“Armor makes the hole in your body bigger,” General Ugla replied with a familiarity he would’ve never dreamed of using just a few months before. “I have seen it. Even the leather armor of our Uul warriors does the same. The enemy missiles distort when they hit, but do not stop.”
“As do ours,” Halik defended.
“But ours take much longer to shoot, are less likely to hit, and as you can see, this enemy—Alden’s ‘Czechs’—wear little armor at all,” Ugla pointed out.
“His other, more numerous warriors wear leather over their brush-colored clothing,” Halik maintained, “but all this is beside the point. It is the effectiveness of their new weapons that is significant. And even the ‘uncontrollable’ Czechs have them now,” he added. “Further proof that Alden could not be as displeased with them as he implied. It is well that we are almost ready to end this farce of fierce opponents that do not fight!”
“We shall have the Czechs this time, Lord General,” Ugla assured, gesturing at the battle. “There are but a few thousand of them, and the supply carts lured them out precisely as you predicted. We have cut them off from escape.”
“Have we indeed?” Halik mused, looking back at the fighting himself. His plan to trap the raiders had gone almost too well—and it really shouldn’t have. With the strange horned creatures they rode, they had far greater mobility, and Halik shouldn’t have been able to catch the entire force. He couldn’t have, he knew, if those that might’ve escaped hadn’t chosen to remain with the others. Such was loyalty, a concept he’d learned from Niwa, and he actually admired his enemy just then. He knew he could never abandon the army that had become his only real purpose in life. That was loyalty as well. “And at what cost?” he added. “Niwa was right about their weapons all along, and we shall lose three or four times as many Uul to destroy them as we would have before.”
“We have more to lose,” Ugla stated simply.
Halik glanced sharply at him. “Yes,” he said at length, “but for how long?”
Ugla shifted uncomfortably and flicked his eyes nervously at the sky. “At least they have no artillery, and if they truly are not under Alden’s control, we need not fear the enemy’s flying machines. They have never interfered in our scuffles before.”
“This is somewhat more than a ‘scuffle,’ General Ugla.”
The firing intensified to a virtually continuous roar, and they stared down the gradual slope toward the surrounded force. It had formed into a rough square, as Halik had seen the enemy do before, and all the animals that bore them were inside the formation. White smoke drifted skyward in a solid cloud, and Halik could only guess at the dreadful casualties this, his northern force, was taking. They were shooting back, of course, with matchlock and crossbow, but even with his heavy corps—as Niwa had described this number of troops—all Halik’s could do was mob around the enemy, and couldn’t bring many more weapons to bear than they. Far inferior weapons. There could be only one outcome, particularly once the Uul came to grips with sword, spear, tooth, and claw, but these Czechs—human and Lemurian—were gutting Halik’s northern force!
“Lord General!” cried a runner, as it flung itself at his feet.
“Rise,” Halik ordered, “and report!”
“Lord General,” the creature, a First of Two Hundreds—or “captain” by Niwa’s definition—rose and pointed to the southeast. “General Shlook begs your attention! More Czech riders emerge from an undiscovered pass, and move to cut between the northern force and the hatchling host that stands before the enemy works in the gap!”
“There cannot be many of them,” Halik said in a curious tone. “Why does he not simply destroy them?”
“But there are many, Lord General!” the captain almost wailed, and Halik examined him for signs he’d turned prey. No, he decided with satisfaction. He is afraid, but not prey. I have formed this army better than the treacherous Kurokawa ever dreamed. All the more reason not to let it die! “Far more than you surround here,” the runner continued desperately, “and they advance before an even larger force of Alden’s cavalry!”
Ugla hissed. Halik’s crest rose, and he turned narrowed eyes back to the fight. “You must finish this quickly, General Ugla. If you can. I must see what is happening behind us. Show me!” he barked at the runner. Together, they sprinted off.
