Kingdoms Fury

by David Sherman

  Skinks, seemingly hundreds of them, were racing through the wetlands toward the Marines across the entire front the Marines could see. Some were on line, others in line. More were in clumps. They weren't assaulting the Marine point, they weren't holding the nozzles of their acid guns in firing position.

  "Charlie Six," Henry called over his helmet comm, "Charlie Two-one." He didn't wait for his call to be acknowledged. "The Skinks are withdrawing from Haven and we're in their path." He put his blaster into his shoulder and sighted on a Skink.

  "Two-one," Captain Enkhtuya came back immediately, "are they going to pass us?"

  "Not the ones right in front of us." He switched to the squad circuit. "First squad, get on line right now!"

  "What's their disposition?" Enkhtuya asked.

  "All the way across as far as I can see," Henry answered. "We've gotta fight." To both sides he sensed his squad getting into position.

  "First squad, straight ahead, volley fire. FIRE!"

  Ten blasters fired and seven Skinks flashed into vapor.

  "Pick your targets!" Henry ordered, then flared a Skink that was almost on him. A wave of heat washed over him and dissipated. He looked past his sights, seeking another target. Gouts of flame and light danced over the marsh in front of him, Skinks flared by his squad. The Marines had flamed all of the Skinks to their immediate front. He looked to the sides. The Skinks continued the race toward their caves. None of them turned to fire at the Marines who'd just flared their mates. Henry heard loud Skink voices shouting commands—the leaders were urging their troops to continue past the Marines. He saw a shouting Skink and flamed him. The Skinks maintained their course.

  Behind Henry the trailing platoons opened fire. As far as he could see to the left, Skinks flared. He looked to the right and saw even more Skinks flaring, caught in a crossfire between the two Marine columns. Then the Skinks were past and the Marines ceased fire.

  Captain Enkhtuya agonized for a full seven seconds before deciding that it was more important to return to Haven with the objects they'd taken from the supply depot than to pursue the Skinks and risk running into an ambush or a heavily defended position.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brigadier Sturgeon was silent as he rode through the half-destroyed city streets. Ambassador Jayben Spears, sitting at his side, was also pensive. Their driver was a soldier from an Army of God infantry outfit Sturgeon had borrowed for the occasion. He'd have preferred one of his own men, but due to the recent bombardments, the city streets were choked with rubble and roadblocks, and since this man was a native of the place, he knew how to find the right detours.

  "Reminds me of old flat pictures I've seen of Berlin in 1945," Spears said at last. Even after four centuries, the destruction visited upon Nazi Germany during the Second World War was still an icon for the complete devastation of a society, instantly recognizable to all educated people.

  "What was that, Jay?" Sturgeon asked.

  "The Skinks have done a job on this place," the Confederation Ambassador to Kingdom said. They passed disconsolate citizens picking through the ruins, work crews busy removing the debris from the most recent bombardment, others trying to go about their business in horse-drawn vehicles. While the Skink weapons appeared to fire line-of-sight, the upper floors of all the higher buildings, minarets, and church steeples had been destroyed, as well as all the structures on the hills in and around the city.

  Sturgeon shrugged. "My mind is elsewhere." He turned then to Spears and grinned. "We're going to kick some Skink ass, Jay."

  "Is that what you're going to tell these bozos?" He nodded toward Mount Temple in the near distance, where the Convocation of Ecumenical Leaders was in session. They had been called before them that morning to deliver a situation report on Brigadier Sturgeon's plan to break the siege.

  "Yes, but that's all I'm going to tell them."

  "You're obligated to tell them something, Ted. Me too, if I knew what. We're obligated by agreement to treat the Convocation of Ecumenical Leaders with the same respect we'd treat the delegates of any other sovereign government."

  "Jay, you know I don't take very well to fools," Sturgeon replied. "Too many times throughout my career I've had to kowtow to goddammed politician fools, and I'm getting tired of it. These religious ‘leaders’ are some of the worst of the lot. I'm going to talk to these idiots only because I have to, and it's going to be short and not too sweet, I can tell you that. You know how they rule this world, Jay. They're about as ‘ecumenical’ as Heinrich Himmler. That Collegium of theirs is worse than any secret police organization. Christ's bloody piles, Jay, this whole lot of goddammed whining pulpit thumpers disgusts me!"

