Crusade

by Taylor Anderson

  Adar shook his head. “Then all is lost.”

  Matt was silent for a moment as they followed the advance. “If we can get to Baalkpan, perhaps not,” he said. “Amagi is powerful, more powerful than you can imagine. But she can’t move on land. She can blow the hell out of the city, but she can’t take it. Only the Grik can do that. If we get there first, with all the forces we have, Baalkpan might be able to hold. Walker and Mahan will try to deal with Amagi.”

  The Marines were near the gate now. So far there’d been no defensive fire at all.

  “How can it be that you people, you Amer-i-caans, help us—and yet others of your kind help the Grik?” Adar asked bitterly. “Are your people truly able to think so differently?”

  “Why are we attacking a city we saved from the Grik?” Matt countered. “Can you actually think so differently from them? And the Japanese are as different from us as you are from the Aryaalans. Remember, we were at war with them before we came here.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll have to pick it up later,” said Matt, hitching his belt as best he could and nodding forward.

  “Who was winning?” Adar asked quietly, but Matt didn’t answer. Ahead, as the first troops entered the city, the distinctive sound of battle reached them from within. Chack shouted something over the din, but what it was, at first, Matt had no idea. Other shouts echoed back, and when Matt and his companions finally passed through the arch, the cause of the confusion was plain. Battle raged in the courtyard and streets beyond, but as yet the Marines weren’t involved. Civil war had come once more to Aryaal.

  Word of the final ultimatum, complete with the warning of the Grik, had spread like wildfire throughout the city. It began among the defenders at the gate who fled from the guns. Officer after officer—Rasik’s handpicked—tried to stem the tide of desertion and many of them were slain. The palace guard tried to stop them too, but when real fighting began, many who were willing to defend the city joined the mutineers when they saw them being killed by the king’s personal troops. It was too much. Most were loyal to their city and their king, no matter who he was. That the loyalists had prevailed in the previous fighting was proof enough of that—even if the purges after the first rebellion had been excessive enough to fire indignation and doubt. But as word of the renewed Grik threat continued to spread, they began to realize that the patient invaders outside the walls weren’t the real enemy after all. They knew if it hadn’t been for the sea folk, the Grik would have had them already. They could never hold them off a second time. Suddenly, to most of the warriors of Aryaal, the survival of their families transcended nationalism and loyalty to a new king they didn’t even like.

  By the time Lord Rolak entered the city at the head of his column of native warriors, the uprising in the city—at least the northern half—was already practically over. Marines fanned out and created a perimeter inside the gate, but no one so much as threw a rock at them. Beyond the perimeter there was still fighting, but it flared in fits and spurts. It had degenerated mostly into a grudge match now between the various Aryaalan political houses and the palace guard. None of the combatants from any side seemed to want the Marines to get involved. Lord Rolak paced to the great Fountain of the Sun in the center of the plaza and climbed the stepped circle that surrounded it for a better view. From amid the turmoil of fighting and the growing crowd of townsfolk, someone shouted a cheer at the sight of him. Then another. Within minutes, the dwindling sound of battle was overwhelmed by thunderous cheering that surged and echoed off the walls of the city and the royal palace beyond the plaza. Defenders threw down their weapons and many took up the cheer as well.

  Rolak was overcome. Matt mounted the steps beside him, grinning for the first time that day. The sound was overwhelming and it only seemed to build as more and more Aryaalans rushed from other parts of the city. The crowd surged, but the Marines kept them at bay. A phalanx of armed Aryaalans—not palace guards but still a well-turned-out force—made its way through the crowd until it reached the Marines’ shield wall. Shinya rushed to the point of contact with Chack by his side and after several moments of hand gestures and shouting, a single figure was let through the wall. Chack hurried to Matt and Rolak, with the individual puffing and almost running to keep up. His flowing embroidered robe threatened to trip him.

  “Lord Koratin,” Rolak said by way of restrained greeting when the pair drew near. Chack automatically translated for Captain Reddy.

  “Lord Rolak,” Koratin replied, and bowed.

  “I understand you are chief advisor to that murdering coward who has stolen the throne,” Rolak said. “We were never friends, but I expected better of you.”

