“Let’s keep our options open, shall we?” Gravois responded, raising his binoculars. Don Hernan was indeed standing on the high poop deck under a gauzy awning and flapping red flags. He was unmistakable in his long red robe, trimmed in gold, and the bizarre white hat standing tall on his head. As usual, his features, sharpened and lengthened by a graying mustache and pointy chin whiskers, looked utterly benign. Gravois was surprised to see another, shorter man beside him, dressed in the rumpled, looser-fitting uniform of Contrammiraglio Oriani. “Well,” he said, his tone perturbed, “I didn’t expect to see him again.”
“Good morning, my dear Gravois!” Don Hernan greeted him, then beamed at the men of the side party standing at tense attention with their weapons. “Good morning to you all!” To Gravois’s astonishment, Don Hernan boarded without his usual entourage, accompanied only by Oriani. The man looked . . . destroyed, in some undefinable way. It wasn’t anything obvious to a stranger, though he was less rotund. He was cleanly shaven and if a bit untidy, his uniform was clean. There were no obvious signs of mistreatment at all, in fact. But the arrogant light—any light—in his eyes had been extinguished, and he practically quivered at the sound of Don Hernan’s voice.
“Thank God you’re safe!” Ciano said, taking a step toward him. Oriani cringed and retreated, uttering a small squeak. Ciano stopped in surprise and spun to face Don Hernan. “What have you done to him? What have you done to the others?” he demanded.
Don Hernan regarded him with wide, kindly eyes. “Done to him? Why, nothing that might be considered abuse, as you imply. Rejoice! He and his fellows have been cleansed by the grace of God, as any must be who set foot upon our holy soil! Most now bask in the glow of their newfound faith and will be returned to you to spread the light when they’re ready. Even the most perfunctory cleansing can be mildly tiresome,” he explained, then paused. “And I fear some have been . . . more difficult to purify than others. The filth within them runs quite deep. But I will never forsake any who are worthy, and will continue my efforts until all corruption has been banished from their souls.” His expression turned mournful. “Unfortunately, a very few were far too malignant to save. No doubt they were infected by demons and simply couldn’t be made clean regardless of the grace lavished upon them. You wouldn’t have wanted them back, I assure you,” he murmured darkly. Then his voice brightened again. “Most were quite fortunate, however, and embraced their rebirth with the same enthusiasm as this fine man!” He gestured grandly at Oriani, who’d begun to drool.
“Fortunate also that divine providence guided some of His Supreme Holiness’s priests to the vicinity at the exact moment your people stepped on our sacred ground, unannounced and uninvited,” he added sternly, looking at Gravois. “There’s no doubt they saved their lives.” He looked reflective. “Most of them, at any rate. Two men were killed by the mob, rightly angered by such impious trespass.”
Ciano and some of the side party looked stormy. “You . . .” Ciano began, taking another step toward Don Hernan.
“Dismiss your men,” Gravois barked at Ciano, looking closely at Oriani. He simply didn’t appear to be there anymore. “And take Contrammiraglio Oriani to the infirmary. Do it yourself. Everyone else, make way.” He looked around distractedly as the men reluctantly dispersed, his face darkening with fury. How dare this . . . creature . . . treat our people this way? He didn’t care about the people themselves, per se, but it was the principle of the thing. The sheer arrogance. And then he comes here, alone, daring me to do some thing about it! He raged to himself. “Clear the fo’c’sle,” he snapped. “I want everyone aft of the bridge, and no one in the pilothouse. Don Hernan and I have a great deal to talk about. Your Holiness?” he seethed, gesturing perfunctorily forward.
* * *
* * *
“You’re a monster,” Victor Gravois stated flatly. It had taken longer than he wanted to achieve the open-air privacy he needed just then—there was no way he’d enter a room alone with this man—and he’d felt a painful blaze burning just behind his face the entire time he’d waited. Now he and Don Hernan stood on the foredeck in front of the splinter shield protecting the twin 120mm guns.
“I’ve been called worse,” Don Hernan agreed with a snort and Gravois was surprised to see his act drop away so quickly. He didn’t think Don Hernan’s faith was an act, not entirely at least, but his over-the-top performance as its compassionate steward certainly was.