  Their driver, unused to such bold language, lost his concentration and the vehicle nearly rammed into the traffic ahead of it.

  "Easy, lad, easy," Spears said to calm the enlisted man's nerves. He glanced nervously at Sturgeon.

  "Wish to hell we could deal with this convocation bunch the way we did with those goddammed oligarchs," Sturgeon muttered.

  Spears smiled. He remembered with deep personal satisfaction how Sturgeon had handled the oligarchs of Wanderjahr. Yes, the rulers of Kingdom deserved the same kind of treatment. But . . .

  The driver pulled into the sally port at the base of Mount Temple, and the pair took the elevator to the council room just below the surface. Fortunately, the Skinks seemed unaware of the importance of Mount Temple. Once their weapons had destroyed all the structures on its surface, they had ceased firing on it except for random interdictory fires that proved more a nuisance than a threat.

  All the leaders were assembled, along with aides and other staff. Dominic de Tomas, the Dean of the Collegium, sat by himself near the main entrance. The chairman, Ayatollah Jebel Shammar, nodded at the pair as they entered and gave Ambassador Spears a grimace that passed for a greeting.

  "Watch out for him, Ted," Spears whispered to Sturgeon, nodding toward de Tomas.

  Sturgeon glanced back in de Tomas's direction. "He's not my problem, Jay. But I'll squash him if he gets in the way."

  "Gentlemen, let us come to order," Shammar intoned. Sturgeon and Spears took seats at one end of the conference table.

  Sturgeon surveyed the convocation leaders. There was Cardinal Leemus O'Lanners, of the Fathers of Padua, leader of a radical Catholic sect that had established itself on Kingdom about a hundred years before. The sect was best known for its denial of the transubstantiation of the Host. Next to him sat the inimitable Bishop Ralphy Bruce Preachintent, head of the Apostolic Congregation of the Lord's Love and Devotion. Preachintent was best known for a stentorian voice that thundered fundamentalist texts having to do mostly with sin and hellfire.

  Then there was the inscrutable Venerable Muong Bo, the chief Buddhist monk on Kingdom. He seldom said much in meetings; probably, Sturgeon thought, because the man actually might have a brain between his enormous ears. Next to him sat Swami Nirmal Bastar, leader of a large Hindu sect whose people still practiced suttee, for which they had been banished from the Indian subcontinent over three hundred years before.

  The leaders present did not represent all the sects on Kingdom, only those with the largest membership. The other sects had little say in the governing of the planet and were kept in check mostly by the efforts of de Tomas and the Collegium. He was always present at the meetings, to accept and, seemingly, immediately carry out any assignments the leaders might give him.

  Archbishop General Lambsblood sat by himself, a scowl on his face. He commanded the Army of God, and as such, technically outranked Sturgeon, who only commanded two FISTs of Confederation Marines. But when the Convocation had asked for the Confederation's help, it was agreed that the Marine commander would command all of the planet's military forces, and so Lambsblood now had no choice but to accept his subordinate status.

  "General Sturgeon," Shammar began, but paused when Sturgeon stood.

  "Your Holiness, I am a brigadier in the Confederation Marine Corps. The Marine Corps h
as various ranks of general, but I am a brigadier."

  "Excuse me, Brigadier," Shammar apologized quickly. "Brigadier Sturgeon, we—our people, that is—have been fearfully injured by these invaders, and we are now under siege here in the capital city. Under siege in our own capital! Unthinkable! This situation has gone on for days now. When you came here with your forces, you promised to repel the invaders and save our people. But we are on the defensive now. General Lambsblood's forces have sustained heavy casualties. Your forces have sustained casualties. We demand to know how you plan to extricate us from this debacle."

  "You must call for reinforcements!" Lambsblood blurted out from where he sat.

  "Brothers! It is the judgment of the Lord!" Ralphy Bruce Preachintent shouted, rising. The other leaders grimaced and looked at the tabletop. "We have sinned, brothers, and the Lord has allowed Satan to invest us with his minions! I—"

  "Brother Ralphy Bruce, please," Shammar pleaded. "Be seated. Brigadier Sturgeon must make his report. Brigadier, please take us into your council."

