Distant Thunders d-4

by Taylor Anderson

  They’d heard the cannonade grow louder as they neared and saw the warships in the bay jockey for more advantageous firing positions. Broadside after broadside sent roiling clouds of billowing smoke across the water. The new mortars were still silent for now, waiting for the Grik to wholly focus on the new threat. Then, shortly before, the dense peninsula of jungle ahead that stood between Alden’s and Rolak’s converging forces suddenly teemed with thousands of Grik shapes.

  “They’ve finally turned to meet us,” Matt had announced aloud, as much for Jenks as Alden. A number of horns blew together, their different tones jumbled and discordant, but they’d seemed a suitable accompaniment to the shrill, growling shrieks of the horde that had erupted from the trees.

  Now Jenks could only stare in horror at the elemental force bearing down on them. It was a mob, to be sure, but a huge one, and this first look at a Grik berserker charge was most disconcerting. He wondered how Captain Reddy could just stand there like that, watching them come. Either the man was utterly fearless or his trust in his commanders and troops was truly that profound. Jenks realized that Captain Reddy and his guards had faced this before, but he couldn’t imagine anyone ever becoming so inured to it. He stood as well. He was an officer, a gentleman, and possessed a significant measure of personal courage. He admitted to himself that he was terrified, though. Standing in the face of that seething, swarming mass of teeth, claws, swords, and crossbows couldn’t possibly be done without some fear. And yet, glancing sidelong at the American officer, this Supreme Commander, he saw no sign of any emotion other than… anticipation.

  “ ’Bout… now!” Matt said.

  As if reading his commander’s thoughts, Pete Alden bellowed at the top of his lungs, the order he gave repeated down the ranks and punctuated with whistle blasts.

  “Commence firing!”

  Twelve pieces of light artillery bucked and spewed dense clouds of smoke and double loads of canister. Arrows whickered into the darkening sky with a terrible, collective “swoosh.” Untold hundreds of Grik warriors were swept away with as little apparent effort as the command had taken to give. Others screamed in agony and writhed on the ground, clutching wounds or festooned with arrows.

  “Independent, fire at will!” Alden shouted, his voice already a little hoarse after the last command and the choking smoke that followed it.

  There were a number of distinct thumping, popping sounds beyond the trees from the direction of the initial landing force. Whistling sounds, dozens, scores, like Jenks had never heard, were punctuated by fearsome but smallish blasts that sent gouts of earth into the sky right among the rear of the enemy host. A few of the “mortar bombs,” Reddy had called them, though Jenks had never seen their like, erupted in the trees themselves and sent swarms of splinters into the Grik. The agonized screeching took on a desperate, terrified air.

  Then, above it all, there came a roar. It wasn’t like the roar of thunder or the marching surf; it was higher pitched, excited, almost gleeful. Despite its tone, it had a profound, unstoppable, elemental urgency that stirred his most primitive thoughts. In contrast to the increasingly agonized and terrified cacophony of the Grik horde, the roar from beyond the trees was confident, eager, remorseless. It was the sound of doom.

  “That’ll be Rolak and Chack!” Gray boomed happily. “They were the anvil. Probably got mighty sick of it too. Now they’re the hammer!”

  A large percentage of the Grik, where the mortars still fell, had been transformed from an unstoppable juggernaut into a wild, panic-stricken mass. Jenks looked on in amazement while thousands of Grik scrambled in all directions, slaying one another with wild abandon. Some ran back the way they’d come, smashing into the howling Lemurian troops and Marines that suddenly erupted from the trees. Others raced north or south, toward the jungle or the sea. Some crashed into the rear of the forward element, still charging the Allied line. Battle erupted there, among the Grik, even as the foremost berserkers slammed into the Allied shield wall.

  The slaughter was incredible. The mortars stopped falling and the field guns were pulled back to avoid inflicting casualties on the Allied forces now closing on the still-larger Grik army caught between them. The relative sizes of the armies lost all meaning, however, since growing numbers of Grik were now murdering one another. It was insane. The fighting at the shield wall was still wildly intense; the Grik that struck there as a relatively cohesive force still outnumbered Alden’s entire command, but that was when the qualitative difference between the combatants was most plainly demonstrated. Nowhere did the shield wall break. It stood like a monolithic cliff in the face of disorganized breakers, and the killing was remarkably one-sided.

