Joining Iverson at the head of his column were Blas and Sister Audrey, accompanied by General Cox and half a dozen of his senior staff. All but one were dressed in their dark blue finery, complete with gleaming brass buttons, tall shakos, and gold epaulettes. The sixth member of their party, riding between Cox and Sister Audrey, wore only a dark blue shell jacket and sky-blue trousers (both much the worse for wear), a wheel hat, sword and pistol belt, and the shoulder boards of a captain.
Even before the troops and prisoners, equally bedraggled in dress if not mood and bearing, reached the outer tents, a group mounted in front of the command tent. “That’ll be Gener-aal Shinya,” Blas stated simply. Curious soldiers, gravitating into the streets between the tents to see the new arrivals, scattered as their commanders’ horses galloped through.
“Column, halt,” Iverson commanded, and he and his companions urged their horses into a trot. All the riders met in the open, just shy of the first tents—and a quickly forming line of rough-looking troops.
“Take charge of the prisoners,” General Tomatsu Shinya called behind him at the man leading the ready soldiers. “There’s a large stockade for some of the more boisterous local livestock on the other side of town,” he explained with a smile. “It’ll be crowded and smelly, I’m afraid, but I never expected so many prisoners and it’s far better treatment than we could’ve expected from them.” A strange insight struck him as he spoke, regarding just how far he’d veered from that impossibly distant culture he sprang from. Not only was he glad to see so many prisoners, he suspected from their cultural perspective it might’ve taken more courage to surrender than fight to the end. No one he’d ever known, steeped in the code of Bushido, would’ve entertained a notion like that.
He nodded at Blas, Audrey, and Iverson, saying simply, “Well done,” before turning his attention to their NUS Companions. “An historic meeting, gentlemen,” he proclaimed, “between friends united in a worthy cause. Welcome to our camp, and I’m honored to have you join our campaign.”
The captain edged forward. “Thank you, General Shinya,” he said. “Perhaps you remember me?”
“Of course, Captain Anson, though the circumstances and geography have changed considerably.”
Anson smiled and bowed. “Indeed. Allow me to present General Hiram Cox, commanding all NUS forces on this continent.”
Shinya nodded, waiting for Anson to name the other officers, and the salute he’d been told to expect. Anson cleared his throat and Cox finally, somewhat reluctantly, raised his hand to the brim of his shako, palm out. The other NUS officers followed his example. Shinya let the hesitation slide, knowing how hard it would be for him if the roles were reversed, but it had been agreed ever since Fred and Kari flew Anson across to meet him and Jenks that they had to have a unified command if they ever combined their forces. Moreover, since the Union and the Empire of the New Britain Isles had the larger force in theater and greater resources in terms of modern weapons, and had borne the heaviest burden in terms of casualties and experience gained, it was only reasonable that Shinya take the lead on shore while Jenks did so at sea.
“I’m honored to represent my country and join my army with yours for the duration of the momentous undertaking in which we’re jointly engaged,” Cox said somewhat stiffly, as if he’d rehearsed the lines.
Shinya thought he probably had. “Excellent,” he said, returning the salute, and getting straight to business. “How many men do you have, fit to fight, and what do they need?”
Cox appeared perplexed, probably having expected a longer exchange of ceremonial sentiments.
“Around thirty thousand, after yesterday’s action,” Anson supplied at once, “though not all are entirely fit. In addition to the wounded, they’re tired and hungry and there’s been some disease. They should begin arriving with the rest of Colonel . . . Sister Audrey’s troops before the end of the day.” He glanced apologetically at Audrey before continuing. “The first thing they’ll need is a safe place to lay their heads and recover for a time. And food, of course, if you have any to spare. The League’s been shelling our outpost at El Palo from the sea and has made it impossible for supplies to get through. And since the Doms left us no forage on the march, our only provisions have been those our local friends in the vicinity of El Palo sent behind us. Not enough, I’m afraid, and our men have been on half rations. Reaching you here consumed the last of our reserves.”
