“Huh,” Chack said aloud as the storm of roundshot, grapeshot, musket balls, and tracers increased—practically ignoring his infantry now—and ricocheted off the creeping, armored vehicles. He imagined the noise inside must be incredible. The engines were loud enough, more than 150 tails away. Combined with the battering they were taking, the crews must be deaf by now. Another sound grew louder too: the vengeful roar of his Raiders. Teetering on the verge of annihilation moments before, they swept forward again, shouting, shooting, getting close to the breastworks. A big ball, maybe a sixteen-pounder, possibly even double-charged, based on the tremendous report and spreading fog bank of smoke, must’ve found a weak spot, and one of the tanks rocked with the impact and lurched to a stop. A figure leaped out the hatch on top and jumped to the ground. Another crew—man, ’Cat, lizard; Chack couldn’t tell—tried to escape, but was consumed by a gush of flames that spewed out the hatch. An instant later, a dull explosion shook the tank and burning fuel spilled out the back onto the sand.
The tank’s death didn’t make any difference. In the time Chack took to watch it, the other two crawled over the breastworks, accompanied by battle-crazed troops, who slew everything in their path. He saw many Grik run away, panicked by the relentless charge and the iron monsters they couldn’t stop. “Maybe there’s something to taanks after all. Stick a little caannon in ’em and they might really do something,” he muttered to himself, unheard by the roaring, cheering troops around him. They’d gathered for their flank attack, but it looked like it wouldn’t be necessary.
Major Jindal joined him, breathing hard, his left arm hanging useless, and stabbed his bloody sword in the sand. “That was . . . brisker than I’d’ve liked,” he hissed through pain-clenched teeth. A corps-’Cat was following him impatiently, and now that he’d stopped, the ’Cat slit his sleeve and soaked away blood with a battle dressing so he could see the wound in the flickering light of a burning tree. “I’m shot,” Jindal snapped irritably at the corps-’Cat. “But I’ll live—if you don’t kill me with your infernal poking.” He tried to move away. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Yes, you do,” Chack told him. He’d learned wounds better than he’d ever wanted and could see that Jindal’s was bad. “Whistlers!” he shouted. “Sound recall!” NCOs promptly blew the proper sequence of loud chirps. The firing had all but stopped, and he tried to imagine how long the sharp fight lasted. Thinking back, it probably seemed much longer than it was. He’d acquired a feel for such things and figured it hadn’t taken half an hour from the moment the first shots were fired. He looked back at Jindal and continued in a low voice. “We have to press on and leave the wounded here, as plaanned. Just as important, we’ll have to send back any who’re wounded along the way. If we succeed, they should all be evaac-uated by the end of the coming day.” He didn’t add that if they didn’t succeed, there probably wouldn’t be anyone left to evacuate anybody, but Jindal knew that. He blinked regret, but doubted Jindal saw. “I’m sorry, old friend, but I caan’t lose you, and you’ll die trying to keep up. You have to take chaarge here and com-maand the company of Respitaans detailed to defend our injured.”
Jindal looked away to hide the wetness on his cheeks from the light. “You’re right, of course. I’d just be a hindrance.”
Chack smiled. “Never, Aal-ist-air, and that’s the problem. You’d just drop dead before you ever allowed it.” They both looked up as Risa and Galay joined them, followed by I’joorka, Abel Cook, and Moe. Risa and, oddly, Moe, were the only ones not covered in blood, but none looked hurt. With all the shooting and Jindal’s wound, he’d felt a growing fear for them. Risa in particular.
“There was a field tele-graaph over there,” Risa warned. Chack nodded. It had been inevitable. They’d hoped against it, but expected it. Even Gravois had confirmed that Kurokawa wouldn’t give wireless technology or radio to the Grik on the mainland, but there might be telegraphy in Sofesshk by now, matching the advantage of their own field telephones. Something else for Pete Alden to worry about. “They’ll know we’re coming. All the more reason to move before they get their shit in the sock,” Risa urged.