  “It is true, that was my position, my lord. And that is what I tried to do. But my advice wasn’t heeded, or even tolerated. The king is quite mad.”

  “The attempt to sink the iron ship?”

  Koratin nodded. “I told him it was madness when I learned his scheme. I even sent three trusted servants to warn you, but they were caught and killed. The palace guard came for me then, but my retainers held them off.” He smiled crookedly. “If not for your timely arrival and the chaos that ensued, I would be dead. How delightfully ironic!”

  Rolak barked a laugh. “You always were amazingly skilled at survival, Koratin!”

  Koratin bowed. “As you can see, it’s a useful skill.” His face turned grim. “Is it true? The Grik will return?”

  “It is true.”

  “I feared as much. I feared for my younglings—for all the younglings of our people—but the king would not listen. He does not believe the old stories”—he nodded respectfully at Chack—“that for our salvation the sea folk have preserved!”

  “Fear still, Koratin. The danger is greater than you imagine. We must all leave this place and become beggars in the north. The sea folk will succor us, but they need our arms more than our bellies, so all who go must be willing to fight, and provocations won’t occur.”

  Koratin was stunned. “But what of our walls? Can we not hold here if the sea folk come to our aid?”

  “No.” Rolak nodded toward Matt, who stood listening. “Cap-i-taan Reddy has told me how it must be and I believe him.”

  Koratin turned to look at Matt for the first time. His stare was an appraising one. “So that is the great tail-less leader of the sea folk,” he said. “I suspected as much.” He bowed low to the captain.

  “Where’s Rasik?” Matt demanded, eyes flashing.

  “In his palace, lord. Yonder.” Koratin pointed at the imposing structure beyond the plaza. “He has almost four hundred guards. Quite fanatical, I’m afraid. It will be difficult and costly to storm.”

  For a long while, Matt said nothing while those nearby waited for his decision. His expression seemed almost yearning as his eyes bored into the palace walls.

  “No, it won’t,” he said at last. Rolak cocked his head and looked at Matt with a questioning blink. “We’re not going to storm it. Oh, don’t get me wrong—there’s nothing I’d rather do than bring the guns in and blow it down around him, and that’s what we’d do if we had the time. We’d take our time!” he snarled. Calming, he clasped his hands behind his back. “But we don’t have the luxury of time, and I’m not going to waste lives getting the little bastard the old-fashioned way. Chack and his Marines will see that no one gets out while you begin evacuating the city.”

  Chack was confused and surprised. He was first and foremost a destroyerman, after all, and Donaghey was one of his clan. Surely the captain wouldn’t leave his death un-avenged—not after he had been willing to break the alliance that morning to take the city. “But what about the king, Captain?” he prodded. “What are we going to do about him?”

  “He doesn’t leave his palace. No matter what he says or does. Not until everyone in Aryaal and B’mbaado have been evacuated. In the meantime, you’ll remain here with half the Marines and keep him bottled up. The other half, and most of the AEF Guard regiments, will be sent immediately b
ack to Baalkpan in feluccas to help prepare the defense.” He put his hand on Chack’s shoulder. “You and your Marines will be the last ones out of the city. Make sure we don’t leave anyone behind that wants to come, even any of Rasik’s guards that manage to wiggle loose.”

  He looked around, sadly, at the city. It really was quite beautiful in an exotic and unfamiliar way. The Aryaalans seemed to love color as much as any of their cousins, but instead of fabric and tapestries, they applied it to the very stone itself. It was too bad he could see it only now, and for so short a time.

  “Burn everything. Don’t leave anything for the enemy.”

  “What about the king?” Chack persisted. Matt’s expression went cold.

  “Except him,” he said. “He doesn’t believe the lizards will come back. We’ll let them convince him themselves.” Chack grinned and almost burst out laughing. That would be satisfactory justice to him.

  Koratin watched them wide-eyed and shuddered. Merciful people, he thought, in many ways. But not all. “I will help all I can,” he said, his voice very formal.

  The captain waved toward Rolak. “Help him. He’s in charge here.” He took one more look around the plaza and sighed. “I have a ship to fix.”

