Considerably later, after dark and unnoticed by people otherwise engaged, the hideous contest in the pass subsided and the battered, stunned, exhausted survivors painfully swam away. Not even the smallest fishing boat remained afloat among the gigantic, wallowing dead, and a stunning flurry of carrion seekers of every imaginable sort—including most of the Grikbirds, by then—swept in to join the unprecedented feast.
“Do you see?” Arano Garcia now roared at the confused, frightened, and growing crowd through his speaking trumpet. More civilians had packed into the plaza, probably fleeing the waterfront area behind XV Corps. That was a nervous moment for the Impie Marines, who found themselves surrounded, but word of what happened in the pass was spreading fast. “God is on our side!” Garcia loudly proclaimed. “The Blood Drinkers have offended God with their depravity, and He has caused the monsters in the water to destroy them on the sea. We must annihilate the child killers in the city, and wash the streets with their blood!”
The crowd surged, roaring angry agreement. There was no question something amazing had occurred, something as supernatural as anything they’d ever heard of—and profoundly unfavorable to the Holy Dominion. The people of El Corazon were still very afraid, probably more so than before, but they were also on their side at last.
“I’m sorry, Santa Madre,” Garcia told Sister Audry, genuinely contrite. “Your fine words touched me as deeply as ever. And they’ll touch others soon, when they’ll be heard with open hearts. But remember how long it took you to bring me and your Vengadores to the light. For now we must rely on God’s vengeance.” He motioned at the mob, perhaps thirty thousand now, beginning to press eastward in a roaring babble of their own exhortations. “Vengeance is all they understand at present, and they needed a sign.”
* * *
* * *
“The city is lost, my general,” Coronel Urco sadly proclaimed, turning away from another breathless messenger. General Mayta merely nodded, unseeing. The smoke was so dense that it was already dark, in any event, even though the sun remained slightly over the horizon in the west. The heretics had broken in everywhere, and Mayta and his command corps had retreated time and again, until it was pressed against the northeast bastion of the great wall. The enemy’s XI Corps had bashed its way in at last, fanning out through the city; XV Corps had linked up with X Corps at the temple; and Mayta had watched with his own disbelieving eyes as the leviathans of the deep obliterated his carefully hoarded fleet, and his dragons—lesser and greater—dispersed. Now even the populace was against him!
“It’s all General Allegria’s fault,” Urco snapped savagely, apparently reading Mayta’s mind. That wasn’t entirely true, of course; Mayta had underestimated his foe—particularly the demons such as that horrible Major Blas; no mere “animal” she, after all—based on his small successes against them. He’d opted for a static defense like that which had served their General Shinya so well at Guayak and Fort Defiance, but that was a terrible mistake because it allowed the enemy to focus all its might, from land, sea, and air, upon him. Even so, he was confident he would’ve prevailed if not for the leviathans. And General Allegria, of course. So, ultimately, Urco was right.
“All the people, even the children, would have fought them, my general,” Urco continued, “if Allegria used them together to attack, and not just the children as shields for his Blood Drinkers!” He spat the name. Ordinary service rivalry aside, regular soldiers didn’t like Blood Drinkers any more than the general populace, for the same reasons. Chief among those was fear. Disputes between regulars and Blood Drinkers, even off duty in a cantina, always resulted in the regulars suffering brutal consequences. Blood Drinkers were unquestionably the best troops in the Dominion, but they lorded it over everyone. Even the alcalde of a city as prominent as El Corazon had reason to fear the wrath of junior Blood Drinker officers unless he had high, secure connections. Any accusation by one of them was tantamount to conviction. Therefore, after the way Allegria used the children—the word spread like lightning—as far as the people of El Corazon were concerned, it was he and his Blood Drinkers who murdered them as surely as if he’d fired the enemy cannons himself.
“I suppose you’re right, Coronel Urco,” Mayta finally agreed, “but it makes no difference now.”
“It does, my general!” Urco pleaded, physically pushing Mayta toward a small courtyard behind the corner bastion tower. Three greater dragons fitted with saddles for their riders—couriers in this case—waited, milling waspishly. The scent of blood was heavy in the air but so was the smoke they hated, and they were growing irritable and hard to manage. Two already had riders; short, small men in heavy coats with carbines hooked to broad straps slung diagonally across their torsos. The dragon wearing an empty saddle swung its head toward Mayta and snapped at him, red eyes glowing malevolently. Mayta drew back. He instinctively feared dragons—any sane man would—even as he admired their lethal beauty. They were a bit more than just oversized lesser dragons; equally colorful in their plumage, but smarter by far. And though they were more delicate, pound for pound, their teeth and claws were proportionately longer and sharper and they used them with greater cunning. Most important of all, they’d grudgingly accept riders and understood more complex commands.
“You must fly to the east,” Urco insisted, “prepare our defenses there. Only you fully appreciate how the heretics fight!”
Mayta snorted. “Even if that’s true, I doubt His Holiness, Don Hernan, will forgive me the loss of El Corazon, El Paso del Fuego, and therefore virtually everything to the north, which will now be isolated. Not to mention one of his favorite, if stupidest, sons. He won’t appoint me to command anything above the scavengers he gives me to. I suspect they won’t obey me,” he added darkly.
