Free B00BPJL400 EBOK by Taylor Anderson Page A

wears out,” Leedom pointed out in a low tone. “So do people. At least we’re starting to get stuff up the Tacos River from the coast,” he added. The river had been named for Leedom’s Lemurian backseater, who’d been killed in action.
    “We are,” Alden agreed, “but the Grik’ll figure that out eventually and start sniping at the boats and barges all the way in and out. They’ll line the river with heavy guns—or, God help us, put a floating battery in it.”
    “At least they can’t get one of their baattle-ships upstream,” said the Lemurian General Daanis of General Maraan’s Silver Battalion of her famous “600.” He was tall for a ’Cat and had the same black fur as his Aryaalan queen.
    “The water is too shallow, even with this unending rain,” agreed Captain Jis-Tikkar. The sable-furred Tikker, as he was better known, was COFO (Commander of Flight Operations) aboard
Salissa
, or
Big Sal
, before the Battle of Madras. He was Leedom’s boss and had brought what remained of
Salissa
’s 1st Naval Air Wing to join Leedom’s pickup squadrons of Nancys after his ship was badly damaged by suicide glider bombs dropped by zeppelins, of all things. Some of the weapons had even made attacks within the perimeter, but most crashed harmlessly in the lake or surrounding jungle, and their carrier zeps had been shot down. “And there is the ford just east of the lake. Even we must transfer supplies to other barges to bring them here. No baatle-ship can pass the ford.”
    “They might think of something,” Leedom warned. “We can’t ever take for granted just because we can’t do something, they can’t. Not again. If one of their battlewagons—or anything with big guns—ever
does
make it to the lake, we’ll be in big trouble.” Nobody replied. It was obvious such a thing could be catastrophic.
    “There’s way too many worst-case scenarios for me, the way things stand,” Pete said at last. “We’re holding our own, barely, but the Grik keep growing stronger. We’re standing on the end of an awful thin twig, supply wise, and Keje’s got to figure some way to retake Madras!”
    “Keje will come,” Tikker said with conviction. “
Salissa
is under repair, and newer, better ships swell his fleet. Colonel Maallory is on Ceylon with his P-Forties, and they await only more powerful weapons.”
    “I’m sure you’re right,” Pete said, wishing he was. The Grik fleet in Madras was also swelling. He looked at his watch again. “Come on. The Clipper’ll be here shortly. I want to see what they brought.”
    General Alden ducked out into the slackening drizzle, followed by half a dozen men and ’Cats. The lake wasn’t far, its banks bordering the navigable portion lit by fires. There were a lot of fires in the damp forest: watch fires, campfires, places where wet troops could gather and dry their feet for a while and also clear beacons for the planes that came by night. From the sky, the lake would appear as an inky darkness surrounded by bright dots. Then, of course, there were the flashes of lightning and the seemingly endless battle that flared periodically. Even as Pete watched, the rumbling flashes quickened in the south, across the water, and he tensed.
It’s so strange,
he thought,
how I’ve learned to gain a feel for the “life” of the battle by the surrealistic display that pulses in the night
. “The Second and Ninth Aryaal are catching it,” he observed.
    “Yes, sir,” Daanis agreed. “That’s the second thrust there tonight. This Gener-aal Haalik tests us everywhere.”
    “Him or his pet Jap,” Pete grumbled, referring to the general, Niwa, whom Rolak’s personal Grik interpreter, Hij-Geerki, had identified for them. Pete wasn’t sure how “Geeky” got his information, since few Grik prisoners could ever be secured and those that were usually just . . . died. It was possible he went among the wounded after a fight and spoke to them as one of their own, but Rolak