Halik stopped his guide at the top of another rise a little over a mile away. From there he had an excellent view of the vast prairie all around. The hill where he’d destroyed Colonel Flynn’s courageous force (he allowed that ungrudgingly now) was another mile to the southwest, and beyond was Halik’s entrenched and static middle force, composed of the hatchling host. His southern force was beyond, but it was the smallest of the three in direct contact with the enemy. A company of musketeers, likely sent by Ugla to protect him, joined them and deployed. Halik knew in an instant that there was no immediate threat to his person there, but his carefully planned strategy to deny Alden his superior mobility and open-field capabilities by keeping him bottled in the forests below the gap was doomed. Czech “raiders” and Allied cavalry were deploying in a line that extended almost to Flynn’s hill, and unlimbering scores of guns! Even worse, dense columns of infantry were rushing up in support. Recognizing the flag of Rolak’s I Corps in the lead, he hacked a bitter laugh.
Another runner scrambled up and flung himself to the ground. “Oh, do get up!” Halik groaned. “What is it now?”
The runner pointed behind to the north. He was just Uul, and his speech was awkward. “Lord General Ugla tells the . . . Chsshekks is git away! They git on their critchers an’ break out our traph, lak they could has did when-epher they decide! He ask he come here?”
Halik hesitated. The enemy line was growing stronger by the moment, with ever more infantry swelling the position. Thousands of shovelfuls of dirt filled the air and began heaping up in front of it. Lemurian runners raced along, driving stakes and unspooling the insidious spiky wire as well. If he hit them now, he could beat them—but it simply couldn’t happen. It would take more than an hour for Ugla to gather his already-battered northern force and bring it up—and it would be exhausted after the run and the previous fight. It wouldn’t be in any kind of shape for another. And though the force was probably still more numerous than the enemy here, mere numbers meant nothing anymore.
The hatchling host was twice as big, but it was dug in to defend the high prairie of India from its trenches across the gap. They were utterly useless defenses against an attack from this direction! And no doubt, a large enough enemy force remained in the gap to exploit its flank if he changed its front. The southern force might come up . . . but where could he use it? Nowhere, in time. The enemy line was preparing to attack or defend, to the north or south, and there was nothing Halik could do! To underscore that, the drone of many motors became audible, and he looked up to see a large number of flying machines approaching from the east. He sagged and shook his head, realizing that this was the end. General Alden and General Rolak had already destroyed his army in his mind, and it was just a matter of moments before they began to do so in fact, on the field below. He was somewhat surprised that Rolak’s artillery hadn’t already opened up, to the south, at least. No reason why it shouldn’t have; full batteries of six guns each (he’d learned that was how they reckoned such things) were poised to commence firing, their crews standing ready. He’d watched them load! Why didn’t they just get on with it? In frustration, he started to command a general assault, of everything he had, at whatever was in front of it. It was an instinctual response, he knew, but what else remained? Suddenly, a strange thought struck him, however, and he paused, considering. Could it really be?
“Tell General Ugla”—he looked at the captain who had first fetched him—“and tell General Shlook, that Generals Alden and Rolak seem to have invited us to leave this place. If they do not attack, we will not, and we will withdraw to the west where we can re
consolidate all our forces.”
“But Lord General!” the first runner protested.
“Do not question me!” Halik snarled. “We cannot prevail here. But Alden has taught me yet another lesson, I think, and we will find a place, eventually, to face him again!”
* * *
“We should pursue them! Slay them! Burn them!” Colonel Dalibor Svec ranted, spewing spittle on his luxuriant beard. Pete and Rolak dismounted from their meanies and approached the commander of the Czech Legion. On closer inspection, Svec’s beard looked more battered, as did the rest of him and his officers. This was not unexpected considering the morning they’d had.
“You had the fight you’ve been spoiling for,” Pete pointed out. “You should be happy.”
“My legionnaires were the only ones who fought!”
Rolak glared at him and his tail swished menacingly. “Perhaps today, but our army has fought the Grik quite fiercely for a long, long time—at great cost, I must add—while your little band was content to watch and do nothing. Do not pose aggrieved before us!”
Svec was taken aback by Rolak’s tone. Usually, the old Lemurian was so calm and reasonable.
