Deadly Shores (26 page)

Adar blinked at him, but then lowered his eyes. “Of course. Please forgive me. Sometimes I find myself . . . overly enthusiastic for our cause.”

Matt studied Adar and examined other faces around the table. 'Cats were so hard to read! He thought he'd properly redressed the decision-making process, and hoped that was all it would take. He feared that if he went further, hounding the various commanders for commitments to “follow the rules,” he'd wind up insulting and alienating them, in addition to undermining Adar at a very bad time. He was walking a narrow tightrope, and wasn't sure what more he could do. He managed a conciliatory smile. “I don't think so, Mr. Chairman,” he denied, “but we do need to get things straight.” He leaned back in his chair. “All that said,
I
don't personally believe the sub was acting with the Grik. Think about it. If Gunny Horn really saw its periscope off Madras, and I guess he must have after all, it tailed us all the way from there to the point it attacked us. If it was working for the Grik, why wait? Why not strike where we were. It had more targets too, all at anchor. Hell, it could've got
Big Sal
,
Arracca
,
Baalkpan Bay
—who knows how bad it could've hurt us there. We sure weren't looking for
it
. Instead, it waited until our only possible destination was Madagascar. Why?”

That brought another round of discussion, but Courtney knocked on the table this time, with a flourish, peering about with his caterpillar eyebrows arched. He waited for silence, then looked at Matt. “The device you described on the vessel's conning tower—do you know what it was? I do.”

Matt arched his own eyebrows in response.

“In short, it is an emblem I remember as having represented a faction of what essentially evolved into French
fascists
, known to have collaborated with the Nazis quite enthusiastically.” He shook his head, eyes still wide. “Though this is the first I've ever heard of the symbol being displayed on any enemy ship or vehicle.”

“Mr. Campeti was right,” Chief Gray growled. “They were French Nazzys after all!”

“For all intents and purposes,” Courtney agreed.

“Maybe,” Matt said thoughtfully, but frowned.

Gray grunted. “Well, if it really was a boat fulla French Nazzys, maybe it
did
just shoot at us because of our flag.”

“But again, why wait so long if that's the case?” Courtney pressed. “As Captain Reddy said, there were far more ships at Madras flying the same flag.”

“Perhaps it was because, if not necessarily in league with our enemies, whoever was aboard that vessel had some reason to desire that this fleet draw no nearer to them,” Inquisitor Choon speculated. Everyone looked at him, considering the implications.

“Hmm. A most amusing theory,” Courtney murmured. By the expressions and blinking around the table, Matt didn't think anyone else thought it was funny. “And I do suspect Inquisitor Choon has the right of it,” Courtney decided. “But that leaves the motive still in question. Why stop us from approaching the Grik capital, while remaining aloof from the Grik?”

“Because, whoever it was, they didn't necessarily want to
help
the Grik—as much as they wanted to prevent us from decisively hurting them,” Herring proposed, rubbing his cheek.

“Very good, Commander Herring! Precisely,” Courtney agreed enthusiastically. “Someone out there, besides the sodding Doms of course, seems to think they have something to gain as long as we and the Grik keep tearing away at each other.”

“But we killed 'em,” Gray said. “So that's an end to them!”

“I would not be so sure,” Choon murmured, his eyes blinking rapidly in contemplation. “Behavior such as has been proposed implies considerable understanding of the conflict underway. Understanding that must have taken time to achieve.” He lowered his ears in apology. “I know little of military matters,” he demurred. “I am no general or legate, after all. But even I cannot escape the conclusion that such a vessel and its crew should not have been willing to follow your fleet so far, expending valuable fuel and ultimately munitions—not to mention the final, fatal risk it undertook—unless it had some expectation of replenishment. Lingering animosity from a lost world does not strike me as sufficient reason to do those things. There is more here than meets the eye, and I suspect more ‘French Naazzys,' or whatever they are,
must
be out there somewhere.”

There was dead silence for a moment as they pondered that.

“So what do we do now?” Gray asked, his frustration evident.

Matt looked around, examining each face. Finally, he squeezed Sandra's hand beneath the table and looked at Adar's expectant, pleading blinking.

“We proceed with the plan,” he said at last.
“Carefully,”
he stressed. “And unless these new guys have a
fleet
of subs, which I can't imagine, we've eliminated them from the equation. At least for now. We might as well do what we set out to do. If there are more enemies waiting for us out there, all the more reason to settle up with the ones we know about. Especially if that's what they least want us to do.”

