Meek chuckled. “Nah. Unlike me da’, I’m content ta make me life in the legions, an’ spurn the fearful sea! Remainin’ a meager optio is good enough fer me.” He paused and grinned. “There’s one, didja’ hear? A fetchin’ verse!”
Bekiaa looked at him, knowing that, like Dennis Silva, Jack was far more than a meager optio, and his simple-soldier act didn’t fool her. He obviously worked closely with Inquisitor Choon and clearly understood there were often advantages to being underestimated.
“You aas-tonish me, Optio,” she said sardonically, eyes drifting back to his bouncing flap holster as they hurried along. Like Republic rifles, their pistols were also 11 mm, though the cartridges were only half as long. What’s wrong with calling them forty-three caal-iber? she asked herself. And why not go with an honest .45 in the first place? Or .50, like our Allin-Silvas? Now, there’s a nice, round number. An’ 75 mm guns! Why couldn’t they just call ’em three-inchers? It takes a lot of stupid, wasted time to sort that out in my head, and the Maker knows I have enough to keep track of as it is. “We’re late,” Bekiaa added, still cursing millimeters in her mind as they hurried along the wooden walkway. The main road through the city to the station was baked brick.
“Aye,” Jack replied soothingly, “through no fault o’ yers—or mine. ’Twas that sodding—beggin’ yer pardon, Legate—that . . . useless reserve colonel ’oo wouldn’t b’lieve ye, a fine, foreign lady, could possibly be a act’yal legate, till ye showed ’im Gen’ral Kim’s letter! Ha! ’Is eyes near spit outa ’is ’ead! ’Specially when ’e read you was authorized ta shoot ’is fat arse if ’e didn’t get it movin’!” Bekiaa ignored the latest jab at her choice of dress, but one of her tasks in Ostia had been to personally deliver movement orders to a reserve legion gathered outside the city. Orders had been sent by telegraph but not acted upon. To her consternation, Bekiaa had seen a lot of that: a general reluctance of local commanders to leave their comfortable headquarters, usually luxurious villas, and actually head for the front. The standing legions impressed her with their professionalism, if not overall preparedness, for what they’d face, but some of the reserve units . . . “We may not’ve been here to meet the train, but it’ll not bolt off wi’out ye,” Jack consoled. “It must change cargo ’ere, an’ take on fuel an’ water, o’ course.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about. The maan we’re to meet . . .” She sighed very deeply. “He’s brilliant, of course, but with that often comes distraaction. I expect he’s already jumped from the train and lost himself by now, if he didn’t do it somewhere along the way, for a better look of some strange beast.”
“Not ta worry, Legate,” Meek assured. “They’re prob’ly guardin’ ’im careful as a hooker tendin’ her nest.” Hookers looked like miniature Grik—with claws like long fishhooks for catching prey; thick, bristly fur; and the temperament of a jackal.
“It may not matter,” Bekiaa murmured grimly.
In the event, she was mistaken. The long military train—Bekiaa looked upon Republic railroads with fervent greed—hadn’t been there long, and no one was exiting the passenger cars behind the coal tenders yet. The pair of surprisingly compact—by naval standards—engines were still venting excess steam, and Gentaa stevedores were just moving forward to begin their work.
Gentaa are weird ducks, Bekiaa considered again, barely aware of what a duck was, but equally uncertain about Gentaa and the legend surrounding them. Word was they were a hybrid mix of humans and Mi-Anakka. And they do look like crossbreeds, she confessed, built a little like both, with big eyes, but less furry than ’Caats. And shorter tails, of course. Like most true humans in view, they wore jackets or coveralls. The ’Cats wore more clothing than Bekiaa was accustomed to as well, but also grew longer fur. Still, Bekiaa didn’t know what to think about Gentaa. They didn’t go for soldiers, though some slipped off to join the Republic navy. And apparently, they actually did have to sneak away from their people to do so. Mostly she just saw them at labor such as this or on the docks in port, and knew they worked in the steel and timber industries—anything involving heavy, manual toil. By all accounts, they loved and supported their country, but had gained such an organized monopoly over relatively unskilled labor that they commanded considerable collective political power. They were even excused from military service and deemed essential to the economy. Particularly now. Bekiaa understood that, but wondered why so few ever broke ranks from their class. As far as she knew, though every race in the Republic was uncomfortable with the official origin story of the Gentaa, only the Gentaa themselves seemed intent on keeping their people so insular. She shook her head.
