Taylor Anderson - Firestorm

Keje looked at the Marine. “Well, in case he can’t, shouldn’t you call a staff meeting of your own? Begin preparations to embark troops?”

Pete shook his head. “I passed the word as soon as I heard the rumors, before I ever came to see you. That’s one thing we have sorted out; everybody knows what ship to board, with what equipment. It’s our job to make sure those ships off-load where we need them. As you said, I guess there’ll be plenty of time to decide that once we know where we’re going-if we’re going.” He paused. “No, I figured I’d hang around here until we get the word. Then, if I have to, I can hit the ground running. I’ll have my staff meeting when-if-we call everyone aboard here. I already have a few ideas, but we’d better call Letts out now. Get him figuring the angles too, and wrapping his brain around what we might have to do. Let him get a running start.”

“Agreed,” Keje said. “We will fetch Mr. Letts, and we can all wait together. Hopefully, once we know the score, we can sleep tomorrow away. If not… perhaps it’s more appropriate in a way. Once more we shall move to war in reaction to necessity, and those who die will do so to protect others. I confess, this cold-blooded planning for battles that we begin leaves me feeling… most odd.” He snorted. “I think I have been away from the fight too long!”

“Maybe so,” Pete agreed. “Your tune’s a little different than it was right after Baalkpan.” Keje looked at him sharply, but Alden continued without pause. “Remembering the way things used to be, I guess I can even understand your desire to ‘react.’ Most of your folks never used to fight anybody unless they were attacked-but you know this has gone way past that, and you ve got to forget it. You’ve seen some action and’ve got plenty of guts-everybody knows! Your rush to rescue Garrett’s task force proves it again. But one thing you have to get through your head is, bad as it was before, this war’s going to get a whole lot worse. I saw it at Rangoon. Grik’ll eat each other if they have to, to stay in the fight, and now we’re taking the fight to their ground, it’s liable to get meaner than we can imagine. Top all that off with the fact that, even if we had a bel- lyful and decided to quit chasing them, they’d just turn around and come after us again!” Pete shook his head. “You knew from the start, way before you took your admiral job, this is a fight to the finish and it’s ‘us or them.’ I pick us.”

He looked at Keje for a moment, then stared out at the bay. “You know what the scariest part of all is? The Grik are finally starting to wise up. This stunt they pulled against Garrett’s task force is another example, and it stinks. I don’t know if they were just trying to bust the blockade… or get us to come a-running.”

“You think we play into their hands if we… react… as I’ve ordered?” Keje asked.

“No,” Pete answered simply. “I don’t think they have a clue what we’re about to land on them with. I do think we have to start keeping our eyes peeled, though. They sucker-punched Garrett, and if we don’t watch out, they might do it to us. Initiative’s our best asset, and we lose a lot when we react. I’d much rather they react to what we do, than the other way around. Whoever has the initiative has the edge. Besides, there’s nothing ‘cold-blooded’ about this war. The very idea of killin’ Grik always heats my blood I ont›

Keje looked at him. “General Lord Rolak told me you were beginning to ‘enjoy’ this war, but I did not credit it.”

“He’s one to talk,” Pete retorted. “His people used to fight wars for sport!” He scratched his bearded chin. “Although I’ve heard him admit this isn’t a ‘fun’ war a time or two.” He sighed. “No, Admiral, I don’t like this any more than you do, and I really don’t like losing people… Given a choice, I think I’d enjoy explorin’ this world you got here instead of fightin’ my way across it. That said, I do get a kick outta killin’ Grik. The bastards need killin’. They’re ugly, mean, and vicious, and if we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us; it’s as simple as that.” Pete shrugged. “With that in mind, rubbin’ ’em out doesn’t bug me at all. Sue me.”

Commodore Jim Ellis from USS Dowden collected Alan Letts and came out to the massive ship, joining them in Keje’s spacious “admiral’s quarters,” now substituting for Big Sal‘ s old “Great Hall.” As the evening progressed, more commanders gathered of their own accord. Generals Rolak and Maraan returned, and Captain Jis-Tikkar (Tikker)-commander (COFO) of Big Sal’ s 1st Air Wing-“drifted by.” Geran-Eras and Al Vernon arrived from Humfra-Dar, and that set off a flood of other naval officers. Soon, Cablaas-Rag-Laan from USS Scott, Jarrik-Fas from USS Nakja-Mur, and Mescus-Ricum from Kas-Ra-Ar joined them, as did the captains of all the other DDs in port; Haakar-Faask, Naga, Bowles, Felts, Saak-Fas, Clark, Davis, and Ramic-Sa-Ar. All the warships in First Fleet except Tassa’ -and those in Task Force Garrett, of course-were now represented. Finally, realizing the “big meeting” was forming up regardless of how the Donaghey and Tolson situation turned out, Pete Alden went ahead and sent for the commanders of the various land forces as well. It was good to have everyone together; it was rare that such meetings took place. For the time, however, there was little for anyone to talk about, and there was an awkward air in the vast compartment.

Scrawny, redheaded “Colonel” Billy Flynn approached Pete through the crowd. His mustache and chin whiskers were going white, and he was twisting the ends of the mustache unconsciously, in the Imperial style. At least he hasn’t started braiding it, Pete thought. This was only the second time he’d seen the fortyish former submariner since the man arrived with his “Amalgamated” regiment a few weeks before. Since then, the regiment, composed of volunteers from a wide variety of Homes and settlements not yet official members of the Grand Alliance, had been on training maneuvers in the hills.

“Evening, General,” Flynn said, with only a trace of irony. He remembered when Pete was just a sergeant. Of course, Pete recalled when Flynn was just the chief of the boat on S-19.

“Billy,” Pete greeted him. “How are your fellas shaping up?”

“Swell, although more than half aren’t ‘fellas.’ ” Flynn lowered his voice. “Female troops sure take getting used to!”

“Tell me,” Pete agreed. “That’s the way these ’Cats are. Most of them, anyway. You won’t catch me complaining about how they fight, though. How about you? How are you doing since you traded your flippers for a bayonet?”

“You can have my flippers, and my dolphins too, in this kooky sea,” Flynn replied. “I’ll take a bayonet any day. I saw my share of shore fighting at Baalkpan as you’ll recall, and that wasn’t nearly a scary as swimming with fish that could eat my old boat.” He shook his head. “You know, I was in the Army once. In the Great War, back home. I was seventeen. The only part of France I ever saw was covered with trenches, shell holes, and rotten body parts. Next thing you know, they snatched me up, put me in the British Army, and made me fight Bolsheviks in the snow and ice! I didn’t really mind that so much, you know? Fightin’ those Red devils was kind of like fighting Grik-they’d just come at you in swarms. The Brit commanders weren’t much account; the only guys you could really rely on besides ours were these Canuk artillerymen…” Billy shrugged. “Anyway, after that was over with, they cut us loose, and if a kid wanted to stay in the service and get fed regular, he had to be willing to do scary, unusual stuff.” He grinned. “So I joined the Navy and went in subs.”