“I is sorry, Colonel,” I’joorka blurted.
Chack was taken aback by the change of subject. “For what?”
“For the actions of the First North Borno,” Cook said for his commander. “They froze up under fire and nearly cost us the landing.”
Chack waved it away. “It was their first baattle,” he said, “and a confusing one at that. We have always had trouble with landings, and this one was unusually well opposed. Besides, your troops were leaderless for a time. It’s normal,” he added grimly.
“But it wasn’t their first battle, Colonel. Not for most. Many fought the Japanese from Hidoiame. All the NCOs did.”
“Okay. But that was at home. This was not. This was a shore they never even knew existed and they fought very well once they overcame their uncertainty.” He looked at I’joorka. “That uncertainty is gone now and will not return. You have no reason to be ashamed of yourself or your troops. I am not.”
“Thank you,” I’joorka said, looking down.
“Now,” Chack said briskly, sharing a relieved glance with his sister, “we must pursue the enemy. I don’t expect serious resist-aance until we near the harbor, but there may be aam-bushes. We’ll pull two sections of the mountain howitzers before us on the trail, supported by a company of Maa-reens with Blitzerbugs and a maa-sheen gun section. We have to move swiftly,” he reminded, “and it should be very difficult for the enemy to block that much firepower on a narrow trail.”
“What about the taanks?” Risa asked. “I like ’em!”
Chack considered. “If they can make it, they can come. But they’ll have to bring up the rear. We can’t take the chance one will break down or get jaammed and block the trail.” He looked grimly at his officers and the troops gathering round, the crackling of damp, burning trees and moans of the wounded the only sounds. “We’re ashore,” he said. “Now the haard part begins. We have a long way to go before daylight, and a great deal to do when we reach our objective. Let us proceed.”
CHAPTER 21
////// Kurokawa’s HQ
The bombing woke Kurokawa, as it had before. He didn’t leap from bed this time, however. There was nothing he could do and it was already too late to run outside and dive in the muddy, protective trenches. His Grik had taken to using them as latrines, in any event, damn them. Muriname would flush the fighters—Not that they’ll do much good, he thought bitterly—and the antiaircraft artillery was already booming. It was better to stay where he was. If a stray bomb found him, his worries would be over. If it didn’t, at least his people might interpret his actions as unconcern, and wouldn’t see the terror that had begun to torment him.
Considering all he’d been through, it rather amazed him that he’d never realized he was a coward. He’d always been able to blame his failures on others and rationalize his escapes, to define his behavior as the courage to survive and continue fighting in the face of adversity, to strive for the destiny awaiting him on this world. But then he’d seen real courage in the eyes and actions of the defenseless pregnant wife of his most hated adversary. Not only were she and her friends entirely in his power, helpless to resist if, on a whim, he chose to snuff them out, but regardless of their position and the fear they surely felt, they still had faith in Captain Reddy and their cause—and an absolute certainty they’d be avenged. And it wasn’t just bravado; he’d used that enough to recognize it when he saw it. They were so sure that he was doomed that it shook Kurokawa to his core.
He knew his people relied on him and obeyed him. His Grik practically worshipped him. But it wasn’t faith that drove them, only fear. Fear of his power and anger, as well as the enemy he’d constantly provoked, perhaps disastrously this time. The latter had bound them together against a common threat, and since none could expect more mercy than he,
they’d still fight to save themselves. But the former hadn’t inspired loyalty, faith, or even true respect, and most had probably judged him a coward long ago as he squandered their lives to preserve his own. It was as if a light of reason had flickered to life in his long-deluded mind, and even as he’d tormented the small woman with his words at their first meeting, he’d reluctantly realized he admired her—and grown ashamed of himself.