  Matt watched the chaos of the exodus while standing on Walker’s port bridgewing. It had become the central headquarters for the operation and a steady stream of messengers came and went, bringing news or carrying orders. Lieutenant Mallory joined him there shortly before dark; his plane was alongside Big Sal taking on fuel. Now they stood with Adar, Sandra, and Courtney Bradford and stared quietly out upon what looked like the end of the world.

  Thousands of terrified refugees, carrying nothing but small parcels of clothing, milled and surged along the waterfront. They were desperate to climb the ramp that led aboard Humfra-Dar, and Geran-Eras herself stood at the gangway with a squad of Marines directing the Aryaalan or B’mbaadan passengers toward sections of her ship where they’d be taken in hand by others who would try to accommodate them. Huge bundles of foodstuffs were hoisted aboard and the night was filled with shouts, shrieking infants, anguished cries, and the muffled thunder of countless feet on the wooden dock and deck of the Home. In the distance, flames soared up beyond the walls of Aryaal, as the evacuated portions of the city were put to the torch. Garish flashes pulsed across the bottoms of low clouds that had moved in at dusk, and the light cast an eerie, ruddy glow on the anxious proceedings at the waterfront.

  Matt tried to compare the scene to other great national tragedies or evacuations he knew of from history. The sack of Athens, the destruction of Carthage, or the fall of Rome came to mind, as did the burning of Atlanta and Columbia or the evacuation of Richmond. More recently were the newsreels he’d seen of the devastation of Europe and China by the Nazis and Japanese. Each of those calamities was probably as bad or worse, but he hadn’t been there to witness any of them firsthand. He was here now, and everything he could see—the suffering, the devastation, the probable extinction of an entire culture—was happening because he’d ordered it. He knew there was no choice, but the magnitude of the disaster wracked him with guilt. They’d come as naive liberators, bent on saving the people of this world from the depredations of a remorseless foe. They were leaving as destroyers, causing more harm than the Grik had yet managed.

  With a surprised thankfulness that he couldn’t express, he felt Sandra’s hand find his in the darkness and he squeezed it gently before letting go. She’d been more reserved toward him that day than their “agreement” required and he still wondered why. Then he looked at Mallory. The young aviator’s face glowed grimly in the reflected light. He’d spoken little since he arrived, only confirming with a nod that the dispatch was entirely accurate. There was no mistake. He stood there now, holding Revenge’s log in both hands like a sacred treasure. Matt would read it later, when his attention could be spared from the decisions at hand. Right now it would just be too much. He would share it with Keje when the two of them could quietly mourn their dead alone. He cleared his throat. “So, are they Japs, Mr. Mallory? Did you get close enough to see?”

  “I guess they probably are. We saw the flags for sure.” He grunted. “And then they started shooting at us. The first air burst we saw, we got the hell out.”

  Matt nodded, deciding not to chastise the flier for the risk he’d taken. “Lucky they didn’t let you get closer before they opened fire. Sounds like they got anxious.”

  “Yes, sir. They must’ve been pretty surprised to see us too.”

  Matt rubbed his forehead. “Maybe not. We’ve been transmitting in the clear all this time. Maybe they’ve been reading our mail. Any transmission at all would’ve warned them we were here. If they’ve been listening in, they may even know where Baalkpan is,” he added darkly. “And if that’s the case, we won’t know until they’re almost here whether they’re all coming here or they mean to dispatch forces to both places.” He ground his teeth. “Damn.”

  “I’d think Amagi would go wherever she thought Walker was, Captain,” Mallory speculated.

  “Maybe. If they know where we are. I wonder if they do?” He paused for a moment and then answered his own question. “Probably. The lizards certainly know we’re here.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “But they may not know there are two of us . . . Anyway, that answers my question. We have to assume the Japs know, and the last I heard, they don’t like us very much. If they figure we’re evacuating for Baalkpan they might try to get between us. Make us come to them.” He shook his head. “It’ll be tough to do at eight knots. I wonder why they’re so slow? Amagi used to make over thirty.”

  “Only as fast as the slowest ship?” Bradford opined.

  “Yeah, but the lizards are faster than that . . . unless maybe Amagi is the slowest ship! You’re sure it was coal smoke you saw?”

  “Positive.”