//////
Allied Expeditionary Force

Indiaa

July 24, 1944

G
eneral Pete Alden slapped the tent flap aside and bowled into his HQ like a rampaging bull. He stopped just inside, blinking his gummy eyes. He'd been up all night and had stretched out at dawn—maybe twenty minutes before—to have a short nap.
Perfect timing, as usual,
he thought glumly. Comm-'Cats and staff personnel scattered when he stepped, frowning, toward the big table in the center of the tent where General Muln Rolak sat with “General” Orochi Niwa. Niwa still looked terrible, but the Japanese confidant of Halik, the Grik general, was clearly, finally on the mend. Man and Lemurian both stood, joined by Hij Geerki, who'd been crouching by Rolak's side.

“What the hell's going on?” Pete demanded, addressing Rolak. He could hardly look at Niwa. The Japanese former special naval landing force lieutenant was perfectly willing to tell them whatever they wanted to know about their enemy, and he'd supplied a lot of information. He was a lot like Geerki in that respect. He almost seemed to consider himself Rolak's “property” now. But Pete couldn't get over the man's making no bones about his
friendship
with Halik—a Grik!—and that whole notion gave Pete the heebie-jeebies.

“It would seem that Col-nol Daal-i-bor Svec and his disobedient Legionnaires have managed to provoke a real battle this time,” Rolak replied, urbane as always.

“I did tell you,” Niwa said, almost apologetically. “General Halik is no fool. He was bound to find a pattern to their raiding sooner or later. He has done so, and prepared a reception for your multispecies Czechs.” He shook his head. “I would have thought that you should have convinced yourselves by now that he is no ordinary Grik, and done more to restrain Colonel Svec.”

Pete glanced at Niwa impatiently. “Sure, we know that. That was why we
sent
Svec in where we did. Just didn't expect Halik to bite so quick.” Niwa blinked at him in surprise, and Pete looked at his watch.

“Don't be offended, General Niwa,” Rolak said soothingly. “
I
know you are trustworthy, but Gener-aal Aalden still harbors resentments from another war. He is not quite ready to unburden himself as freely around you as perhaps he should.” It was more than that, of course, and even Rolak didn't trust Niwa as far as he could throw him when it came to planning actual operations against his friend. Whatever warped sense of duty had formed in Niwa's heart was such a confusing thing that Rolak wasn't entirely sure the man even remained sane, but he tried to foster the impression that he accepted Niwa at least as much as Geerki. Pete gazed at the map on the table and then stepped to the larger one painted directly on the wall of the tent.

“Have you alerted Sixth Corps?” he demanded.

“Of course. And Gener-aal Taa-leen moves my First Corps as we speak.”

“Svec's movements are a deliberate deception? A
trap
?” Niwa asked as realization dawned. “You
lied
to General Halik about being unable to control him!” He shook his head. “The Grik are terrible creatures, but they do not lie—and you are breaking the truce!”

Pete's eyes bulged with fury when he turned on Niwa. “You listen to me! Don't you dare compare anything we do to those monsters out there!
We
didn't start this war, and
we
don't run around slaughterin' and eating everybody we run into, including our own. You need to snap out of whatever spell they've laid on you and shake back out into being a man! I know you're a Jap, and Japs are weird, but I've learned they're not all crazy either. Look at General Shinya! He's my friend not only because we fight on the same side, but because we're fighting on the
right
side.” He took a breath. “I know you admire this Halik lizard, and maybe he's a peach compared to the rest, but that's also what makes him more dangerous to real people like us . . . and you! You've helped us because deep inside you know it's right—I hope—but you ain't a Grik, see? You just
ain't
!”