His first reaction had been denial. He’d show her—he’d wreck the cause she fought for, destroy the puny ship that thwarted him at every turn, kill the man she loved, his most implacable foe that . . . And then it hit him. Captain Reddy was the enemy he had made. There’d been the old war, of course, and that couldn’t be ignored. It even still seemed reasonable that they should’ve continued their battle here. But the Grik had perverted that purer cause, and by aligning himself with them, he’d lost any honor a victory might give him. The reason he’d regained admonished him that he should’ve made peace with Captain Reddy, worked with him, allowed him to conquer this world, the Grik, and now the League at his side. With Captain Reddy’s ability to inspire, to raise armies and alliances, and Kurokawa’s beloved Amagi, nothing could’ve stood against them. But somehow he doubted Reddy would’ve been as ruthless as required. I could always have removed him later, when the time was right. He shook his head as the bombs exploded closer and he trembled. No, he realized. I am what I am and Captain Reddy would never have joined me. I would’ve had to join him, support his vision, and that was never possible.
A sharp rapping on the door to his bedchamber brought him upright and he tried to compose himself. “What is it?” he demanded harshly.
“General of the Sea!” came Signal Lieutenant Fukui’s anxious voice. “I just received a telegraph message from the garrison on the southern point of the island!”
“Well? What did it say? Did they see a plane go down?” he asked hopefully.
“No, Lord,” Fukui said impatiently. “Lord, may I come in?”
Kurokawa sighed loudly, hoping it sounded exasperated and not afraid.
“Very well. Bring a lamp. I will dress.”
Fukui thrust the door aside and entered, already holding a lamp, while Kurokawa pushed the mosquito netting aside and shifted to the edge of his leaf-stuffed mattress. “Hand me my shoes,” Kurokawa ordered imperiously.
“Lord!” Fukui insisted. “The enemy has landed in force and swept away the garrison. It can only be assumed they are coming here.”
Kurokawa goggled at him. As fearful as he’d become, he’d also grown complacent, actually believing Sandra Reddy’s hints that they had more precious time. He shook himself and quickly dressed, pacing into his office where Muriname, Iguri, Riku, Hara Mikawa, Maggiore Rizzo, Contre-Amiral Laborde, and Capitaine Dupont already waited. “They are coming,” he said simply.
“No, Lord,” Muriname corrected, “they’re here. The final confrontation you’ve craved so long is upon us,” he added somewhat dryly.
Kurokawa jerked a nod. “So be it,” he said, gazing at the map on his desk. “Their objective is plain. They’ll attempt to reach the harbor by land, but those troops did not swim here. We can expect a concerted attack by sea and air at dawn.” He looked at Laborde. “Prepare Savoie to get underway.” He glanced at Mikawa. “The rest of the fleet as well. I will likely go aboard Savoie myself, but have Nachi stand by in case I change my mind.”
“Of course, General of the Sea,” Mikawa said.
“You mean to meet them at sea?” Laborde asked, surprised. “Surely it would be better to wait for them in the harbor. They can’t attack through their own minefield, so that leaves only the North Channel. We can concentrate all our firepower there.”
Kurokawa regarded him with contempt. “You clearly do not understand. If they’re coming, they’ll do so with what they consider sufficient force to succeed. That means they’ve brought one carrier, at least. Would you rather sit immobile while agile aircraft bomb and possibly torpedo Savoie, or do you prefer room to maneuver?”
“How dangerous can their little planes be?” Dupont asked derisively. “Our antiaircraft weapons will swat them from the sky.”
“I hope you’re right,” Kurokawa said, “but you haven’t faced their little planes before. I have. Do not underestimate them.” He looked around. “Our fleet will sortie at dawn and seek theirs.” He looked at Muriname. “I want scouts—torpedo planes with radios—in the air at once.”
“And my planes?” Maggiore Rizzo asked, his voice laced with irony.
“With the dawn, with the rest of the fighters, prepare to pounce on the enemy air attack.” He regarded Fukui. “It may take too long for them to arrive, but send an urgent message to all ground forces on the island to converge here, prepared to fight. We must stop the enemy before they reach the harbor.” He waited expectantly. “You have your orders,” he shouted, and the room quickly emptied. Rizzo stopped to stare at him a moment, blocking Fukui, with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he turned and left. “One more thing, Fukui,” Kurokawa said as the communications officer tried to follow. “Send a message to the airfield near the prison compound.” It was the last intact airfield they had. “In addition to preparing for operations against the enemy, the commander will send a detachment to bring Sandra Reddy to me.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “The rest of the prisoners have no value now. They will be executed at once.”
