CHAPTER 15
Andaman
Island
Almost all the commanders
of every force within what was now inclusively described as “First
Fleet” were present in Aahd-mah-raal Keje-Fris-Ar’s vast quarters
aboard Salissa Home. The sole exception
was Greg Garrett, who was patrolling the strait aboard Donaghey, dodging mountain fish and chasing the few
Grik ships still trying to sneak past. The meeting began with a
friendly meal, in the Lemurian way, and no serious business was
discussed until the last plate was removed. It didn’t take long for
the diners to finish. All were anxious to discuss the outcome of
the Battle of Raan-goon. Overall command of First Fleet had already
been formally turned over to Keje, and he sat at the head of a
long, ornately carved dining table. Formal dining tables were not
the norm among sea folk, who tended to eat from plates on their
laps while lounging on comfortable cushions, but that sort of
arrangement was awkward when discussions involved so many. Somebody
always had to shout to be heard. The vast table allowed a formal
setting where discussion could take place with everyone at eye
level and easy to hear—if Navy decorum was observed.
Keje had taken the
idea from the hideous green-topped wardroom table aboard
Walker, and he encouraged the same kind
of free-flowing back and forth he’d witnessed there. His table
wasn’t green, however; it was a well-oiled, polished, inlaid thing
of beauty; hand-carved with delicate raised relief and possessed of
deep, dark, mysterious grains. It would probably never be used for
surgery, but it served all the other necessary purposes. Those
around it all sat on stools, an essential compromise, and one that
didn’t inconvenience humans or Lemurians. ’Cats and their tails
always had a difficult time with human chairs.
Keje glanced around
the table, listening to the gently rumbling conversations, and then
wiped his mouth with a napkin. Pushing back his stool, he raised
his large cup of seep.
“My friends, comrades
in the Holy Crusade of our time, let all Fleet elements that
participated now add the word ‘Raan-goon’ to the folds of their
flags, to commemorate this great victory!”
There followed
applause, foot stamping, and a little gentle knocking on the
magnificent table amid the hoots of approval. Even the captains of
Scott and Kas-Ra-Ar were pleased. They’d both initially been
put out by the rumored proclamation, and Captain Cablaas-Rag-Lan of
Scott even transmitted a protest to the
flagship. He’d suggested that Salissa
herself shouldn’t claim the honor if they couldn’t. Keje patiently
replied that Salissa brought the planes
and Scott and Kas-Ra-Ar escorted Salissa, so of course they had
“participated.”
“Let it be recorded
on the flags,” Keje continued, “and let it be set down in the very
Sacred Scrolls! Let the Scrolls also reflect that Commodore Ellis
led First Fleet to its first victory, and General Aal-den designed
the battle that exterminated the Grik from the environs of
Raan-goon!” There was more acclaim, and Keje poised his cup to
drink. “My friend Adar, once Sky Priest of this very Home and now
Chairman of the Grand Alliance, has received my report and asks
that I offer these words: ‘May we all pray to the Heavens above in
whatever way we choose, that this victory will be the first of
many, leading to that final, ultimate victory when the Grik vermin
are no more!’ ” Everyone drank then, and the room thundered around
them. Keje sat and motioned for more seep. “Now,” he said, as the
celebration waned, “tell me everything that went wrong.” There was
no accusation in his tone, only a genuine desire to learn what
hadn’t worked so they could fix it next time. Next time there might
be no room for error at all.
“Your Excellency,”
Jim began, addressing Keje as the head of state he was, but Keje
held up a hand.
“Commodore Ellis—yes,
you will retain that designation for now—we have finally solved
that . . . bureau-craatic . . . issue quite nicely, I believe. Mr.
Letts struck upon the solution while holding his drooling new
youngling, as I understand it.” There was laughter. “It strikes me
as . . . appropriate, and even elegant, perhaps.” He looked around.
“I have accepted a ‘Reserve Commission’ in the Amer-i-caan Navy!
While I command First Fleet, I am aahd-mah-raal only. I still have
a vote in the Allied Council, but as a different person,
representing a different Home. I think Mr. Letts was pondering the
profound contrasts between being both a father and Adar’s chief of
staff at the same time. He realized that the one duty need not
preclude the other. In any event, Salissa has accepted a reserve commission as well,
and for the purposes of First Fleet, she is the U.S. Navy Ship
CV-1, Salissa!”
There was another
round of enthusiastic acclaim and Ellis smiled. It was elegant. He knew it couldn’t be “regulation,”
but sometimes they had to improvise. “Admiral,” he revised, nodding
with a grin. “We need to work on logistics—a lot. We’re not exactly
starting from scratch, as we learned quite a bit before Baalkpan,
but we had Letts around to handle it. Besides, defensive and
offensive logistics are just as
different as defensive and offensive tactics. I wish Alan Letts was here now, but we’ve
got to sort it out. It could have been a lot worse at Rangoon,
disastrously worse, but at least we had everything we needed. It
just wasn’t necessarily where we needed it.”