“Of course. We’re somewhat weary from our advance as well,” Shinya replied, “and we’ll linger here until our united force refits. We won’t wait for the arrival of Eleventh and Fifteenth Corps.” He gestured around. “There simply isn’t room, and our combined movements might be too cumbersome and obvious, not to mention taxing on the locals. But for now, rations aren’t a problem and our hospital corps should be able to return many of your sick and injured to duty.”
General Cox finally seemed to relax a bit. “That’s a great relief, General Shinya, and I apologize for coming before you like beggars, hat in hand as it were. . . .”
“Nonsense. We knew the enemy would control the Caribbean, for a time at least. They’ve struck at our beachhead near Monsu as well. We do have an alternate line of supply, however, though it’s considerably longer and more vulnerable than I’d prefer.” He rubbed the thin whiskers on his upper lip. “I assume you’re short of ammunition as well?”
“It’s not yet a crisis,” reported another NUS officer. “Colonel Prine,” he reminded them. “We laid in a considerable stockpile before the Battle of El Palo. That took a bite out of it, but we received more before the shipments halted. Our campaign to reach you consumed a great deal as well, but we have a sufficiency for at least one major engagement. Perhaps two.”
Shinya considered. “We can’t help with your rifled artillery, but ammunition for your smoothbores shouldn’t be a problem. Through luck, or Captain Reddy’s”—he chuckled—“historical foresight, our field artillery shares a common bore diameter. The strength of our gunpowder may vary from yours but your gunners should be able to compensate. As for small arms, we carried extra crates of breechloaders with us and more will continue to arrive. I propose that we begin arming your men with them. If we’re able to provide enough for your entire force, you can consign your current arms to our native recruits.”
Cox was speechless, unable to believe anyone, even allies, would just give them such advanced weapons.
Shinya misinterpreted his reaction. “I assure you, our Allin-Silva rifles are quite accurate and their shape and general function is virtually identical to the weapons your men are used to. I only caution you that their chief advantage comes with heavy, rapid, aimed fire, and they consume a lot of ammunition very quickly. We have supply problems too.”
Cox shook his head and actually beamed. “No, General Shinya, you misunderstand. I . . .” He stopped, still smiling. “Thank you. Thank you very much indeed.”
Shinya pulled his reins to the side, turning his horse. “Why don’t you join me at the HQ tent for refreshments while we wait for everyone else to get here?” he said. “As I mentioned, we’ll remain here awhile, but we need to begin planning our next move at once. We’re less than three hundred miles from the Dom capital, but I’m told there’s difficult terrain ahead. And though I don’t expect serious opposition until we get closer to New Granada City, I could be wrong.” Dom prisoners were already moving by, guided by men they were clearly terrified of. The others joined him and Iverson’s troops finally stepped off again, heading toward a part of the field already laid out for them to camp.
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Cox said, “and your priorities. It reminds me of one I’ve neglected. I must bring the behavior of two of your officers to your attention: Lieutenant Fred Reynolds and Lieutenant Kari-Faask”—he glanced at Blas—“of the, ah, ‘Lemurian’ people.” To Cox’s surprise, Shinya burst out laughing and Sister Audrey chuckled. “What? Did I say som
ething . . . ?”
“No, no, it’s just the way you said it,” Sister Audrey replied. “Though there are many races in the Union, and Republic as well, most consider themselves one ‘people.’”
“It’s the same in the NUS. How could it not be?” Anson interjected. “But I think General Cox was unsure if the same applied among the various species and didn’t want to offend.” He looked at Cox. “It does,” he stated flatly. “But I think he was more startled by your amusement.”
“That had more to do with the way he began his statement,” Shinya explained. “Those of us who know young Mr. Reynolds and Miss Faask couldn’t help wondering what they’ve gotten themselves into now.”
Cox blinked. “Oh. Ha. I see. Yes, their general behavior is somewhat unconventional. But I meant only to commend them. Not only did they provide timely warning of General de Quito’s movements before their aircraft was lost, they supplied us with much-needed insights regarding our enemy—and our friends. They also fought gallantly in the Battle of El Palo. I regretted it when they were finally recovered by one of your larger flying boats—such an enormous machine! At any rate, I confess I’ve rather missed them.”
