This is it, Sandra thought, almost relieved. She groped for the little .380 in her waistband and stood, prepared. Diania rose to stand beside her. To her astonishment, so did Maggiore Rizzo.
“Stop!” Kurokawa shrieked. “Stand down! Keep them covered—nothing more!” Briskly, he strode through the door, and the Grik parted before him. He stopped on the other side of the splintered pickets, pointing a Nambu pistol at Sandra’s belly. “Maggiore Rizzo. What a pleasant surprise,” he said, then glared at Sandra. “Not running troops,” he snapped, continuing the argument as if there’d been no interruption. But he spoke as if trying to reassure himself. “My reinforcements are on their way.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Sandra replied. She knew she was shaking but couldn’t help it. Her adrenaline was spiking and all she could think was that if he shot her there, hers and Matt’s baby would die. Of course, she was about to die anyway. “You just don’t get it!” she shouted suddenly, surprising herself. “You’re beaten!” She pointed south with her left hand, using his distraction to get a firm grip on the little Colt. Running Grik were visible now, very close but not coming this way; they were running for the trees, chased by muzzle flashes and puffs of smoke. “That’s Chack’s Brigade,” she said harshly, “the best light infantry in this whole crappy world, and those’re probably your reinforcements on the run! You’re finished, General of the Sea!” She laced the title with as much contempt as she was capable of. Oddly, instead of shooting her in a rage, as she expected, Hisashi Kurokawa only smiled.
“Perhaps you are correct, to a degree, Lady Sandra,” he retorted with his own sarcasm. “But what you don’t understand is that I can never be beaten as long as I have you. Whether you believed what you told me or not is immaterial; you were wrong. Captain Reddy came after all, risking everything to save you. Don’t you see? He would lose the war to save you.” He shrugged. “He may already have. Even while he is here—with the bulk of his fleet, no doubt—General Esshk mounts his Final Swarm to overwhelm Madagascar and roll back every gain you’ve made. So while I may have lost all I achieved, so have you.”
Without warning, the pistol in his hand barked twice, three times.
Sandra blanched, expecting the pain to come, but there was nothing. Instead, Maggiore Rizzo gave a small, surprised cry and slowly sank to his knees. Then, utterly lifeless, he fell face-first against the palisade and slid to the ground.
“You’re insane,” Sandra whispered.
“Possibly,” Kurokawa agreed, his face oddly troubled. “But I’m also quite valuable. Even more so now that he is dead. I know a great deal about the League of Tripoli. I also know more about the Grik than any man alive and can help against General Esshk as well.” He pursed his lips. “Many of my people, made prisoner over time, have been released in the Nippon of this world. It is one of your allies in the war, but no matter. I and the rest of my people can make a place for ourselves there, just as that traitor”—he flared—“Sato Okada did.” He calmed himself. “More important, however, to that end, though I’ve never met Captain Reddy, I know him quite well. By all accounts, including yours”—he glanced disdainfully at Rizzo’s corpse—“and his, based on League intelligence, Captain Reddy is a man of honor and keeps his word. If I surrender you unharmed in exchange for assistance against your enemies and safe transport”—he paused and lifted an eyebrow—“home, your husband’s honor will never let him harm me.”
Sandra was shocked. She’d never seen Kurokawa so rational, and most frightening of all, he could be right. It was very possible Matt would let him live now that he was out of the war, if that was the price of her life. And on his own, in this world’s Japan, he’d be free to continue to plot and scheme in pursuit of his own agenda, just as he’d done during his association with the Grik. They’d never be free of his treachery. It can’t happen, Sandra decided. I can’t allow it, even if it costs . . .
Her thoughts were shattered by the familiar, rapid stutter of .45 ACP rounds spraying from a Tommy gun, a 1911 Colt, and at least one Blitzerbug. Sandra knew instinctively what they were because despite shooting the same round, each weapon had its own distinctive sound. A storm of lead came from the very doorway Kurokawa just left, and Sandra grabbed Diania and dove for the ground, even as Kurokawa turned to face the threat behind him. Guards spun and fell, some performing macabre, boneless, blood-spraying dances as slugs tore through them and warbled away. Kurokawa raised the Nambu, an expression of surprised outrage purpling his face, but cried out in pain and fell atop a pile of writhing, shrieking Grik. A few managed to fire their muskets, but most went down before they even knew what was happening. There was a slight pause accompanied by the metallic click and snik of magazines being replaced, and the firing resumed. Sandra kept her head down, tight against Diania’s, mumbling, “Don’t move, don’t move,” over and over. No bullets came close, but splinters gusted down on her back amid a cloud of the feathery Grik fur that drifted through the few inches between her wide eyes and the earthy sand.