  Spears thrust and jabbed over, under, and around the front-rank shields, whose bearers pushed with all their might against the battering Grik. Inexorably, General Rolak’s force swept through the chaos of the Grik rear, killing any who stood even momentarily. Those who fled from between the closing pincers were mostly ignored, but few seemed to realize this and even fewer had the wherewithal or initiative to take advantage of the fact. Within an hour of the first mortar blasts, the jaws of the pincers clamped shut and all that remained of the battle was a prolonged, remorseless butchery.

  Captain Reddy must have noticed Jenks’s expression. Perhaps his face was pale?

  “Maybe you’re wondering why I don’t put a stop to it?” Matt’s words came in a fierce monotone. “On some level, maybe I still wish I could. But those down there”-he gestured at the dwindling Grik-“won’t quit fighting. Hell, half of them are still killing each other!” He shook his head. “I don’t know how or why they act the way they do, and frankly, that’s not my concern right now. Maybe we’ll know someday. Maybe the prisoners we took at Aryaal will help with that. But right now, we’ll use this clear weakness of theirs against them as often and mercilessly as we can. There may come a time when they get wise and it won’t work anymore.” He looked at Jenks again. “Or maybe you’re wondering if I could stop it?”

  Almost without thinking, Jenks jerked a nod.

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know that either. You probably can’t comprehend what’s driven these people, my people, down there, to become what they are from what they were. Mostly, they used to be almost instinctively unaggressive. There were exceptions, but all of them have suffered loss like you can’t imagine. At least, I don’t think you can. Hell, I couldn’t have until I came to this world. Maybe the Rape of Nanking comes close…” He saw Jenks’s uncomprehending blink. “Skip it. Anyway, like you saw at Aryaal, we aren’t fighting a civilized enemy, and this isn’t anything like a civilized war. The very wickedness of our enemy is what’s allowed us to build this army, these soldiers I’m so proud of. I don’t think anything else would have done it.”

  Captain Reddy sighed. “ Could I stop them from hacking the life out of every last Grik down there? Maybe. I tried once, you know, and it didn’t work. The Grik give no quarter and never ask for it. I don’t think they know how. Faced with an enemy like that, what do you think? Even if I could make Alden’s troops stop killing, the Grik won’t. I don’t know what made ‘tame’ Griks out of the ones Rasik had, but it didn’t happen in the middle of a fight. Maybe they need time to think things through, and some of the ones who get away will come in later, all peaceable and contrite. For now… I have a rule. It used to be ‘Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed.’ ‘Know’ has become ‘believe,’ but it still works pretty good. That’s my little concession to the gray area of command, and given a choice, I’d much rather err on the side of my people than those monsters down there.”

  He looked away from Jenks, back at the dwindling fight. There were cheers now. Cheers of survival, pride, and relief. Cheers for Captain Reddy too. “Besides, to answer the last question you never asked: no. Deep down, I don’t want them to stop. Not after Baalkpan. Not after all I’ve lost.”

  A meanie galloped up. Well, “galloped” wasn’t exactly the right word, but it was blowing hard t
hrough flared nostrils and would likely have been panting if its jaws weren’t cinched tightly shut. It stared malevolently around. “Cap-i-taan Reddy,” cried the Manilo cavalryman from its back. “General Rolak’s most fervent compliments and affection! He begs to inform you that when they made their charge, another, smaller Grik force was assembling on his flank. He had no choice but to ignore it when this show kicked off. Since it did not attack his rear as he advanced, he fears it may have wind of the blocking force to the west.” The courier motioned toward where the clouds were growing positively malignant. As before, when Matt had seen a growing Strakka, black tendrils had begun to radiate from the dark, brooding core.

  Matt looked at Jenks. “After seeing this, are you sure you don’t want to urge Mr. Blair to consider General Maraan’s suggestions a little more carefully?”

  Jenks eyed the semidomesticated beast the rider sat upon. “Is there room up there for me?” he demanded.

  “Of course.”