“What did you really do to those men? To Oriani?”
Don Hernan sighed. “I’m sure you’d say I tortured them,” he answered simply. “For the good of their souls, of course. One can only achieve grace through suffering and God decreed that this land cannot bear the tread of heretics. . . .” He paused. “And it truly was the only way I could justify sparing them. My own Blood Priests might’ve turned against me if I neglected the cleansing.” He gestured enthusiastically. “And Oriani embraced the true faith much faster than I expected. Such a clever man! I believe I sensed in him almost a kindred spirit. Once his mind absorbs the rigorous toil it has performed, it will be as if he was reborn.”
“He has no ‘spirit’ left!” Gravois almost exploded. “What could do that to him, without even leaving a mark?”
Don Hernan peered at him strangely. “You didn’t see? He’s marked forever inside. Perhaps I’ll show you how it’s done someday.”
Gravois shuddered.
“But not now, we have work to do,” Don Hernan continued, touching the whiskers on his chin and looking at the Churrucca lying aft. “I confess, I also indulged my . . . curiosity during the procedure, to learn about Oriani the man, as well as his understanding of the League’s plans here.” He glanced at Gravois. “Oh come now, don’t look so shocked! You’ve gained information from those distracted by discomfort yourself.” He smiled. “As has Oriani. Many, many times. Perhaps that’s why he revealed it so readily. He knew he could never resist.” He shook his finger scoldingly at Gravois. “But as for the League’s plans, it seems you omitted certain details from our earlier understanding.”
Gravois suddenly found himself on the defensive. “It’s not set policy in the League, only the ambition of a sizable faction I—and Oriani—happen to support. But it meshes perfectly with what we discussed! It’s the essential part. You and I talked about joining our people together and I never implied it would only happen in Europe. It must be here as well.”
Don Hernan turned to face the fortress walls. “That will not be easy.” He chuckled. “The cleansings alone will take considerable time. Unless that’s part of our faith you intend to ‘subvert.’”
Gravois impatiently waved that away. “I told Oriani that, for his benefit, as well as anything else you may have learned from him against me. You’re smart enough to know that. But yes, that will have to change. You and I already discussed the need to make religious adjustments that would be acceptable to all our people.” He was growing angry again. “But all that’s for the future. None of our ground troops will be committed here and you’ll have plenty of time to reconstruct your priesthood.”
It was inconvenient that Gravois couldn’t even supply a few modern weapons, since he’d also have to provide men to show the Doms how to use them. Sending men to be tortured, however briefly, would undermine his position when it was inevitably discovered. And perhaps it’s for the best? We don’t have that many troops or modern weapons to spare. And if what I hear of the forests of this land is true, our armored vehicles would be of little use. They could move well enough, by all accounts, but couldn’t see far enough for the range advantage of their guns to provide significant benefit. Ultimately, it’s better to let Don Hernan’s army spend itself against the enemy. He did wish they could build an airfield here, and at other places on the continent. It would make things easier, and he could disperse his airpower as it arrived.
That wouldn’t happen. Not only would his priceless air and ground crews be subj
ect to Dom mistreatment, the Dom’s own “airpower,” their various large flying creatures, couldn’t be counted on to discriminate friend from foe in the air. Some of the League’s aircraft might be damaged to no purpose. He’d have to be content with the airfields at Martinique, and eventually other islands. Don Hernan had little interest in islands and had magnanimously “given” Gravois any that he wanted.
“And I’m sure you’ve already begun to identify and surround yourself with a few more flexible priests, in any event,” Gravois concluded.
Don Hernan’s eyes grew wide. “Of course, and just imagine their surprise—and gratitude! Not long ago they would naturally have expected that very doctrinal elasticity to be . . . corrected.”
“I’m sure,” Gravois agreed ironically, “but as I said, all this is irrelevant at present. Our forces are rapidly building at Martinique, but I’ve had no word at all from you regarding your strategic situation. The information exchange between us has been amazingly one-sided of late, particularly since it seems you have the conversation between myself and Oriani verbatim.”