  "Your Holiness, gentlemen, General Lambsblood," Sturgeon began, nodding at the assembled personages, deliberately leaving de Tomas out, "I don't need to tell you that the situation is very grave. Our casualties have been heavy, but so have the enemy's. I am going to break his encirclement of the capital and attack him where he is most vulnerable." He sat down.

  Ayatollah Shammar gaped at Sturgeon. He remained silent, waiting for the brigadier to continue. When he showed no sign of doing so, he stuttered, "Ah, Brigadier, do you have, ah . . . any, uh, details of your plan to communicate to us?" He waved one hand vaguely as he spoke.

  "No."

  There was silence around the table. The leaders gaped at Sturgeon, not understanding what he meant. "You mean you do not as yet have a plan?" Cardinal O'Lanners asked in astonishment.

  "Yes, Eminence, I have a plan," Sturgeon replied.

  The leaders looked at one another. Swami Bastar cleared his throat nervously. "Well, share it with us, Brigadier."

  "No, gentlemen, I cannot do that."

  The leaders gasped and then they all began to talk at once. Finally, Shammar gestured them to silence. "Brigadier, as the representatives of the sovereign government of this world, we demand you take us into your confidence in this matter. What are we to tell our people?"

  "You may tell your people that we shall defeat the invaders."

  "But—But . . . how, Brigadier?" Bishop Ralphy Bruce asked.

  "He neither knows nor cares!" Archbishop General Lambsblood shouted. "He has used my men as cannon fodder, sacrificing them to save the lives of his own precious Marines!"

  "Lambsblood," Sturgeon replied mildly, deliberately ignoring his military rank, "it is you who've turned your men into cannon fodder. Before I got here the Skinks were slaughtering your men left and right. At least now they're fighting back, and once my Marines have had a chance to train them in proper small-unit tactics, they'll be able to take the initiative away from the enemy. Had you been left in charge here, you wouldn't have an army anymore. And all of you sitting here would be dead now."

  Lambsblood was so angry he could only splutter as his face turned a beet red.

  "And something else, while we're at it, General. The whole trouble with your army is that you're all so wrapped up in your religious orthodoxies you don't even trust your men at the squad level to have radios!" He leveled a forefinger at the unhappy Lambsblood. "That's criminal! I'll tell you this: that's going to change."

  Lambsblood seemed on the verge of having a stroke.

  "But—But General, er, I mean Brigadier," Cardinal O'Lanners sputtered, "have you asked the Confederation for reinforcements?"

  "I have," Sturgeon answered, "but it's too soon to have received a reply. You all know how long it takes to get messages from here to Earth. We don't have time to wait for a response, much less heavy reinforcements. All I can really do is apprise headquarters of the situation. We are on our own here. So I am going to act on my own and hit the Skinks hard enough to break their hold on this planet."

  "That's outrageous!" Bishop Ralphy Bruce shouted. "It'll mean the deaths of everyone!"

  Brigadier Sturgeon smiled. "Sir, you are a minister of God. You believe in an omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, all-loving God, do you not? You believe in an afterlife, an especially nice one for those who believe as you do. So it strikes me as mighty inconsistent that you're so damned afraid of dying."

  The meeting broke into pandemonium. Ambassador Spears thought it was time to intervene. "Gentlemen." He stood. "Brigadier Sturgeon, and he alone, is responsible for the defense of your community now. You have called him away from his duties. He has been kind enough to come here to address you, but he must return to his command post. You will have to accept his prerogative to keep his planning secret until he is ready to put it into operation. You requested the Confederation's help, and you have it. But you will follow our lead in all military matters, and that is it."

  Spears sat down. The leaders stared at him with bulging eyes. After a moment Sturgeon spoke again.