  “That may be why we haven’t seen her till now—they’ve been converting her boilers. Coal’s a lot more efficient than wood, but not as good as oil. Shorter range and a fair cut in speed. Still . . .”

  “Damage,” Sandra said suddenly. “We’ve all been thinking of Amagi only in terms of firepower. That’s a pretty one-sided comparison. But remember, as bad as she roughed us up, Walker and Mahan got in some pretty good licks. Maybe enough that she nearly did sink!”

  “Right,” Matt breathed. “We know how tough it’s been for us to make repairs. Just think of all the problems they’ll have had to face! Every piece of that ship is five times bigger than a comparable part of Walker. We’ve been thinking of that only as an advantage to them, but think of the disadvantages! There’s no way they could’ve fixed a lot of the damage we inflicted. I’m still sure Mahan put at least two torpedoes into her. It would’ve been tough to get her out of a real dry dock and a fully equipped yard this fast!”

  Bradford looked at Sandra with a growing, affectionate smile.

  “There you go again, my dear. Leaping directly upon the obvious while we mere males flail helplessly at obscure minutia.”

  “Well, it’s a theory,” Matt agreed. “We just have to figure out a way to use it, if it’s true.” He slapped the rail before him in a release of pent-up frustration. “Damn them to hell! How could even the Japs ally themselves with creatures like the lizards?”

  “Because they’re Japs!” Mallory answered bitterly. “They’re like the lizards!”

  Adar shook his head sadly. So far, he’d said nothing since joining them on the bridge, besides a subdued greeting. Now he spoke. “Lieutenant Shinya is a ‘Jaap,’ is he not?” Surprised by the question, Matt nodded. Adar sighed deeply. “I spent a short time with him while the Guard regiments were withdrawn from the city. He is overwhelmed with shame. A shame he cannot show.”

  “Why?” Sandra asked.

  Adar looked at her. “Because he is a ‘Jaap.’ He’s seen the Grik for what they are, as have we all, and he asks himself the same question you do, Captain Reddy. It tortures him that his own people might
cavort with such evil. It is much like the shame Lord Rolak feels for the things King Rasik has done, only worse.” Adar raised his hands in submission. “I do not pretend to understand you humans, not anymore. But Lieutenant Shinya’s clan of humans is more difficult to understand than the rest of you in some ways, but even simpler in others. You Amer-i-caans have a delightfully stark conception of the difference between good and evil. In your case, that conception seems to come from how you have individually decided your society will collectively define good and evil.” He gazed for a moment at the fire and tumult of the dying city. “I suppose it is fortunate for us that you’ve decided my people’s enemies are the evil ones in this context.” He snorted and shook his head.

  “From what he has told me, Lieutenant Shinya’s people are the opposite of that. In their society, the few or the one—an emperor, I believe?—decides what all of society will consider good or evil and the individuals are forced to accept that decision.” He blinked apologetically. “I may be wrong. Lieutenant Shinya, though, I think has always been an individual with a mind of his own, trapped in that society without a voice. At the same time, he is fiercely loyal to his people. Imagine the conflict he faces. He knows it is wrong for his people to support the Grik, but he also knows the decision will have been made for the many by a few.”

  He looked Captain Reddy square in the eye. “The same thing happens here, but the decisions you make are supported by the majority of your people. You made that clear today. You couldn’t rule long or well without that support.” He blinked and clasped his hands behind his back. “It seems your decisions are supported by my people as well,” he added in the wry tone he’d been practicing. “But as far as Amagi is concerned, that may not be the case. The society from which her people come does not allow them to express their views, or even to have any, if they are not consistent with that of their emperor. Is the warrior who fights for evil still evil himself if his society does not see it as such? Perhaps in that way, the ‘Jaaps’ are more similar to the Grik than we might think. The problem for Lieutenant Shinya still remains. He is a Jaap. You are the sworn enemy of his emperor, and so, in the collective eyes of his people, you are evil. He knows that is not the case. In your eyes, his people are evil. Not just because they support the Grik, but because they attacked you in the world you came from. I’ve seen how quick you are to anger in the face of such a thing. But in spite of whether you or I—or even he—believes his people in this world are on the side of evil, he cannot believe that all of them are evil.”