Behind the engines, on the folded iron rails and wooden ties paralleling the road through the city, were scores of flatcars heaped with everything from limbered guns, to ordnance, casks of salt meat, tentage, even penned animals. Most of the animals were horses; remounts for the excellent Republic Cavalry already scouting past the mountains beyond the frontier. Bekiaa wouldn’t put Repub cav on a par with Maa-ni-los and their dangerous me-naak mounts, but they were good.
There were also quite a few suikaas, stoically awaiting their fate—and food. Suikaas were large gray-furred beasts that Jack said his ‘da’ told him looked like a cross between a camel and a giraffe—whatever those were. A generally passive—if disagreeably slobbery—draft animal, they were used like the other Allies employed more temperamental paalkas. Suikaas, quite contentedly it seemed, drew heavy wagons and artillery with apparently boundless energy, as long as they were properly fed. They grew recalcitrant at the least shortage of fodder, however, and seemed quite aware of times when they should be awarded more than usual, after extra exertions.
Beyond the flatcars were countless boxcars, vanishing around the bend. The doors had already opened and hundreds of troops, dressed like Optio Meek, minus the armor, were hopping down. Supposed to be another whole brigade, or legion, just on this train, Bekiaa mused. An Allied brigade consisted of two (sometimes more) regiments of around a thousand troops each. A division was composed of at least two brigades, but usually five or six, and Allied cavalry and artillery assignments were made by division commanders. A corps was built around two or more divisions.
Republic legions were supposed to be self-contained, however, and were composed of about 3,500 troops, including support personnel. Each had its own “cohort,” roughly a battalion, of cavalry and artillery. This arrangement worked well when legions merely protected a section of the frontier, but few had ever trained or maneuvered together as a larger force. One of Bekiaa’s greatest challenges still was convincing Choon and Kim, and ultimately the Kaiser, how important it was that their admittedly competent regular legionnaires, not to mention the reserves and new recruits, learn to cooperate seamlessly in larger concentrations. Equally important, the legions needed to surrender their personal packets of artillery and cavalry so they could be massed as needed, as well. A confusing compromise had been reached, by which each legion surrendered half its artillery and cavalry to form legions of their own, under the direct control of Kim’s general staff. Bekiaa supposed that was better than nothing, but remained concerned how it would work.
She continued to watch the new arrivals. Still so far from Fort Taak, on the far eastern frontier, they’d been raised and organized under the old system, and it was largely her and her growing staff’s job to sort them out, as she’d tried to do with all the others when they arrived. But time was short. The Grik were concentrating, Captain Reddy was planning something big, and they might get the go order any day. And we’ll need these guys, she reflected sourly. Ready to go; ready to fight. Regardless how much work had been done to prepare for the campaign, besides her, possibly only Choon had any real idea what they were getting into. The Republic had gathered more than sixty thousand troops near Fort Taak, but there were reportedly several hundred thousand Grik at Sofesshk. And they’d have to fight through more to get there. Motioning Jack forward, they
strode past the engines toward the foremost passenger car.
Republic officers, human and Mi-Anakka, spilled down the stairs amid the swirling steam, jabbering loudly and grateful to stretch their legs. Behind them, peering excitedly at the bustling city, was Courtney Bradford. Bekiaa hadn’t seen him for a very long time and her first impression was that he’d aged. Humans’ fur grayed as they got older, starting around the face, just like Mi-Anakka, and Courtney had grown a beard—almost white—since last they met. The enormous eyebrows he often moved so dramatically, to the amused delight of many, were graying now as well. She couldn’t see his balding head beneath the bizarre hat he wore. He’d replaced his broad sombrero with a furry, pointed cap, complete with a bell with an enclosed rattler at the peak. Long ear warmers extending to the collar of his fur-lined parka were furnished with more bells, like she’d seen on suikaa bridles. She suspected Courtney’s keepers had given him the specially accoutered garment for the same reason suikaas wore the bells: to make them easier to keep track of. Bekiaa entirely approved. The ruddy face beneath the near-white fur looked the same, however. There were no new lines around his youthfully inquisitive eyes, and he seemed just as energetic as she remembered when he bounded down the stairs at last, followed by another pair of keepers. He saw her then and beamed.