“As do I, General Cox,” Shinya agreed, and saw Anson nodding. “I’ll pass your compliment along. Personally, I wish they were still with you, to better coordinate our airpower with our movements, but I doubt they’d have much to do for a while.”
They were riding among tents now, down a company street already dark with mud, and the HQ tent was ahead. “I don’t think we’re gonna get much air this time, Gener-aal Shinya,” Blas suddenly said, speaking for the first time. “The waay things’re goin’, I expect our planes’ll be mighty busy over waater, an’ we’re gonna miss all our flyboy friends.”
CHAPTER 22
////// Ando’s Airfield
East shore of Lake Galk
Grik Africa
June 9, 1945
General of the Sky Mitsuo Ando banged angrily through the rickety wooden door of his “headquarters” building, near his rough, narrow airstrip. Hundreds of Uul laborers had pulled up thousands of stumps and levelled the ground as best they could at the edge of the receded forest so his five meager planes could enjoy a little cover under the trees. The problem was, timber to build so many now virtually useless battleships, even the yanone carriers they’d never finish, had been cut so far back, the airfield was rather inconveniently distant from Esshk’s commodious HQ villa by the lake. Messages came quickly enough by pennant or reflected lights, but round trips for personal meetings took more than an hour, riding an un-sprung rickshaw pulled by a pair of trotting Grik.
And Ando’s HQ was rather pretentiously named. By Grik standards, it was rather opulent, maybe once belonging to some mid-level Hij in the Galk Lake regency. To Ando and the four other Japanese pilots, it was a low, 10′ x 30′ rock and adobe shack full of bugs, still reeking of feces and the rotting bones they’d thrown out. Their beds were vermin-infested blankets and grass-stuffed pallets under a tree-limb-beamed roof that sagged under rotting, leaking thatch. If it wasn’t for the frequent rains and packs of vicious little predators roaming about (mostly feral young Grik in these parts), they would’ve lived better in the open under the trees with their workforce.
There was another problem with that, however. Lake Galk was very big, but with so many Grik packed in around it, the fish were quickly depleted and wildlife was scarce. There’d been no supply from downriver for months, but now nothing came from upriver either and food was getting low. As usual, Grik began eating one another, the oldest, weakest, and injured first, but they’d soon start picking their fare at random. Ando and his flyers were officially immune from making such . . . contributions, but their workforce and virtually useless ground crews, unfit for anything other than fueling planes and pushing them around, were mostly mindless Uul. They were aware enough to know they’d be killed and eaten if they harmed the Japanese aviators, but an agonizingly empty stomach sometimes spoke louder than consequences. Something Ando and his people were beginning to realize as well.
Lieutenant Ueda rose from his pallet and hopefully asked, “Did you see Esshk?” Ueda was young and strong, but there hadn’t been any fat on his unusually big-boned frame and he was taking hunger worse than the rest, face narrowing and eyes beginning to sink into his brows and cheeks.
“Our Lord remains indisposed,” Ando snapped sarcastically. “It seems he took General Halik’s declaration against him very hard. Even with the enemy pushing ever closer, he hasn’t spoken to his generals in days. Doesn’t seem to think their dispositions will make any difference.”
“Then he expects defeat?” one of the other flyers asked.
Ando shook his head, puzzled. “No. He does talk with the vice-regent, who I saw, and who told me Lord General Esshk remains supremely confident in Second General Ign coming to his aid, the yanone we made—and whatever else he’s prepared.” He held his hands out at his sides. “I have no idea what that might be. As for the rest, I know nothing of Ign, but the yanone alone can’t win his war.” His expression darkened. “But even if there is, as yet, no fighting north of the locks, Esshk is slowly losing. Through starvation and self-consumption, I think his army is already weaker, perhaps even fewer, than the enemy. He has a strong position in the south around the locks, but with Halik coming up behind us now . . .” He shrugged.
“But what about the food?” Ueda asked desperately. “Did the vice-regent give you food?” That had been the primary reason Ando went to see Esshk. They’d eaten well, for a while, better than most, with regular deliveries of wild game carcasses, fish, even some of the few vegetables Grik apparently cultivated. That changed after the yanone were completed and there was almost nothing left, even with rationing. Ando’s men weren’t just a little hungry anymore. He grimaced. “The vice-regent told me we should eat dead Grik like everyone else. Even gave me leave to slaughter as many of our own as we cared to.”