  "Your Holiness," he said, addressing Shammar directly. "First, before they are finalized, I never share my plans with anyone outside my chain of command. Second, there is the vital matter of security. I do not know what manner of intelligence the enemy might have, but I do know that when you men leave here to return to your, uh, respective congregations, you'll tell your closest associates and aides everything you've been told this morning. So I'm telling you nothing. Now, please excuse us; I must be getting back. General Lambsblood." He turned to the apoplectic figure who was still simmering. "Be in my command post in one hour. If you do not feel you can oblige, I will appoint someone else to command your army. If you or if anyone else," his glance took in all the leaders at the conference table, "oppose me in any way, I will take you into custody until my job here is finished." Sturgeon stood, gave the leaders a polite bow and, closely followed by Ambassador Spears, strode out of the room.

  As the pair passed de Tomas, who had remained silent during the entire scene, de Tomas stood and bowed deeply at them, a lopsided sneer on his face. Sturgeon ignored him, but Spears could not suppress a grimace of disgust.

  In the evening, secure in the fortress that was his headquarters, de Tomas played the recording he'd made of what Sturgeon and Spears had been saying, from the time they got into their car to the time they got out, back at Sturgeon's command post. "‘Christ's bleeding piles’." De Tomas laughed. That was a new one on him. He was beginning to like this Brigadier Sturgeon. They apparently thought alike when it came to the uselessness of religion in running a government. Then he smiled at the brigadier's threat to "squash" him. "No fear of that, my dear Marine commander," he said aloud. "I'll not get in your way. No, sir, my dear Confederation friends! You do your work and then I will do mine. My day is coming." He laughed with real pleasure, and with a flourish as if proposing a formal toast, finished the glass of Katzenwasser '36 he had been drinking.

  Back in his billets, the young soldier who had driven Brigadier Sturgeon and Ambassador Spears to the Convocation earlier in the day reflected on the things the brigadier had said in the car along the way. ". . . these religious leaders are some of the worst of the lot," the Marine commander had said. The worst fools, is what he meant. He had never, ever heard anyone speak that way about the Convocation of Ecumenical Leaders! And he took the Lord's name in vain and was not struck by a bolt of lightning! Extraordinary! And he'd said the Collegium, the one institution everyone on Kingdom feared and respected, was "worse than any secret police organization." That's what the brigadier had said! And he'd called them all "whining pulpit thumpers." Those words had literally taken the young soldier's breath away.

  These Marines were not like anyone else he'd ever met. They talked freely to everyone, showed no fear of being overheard, and made the most outrageous statements without the slightest fear of correction. And more than that, men only slightly higher in rank than himself were
given the most important responsibilities and evidently left alone—trusted—by their leadership to carry them out. Such initiative was totally alien to his army, and he marveled that mere enlisted men in the Confederation Marine Corps could be trusted so explicitly. Taking responsibility seemed natural to them! And he had never received such good instruction as the Marines were giving the Kingdomite soldiers. Amazingly, it was evident his Marine teachers really wanted him and his fellow soldiers to act as they themselves did.

  Deep down inside, beneath a lifetime's religious indoctrination and stringent orthodoxy, a small flicker of doubt burned within that young soldier's soul. He was beginning to like the Marines.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The days following the attack on the Skink supply depot were filled with activity on all sides, but there was little contact between the Marines and the invaders. Most of the activity on the Confederation side wasn't conducted by the Marines, but by the scientists and technicians of Interstellar City and on board the Grandar Bay. The raiding party had brought back forty packages from the supply depot. Eleven of them were duplicates, which left twenty-nine different items to identify. The civilian and navy scientists and technicians on the ground and in orbit worked furiously to analyze them. The navy assembled a special engineering team to work on the spare barrel, or whatever it was, that Lieutenant Eggers had captured.

  The Confederation forces were excited. The Skinks were decidedly not.

  The Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters again assembled before the Great Master. No small tables were set between them. No diminutive females moved silently and gracefully among them to serve a steaming beverage. They carried no weapons, not even ceremonial swords. Facing the assembly, the Over Master responsible for defense of the entrances to the underground complex sat cross-legged in front of the Great Master. He was naked except for a loincloth, and a long knife lay on the bare floor in front of his ankles. His face bore no expression. A Large One faced him from a pace to his left and rear. The Large One held a sword, its blade gleaming sharply. The unsheathed sword that lay across the Great Master's crossed legs was a true weapon, not an emblem.