Finally, except for the nearing roar of battle, there was no more shooting, and she raised her head and peered through a gap in the stockade. There, standing over the writhing, mewling heap of Grik, oil smoke streaming from the hot barrels of their weapons, were Dennis Silva, Lawrence, and the Khonashi Sergeant Oolak. Sandra blinked alarm at the expression on Silva’s face. She’d never seen anything quite like it there, not even that time on Billingsly’s ship. Silva was usually so easygoing, even in battle, that regardless how grim things sometimes got he could always summon a grin, find something to amuse him. His wit was often quite dark indeed, but it was always there. He showed no humor now at all, not even satisfaction, and his one eye reflected a pool of hatred deeper and blacker than death itself.
Sandra actually shivered. Whatever we do, she thought, we have always got to keep that man on our side, and focused on the real enemy. Then she coughed and spat Grik fuzz out of her mouth. “There you are, Chief Silva,” she said. “Lawrence. Sergeant Oolak,” she added, then helped Diania up. The change that came over Silva’s face was remarkable and swift, the relief flooding across it like surf scouring shattered sand castles on a beach.
“Aye,” he managed. “We was a tad de-layed. A few needed killin’ out front.” He gestured, then hesitated. “You knew I was comin’, right?” he asked anxiously.
“Of course,” Sandra lied, though upon reflection, she should have. He always did. She watched his expression soften even more.
“We need to get you ladies inside quick as we can. Chackie’ll be here any minute, but we need defensible cover in the meantime.” Silva’s eye narrowed when he pointed at the pile of Grik with his Thompson. “Got an old pal here to deal with, though,” he added.
“In a moment. First, help me get Minaa and Diania inside.” Lawrence and Oolak knocked the spindly remains of the palisade over and carried the Shee-ree through the door. With a worried glance at Sandra, Diania followed. When they were gone, Silva and Sandra knelt together in front of Hisashi Kurokawa. He hadn’t spoken but appeared only lightly wounded, lying with his dead guards, clutching a bloody upper arm. His pistol was in the sand a few yards away and he glanced at it occasionally, diverting his gaze from their remorseless stares. He licked his lips.
“I can be very useful to you,” he said, voice strained. “More useful than you can imagine.”
“Are you begging?” Sandra asked softly. “Sounds like it.”
“I am not!” Kurokawa spat.
“Pity,” Sandra said. “That might’ve actually done you some good.” She looked at the Grik. “You shot a lot of them in the back, Chief Silva,” her tone mock scolding.
“Yeah, well, their backs was at us, an’ they should’a looked over ’em from time to time. Just like him.” He poked Kurokawa hard in the belly with his Thompson. “Didn’t shoot him in the back, an’ only winged him too, case you hadn’t told him off enough.”
“T
hank you. There is something else I’d like to say.” She looked intently at Kurokawa. “You’re a monster,” she said simply. “An evil, evil man, with no honor at all, who’s only ever thought about himself. I respect the Grik more than you, because they’re just doing . . .” She shrugged. “What they do. You’re similar in that regard, but the difference is, you know better!” Her voice was rising. “You can’t trade me now, but you might be right about my husband. He’ll use whatever advantage he can find to save lives, win the war, and thwart the League, because—like I told you—he’s fighting for a cause bigger than himself. A good cause, which too many have already died for. You just might convince him not to kill you—for their sake.”
Sandra stood, and a look of relief began to spread across Kurokawa’s face, along with something else: a kind of triumph. “So,” Sandra said, “I think it’s best all around if we don’t put my husband in the position of making that decision. God knows he’s had enough to worry about, largely because of you.” For the first time, she displayed the little .380 Colt. “You know, I had this all along and could’ve used it whenever I wanted. I probably should have, a time or two, but better late than never.”