Ueda stared at him, scratching a sore on his stubbled jaw. “That’s it? Even if we did . . . If we start killing and eating them, they’ll eat us.”
Ando nodded. “That’s what I said. I also told him that just as our planes need fuel to fly and fight, to protect the yanone carriers, so do we. He said he knew nothing of that, but couldn’t imagine they needed much protection. He’s not a warrior and hasn’t seen . . .”
“Only Esshk would understand, and he won’t talk to you,” Ueda mumbled mournfully.
“We should’ve gone with Muriname,” another pilot muttered bitterly, and to everyone’s surprise, Ando actually nodded.
“It’s probably too late for that, but yes. That was my mistake, and I don’t deserve the loyalty you showed by staying by my side.” He frowned. “But neither does Esshk anymore. Our obligation to any lord is contingent upon his to us—the least of which is to feed us, and acknowledge the honor we give him.” Making up his mind, Ando straightened. “Our oaths aren’t broken, they’ve been cast aside, and our service here is ended.”
“Where will we go?” Ueda asked helplessly. “Even with full tanks, we can’t make it back to Kakag with the terrible fuel they’ve given us.”
“What purpose would that serve, anyway?” another asked.
“It would put us behind Halik. Perhaps he’d take us in.”
Ando was shaking his head. “Even if he would, I’ve had enough of Grik. You can all do as you choose, but I’ll fly south when the time is right.”
“The Americans and their allies will kill us,” Ueda stated flatly.
“They might. Or we might seek asylum in the Republic.”
“What can we offer them?” asked the youngest pilot, who hadn’t spoken yet. “Their planes are better than ours.”
“We’ll tell them about the yanone,” Ando said, shrugging, “and that Esshk has another unpleasant surprise.”
Ueda dropped back down on his filthy mat with a frus
trated snort.
“What?” Ando asked. “Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” Ueda said. “The problem is, it won’t work.” He sat back up. “How will you tell them?”
“I speak sufficient English,” Ando retorted. “Even Esshk understan—” He stopped. “But my plane has the only radio, and the power tube failed. We have no spares, and can’t make any.” He looked around at the men, his friends now, all looking to him. “If we fly south to warn Esshk’s enemies, to join them, they’ll simply shoot us out of the sky.”
Ueda’s sour expression suddenly turned thoughtful. “Probably,” he agreed, “but there may be a way to give them pause.”
CHAPTER 23
////// 80 miles west of the Galk River
Grik Africa
June 12, 1945
It was clouding up to rain as it did nearly every day this time of year; starting clear and hot and damp, then building to dump strong showers on the strange, sturdy trees and rocky hills northwest of Sofesshk by early afternoon. The Grik airship First Ker-noll Jash was riding really needed to be down and secured by then, or to climb above the pounding rain. In that case, it might as well turn back and attempt its mission another day. Though crude in many ways, Grik zeppelins were tough, but even they could be shredded by the vicious winds often accompanying the sudden storms. And finding a concentration of General Ign’s forces—and hopefully Ign himself—would become impossible in any case.
To make matters worse, they weren’t sure where to look. The forest here wasn’t impenetrable, but Ign’s veterans were accustomed to hiding from telltale rumblings in the sky. His screening warriors were in contact with Fifth Corps’ probing scouts, which had even picked up a few lamed or exhausted stragglers. If they knew where Ign was, they wouldn’t talk. Ordinary Uul laborers in the region, instinctively responding to the Celestial Mother’s general summons, reported seeing warriors—in their infantile, almost incoherent way—but couldn’t tell them where. Their most reliable guide came from increasingly numerous Nancys flying off the river behind the advancing Allies. But they were marauders, attacking whatever they saw with incendiaries and further dispersing Ign’s force. Jash wasn’t sure he’d ever locate his one-time mentor and deliver the Celestial Mother’s benevolent offer, but he had to try.
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