  Jenks turned to Matt. “Thank you indeed for a most… illuminating experience. I believe I would like to… strongly counsel Lieutenant Blair to do just that. By your leave, Captain Reddy?”

  Battle for Singapore

  CHAPTER 19

  T he mood in Donaghey ’s wardroom was mixed that night. The island of Singapore was theirs, essentially, and almost without exception, all the objectives outlined in the plan had been achieved. Casualties were light, considering the relative sizes of the forces involved, and that was reason enough for most of the commanders to feel proud of and comfortable with the victory.

  Lieutenant Blair was anything but comfortable. Not only did he suffer from a painful wound across his ribs, but his losses had not been light at all. Jenks and the Manilo courier astride the meanie had arrived at the left-flank blocking force too late to counsel, cajole, or issue orders, and in contrast to the other leaders present, Blair stared at the bulkhead with a stricken, opium-slacked expression.

  His Imperial Marines had stood bravely in the face of the Grik tide that swarmed across them. The two aimed volleys of musket fire they’d managed had forced the charging Grik into Safir Maraan’s shield wall, but meeting that immovable object, they’d swarmed back around it-and over the left flank “secured” by Blair’s Marines. Caught in the process of reloading, and helpless in the face of an enemy the likes of which they’d never faced, the Imperial Marines either broke or were slaughtered where they stood. It was a horrifying thing to see, Safir later confessed to Matt, and she was as furious over the senseless waste of Blair’s Marines as she was over the utterly avoidable losses her own flank had suffered before she could pull it back. In her practical, slightly blood-thirsty way, she’d insisted that Blair be hanged.

  He wouldn’t be, of course. Matt secretly suspected Jenks had far more control over Blair’s tactics than he’d confessed, and the Marine Lieutenant had probably just been following orders: orders not to integrate his force with the Lemurians or take their orders under any circumstances. Jenks’s own horror over the aftermath and his hesitation to censure Blair confirmed as much. If Blair could recover from watching half his men shredded before his eyes, he might be a better officer for it.

  Otherwise, all the major port facilities had been secured and the remaining Grik driven into the jungle. Chack’s 2nd Marines had joined with Alden’s 1st, and together the two regiments stormed the stockade where the Japanese prisoners were held. They were just in time, too. Apparently, some final order had been issued by the now dead (by suicide, as usual) Hij commander that none of the Japanese be taken alive. More than a dozen of the thirty-odd advisor/prisoners had already been killed before the Marines slaughtered their captor/allies. With Matt’s permission, the Bosun had accompanied the effort in case his Thompson was needed, and to his reported incredulity, one of the Japanese prisoners actually killed himself when he realized that Americans were among their rescuers! The rest of the Japs seemed appropriately grateful for their rescue, after witnessing their comrades die and recognizing their own ultimate fate.

  The wardroom heaved and the gimbaled lanterns cast eerie shadows. The leading edge of the Strakka was upon them at last, having waited until the battle was over before descending in all its savage fury. The army still ashore had taken cover as best it could, mostly in the newly constructed Grik warehouses along the dock. Some pickets were still out, and the meanie-mounted Manilos were scouring the jungle for any large Grik concentrations they’d missed. Most reports had any semicohesive groups heading north. No one knew if there was any kind of causeway connecting this Singapore with the Malay Peninsula or not, but one way or another, the overriding imperative of the Grik survivors seemed to be escape. Even the enemy force that broke through on the left was reportedly moving north now, in disarray.

  Matt was guardedly optimistic. They’d know more when the storm passed and the weather cleared, but the 2nd Allied Expeditionary Force seemed to have won the first purely offensive battle of the war. They’d engaged in an ambitious multipronged amphibious assault against territory the enemy knew better than they did, and utterly crushed that enemy on his own ground. It was a heady moment and an auspicious beginning to the complex strategic plan he, Adar, Keje, and Alden had initially conceived.