“That chore will
largely and necessarily fall upon you,” Keje said, “and by
extension, every executive officer of every ship, battalion,
regiment, and company in this command. You are my ‘executive
officer’ and chief of staff. You must coordinate this
effort.”
“Aye, aye,
Admiral.”
“It will become
massive quite soon,” Keje warned. “The troops, equipment,
munitions, ships—all are ‘in the pipeline,’ as you say, right now.
You must put yourself in front of this situation.”
“I’ll see to it,”
Ellis said, looking around the table with an expression even
Lemurians could read by now that said, “There better be a
continuous procession of ‘execs’ to see me ASAP.”
“Next?”
“We need better
contingency planning,” Pete said. “My fault, this time. Jim asked
me to add aircraft to the plan, but I didn’t think things through
well enough.” He nodded at Tikker, sitting opposite and to the
left. “A couple of times, we could have used close support again
after Captain Tikker flew home. We didn’t have any contingency for
that possibility. I just came up with some guidelines and said ‘do
this.’ Granted, it might not have worked anyway. Our communications
are limited and I don’t know if I could’ve even gotten through to
him later. Things got really tangled up toward the end. Frankly,
comm discipline went straight to hell, and we’ve got to fix that.
As long as we’re stuck with a single frequency, we’re just going to
have to work around it. Still, if I’d only thought to have Tikker
put a squadron on the water, maybe carried some bombs and fuel on a
couple of ships, we could’ve had air support and recon throughout
the latter part of the fight.”
“Excellent point,”
Keje said. “In fact, I think it should become policy that all ships
carry enough fuel to resupply several aircraft—just as Walker and Mahan once
did.” He paused. “That brings us to another issue. Captain Tikker,
all things considered, the Wing performed extremely well. You are
to be commended. I would like for you to explain, however, the
reasons for the number of aircraft and crews we lost in this
action.”
Tikker stood. He’d
already discussed this with Keje, and he hadn’t expected to be
called out. “First of all, Aahd-mah-raal, the very nature of air
operations is dangerous in the extreme. It is also new. Unlike many
of the new things we learn, however, aviators are not standing on
the ground or upon the deck of a ship when they try the ‘real
thing’ for the first time. Everyone makes mistakes, but in the sky
there is no room for them. It takes only one.” Tikker looked down,
then met Keje’s eyes again. “One of the mistakes was one we have
tried to train away, based on Major Mallory’s cautions. He called
it ‘target fixation.’ I know I witnessed it firsthand in one
instance, when we lost a plane directly in front of General
Aal-den’s Marines.”
Pete was nodding. “I
saw it. I’ve seen it before too. It was a classic case. The kid
clearly meant to drop on a particular group of Grik . . . and just
followed the line a little too long. Hit the trees.” He shrugged.
“It’s a terrible, wasteful, tragic thing, but it can happen to
anybody if you’re not careful. It happens on the shield wall! You
get to paying too much attention to the enemy in front of you and
the bastard next to him sticks you with his spear.” He looked at
Keje. “Hell, it can even happen to admirals.”
Keje nodded. “That is
exactly the point I wanted to make. To everyone, not just Captain
Tikker. We lost three aircraft to this ‘target fixation’—one each
from three of four squadrons we sent to battle. A few of the planes
had mechanical problems and returned to the ship, and one had to
land in the river near Donaghey due to
engine failure, but all their crews were safe. We had one plane and
crew that simply disappeared. No one saw it go down or where it
went. In total, we lost four crews and eight planes out of
thirty-two! Granted, four of those planes and crews were recovered
and will fight again, but they were out of this fight! That is a
higher percentage of losses than any other force engaged! Do not
let it be said that the Naval Air Corps does not ‘pull its weight’!
Still, the one greatest single cause of our loss was this ‘target
fixation,’ and General Aal-den is correct; it can happen to anyone.
My friends, perhaps the greatest example of this is what we planned
for and did to Amagi herself! Let this
thought linger in your minds as we prepare for the invasion of
Saa-lon. Never let it be far from your thoughts as we plan. Think
on it now as we discuss the mistakes of the enemy, and the things
we did right!”
Lord General Rolak
glanced at Safir Maraan and his eyes twinkled.
“Old warriors and
their heroics,” Safir bemoaned. The laughter lifted fallen
spirits.
“Through the noble
efforts of General Aal-den and myself,” Rolak began, “as well as
the superfluous presence of a pair of youngling Marines, we have
gained a most useful asset for the Alliance! We will soon know
everything there is to know about Saa-lon in particular, and the
Grik in general.” His tone lost its humor. “I expect we will learn
more about our enemy, at last, than we can bear to know after a
meal.” He gestured to a pair of Marines, and together with Risa,
they entered one of the inner chambers of the admiral’s quarters. A
moment later, they returned with a living Grik! Some of those
present had been expecting this, but most hadn’t known and there
were a few gasps and growls.
“May I present my new
pet, and special advisor on Grik affairs!” Rolak said with a
flourish. “Hij-Geerki!”
With rapid, nervous
glances around the room, the old but still ferocious-looking
creature hesitantly bowed.