wouldn’t wait until we got back to Baalkpan. He wanted to throw a big party, even though ’Cats aren’t big on formal weddings. But you promised me a honeymoon! On Respite! The governor there, Radcliff, is already gearing up for a pretty big deal, probably almost as big a wedding as His Majesty would have managed. You are not going to leave me at the altar like a dope. . . .” Tears threatened to spill, but she shook her head and dashed a sleeve across her eyes. “Not after all this time, after all we’ve been through!” Her voice took on a hint of bitterness.
“This war is never going to end, Matthew. Don’t you see? Someday, we’ll beat the Grik and the Doms and whatever else comes along. I don’t doubt that anymore. . . . But I know you. You’re not just fighting them . You’ll fight the whole damn world until it’s a safe place for the people you care about to live in peace and freedom!” She dried her eyes. “Okay. That’s the way it is. That’s who you are, and as much as I hate it sometimes, that’s also why I love you so much. I DO love you, but you’ve made me wait an awful long time. I’m thirty, now, Matthew,” she said, “and yes, maybe I want kids. Mainly though, I want you, for however often . . . or however long I can have you.”
“Okay!” Matt defended lightly, deliberately misunderstanding her mood. “It’s your operation, like you said. I wasn’t trying to weasel out.”
CHAPTER 2
////// Baalkpan, Borno
Headquarters “Home” of the Grand Alliance
February 22, 1944
C ommander Alan Letts carefully negotiated the muddy ruts along the Baalkpan pathways. Deep trenches marked the passage of heavily laden “brontasarry”-drawn trucks that transported the increasingly sophisticated machinery built in the heavy-industry park. The trucks churned along at a regular, previously undreamed-of pace, bound for the burgeoning shipyard that continuously gouged at the dense jungle frontier north of the city. Baalkpan had always been a port city, but now the shipyard sprawled like a fattening amoeba wherever the land touched the bay.
“Watch your step, for God’s sake!” croaked Commander Perry Brister, picking his way alongside Alan. “You get in the middle of that, you’ll be done.” The former Mahan engineering officer’s voice didn’t match his young face and dark hair. It had been ruined when he commanded the defense of Fort Atkinson during the desperate battle against the Grik that once nearly consumed the city. He pointed at a bawling, long-necked beast about the size of an Asian elephant dragging another wheeled cart in their direction. “Smushed or buried,” he grated darkly.
“No sweat,” Letts said, but slowed his pace. Someday, he thought, if the demands of war ever give us a chance, we’ll have to do something about these damn roads. They were “repaved” constantly by the almost daily rains—and brontasarry-drawn graders—but the ruts weren’t as bad as the goopy slurry between them churned up by the massive, stupid beasts. A man—or Lemurian—could get stuck and maybe die in that.
There could be no break in the pace of operations and wartime production, however. Baalkpan—and the young Alliance it led—was only just beginning to hit a stride that might keep up with the demands of an increasingly global war. There could be no slacking off for any reason for the foreseeable future.
The irony’s almost funny, Letts thought. Once, on another world, he’d been supply officer aboard USS Walker, and even by his own definition he’d been the poster boy for all slackers. One could have argued at the time that the world of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet was already quite different from the rest of the Navy, but that held absolutely zero relevance now. Here, Alan Letts had reinvented himself and was proud of what he’d become and accomplished. He was Chief of Staff to Captain Matthew Reddy and, by extension, a remarkable Lemurian named Adar, who was
“This war is never going to end, Matthew. Don’t you see? Someday, we’ll beat the Grik and the Doms and whatever else comes along. I don’t doubt that anymore. . . . But I know you. You’re not just fighting them . You’ll fight the whole damn world until it’s a safe place for the people you care about to live in peace and freedom!” She dried her eyes. “Okay. That’s the way it is. That’s who you are, and as much as I hate it sometimes, that’s also why I love you so much. I DO love you, but you’ve made me wait an awful long time. I’m thirty, now, Matthew,” she said, “and yes, maybe I want kids. Mainly though, I want you, for however often . . . or however long I can have you.”
“Okay!” Matt defended lightly, deliberately misunderstanding her mood. “It’s your operation, like you said. I wasn’t trying to weasel out.”
CHAPTER 2
////// Baalkpan, Borno
Headquarters “Home” of the Grand Alliance
February 22, 1944
C ommander Alan Letts carefully negotiated the muddy ruts along the Baalkpan pathways. Deep trenches marked the passage of heavily laden “brontasarry”-drawn trucks that transported the increasingly sophisticated machinery built in the heavy-industry park. The trucks churned along at a regular, previously undreamed-of pace, bound for the burgeoning shipyard that continuously gouged at the dense jungle frontier north of the city. Baalkpan had always been a port city, but now the shipyard sprawled like a fattening amoeba wherever the land touched the bay.
“Watch your step, for God’s sake!” croaked Commander Perry Brister, picking his way alongside Alan. “You get in the middle of that, you’ll be done.” The former Mahan engineering officer’s voice didn’t match his young face and dark hair. It had been ruined when he commanded the defense of Fort Atkinson during the desperate battle against the Grik that once nearly consumed the city. He pointed at a bawling, long-necked beast about the size of an Asian elephant dragging another wheeled cart in their direction. “Smushed or buried,” he grated darkly.
“No sweat,” Letts said, but slowed his pace. Someday, he thought, if the demands of war ever give us a chance, we’ll have to do something about these damn roads. They were “repaved” constantly by the almost daily rains—and brontasarry-drawn graders—but the ruts weren’t as bad as the goopy slurry between them churned up by the massive, stupid beasts. A man—or Lemurian—could get stuck and maybe die in that.
There could be no break in the pace of operations and wartime production, however. Baalkpan—and the young Alliance it led—was only just beginning to hit a stride that might keep up with the demands of an increasingly global war. There could be no slacking off for any reason for the foreseeable future.
The irony’s almost funny, Letts thought. Once, on another world, he’d been supply officer aboard USS Walker, and even by his own definition he’d been the poster boy for all slackers. One could have argued at the time that the world of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet was already quite different from the rest of the Navy, but that held absolutely zero relevance now. Here, Alan Letts had reinvented himself and was proud of what he’d become and accomplished. He was Chief of Staff to Captain Matthew Reddy and, by extension, a remarkable Lemurian named Adar, who was
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