  Matt was speaking to Rolak. Unlike Pete, who’d remained ashore, the old warrior wasn’t too proud to retreat to the comforts of a warm, dry bed. “Too proud” probably wasn’t the best way to put it, Matt decided, seeing the signs of fatigue the day had left on his friend. “Too practical not to,” was probably the better choice of words. Chack remained ashore in his stead. The ship tossed on the suddenly malicious sea, jerking up short as her carefully laid anchors kept her in place. The wind screamed through the rigging and was even audible in the wardroom, over the pounding rain that lashed the skylight. It was a hell of a storm, Matt thought, but the Allied ships and their rich haul of prizes rode relatively easily in the protected harbor. It was a slow-moving Strakka, and any ship caught on the open ocean would have been in for it. In spades.

  “What now?” Jenks asked. He’d come out to Donaghey with Matt before the storm struck with all its fury. He was essentially stranded aboard until the sea calmed enough for him to return to Achilles.

  “Now we wait,” Matt replied. “Clancy’s been transmitting our action report to Baalkpan, but in this weather, who knows if they’ll get anything. He said he’s picked up pieces of a reply, but can’t make any sense out of it.” Matt shrugged. “Not only are we trying to transmit a message through terrible atmospheric conditions, but we can’t run the wind generator in weather like this, so he can’t even boost the gain on the output. Cheesy, primitive batteries are all we have.”

  “ ‘Cheesy’ to you, perhaps, but exciting technology to me, I assure you!”

  Sean O’Casey suddenly burst into the compartment, waving a wet message form in his hand. His face was hard, enraged, and newly damp dried blood was running down his face like reconstituted tomato soup. Clancy trailed close behind. He looked a little apologetic, but overall his expression was much like O’Casey’s.

  “Ye must read this, Captain; read it now! Proof at last o’ the heinous Empire that creature serves!” He was addressing Matt but his murderous glare was fixed on Jenks.

  Matt was momentarily taken aback, but Jenks could only goggle at the one-armed apparition who’d appeared in their midst. Recognition spread across his face and it reddened with discovery and outrage.

  “You!” Jenks shouted. “By all that’s holy, how…! That you should be here!” He turned to Matt. “Captain Reddy, I demand an explanation! This man is a wanted criminal-never mind the missing arm; I would recognize him anywhere! He is a traitor, sir, and his appearance here not only confirms it, but for him to appear now, after all these months, is sufficient proof to me that you knew he was wanted and yet kept the knowledge of his presence from me!”

  “Ye demand!” O’Casey almost choked. “Captain Reddy, I demand that

  … monster be clapped in irons,
his ship seized, an’ he be hoisted kickin’ to the end of a yard on the first sunny morn’ we’re granted! Of all the perfidious, lyin’, spyin’, goats o’ the world! I hope ye choke all the day long afore ye gasp yer last!”

  “As I said,” continued Jenks, his tone ominous, “Mr. Bates is a wanted man. He is a traitor to his emperor and has risen in arms against him and his lawful subjects! I demand that you arrest him at once, or there will be consequences!”

  “This is my ship,” Greg Garrett suddenly exploded, “and I demand somebody tell me what the hell’s going on here!”

  “Yeah,” Matt said angrily. “Let’s all find out, shall we? What are you even doing here, O’Casey? You were supposed to be on Dowden!”

  “He was ashore for the fighting today, Captain,” Rolak answered. “Chack brought him and said you had told him to ‘let O’Casey entertain himself,’ or some such. He came aboard here with me.”

  Matt groaned. “Commodore Jenks,” he said, “I was and am aware Mr. O’Casey-or Bates, as you seem to know him-is a fugitive from your government, but he’s also the man most responsible for the survival of Princess Rebecca. He lost his arm in the act of saving her, and it was he and some of our submariners who protected and cared for her long before you ever came to call. I’m personally convinced he’s not a traitor to your emperor or his household, although other… elements within your government might not agree. Ask the princess yourself for her opinion of the man!”

  “Aye, that’s the problem, Captain Reddy, the blackguard cannae do any such thing!”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Matt demanded. In answer, O’Casey held forth the message form.

  “I been trying to clean it up, Skipper,” Clancy supplied. “It just didn’t make any sense! Finally, O’Casey here comes in the shack wanting to check on things back home. He used to do that now and then when he was here… Anyway, we went over it again and again. There’s no mistake!” Clancy glared at Jenks.