Don Hernan’s eyes narrowed. “My ‘strategic situation’? As you so succinctly summarized to Oriani, El Paso del Fuego and my navy are gone and I’m assailed on land by all our mutual enemies. I imagined that was all you needed to know. Now, however, not only have the western heretics and their bestial allies landed a large force on this side of the Pass, Los Diablos have been able to supply their forces sufficiently to defeat General de Quito at El Palo while your powerful ships wallowed lazily at anchor. That’s what’s most immediately ‘relevant’ to you from my perspective,” he inserted cuttingly before resuming. “Worse, since the cream of my professional army was lost in the west and at El Corazon, and now de Quito has squandered much of what remained, I have little in position to prevent all the heretics from marching overland toward the Temple City of Nuevo Granada itself,” he seethed.
Gravois raised his brows. This was the first he’d heard that the western allies had a ground force in the Caribbean, or the oh-so-confident Don Hernan had lost a battle to the NUS.
“The land itself will rebel beneath their heretic feet,” Don Hernan added with more hopefulness than confidence this time, “and God will set the monsters of the forest upon them. But I never dreamed they’d be so bold. A sane man would naturally expect any direct threat to El Templo would necessarily have to run the gauntlet of forts lining the River of Heaven.”
That might be true, Gravois mused, though he often doubted Don Hernan’s sanity. At the same time, however, even Don Hernan should’ve realized by now that this enemy would usually do what was least expected.
“Now the garrisons of those forts have no purpose and I must send them to defend our Sacred City.” Don Hernan paused, expression dark. “So believe me, I fully understand how much I ‘need’ you.”
Gravois nodded solemnly, though inwardly delighted by Don Hernan’s admission. Perhaps now we can move forward with minimal obstruction. “We apparently need each other more than ever before,” he said, “and the time for these ridiculous games is past,” he added firmly. “How could I steam away and fight for you while you toyed with our commander?” He pointed at the city. “Do you realize I’ve been urged by my superiors almost daily to blast those forts to rubble?” That was a lie, but Don Hernan couldn’t know that. “Your war, our alliance, and all our plans have been put in jeopardy because of your obsession with secrecy and because it amused you to torture a man who was on our side! We must coordinate more closely, with real trust between us. If you’d asked, I would’ve told you Oriani was no threat. He had great value, in fact.”
“Value to you, as cover, in case things go awry,” Don Hernan countered. He paused, regarding Gravois again. “I’m surprised by your naiveté.” No one had ever used that word to describe Gravois before and his ears burned hot. “I learned that from Oriani as well, of course,” Don Hernan explained. “He knew it himself and it wouldn’t have worked. He wanted the prestige this posting gave him but not the responsibility. He endorsed your strategy because he had none of his own and was prepared to take all the credit for success—or blame you if it failed.” His smile turned benevolent once more. “Of course I ‘toyed’ with him to discover if you’d betray me. I’m more confident now that you won’t and that allows me to invest a measure of genuine trust in you at last. Not only because our interests intertwine, but because, committed to your strategy now—at least the part they know about—your League will certainly hang you if it fails. Finally . . . well, we both got what we wanted. You’re now in charge of all your people and ships in this entire region. What more could we desire?” He waited a moment while that sank in, that he’d engineered it that way.
“But . . .” Gravois stammered, knowing he sounded foolish, “how did you know Oriani would go ashore as soon as he got here?” Even as he asked, it dawned on him. Dom ships had ventured to Ascension Island several times. Some had been lost, but delegates who survived the round trip would’ve reported everything the Blood Cardinal needed to know about the man.
Don Hernan nodded at Gravois’s comprehension. “Kindred spirits, as I said. Of a sort,” he qualified. “I probably would’ve done much the same myself in his place.” He took a long, deep breath. “Now, as we both agree, we have work to do. Our scouts report the allied force under their ‘General Shinya’ is marching south from Monsu but its depot is vulnerable on the coast. I want it destroyed, along with whatever ships are carrying his supplies. I wonder also if it’s possible for one or more of your ships to penetrate El Paso del Fuego and bombard the source of their supply effort at El Corazon?”