Pete turned to the map. “Svec's raids have always been part of the plan to keep your buddy off balance, keep him jumping and guessing. Based on what you've told us about Halik, and our own observations, we figured he'd get serious about slamming Svec sooner or later, especially if he thought we didn't care if he did. In doing so, he's left a gap, a big one, right in front of our very favorite pass that Svec never raided through, and we're about to jump right in it.” Pete rubbed his face, cooling down. “And as for breaking the truce, and ‘Grik don't lie,' what a load of crap! Halik lies at least as good as I do, and our air's confirmed he's been getting ready to hammer
us
. There never has been any trust! Good Lord, what a thought! This is
war
! All we're doing is getting on with the fight that got called off, on our terms, before Halik does it first.” He cocked his head and looked at Niwa. “So, are you finally ready to shake off the scales, or feathers—whatever—and get on the team? The team with
people
? Or are you going to keep wallowing in the notion that they're just as good as us, only different? Who knows what we—or maybe Halik—might make of the Grik after we kill most of 'em, but right now killin' 'em is all we got.” Pete sighed. “My question is, are you ready for that? We could use your help figuring out what Halik'll do next. And who knows? That might be the only way
not
to kill the bastard!”

Niwa sat silent, staring at Pete for what seemed a long time, and there was no way to know what thoughts clashed behind his dark, solemn eyes. Finally, he nodded. “I am ready,” he said quietly. “And I will do what I can. I do know General Halik better than anyone, I suppose. But I must suggest you do your best
not
to kill him. You can't ever kill all the Grik in the world. You have not seen . . .” He shook his head. “In any event, someday you will need to speak to one again. Better that it should be one that has a grasp of reason.”

*   *   *

General Halik snatched his breastplate off and checked himself for a wound. He was far enough from the fighting that he doubted he'd been deliberately targeted, and suspected the projectile that struck him must be a stray—but he could no longer be certain of that. There was only the slightest graze, but when he looked at the breastplate, he was stunned to see the terrible hole, low on the side, where it rode just above his hip. He slung the bronze object away. “Of what use is armor against such weapons?” he snarled. Nearly all the enemy he faced here now were armed with the curious breechloaders his friend Niwa once showed him, and Niwa had rightly foretold how dangerous they would be. The enemy had always possessed better weapons, but Grik numbers made up for that. Halik had grown to dislike such equations in a most un-Grik-like fashion, but had no choice but to embrace them. Now, for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if it would be enough.

“Armor makes the hole in your body bigger,” General Ugla replied with a familiarity he would've never dreamed of using just a few months before. “I have seen it. Even the leather armor of our Uul warriors does the same. The enemy missiles distort when they hit, but do not stop.”

“As do ours,” Halik defended.

“But ours take much longer to shoot, are less likely to hit, and as you can see, this enemy—Alden's ‘Czechs'—wear little armor at all,” Ugla pointed out.

“His other, more numerous warriors wear leather over their brush-colored clothing,” Halik maintained, “but all this is beside the point. It is the effectiveness of their new weapons that is significant. And even the ‘uncontrollable' Czechs have them now,” he added. “Further proof that Alden could not be as displeased with them as he implied. It is well that we are almost ready to end this farce of fierce opponents that do not fight!”

“We shall have the Czechs this time, Lord General,” Ugla assured, gesturing at the battle. “There are but a few thousand of them, and the supply carts lured them out precisely as you predicted. We have cut them off from escape.”

“Have we indeed?” Halik mused, looking back at the fighting himself. His plan to trap the raiders had gone almost too well—and it really shouldn't have. With the strange horned creatures they rode, they had far greater mobility, and Halik shouldn't have been able to catch the entire force. He couldn't have, he knew, if those that might've escaped hadn't chosen to remain with the others. Such was
loyalty
, a concept he'd learned from Niwa, and he actually admired his enemy just then. He knew
he
could never abandon the army that had become his only real purpose in life. That was loyalty as well. “And at what cost?” he added. “Niwa was right about their weapons all along, and we shall lose three or four times as many Uul to destroy them as we would have before.”

“We have more to lose,” Ugla stated simply.

Halik glanced sharply at him. “Yes,” he said at length, “but for how long?”

Ugla shifted uncomfortably and flicked his eyes nervously at the sky. “At least they have no artillery, and if they truly are not under Alden's control, we need not fear the enemy's flying machines. They have never interfered in our scuffles before.”

“This is somewhat more than a ‘scuffle,' General Ugla.”

The firing intensified to a virtually continuous roar, and they stared down the gradual slope toward the surrounded force. It had formed into a rough square, as Halik had seen the enemy do before, and all the animals that bore them were inside the formation. White smoke drifted skyward in a solid cloud, and Halik could only guess at the dreadful casualties this, his northern force, was taking. They were shooting back, of course, with matchlock and crossbow, but even with his heavy corps—as Niwa had described this number of troops—all Halik's could do was mob around the enemy, and couldn't bring many more weapons to bear than they. Far inferior weapons. There could be only one outcome, particularly once the Uul came to grips with sword, spear, tooth, and claw, but these Czechs—human and Lemurian—were gutting Halik's northern force!

