites. Sergeant Oolak, with Pokey posing as his superior to do any talking, had ventured east around the mountain called the Gut, toward Tailbone Bay. Together they’d assembled a remarkably good picture of what Chack’s Brigade would face. They’d ignored the north, beyond the Gut. There were a lot of Grik up there but no airfields, so it shouldn’t be an immediate factor in the coming action. There were plenty Grik in the south too, however, maybe twenty thousand or so. But many were laborers, sailors, dock and factory workers. Most were probably trained soldiers as well, but they were dispersed. It would take time to gather, arm, and organize them into an effective defense—if Chack’s Brigade ever made it to the beach in the first place.