In Taylor Anderson’s acclaimed Destroyermen series, a parallel universe adds an extraordinary layer to the drama of World War II, as Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy and the crew of USS Walker , cast into that alternate earth, continue to fight the war that rages across the globe.   In the Pacific, as USS Walker is repaired and updated after a previous battle and Reddy is healing from his wounds, planning begins for a bold raid on the very heart of the Grik Empire. But time is running out for the Alliance army in Indiaa, and the Allied forces in the west must gather in an unprecedented land, air, and sea campaign to destroy the mighty Grik battle fleet and break through to their relief. All other plans go on hold when the attempt proves more difficult—and more heartbreakingly costly—than anyone imagined.  Meanwhile, the struggle continues on other fronts near and far: in the jungles of Borno in distant Southern Africa and in the Americas, where the allies are finally learning the terrible truth about the twisted Dominion. The Alliance is on the offensive everywhere, but their enemies have a few surprises, including new weaponry and new tactics...and a stunning geographic advantage that Reddy never suspected.   Until now.   Praise for the Destroyermen Novels   “Taylor Anderson has brought a fresh new perspective to the tale of a cross-time shipwreck. The action is gripping and riveting.”— New York Times Bestselling Author S. M. Stirling “With each novel, this new world comes into sharper focus....Readers who enjoy S. M. Stirling, Jules Verne, and Harry Turtledove will find this series enjoyable.”— SFRevu   “Taylor Anderson provides an incredible battle at sea that will have readers in awe.”— Alternative Worlds   Taylor Anderson is a gunmaker and forensic ballistic archaeologist who has been a technical and dialogue consultant for movies and documentaries. He is also a member of the National Historical Honor Society and of the United States Field Artillery Association, which awarded him the Honorable Order of St. Barbara. He has a master’s degree in history and teaches that subject at Tarleton State University in Stephenville, Texas, when his time allows. Maa–ni–la Navy Yard Fil–pin Lands March 9, 1944 Lieutenant Commander Matthew Reddy, High Chief of the Amer–i–caan Clan, Supreme Commander (by acclamation) of All Forces United Beneath (or Beside) the Banner of the Trees, and Captain of the old Asiatic Fleet four–stacker destroyer USS Walker (DD–163), loved baseball. He loved football too, and just about any team sport, as a matter of fact, but unlike many of the dwindling survivors of Walker, Mahan, and the old submarine S–19 on this world, he’d never closely followed the professional variety. He couldn’t recite team rosters or quote stats. He didn’t much care about all that and never had. He did care about the ball games between the various ships’ teams, however, and today his Walkers were playing the “Eastern League” champs from the Fil–pin shipyards: the Inaa Araang, or, roughly, “Rivet Drivers.” For just a while, Matt’s anxious mind could concentrate on something besides the vast war raging across the known reaches of this “other” earth. He could suppress his revulsion over the treachery and barbarism on the eastern front across the broad Pacific, or Eastern Sea. He could worry about something less tragic than the dreadful losses and strategic setbacks plaguing the war in the west. He could let his own plans—and painful wounds—sink back away from his foremost consciousness, if only for a brief rejuvenating spell. For a few hours, he could enjoy himself and all the people around him, human or Lemurian, who took the same pleasure and comfort from an admittedly serious contest, but one not designed to end in slaughter. The big game was underway in the main Maa–ni–la ballpark (one of three), in what had become the heart of the city. Once the area had been a kind of buffer between the city and its already impressive shipyards, almost a Central Park like Matt remembered in Manhattan. It was unlike the similar zone in Baalkpan, though, that pulsed with a never–ending bazaar. The closest thing in that distant city was the Parade Ground around Baalkpan’s Great Hall, which had become a peaceful refuge for those come to visit the war dead buried there. Again like Central Park, this had been a common area anyone could visit and use. The same still applied, but now there was a dirt diamond and impressive bleachers. The seats were protected by a backstop of woven wire from the new barbed–wire works—minus the barbs—and there was no wall on the far end of the field, just a chalky line no one dared cross on pain of eviction. Still, just as many Lemurians clambered for good spots beyond the outfield, hoping to catch one of the still–rare balls, as did those who packed the bleachers. It was a full house, and even the area around the ballpark was packed. Matt had grown accustomed to surrealistic scenes