“Go into the pass? Even beyond?” Gravois briefly considered the newly arrived Churrucca and its dual-purpose guns. Then he shook his head. “Not until we’re stronger. Primitive as the enemy’s aircraft are, they remain a threat. And the numbers they could sortie so close to their new base of operations might be overwhelming.” He couldn’t resist reminding Don Hernan that if he’d allowed Leopardo to defend the Pass in the first place, from the open water on the other side, there might not be a threat from that direction. “I don’t believe they can hit anything we have that’s free to maneuver at speed, but their bombs can damage our lighter vessels in confined waters. We’ll have to wait before attempting something so ambitious.”
“I suspected that might be the case,” Don Hernan conceded with surprising ease, but then his expression hardened. “So in the meantime, the very first thing I require is that you stop all resupply of heretic forces on this side of El Paso. I also want you to retrieve General Mayta from El Henal. He can achieve nothing of substance there.” His eyes narrowed. “He failed me badly at El Corazon, but he’s the best we have. I cherish high hopes that he learned a painful lesson. He’ll teach it to our armies gathering at the Temple City.”
“Very well.” Gravois nodded. He only had two ships to send, but they didn’t have to seek the enemy. The transports would come to them. And within weeks he’d have more ships, larger and more powerful than Don Hernan could imagine. He was amused by the thought of the impression they’d make. “Our new arrival must refuel and I’ll top off Leopardo’s bunkers.” He quirked a brow. “I’ll remain here in Ramb V so we can continue to plan together, at last. Ciano can take the destroyers out, to vent his frustrations on our mutual enemies.” He paused, suddenly curious. “What happened to Oriani’s chief of staff? Roberto . . . something. I could use him if he’s not too, ah, damaged.”
Don Hernan beamed. “Ah! Roberto Francisco! You’d never believe it, and I’m not sure myself if he’s not my finest achievement. After only a day of cleansing, not only did the priests assigned to his purification declare it complete, he petitioned to take the first rites required to enter the priesthood himself. I’m amazed!” Don Hernan frowned. “But of course you may have him back if you need him.”
Roberto a Blood Priest, and him a Carlist. Gravois felt a chilling ache of foreb
oding and shook his head. “No, you keep him,” he said, wondering who would ultimately subvert whose faith.
CHAPTER 21
////// In the wilderness of Nuevo Granada
Holy Dominion
June 6, 1945
Colonel Blas-Ma-Ar and Colonel Sister Audrey were riding with Captain Ixtli and Lieutenant Anaar-Taar at the head of ‘C’ Company, 2nd Battalion, 2nd Marines as the column, wider now, on a better road, marched easily down a wooded slope five hundred miles from Monsu, and two hundred miles from the coast. The forest canopy remained thick overhead, covering the road entirely, but there was still little undergrowth and except for the humid morning haze, the ground level visibility was only limited by tree trunks and the meager light filtering down from above.
Blas still marched with her troops from time to time, and she’d grown as lean and well-seasoned to the hardships of the trek through the seemingly endless forest, river crossings, and winding mountain roads as the humans and ’Cats under her command. But Sister Audrey’s words were never far from her thoughts. Consequently, she spent most of her time on horseback now.
They’d lost some people to accidents and the occasional ambush, but enemy resistance had been sporadic and poorly coordinated at best, always quickly dealt with by her veteran troops. More people were killed or injured by vaguely Grik-like predators—particularly at night—and those attacks seemed to come in spells, as if coinciding with their entry into tribal territories of some kind. That’s what the locals told them. And there were quite a few natives, inhabiting a surprising number of villages tucked away, almost invisible to the rare aerial observations by the few planes they had operating out of Monsu. The people weren’t always supportive of the invaders, but were appreciative of the benign treatment they received and acted as if keeping them well fed was a small price to pay to see the army pass. This was confirmed by refugees describing how Dom troops razed villages in the path of NUS forces marching down from the north to prevent their sustenance. This gained them enough recruits who, while not immediately fit for combat, made excellent guides, foragers, and escorts for the trickle of ambulance wagons carrying the army’s injured to the rear, or freight wagons full of supplies pushing ahead of the vastly more cumbersome XI and XV Corps. In any event, X Corps was tired, but generally healthy, and there were no stragglers.
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