Kurokawa’s eyes bulged. “Lady San—” he began, but never had a chance to finish. When the pistol was empty—Annoying how the slide doesn’t lock back to let you know, she thought absently—she started to toss it on his bloody chest. Reconsidering, she put it back in her waistband and scooped up Kurokawa’s Nambu. Then she glared at Silva. “Anything to say?” she demanded.
“No, ma’am,” he replied, taking a chew and then digging a rusty snuff can out of a pouch. “Cain’t imagine how hard it was to rake this up,” he said conversationally. “Never used snuff myself, dippin’ er snortin’ either one, it bein’ a womanish habit by my lights. One o’ the boys on Tarakaan Island, offa S-19, said this was his granny’s—sent him candy in it—but I don’t believe him. Had ta’ trade him two pouches o’ good, sweetened chew for a empty damn can.” Reaching down, he opened Kurokawa’s perforated shirt, twisted the lid off the can, and dumped what looked like little horns on the blood-seeping wounds. Closing the shirt, he suddenly pounded the spot several times with the butt of his Thompson.
Sandra watched it all, as the shakes began to take hold once more, but no regret touched her. “What was that about?” she asked. Then she remembered their time on Yap Island and her eyes went wide. “Was that . . . ?”
“Oh, just a little idea the Skipper gave me. Had another, maybe funner prank floatin’ around in my head, but this’ll do.” He paused, gauging the battle. The fury of the fighting seemed to be dying away as it neared. “Reckon Chackie’ll be here quicker than I thought. Let’s get inside.” He pointed at Kurokawa. “Might wanna put up a sign warnin’ folks not to go pokin’ around the little garden that sprouts here, directly.”
Hisashi Kurokawa wasn’t dead, and he watched through the searing waves of agony as the one-eyed man and that murderous, ungrateful woman stepped into the HQ building. His HQ! His chest and stomach where the bullets hit were a sea of pain he could hardly bear, but whatever the one-eyed man had dumped on him was worse. It burned like fire, quickly spreading outward from his wounds until it felt like flames would flare from his fingertips. Oddly, though, even as the pain mounted, so did his ability to discount it, ignore it: to think clearly and plan. Soon the pain, while just as excruciating, simply didn’t matter anymore. The only real inconvenience was that he didn’t seem able to move. Even his eyelids no longer obeyed. That didn’t matter either. The fighting will end and someone will find me, tend me, heal me. Captain Reddy will understand how indispensable I am. And I shall help! I’ll prove my loyalty over and over, until the last doubts fade away. Then again, my time will come . . .
But it wouldn’t. Even as he lay there, scheming to the end, hundreds of tiny filaments probed his capillaries, luxuriating in the nourishing blood, questing deeper, faster, releasing the toxins that made their host so cooperative. In a matter of days, they would have fed enough to provide a firm foundation for the swiftly crawling kudzu-like plant that would burst forth from the rotting corpse.
• • •
One final time, the fighting surged around Kurokawa’s HQ compound as Chack’s Brigade made its push, but any Grik trying to shelter there took fire from within. They quickly fled or were cut down. The Brigade flowed past, shooting as it went.
“Hey, Chackie!” came a familiar voice, calling from the bullet-pocked building. “About damn time you got here!”
Chack paused, looking for the voice. When he saw a helmet rise from the other side of a bullet-riddled windowsill, followed by a one-eyed, grinning face, he snorted a laugh. “Major Risa, with me!” he ordered his sister, who was bounding past. She took a few more running steps before glaring back, blinking resentment before she could cover it. “Bring a squaad to investigate this building,” Chack told her. “I believe there are friends inside. Captain Cook!” Abel Cook was acting CO of the 1st North Borno. “Continue the pursuit, if you please, but keep a raa-dio close at haand.”
“Aye, sir,” Cook replied grimly, and sprinted on.
“Friends,” Risa said woodenly as she joined him.
“Yes,” Chack told her definitively as Silva appeared in the doorway. He was followed by Sandra, Diania, Sergeant Oolak, and finally Lawrence. “Good ones,” Chack stressed, “worthy of our sacrifice this day.”