“Rolak wants to chase ’em too, Svec,” Pete said. “We all do. It might even be the best time for it. I’m sure we’d tear ’em up—for a while. But it’ll take time to get the weight we need to finish the job up through the Rocky Gap—and that’s the only way to really bring it.” He gestured around. “It’s taken weeks to plan this breakout, and stage this much artillery in the passes—and it just isn’t enough. We do have a major advantage over Halik in the open. He can’t maneuver near as fast or coordinate as well. We can catch him whenever we want and force a fight if we have to.”
Svec waved at the sky, and by implication all the Nancys and Fleashooters that still swooped about. “But why just let him go? You can still savage him as he retreats!”
“Sure, and lose a lot of planes and pilots to his antiair mortars. They’re getting a lot better with those things. What it boils down to is that he’s going to be too strung out for a while to make it worth the losses we’d take. Let him bunch back up.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve got some thinking to do about Halik. He could’ve made it hell for us here if he’d wanted to, even if he lost in the end. That makes me think he’s taking a long view of things—and maybe losses don’t appeal that much to him either anymore. We might use that. He also has to know we could’ve clobbered him as he withdrew, and he’s got to be wondering why we didn’t. He’s way too sneaky, and I like to keep him guessing.” He shrugged. “And something Niwa said just before we came up has left me wondering,” he confessed. “Our blockade of western India’s holding pretty tight, and not much is getting through. A lot of what the Grik are sending him might even be getting snapped up by Kurokawa, if he really has run wild. Either way, Halik’s essentially cut off, except from supplies that might be arriving overland, across Arabia. He knows about radio, but has no rapid communications of his own, so he won’t know squat about anything else that’s going on—particularly the results of Captain Reddy’s raid. We might use that too. In the long run, with his hatred of Kurokawa and his way different notions of things than other Grik we’ve run into, it’s just possible Halik might wind up more dangerous to our enemies than he is to us!”
“You can’t be considering an alliance!” Rolak rounded, incredulous.
“Of course not. And Colonel Svec and our cav can keep dogging him all they want, if they haven’t had enough fighting today. I’ve no doubt we’ll eventually have to kill General Halik, but in the meantime it might be interesting to see what he does on his own for a while.”
CHAPTER 20
////// First Fleet South
July 25, 1944
Matt watched Tikker’s half-dozen Nancys straggle in from their various scouts over Madagascar and set down, one by one, alongside Big Sal. They were recovered as they arrived, and none had been lost. Just sending them to have a look was a very big risk, but they had to have some idea what was waiting for them. There was a chance the planes had alerted the Grik, but even if they’d been seen or heard, there was bound to be considerable confusion over their sudden appearance in sacred skies. As far as they knew, nobody on Madagascar had ever seen an airplane before, and if they had, or from descriptions had figured out what they were, Matt hoped it would take some time for the shock of actually seeing them to translate into any real action.
Donaghey had been sent once more—still painted red—to cruise along the Grik coast and report any contacts. She’d also served as a waypoint for the planes. No report from her was considered a good thing, and now that the last Nancy had returned, she was finally free to proceed south on the next leg of her mission. The fate of Sineaa was still unknown, but she was presumed lost. Matt hated that Donaghey would be so alone, but hoped he could send one of Des-Ron 6’s DDs to join her at the Republic’s capital of Alex-aandra after this operation was complete. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry for Greg Garrett and his crew. The kid was the best they had, and if anyone could weather the cape in a dedicated sailor, Greg was the guy. But he’d forever remain the somewhat gangly, anxious young man Matt first met as Walker’s new gunnery officer in the mind’s eye of his former skipper. Well, he thought, we’ll be able to use the wireless again in a few days, one way or the other, and I can send him a proper good-bye.
“That’s the last one, Skipper,” Gray proclaimed as the final plane was lifted, dripping water, onto the flight deck of the mighty carrier/Home. Matt stepped away from Walker’s starboard bridgewing and moved back into the pilothouse. “Bring us alongside Salissa, if you please,” he told Rosen, who had the conn. Then he turned to Minnie. “Pass the word for Commanders McFarlane and Herring to join me in the wardroom, and have the cox’n stand by the motor launch. We’ll be going aboard Big Sal directly.”