“Then take charge!” Urco pressed. “You remain supreme commander beyond the city of Nuevo Granada and the Holy Temple itself! Everything we had was placed at your disposal. At present, it remains so. Once you begin to truly exercise that command, even Don Hernan must hesitate to remove you.” Urco gestured around at the calamity surrounding them. “Only you can stop the heretics now, and Los Diablos del Norte will certainly take advantage of this. His Supreme Holiness in El Templo de los Papas will need you more than ever.”
Mayta took a deep breath of acrid air and finally nodded. “Very well. I’ve never ridden a dragon,” he added a bit nervously, “but my duty to the Holy Dominion is clear. You’re wise, Coronel Urco,” he blurted in a tone of genuine affection. “I wish you could come with me.”
Urco shook his head. “No, my general. I’m flattered, but someone with your vision must remain. The city may be lost, but the battle continues. I’ll ensure that all those loyal to the Holy Dominion fight to the last.”
Eyes damp, Mayta allowed a man to dress him in a heavy coat and help him up on the back of the restive dragon. The man, probably the creature’s usual rider, made sure Mayta was securely fastened in place, then retreated to stand by Coronel Urco. Mayta’s expression contorted with earnest emotion and he saluted them. Then, following the other two, Mayta’s mount abruptly leaped into the sky and furiously beat its wings until it cleared the wall. Staying low under the smoke, all three dragons swiftly accelerated eastward toward the mountains bordering the south shore of the Pass of Fire.
Sighing, Coronel Urco rubbed his smoke-tortured eyes and visibly deflated. “Teniente Tucli,” he called, “you may proceed. Spread the word as quickly as you can: all regular army units will immediately cease firing at civilians, even if they keep fighting us. Pull our men back as far as you must. Capitaine Xamirez? Your men are most pressed by the hereti—” He paused and took another breath. “The enemy forces of their Eleventh Corps. Do whatever you can to stop the fighting. Break contact and retreat if that’s your only choice, but try to speak to their commander. If successful, inform him we’re aware they treat their prisoners generously.” That information was suppressed, but most officers knew it.
What were the Vengadores, after all, but former soldiers of the Dominion?
“Tell him we’ll surrender under a single condition,” Urco continued, holding up a restraining hand. “We won’t disarm until we’ve purged this city of every Blood Drinker we can find.” He considered. “They’re more than welcome to help with that.”
Urco, Tucli, Xamirez, and many more had been loyal servants of the Dominion, but they were native to El Corazon and all had families—and children—there.
“Why did you let Mayta go?” Tucli demanded.
Urco frowned. “Several reasons. First, we’re all traitors now, and our families depend on the enemy’s success for survival. Mayta left with the last greater dragons and will think, for a time, that all of us are dead. He’ll expect the enemy to learn a great deal from prisoners, but not what we will willingly tell them. Second, though he’s a zealot, Mayta isn’t necessarily a bad man. Not like Allegria or Don Hernan. And while he may survive to fight again east of El Paso, his presence could cause considerable confusion and disarray, particularly in regard to army relations with Don Hernan.”
“You’d ignite a civil war?” Xamirez demanded, astonished.
“No,” Urco denied. “I hope not. Not between our people, at least. There’s been enough of that already. Here, and through the ages,” he added lower. “But between Mayta and Don Hernan?” He almost smiled. “That might be interesting. Either way, if Mayta lives,” he qualified again, “at the very least he won’t work well with Blood Drinkers. Particularly after his experience here.”
CHAPTER 26
OPERATION WHIPSAW
SECOND DAY
////// Second General Ign’s HQ
South Bank of the Zambezi River
Grik Africa
March 15, 1945
Second General Ign was conferring with generals from around the perimeter in the flickering light of oil lamps when his aide, a First of One Hundred new to the forward trenches, rushed into the underground bunker. Flinging himself to the dank dirt floor, the aide squirmed vigorously, implying he brought important news. Ign sighed inwardly at the antics, doubtless performed for the benefit of the other generals. He never required such things, particularly in urgent circumstances.
“Yes, what is it?” he demanded impatiently.
“Lord General!” the aide cried, still twisting. “A message from the watchposts along the river!”
“Is the enemy fleet moving?” Ign demanded. All the Allies’ metal warships, even the newest, biggest one, had assembled in the wide place in the river downstream of the nakkle leg, doubtless preparing to provide gunfire support for the attack Ign expected. The aide raised his head to look up at him. “No, Lord. The message comes from upriver, across from Old Sofesshk.” He hesitated as if for dramatic effect.
“Indeed?” inquired a general responsible for the sector to Ign’s right. “What did the pennants say?” Grik had always made limited use of signal flags at sea, but only used horns on land. Inspired by the seemingly instantaneous communications the enemy enjoyed and no longer possessing the luxury of passing messages by airship in an environment where the enemy could destroy them at will, Ign himself had created a system employing signal pennants, or fires and mirrors at night, to send information across vast distances via relays along the line of sight. The crude semaphore remained in its infancy and its operators were imperfect. Many mistakes were made. It was better than nothing, however, and as with all new things, the system would improve with time. Everyone present appreciated its potential, or Ign would’ve replaced them long ago.