Fukui gulped. “Lord . . .”
“At once!” Kurokawa roared.
The Prison Compound
It had been another lovely bombing raid, coming much later (or earlier, depending or your perspective) than usual, and Sandra, Adar, Diania, Horn, Lange, Eddy, and Ruffy all came out to watch. Fires spread in the dockyards and at least one fuel-oil storage area was engulfed, pushing a gratifying toadstool of orange-red flame into the sky. No more surface-based machine-gun fire was wasted on the high-flying bombers, but a few tracers speared the cloudy darkness above as enemy planes went after them. Exploding shells burst overhead with impressive regularity. The Grik triple-A crews had continued to improve and twinges of apprehension accompanied each detonation, but there’d been no resultant smear of falling fire. They couldn’t tell if the raid hit much that previous ones missed, other than the tank battery, but no doubt it infuriated and inconvenienced Kurokawa, Laborde, and all their enemies here. Anything that accomplished that was a source of satisfaction. Their only satisfaction lately, other than Adar’s slow recovery.
He spent more time moving around, goading Lange into doing the same, but remained very weak. They were all weak, for that matter, and the exercises most performed were necessarily less strenuous. There’d been no more abuse or even visits from jeering Japanese sailors, but their already meager rations had been cut. Sandra suspected everyone on the island was doing with less, judging by the gauntness of their guards—which occasionally, unnervingly, eyed them with a different hunger than the Japanese—and she wondered if Matt’s ships or planes from his AVDs were interdicting shipments from the mainland. It made sense.
The lively fireworks show of the raid finally began to ebb without the apparent loss of a single bomber this time, and they began drifting back to their bedding. Diania suddenly stiffened. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing far to the south. They all stared. Distant flashes glittered on the horizon past the bay, near where they assumed the southern end of the island must be. They couldn’t hear them but they came like lightning, sharp and swift. Most faded instantly but a few lingered, sputtering intensely, even casting a faint glow against the high clouds.
“Would’ja look at that?” Horn said softly.
“Maybe one of our planes got hit after all and crashed down there?” Sandra murmured doubtfully.
“That’s no plane crash,” Horn stated unequivocally. “That’s gun flashes—naval rifles—and mortars too, maybe. Plenty of cannon and rifle fire,” he added darkly, �
�and tracers shooting two different ways. If you look hard you can see ’em bouncing up, like sparks from a fire.” He took a deep, long breath. “I guess I’ve been in enough night actions to know one when I see it.”
“Then that means . . .”
“I believe your mate comes for us at last, Lady Saandra,” Adar said, his strong, confident voice belying his persistent frailty.
“And that’s just the start of it,” Horn agreed. “Whatever happens next’ll probably be big, creative, and hopefully unexpected. The question is, what’re we gonna do?”
“We can’t stay here,” Sandra reminded them definitively, “and we don’t have a lot of time. They’ve probably already sent somebody for us.” They’d long agreed that when this moment came, they had to make a break. Kurokawa would try to use them and that simply couldn’t happen. Even if it cost them all their lives. She glanced worriedly at Adar, but spoke to them all. “Is everybody ready for this?”
“We ha’ nae choice,” Diania agreed, putting a hand on Horn’s arm. It was a simple gesture, but full of meaning for them—and Sandra. She prayed they’d come through okay, have a chance to explore their feelings, perhaps even find what she and Matt had discovered. She frowned, and laid her hand on her belly. She wouldn’t just be fighting for herself, and, as Adar had said, she ought to be taking it easy, but she’d do what she must. Obviously, without her, the child had no chance at all. Helpless and unknowing, it risked as much as any of them. The thought chilled her and filled her with a deadly resolve.
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