“Lord General!” cried a runner, as it flung itself at his feet.

“Rise,” Halik ordered, “and report!”

“Lord General,” the creature, a First of Two Hundreds—or “captain” by Niwa's definition—rose and pointed to the southeast. “General Shlook begs your attention! More Czech riders emerge from an undiscovered pass, and move to cut between the northern force and the hatchling host that stands before the enemy works in the gap!”

“There cannot be many of them,” Halik said in a curious tone. “Why does he not simply destroy them?”

“But there
are
many, Lord General!” the captain almost wailed, and Halik examined him for signs he'd turned prey.
No,
he decided with satisfaction.
He is afraid, but
not
prey. I have formed this army better than the treacherous Kurokawa ever dreamed. All the more reason not to let it die!
“Far more than you surround here,” the runner continued desperately, “and they advance before an even larger force of Alden's cavalry!”

Ugla hissed. Halik's crest rose, and he turned narrowed eyes back to the fight. “You must finish this quickly, General Ugla. If you can. I must see what is happening behind us. Show me!” he barked at the runner. Together, they sprinted off.

Halik stopped his guide at the top of another rise a little over a mile away. From there he had an excellent view of the vast prairie all around. The hill where he'd destroyed Colonel Flynn's courageous force (he allowed that ungrudgingly now) was another mile to the southwest, and beyond was Halik's entrenched and static middle force, composed of the hatchling host. His southern force was beyond, but it was the smallest of the three in direct contact with the enemy. A company of musketeers, likely sent by Ugla to protect him, joined them and deployed. Halik knew in an instant that there was no immediate threat to his person there, but his carefully planned strategy to deny Alden his superior mobility and open-field capabilities by keeping him bottled in the forests below the gap was doomed. Czech “raiders” and Allied cavalry were deploying in a line that extended almost to Flynn's hill, and unlimbering scores of guns! Even worse, dense columns of infantry were rushing up in support. Recognizing the flag of Rolak's I Corps in the lead, he hacked a bitter laugh.

Another runner scrambled up and flung himself to the ground. “Oh, do get up!” Halik groaned. “What is it now?”

The runner pointed behind to the north. He was just Uul, and his speech was awkward. “Lord General Ugla tells the . . . Chsshekks is git away! They git on their critchers an' break out our traph, lak they could has did when-epher they decide! He ask he come here?”

Halik hesitated. The enemy line was growing stronger by the moment, with ever more infantry swelling the position. Thousands of shovelfuls of dirt filled the air and began heaping up in front of it. Lemurian runners raced along, driving stakes and unspooling the insidious spiky wire as well. If he hit them
now
, he could beat them—but it simply couldn't happen. It would take more than an hour for Ugla to gather his already-battered northern force and bring it up—and it would be exhausted after the run and the previous fight. It wouldn't be in any kind of shape for another. And though the force was probably still more numerous than the enemy here, mere numbers meant nothing anymore.

The hatchling host was twice as big, but it was dug in to defend the high prairie of India from its trenches across the gap. They were utterly useless defenses against an attack from
this
direction! And no doubt, a large enough enemy force remained in the gap to exploit its flank if he changed its front. The southern force might come up . . . but where could he use it? Nowhere, in time. The enemy line was preparing to attack or defend, to the north or south, and there was nothing Halik could do! To underscore that, the drone of many motors became audible, and he looked up to see a large number of flying machines approaching from the east. He sagged and shook his head, realizing that this was the end. General Alden and General Rolak had already destroyed his army in his mind, and it was just a matter of moments before they began to do so in fact, on the field below. He was somewhat surprised that Rolak's artillery hadn't already opened up, to the south, at least. No reason why it shouldn't have; full batteries of six guns each (he'd learned that was how they reckoned such things) were poised to commence firing, their crews standing ready. He'd watched them load! Why didn't they just get on with it? In frustration, he started to command a general assault, of everything he had, at whatever was in front of it. It was an instinctual response, he knew, but what else remained? Suddenly, a strange thought struck him, however, and he paused, considering.
Could it really be?