Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(17)
“What’s that?”
“The holy grail, Ambassador,” Alan answered wistfully. “Maybe someday.”
“Well, then,” Forester said. “I’m sure it must be amazingly technical.” He nodded at the cruiser and the two other ships. “Have you decided where these will go? I hope you’ll consider sending them east. I know the two, ah, destroyers can’t be completed quickly enough, but the cruiser might be just the thing to tip the scale against the blasted Doms. General Shinya is going all out to chase that loathsome Don Hernan to ground before he can escape, and the Governor-Empress wants a push toward the Pass of Fire in support of that—perhaps even to break through at long last and join young Leftenant Reynolds and Ensign Faask and the friends they’ve made.” He frowned. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed to learn that the New United States were not as well prepared to support us as we’d been led to believe, but we’ve had steadfast assurances they’ll now do their best.”
“Believe me, Bolton,” Alan said, with feeling, “I’d love to focus on kicking Don Hernan’s sick ass. And you’re right; this might be our best chance to get it done. But the situation’s dicey in the west. We got our ass handed to us at the Battle of Mahe. Besides Baalkpan Bay and Geran-Eras, we lost a lot of auxiliaries. We have to get supplies, troops, and as many warships as we can scrape together out there as fast as we can.” He regarded Forester with a worried frown of his own. “The fact of the matter is, despite everything, this may be our only chance to break the Grik as well—before they drown us in their own blood, if they have to. Colonel Enaak says the truce with General Halik is holding. He’s busy tearing across Persia, killing other Grik. Enaak and Svec’s cavalry aren’t actually fighting alongside him, but they’re acting as his eyes.”
“How very strange,” Forester mused. “Our forces and at least a band of Grik, apparently getting along . . .”
“Yeah. Bloody weird,” Stokes agreed. “An’ we’re still not sure Halik won’t link up with General Esshk,” he cautioned, “but even Colonel Svec—who hates Grik mor’n most, by the way—considers that unlikely. Esshk’d probably want Halik’s head after what he’s done—an’ become.”
Alan was nodding. “But Esshk is up to something. He’s got well-trained and well-equipped Grik troops ashore in southern Madagascar. They were obviously staging to launch an overland assault against Grik City, probably coordinated with another amphibious attack. They’re on a string now, supply wise, since Chief Silva and Colonel Chack messed up their scheme, and we’ll cut the string completely when we get Arracca’s battlegroup and Santy Cat down there. But I have to stress these were real troops, well armed and disciplined. That’s confirmed. Matt—I mean, Captain Reddy—always suspected the last attack was their way of getting rid of thousands of old-style Grik berserkers, while hurting us at the same time. We think they’ve got ten or twenty thousand new-style Grik already ashore, and all the rest of Esshk’s forces are just as well trained and equipped.”
“An’ I don’t like those rows of boat sheds Lieutenant Commander Leedom saw, when he flew past the Grik capital of Sofesshk,” Stokes supplied. “He an’ Jumbo Fisher took two Clippers down an’ bombed ’em yesterday—along with a few dozen Grik zeps, I’m happy to say. Dodged a lot of ant-air rockets too, an’ took damage to one of the planes. But they reported the sheds were empty.” He shook his head. “Whatever was in ’em is gone, scattered up the rivers, most likely. But I think Esshk is gettin’ ready for a big push of his own, an’ we need to jump before he does.”
Alan nodded. “Reports from Major Bekiaa-Sab-At in the Republic of Real People indicate Kaiser Nig-Taak and General Kim finally have their forces on track to advance on Sofesshk from the south. Bekiaa still has reservations about their preparedness, but everyone feels the urgency that we have to hit Esshk before he hits us.” He took off his hat and rubbed his brow. “I sense it too. Based on everything we know or can guess, if Esshk gets all his shit in the sock at the same time, he’ll have three-quarters of a million troops to throw at us. Generals Alden, Safir Maraan, and Muln-Rolak all agree we have to hit him first, before he consolidates, defeat his army in detail while it’s still scattered. A surprise attack from the south should help with that, followed quickly by Alden’s attack up the Zambezi with three full corps. It’s all we can do,” Alan added with a trace of desperation in his voice. “And I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if we fail,” he stated simply.
“It does seem a rather risky scheme,” Forester observed somberly. “But I don’t know what else you can do. When do you plan to go?”
“At the last possible moment,” Alan answered fervently. “We’ll keep up the harassing raids on Sofesshk, increasing them as Arracca and hopefully Madras get in place and add their planes to the effort. But the main point of those’ll be watching for when Esshk makes his move. Maybe he won’t gather his forces as long as we keep that up. We need time more than anything, time to get more ships and planes and people down there—and time for Captain Reddy to deal with Kurokawa on Zanzibar.”
“I was wondering when you’d get to that,” Forester said, glancing at the cruiser. “His possession of the battleship Savoie makes all this rather more problematic than would otherwise be the case.”