ANDERSON, TAYLOR - Crusade

It had been a long day for Ben and his crew. They’d flown out of Baalkpan early that morning to make a final aerial observation of the objective. For the first time, Mallory was allowed to fly directly over the city—and the enemy forces. His observations weren’t reassuring. Almost forty Grik ships were now in the bay before Surabaya and they’d dispatched a sizable landing force. Unlike Baalkpan, the defenders had a sturdy wall all around their city, with what appeared to be formidable defenses. But the Grik army was more than large enough to encircle most of the settlement. The only exception to complete investiture was a stretch of waterfront and a portion of the bay between the city and the island of Madura, about three miles from the mainland. A large assemblage of native small craft was concentrated in the passage, and another fortification, as yet unengaged, was constructed on the point of land on the island closest to Surabaya. A dense cloud of smoke from burning buildings—probably set alight by what everyone was calling Grik Fire—hung over everything, and Mallory couldn’t see much detail. But this time there was no question whether the Grik saw the PBY.

Matt disliked allowing the plane to be seen by the enemy, but they had to know what they faced. Perhaps the unnatural thundering apparition that swooped low overhead had unnerved the Grik, Matt consoled himself. In order to avoid doing the same to the Aryaalans, Mallory’s crew had dropped hundreds of “pamphlets” over the defenders’ main position. These pamphlets consisted of light wooden shakes etched with a Lemurian phrase that said: “Your brothers to the north will aid you. We bring powerful friends. Do not fear.” It was all they could do to assure the defenders help was on the way. With his mission complete, Mallory returned to join the task force. Tomorrow, he would fly back to Baalkpan, since they dared not risk the plane in the fight to come. Once there, he’d stay in radio contact with Walker .

Sandra Tucker sat primly at Matt’s side, also on one of the stools, and showed no discomfort whatsoever. He wondered what she was thinking. He’d come to rely more and more on her intuition as time went by, but he had to admit he also just liked having her around. They’d evolved an unspoken understanding after they declared their love for one another. Aboard ship, a wall of strict propriety always stood between them in spite of their mutual attraction. They thought they hid it well. But sometimes when they were alone, a more . . . comfortable . . . familiarity existed between them. They both felt compelled to restrict any further exploration of their feelings, and Matt felt almost guilty that they shared as much as they did when the rest of the men had no prospects at all . . . unless you believed Silva and Risa really . . . He shook his head. Perhaps someday they’d find more people; even the Lemurian legends hinted at the possibility, but right now there was a war to fight. Terrible as it was, at least it had released some of the pressure-cooker tension caused by the “dame famine.”

In the meantime, for the sake of the men, Matt and Sandra must control their passions. That didn’t mean Matt intended to ignore her excellent insight. He leaned over and whispered in her ear: “What do you think of that Anai-Sa?” he asked, referring to the High Chief of the Fristar Home. The black-furred Lemurian had arrived at the conference late, as usual, and now sat hunched on a cushion in sulky disdain while the rest of the attendees finished the refreshments that were a prerequisite to any council.

“I think he only volunteered so he could get the cannons that were promised to the Homes that take part in the campaign,” she whispered back. “I don’t trust him. Iiv>

Matt nodded. Anai-Sa had been the most outspoken proponent of just packing up and sailing off, but to possess the power of the guns was a mighty incentive to hypocrisy. “Do you have any less vague impressions about our other commanders?” he asked with heavy irony.

A quiet chuckle escaped her, but she nodded. “They seem pretty solid for the most part. You know you can count on Rick, on Revenge, and Keje, of course.” She paused, considering. “I really like Ramic-Sa-Ar of Aracca and Tassat-Ay-Aracca of Nerracca .”

“They’re father and son, aren’t they?” Matt asked, referring to the pair of Lemurians who sat close together talking animatedly among themselves. There was certainly a strong resemblance. The younger one seemed a virtual replica of the older.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “and Tassat is actually younger than Anai, even though you could hardly tell by the way they act.” She sniffed. “As far as Geran-Eras of Humfra-Dar, it’s hard to say.” She was referring to the only female High Chief present. “She’s been a vocal supporter of the expedition from the start,” Sandra continued. “You may even remember her showing rather . . . energetic approval of your plan?”

Matt did remember then, and cringed. Even Lemurian females had surprising upper body strength, and Geran-Eras had actually embraced him after he made his pitch for the relief of Surabaya. He was sure she’d almost cracked some ribs.

“I think, as your Mr. Silva would say, ‘she has more than one dog in this hunt.’ Adar told me her mate and one of her children were killed in a Grik attack right before they came to Baalkpan. Might’ve even been one of the ships we destroyed, so she really likes you. Also, I imagine she sees this expedition as a chance for revenge. You might need to keep an eye on her.”

Matt nodded soberly and glanced around. The refreshments had been consumed and Keje was looking at him expectantly. “Better get started,” he said to Sandra, and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began aloud. “We have a battle to plan.”

Standing on Walker ’s bridge with his binoculars raised, Matt reflected that his return to Surabaya wasn’t altogether unlike his departure so long ago. Once again, the clouds above the distant city glowed and flickered with the reflected light of fires caused by an enemy bombardment. This time, the spectacle was all the more surreal. Walker ’s blowers roared at a pitch consistent with her ten knots, but in spite of that, even at this distance, the loud whump and overpressure of Japanese bombs would have been felt and heard. Instead, only an eerie silence accompanied the distant battle. They’d opened the bay from the east at 0120 and picked their way carefully through the Sapudi Islands, which were scattered haphazardly there. The last time Matt traversed these waters, Walker had had the services of a fat Dutch pilot, and Matt wondered suddenly where the man was now. Had he even survived? He banished the thought. All Walker had this time was a waning crescent moon. Of course, this time there was no minefield either.

As they drew closer, they could discern the stern lanterns of dozens of Grik ships moored in the bay, close to the city. All were ablaze with light and all rode secure at their anchors, never suspecting any threat might descend from the sea. A few, closer in, kept up a continuous desultory bombardment with their catapults, flinging “Grik Fire”rs. Usually, a red gout of flame mushroomed upward into the sky. The festive, brightly lit ships in the bay provided a stark contrast to the suffering inside the city beyond.

Matt carefully refocused the binoculars dead ahead, watching one Grik ship in particular. Alone among its identical sisters, this one was under plain sail, creeping slowly among its brethren on a light southerly wind. Apparently accepted without fanfare as yet another reinforcement, the ship with the unusual blue glass in its lanterns moved deep into the enemy formation. Matt marked its progress by that blue light that identified it as Revenge .