“But Major I’joorka . . .”
“Is a soldier, and a friend as well. With the Maker’s help, he may recover. Most important, his injury was not your doing. It was the fault of the war. Just as our reunion with these friends is made possible by the war.” Silva was with them now. He pounded Chack on the back and swept Risa up in his arms.
“Hey!” Silva asked Risa in alarm. “What’re you cryin’ about? Ain’t you glad to see me? I’m damn sure glad to see you!”
“Yes,” she whispered against his neck. “Yes,” she said louder. “Very glaad!”
“Colonel Chack,” Sandra said. “We have wounded inside and I need assistance.”
“Corps-’Cats!” Chack called. His summons was answered by a pair of Grik-like Khonashi with medical gear.
“Inside,” Sandra repeated gratefully. “The building is secure.” She raised her voice for Minaa’s benefit. “Khonashi coming in!” After what they’d been through, there was no sense in scaring Minaa to death—or getting Khonashi medics shot. But now she had that out of the way, she looked hesitantly at Chack, as if terrified of the question foremost in her heart.
Chack knew what it was and didn’t make her ask. “Waa-kur will be alongside the dock momentarily,” he said. “I saw her coming in and sent troops to meet her. She looks a little baattered, as usual,” he warned, “but I spoke to Cap-i-taan Reddy on the raa-dio before our last push through to here. He will be here shortly, Lady Saandra.” To Chack’s consternation, the pregnant woman embraced him with surprising strength, considering how frail she looked, and then kissed his furry cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank God.”
Walker came to rest against the charred, battered pier south of where a sunken Grik cruiser’s protruding parts still smoldered. The air was sodden with moisture and heavy with smoke. Water spewed over the old destroyer’s side from hoses secured to stanchions on her fo’c’sle, snaking up from below. More water jetted from her sides as bilge pumps labored to keep ahead of the flooding, caused mostly by the single 13.5″ shell that hit her sideways, punching a pair of holes large enough for a ’Cat to step through. Otherwise, her damage and casualties were remarkably light, under the circumstances. Particularly considering what she’d faced. She’d certainly had it easier than James Ellis and Des-div 2, and reports concerning their condition were still coming in.
It started raining hard, lashing steam from fires burning up and down the harbor. The storm swirling to the west throughout the night and morning had finally fallen apart, but the s
ky remained moody, noncommittal, all day. It finally settled for an afternoon squall, which seemed to add an exclamation point to the battle, and more or less ended the fighting on Zanzibar.
As soon as the gangway was rigged, Matt Reddy, Bernie Sandison, and Pam Cross rushed up from the pier, surrounded by a squad of Chack’s Raiders, and approached the compound from the west at a trot. Matt was almost breathless when he saw Sandra, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t speak when his eyes took in her thin, bedraggled, barely recognizable form, made more shocking still by her bulging belly. The concern—and relief—on his face was obvious for all to see, however, and for the longest time he merely held her, despite the rain. Silva roughly embraced Pam as well, but shooed her inside with a muttered, “Later, doll. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” Oddly, this time she knew he really would and obeyed without complaint. Silva still belonged entirely to Captain Reddy for the moment. She’d get him when his duty was done.
Neither Matt nor Sandra seemed to notice, even as his soiled whites and her tattered rags became soaked and Sandra’s hair turned to a stringy mop. “Never again,” was all she said.
“I sent you away to protect you,” Matt replied, furious at himself, what she’d endured, and how close he’d come to losing her.
“Never again,” Sandra repeated forcefully, looking up into his eyes. Even as the rain washed the tears and grime from her face, it also seemed to scour away the ordeal they symbolized. It would take far more than a little rain to loosen the pain, rage, and sorrow that held her heart and soul in its viselike grip, but it was a start. With great effort, she managed a smile. “You’re stuck with me until the end, sailor. I won’t leave you again, no matter what, so you’ll just have to change your silly rules about mates aboard ship.”
“Maybe I will,” he hedged, already thinking, No way will I risk her—and the baby—aboard in a fight. He didn’t mention it then, though. “In hindsight, on this world, in this war, it was kind of a stupid rule to start with,” he said instead.
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