“My dear Bekiaa!” he boomed, sweeping forward to embrace her. She endured the hug with a smile, then stepped back. “Just look at you, my dear!” he gushed, and she glanced down self-consciously, expecting to find a muddy blotch on her brilliant armor. “Such a welcome sight for these old eyes,” he quickly clarified. “A veritable recruiting poster for the Marines! I’ve missed you so, I may embrace you again at any moment.”
Bekiaa smiled more broadly, blinking genuine pleasure, but took another step back. “It’s good to see you as well, Minister Braad-furd. Or should I say Mr. Am-baas-ador?”
He waved it away as he might a bothersome insect. “Between us, it must always remain Courtney, of course.”
Bekiaa gestured at her aide. “This is Optio James Meek. Doocy Meek’s son,” she added significantly.
“Jack, sir, if ye please,” Meek said, shaking the hand Courtney extended. “How’s me da?” he asked anxiously.
“Busy, as are we all these days. But thriving. He particularly asked me to pass his warmest regards, should we meet. He knows you’ve been assigned to assist the, ah, legate.” He smiled at Bekiaa. Courtney spent the next several minutes introducing the officers he’d traveled with from Alex-aandra. Most had heard of Bekiaa and were anxious for her views. A few looked resentful, and she knew Jack would remember which they were.
“How was your journey?” Bekiaa asked. “I’d hoped to see you sooner, at Fort Taak.”
“I know, my dear, but the trip was more tedious than expected. After the Clipper brought me to Songze, I viewed the new Republic shipyards. You can still see the Dark from there, you know. It’s utterly fascinating!” The Dark was a perpetual, ship-killing storm that lingered off the cape, kept alive by the collision of warm/cold sea currents and the cold winds from the south crashing into warm, moist air gusting from the equator and across Madagascar. Donaghey was the only sailing ship known to have survived the passage, traveling east to west, and she’d been severely battered. For decades, the Republic’s most powerful warships, now antiquated twin-turret coastal monitors of the Princeps class, had protected its southern and western ports, but they were terrible sea boats with a low freeboard and couldn’t have survived a passage in either direction. After its embarrassment by Savoie, the Republic had—at long last—commissioned a blue-water navy better suited for warfare against the Grik, Doms, and perhaps the League. The first ships, supposedly a type of protected cruiser with heavy guns, tentatively the Imperator class, had been started at Songze in the east, and Trier and Augustus in the west. One of Courtney’s first promises as plenipotentiary at large had been technical assistance from Baalkpan’s engineers.
“From Songze, we flew to Lake Taa-Hu—here—where the Clipper left me. COFO Leedom was sorry to miss you, and sends his regards, by the way. I believe he intended to take a daylight observation of General Kim’s proposed line of advance before turning into the Go Away Strait for a rendezvous with a waiting tender.” Courtney spread his hands. “I’d so hoped to behold one of the great, woolly sauropods, but there was no time, alas, and I was immediately whisked south and west on a heavily laden train bound for St. Peter. From there I went to Kaava-la in an equally packed steam lorry—which looked strikingly like an undertype Super Sentinel to me—pulling several other cars along a remarkably smooth, if very hilly and windy, road.” He frowned. “That stretch was the most excruciating, in terms of time, due to frequent stops for fuel and water, and took as long—nearly three days—as the rest of my trip combined. From there, I traveled west in a coach with a six-horse team and finally reached Alex-aandra the following day. Such a city!” Courtney enthused. “Quite like Constantinople, I must say, flavored by dashes of Peking, ancient Rome, even Athens! And a great deal else, entirely unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Remarkable!”
Bekiaa nodded. She’d spent far too much time there, in her opinion, and had no appreciation for his comparisons, in any event. Alex-aandra was a weird, showy dive, though, that was certain. “Did you speak to Nig-Taak?” she asked.