* * *
This would be the last meeting before the first Lemurians in uncounted centuries set foot on the ancestral land of Madagascar, and Adar was practically giddy with excitement. He was seated beside Keje at the head of the big table in Keje’s conference room. Matt sat with Sandra in their usual place nearby, and Spanky and Simon Herring were beside them. Farther down was Major Alistair Jindal, the Imperial commander of the 21st AEF Regiment, attached to the 1st Raider Brigade. His counterpart, Risa-Sab-At, commanding the 3rd Regiment, wasn’t present, but she could rely on her brother, Chack, to brief her. She was busy preparing the brigade for its role in the upcoming operation. Nial-Ras-Kavaat, of Haakar-Faask, sat awkwardly on the stool beyond Jindal. He was to be in charge of a detachment of the DD squadron, and bold as he was known to be in battle, he appeared somewhat nervous in this setting.
On the other side of the table were Kapitan Von Melhausen, finally well enough to attend, and Kapitan Leutnant Becher Lange. Atlaan-Fas, Salissa’s nominal commander, and Sandy Newman, his exec, were next. Sitting beside them were Lieutenant Colonel Chack-Sab-At, General Queen Safir Maraan, Tikker, and Irvin Laumer. At the foot of the table were Courtney Bradford and Inquisitor Choon, engaged in a lively discussion about burrowing insects. Crowded in beside them, and oblivious to everything but the great map of Madagascar on the bulkhead behind Keje and Adar—the map he’d helped draw—was Lieutenant Toryu Miyata. It was a compilation of old American charts, from Walker’s meager reserves, Grik maps and charts captured at Madras, and Toryu’s memory. He was fairly familiar with the capital, where the Celestial Palace lay. Describing it had been his greatest contribution. He didn’t know the Grik name for the place, but that hardly mattered. Everyone was calling it “Grik City,” anyway. He noticed there’d been some hasty additions since the scouting mission returned, and was glad some of those reinforced his earlier assumptions.
Nothing of significance had been discussed so far; that was the way of things at Keje’s table. But the meal was over and the stewards were removing the remains and filling mugs with refreshm
ents those in attendance were known to prefer. Now would begin the final briefings and deliberations concerning Operation “Skuggik Nest,” and Matt felt Sandra’s hand find his under the table. He looked at her. The strange distance that came and went between them wasn’t in evidence tonight, and though he was glad, he wondered why. He still couldn’t imagine what he’d done to upset her, and when pressed, she either said it was “nothing,” or hadn’t seemed able to explain. It wasn’t important just then. They were together, and that was all that mattered.
“A toast!” Adar proclaimed, standing and raising his mug. “A toast to victory!”
Matt hurried to rise and extended his mug. As usual, there was nothing in his but the rich Lemurian beer. “I’ll drink to that,” he said pleasantly, “as long as everyone remembers that our definition of ‘victory’ is to raise as much hell as we possibly can, with the fewest losses in troops, ships, and aircraft,” he stressed again. Everyone stood and took a sip. “Indeed,” Adar agreed with slightly tempered enthusiasm. “But surely, after the return of COFO Tikker’s scout, there is reason to hope we might accomplish much more.”
“Maybe,” Matt allowed, looking at the commander of Salissa’s 1st Air Wing. “But we’ve got to remain cautious.” He held up a hand. “Sure, I know I haven’t always been the one suggesting that in the past. . . .” There were polite chuckles. “But this is a different deal. We don’t have to do this to survive. But this task force and its people . . . Well, it just can’t be replaced. I’m not talking numbers alone; I’m talking experience and talent.” He glanced around, smiling, but blinking fond sadness in the Lemurian way. “This is the cream of the crop in so many ways, and we can’t spare any of you.” He took a breath and started to say more; then he shook his head and sat.
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