The aide’s eyes widened in horror. “The prey has attacked the Holy City itself, my lords!” he cried.
Ign straightened to stand as tall as his forward-hunched frame would allow and gusted a sigh. “It was inevitable they’d bomb it eventually,” he grumbled. “Just as well most of the Hij have already been”—he hesitated—“taken elsewhere. Otherwise they may have demonstrated in some fashion. As it stands, I’m sure the Giver of Life is quite safe within the palace,” he quickly assured.
The aide was shaking his head, his snout whipping from side to side. “No, Lord, no!” he practically shouted. “I mean, yes, their large flying machines did drop bombs, but then the enemy attacked as well, on the ground!”
Ign was stunned. “Impossible!” he countered. “The only way there is through us, or upriver through our warships!”
“It’s another mistake of the pennants,” one general stated confidently.
“No, Lord,” the aide objected, flinching slightly to contradict such a lofty being. “I waited until the message was confirmed by one of the greatships anchored there. Still suspecting a misunderstanding, I demanded further details. The initial message was confirmed. . . . And observations added of fighting in the city.”
All the generals looked stunned now, their crests lying flat, and Ign finally understood his aide’s behavior. He would’ve groveled when bringing such a report to First General Esshk.
“Could they have marched there on the north side of the river after all?” one general breathed skeptically, but Ign shook his head impatiently. Neither side was much interested in the terrain on the north bank of the Zambezi, particularly upriver of the nakkle leg. It was wild, steep, and rocky, full of small river gashes, virtually trackless, and clotted by impenetrable forests. It would take far too long for a force of any size to negotiate the region. And between the small garrisons and shore batteries (supplied from the river) that Ign had established along its length all the way back to Sofesshk, and the various bands of hunter Uul that eked out a living there, they’d have had some warning if anyone tried. No, Ign decided, the enemy would sooner sprout wings and fly. “When did the attack begin?” he demanded. “How long has it gone on? Does the commander of the greatship know how the enemy got there? What did he see?” The questions came fast, spilling over one another.
“Fighting was observed soon after the bombing,” the aide replied, “and may continue yet. The day begins outside,” he reminded the generals who’d been sequestered underground for hours. “As for how . . .” The aide hesitated. “After the bombing, many flying machines still came throughout the night, but no more bombs fell. The greatship’s commander thought he observed . . . things, drifting down from the sky, however.”
Ign’s crest jerked erect. “White things? Like balls?” he demanded, razor claws twisting in his guts. Perhaps they did fly, he thought with dread.
The aide touched the floor with his snout. “I do not know. He didn’t say, and I . . . didn’t know to ask.”
Ign looked at the others. “It’s possible,” he stated flatly, “though I never imagined . . .” He shook his head. “I—many of us here—have seen the flyers of damaged machines leap away as to their deaths, only to be suspended by white balls of fabric that lower them gently to the ground. None have ever done this over ground we control, so we’ve never seen exactly how it works. Yet we know it does.” He turned to stare at the white lines painted on the earthen wall of the headquarters, a map depicting the region, their deployments, and what they knew of the enemy’s. “Somehow they dropped troops, perhaps a great many, into Old Sofesshk from the sky!” he said with certainty, the slightest hint of admiration joining the horror in his voice.
“What shall we do?” one of the generals almost wailed.
Ign stabbed the wall to the south with a claw, and dirt and white paint crumbled away. “The Other Hunters from the Republic have smashed past Fifth General Akor.” He made a diagonal nod across at the general responsible for containing the Allied beachhead to the south. “Your reserves moved to counter them, as have others I’ve sent. Your line is thin but you needn’t concern yourself. The enemy must break through here”—he pointed at the section of the line where they now were, close to the river—“where they can use their powerful ships. Here is where their greatest force assembles, and here we’ve put our strongest d
efense.” He looked at the other generals.
“And I must take more troops from you all, since I’m now convinced the enemy attack is imminent. It must be if they mean to take advantage of the confusion they’ve sown with this attack on Old Sofesshk.” He stepped back.
There were nods. It seemed obvious. “I’ll begin shifting forces to bolster yours at once, Second General,” agreed the commander of Ten Thousands defending the southwest portion of the line. “But what of Sofesshk? What if they . . . destroy the Celestial Mother?” he added, voicing all their fears.
“They won’t. They can’t,” Ign stated confidently. “But I’m sure the enemy’s attack there was executed precisely so we’d think so, and to throw us into disarray.” His crest flared. “It shall not be. It’s nothing but a sacrificial thrust against our minds, and it won’t strike home.” He pointed northwest at the area of concern. “I’ll have all available forces attack across the river at once, but with the air in the enemy’s claws that may not accomplish much,” he conceded. “Yet you all know the quality of First Ker-noll Jash. He’s near there, and I have no doubt he’ll plan a more . . . deliberate rescue of the ancient city and Celestial Mother. He will succeed, and destroy these strange, flying warriors.”
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