“Immediately, and at great length,” Courtney replied with satisfaction. “There was no waiting about, cooling my heels. He seems most sensible to the need for haste, at last, and made a most positive impression. I saw no lingering trace of shyness for the fray, and believe his Assembly, his Senate, was most responsible for that. Even they are convinced at last that the Republic may not simply ride this out, and hope to survive. For all the other trouble Savoie has caused, she helped in that at least: making it abundantly clear the Republic needs allies. Some remain unconvinced the Grik pose an immediate threat, but know they must help destroy them if they don’t want to face a suddenly more hostile world all alone.”
He paused to watch the Gentaa laborers, mildly satisfied. “Despite our lengthy consultations, I did find a few moments to explore”—Bekiaa glanced at the bells on Courtney’s hat and blinked sympathy at his keepers—“and I’m quite satisfied that the myth of the Gentaa is precisely that: a legend, a fable, a fabricated folktale, perpetuated most vehemently by the Gentaa themselves. They are, in fact, an entirely separate species. Perhaps they arrived much like we, from another earth in the distant past. They maintain their position here, quite lucratively—particularly now, when you consider the sums being devoted to logistical preparations—by playing on the societal guilt of both their parent species!” He chuckled. “I can’t help but admire their enterprise, if not their cultural veracity. Some are quite wealthy, you know, in quiet, inconspicuous ways, and all are cared for in their retirement. This, while the poorest humans and Lemurians are reduced to begging in the streets.”
“That’s no real secret,” Optio Meek said lowly, glancing around, “but it’s simpler ta ‘believe’ the myth, as ye call it, than confront the buggers. If we tried ta break their monopoly, it’ud shut the country down.”
Courtney pursed his lips. “Well, I suppose you’re right, as things now stand. But I’m personally gratified to have one of my theories about this world borne out.”
“That’s all very interesting, Mister Braad-furd,” Bekiaa said, her tone growing impatient, “but what did you an’ the Kaiser talk about? When do we shove off?”
Courtney nodded at a Lemurian officer returning from the station office and lowered his voice. “That gentleman bears dispatches commanding General Marcus Kim to begin his advance as soon as we arrive.” Bekiaa shot a meaningful glance at Meek. They were out of time. Hopefully, Kim was smart enough to save the new arrivals as a reserve, or replacements, they could instruct on the march. “Inquisitor Choon rolled up quite the network of human spies, you know,” Courtney continued. “From the wretched League. But he c
an’t have gotten them all, and the telegraph is particularly suspect. So, as not to alarm the League and possibly give them the opportunity to alert others, the go order is being carried by hand.” He smiled rather wistfully. “Very soon, we’ll all board that train together and proceed to Fort Taak. As quickly as possible after that, we’ll open yet another front in this dreadful war and more people will begin to die. Please God it will herald the final campaign.”
CHAPTER 11
////// Mahe Island
November 11, 1944
Purple clouds stood against a golden horizon as dawn swept across the crowded anchorage on the east side of Mahe Island. Ships of every description, large and small, had collected there, some tied to brand-new docks, with others “docked” to them. More were moored away from shore, and a few were even secured to the several ship-size islets jutting from the waters of the cramped lagoon. Half of the eight PTs in Lieutenant Nat Hardee’s MTB-Ron-1 were motoring about, transferring people and supplies, while the other half served as mobile channel markers. With the new boats that came aboard the SPD, there were eleven in theater, but Nat left three to patrol off Grik City. And as crowded as the little harbor already was, with Salissa, Tarakaan Island, and Andamaan’s massive shapes, USNRS Arracca and USS Santa Catalina still lingered there. The latter two, along with their flock of escorts, now constituted TF Bottle Cap and were preparing to steam south and take station off the mouth of the Zambezi. Santy Cat and the battlegroup would protect Arracca while she added her planes to the air attacks on Sofesshk and the heavy Grik ships nearby.
Before they left, however, they’d have to find a bit more room. The brand-new fleet carrier USS Madras, exactly like her sunken sister, Baalkpan Bay, except for the dazzle paint scheme she’d been given—like Andamaan, Arracca, and even Big Sal now wore—was creeping into the anchorage. She’d refuel from the large storage tanks that had been hastily built and concealed from the air. She and her battlegroup, as well as Andamaan, would await orders to embark I and III Corps, head down to pick up II Corps, then launch the invasion of Grik Africa.
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