Straits of Hell: Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  In less than thirty heartbeats it was over, and nine bloody bodies lay on the ground beneath a drifting, swirling cloud of downy fur. There was feeble movement amid the tangle of twisted limbs, but Esshk’s tongue flicked between his jaws in a gesture of disapproval. Then, in the near silence that still reigned, a blood-spattered figure shifted a limp corpse from across her legs and rose to her feet. She stood there, legs shaking, but triumphantly glaring at her dead and dying sisters, then at the crowd around her. Esshk leaned forward again as the Chooser rushed to examine the victor. She bore wounds, some serious, but apparently not sufficient to disqualify her, and with his jaws wide in celebration, the Chooser made cursory gestures at the other wounded females, who were quickly dispatched by plunging spears. Then he turned back to the last one standing, lowered his crest in submission, and cast himself upon the bloody ground at her feet. Thousands instantly followed. Only Esshk remained standing. There was no doubt he was the guardian and at that moment he symbolized the Mother as well.

  “You have passed your test,” Esshk said forcefully, and a roar of acclimation rose and fell. “The Chooser will lead you from this place to another, within the Palace of Vanished Gods, where your wounds will be bound and you will begin to receive instruction in the mysteries of elevated beings and the wisdoms of other Givers of Life who have gone before.” His crest fluttered with feigned uncertainty, and he spread his arms. “I stand here as the Mother should, but I am not the Mother. I cannot complete the rite. In addition, you remain too young and unformed as yet to rule. That will quickly change, but in the meantime you must choose a champion to rule in your stead. Is it your desire, as it was the Mother’s, that I should bear that burden?”

  No doubt confused, and eyes beginning to glaze with shock, the new Celestial Mother Becoming merely jerked a hesitant diagonal nod, and without further ceremony, the Chooser and the Hij warriors swept her away toward the palace. Another roar of acclimation thundered behind her, and First General Esshk turned to descend from the elevated pavilion.

  “A moment!” came a muted roar that Esshk barely heard, but it was taken up by other voices—surrounding Regent Consort Ragak. Esshk stopped and turned to face his rival, his eyes wide in apparent surprise.

  “You wish to speak? Here? Now?” Esshk demanded, glancing in the direction the Chooser had herded the victor of the rite, then gazing around at the gathered thousands. The royal entourage had vanished into the palace, but few others had left.

  “I wish to speak,” Ragak replied, his voice ringing in the stunned murmuring that followed his outburst. “I wish to challenge!”

  General Ign’s crest sprang up and he grasped his sword with a snarl, but Esshk held out a restraining hand. “You would challenge the elevation?” he roared in disbelief. “It was clear-cut; of that there can be no doubt, and there were no irregularities or alterations of ancient custom.”

  “None but one,” Ragak snarled. “You.” He looked around. “I do not question the elevation, or even your posing as guardian. But I must question the propriety of one such as you, who lost the Celestial Palace, who lost our former Giver of Life, being named Champion of the Empire—all while you should be writhing in the agonies of the traitor’s death!”

  “You consider me a traitor?” a strangely quiet Esshk asked, brusquely restraining General Ign once more. “On what grounds? The Chooser does not think that—nor did the Giver of Life when she commanded me to evacuate her successors. Why should you?”

  “Because your treasonous leadership has cost us many battles and much territory. You have been swayed by other hunters who do not think as we do, and largely because of that you have allowed the unnatural creation”—he stabbed a claw at Ign, then gestured at all Esshk’s warriors—“of an army that does not know how to fight!” He stood as tall as he could, waving again. “And the Chooser shares the blame! He has stopped culling the weakest, less aggressive hatchlings as unsuited for the hunt, and that has wrought defeat after defeat—and the death of our Celestial Mother herself! No, only your treason—and his—can account for the ruin of our armies, our swarms, at the hands of meager, cowardly prey you grace with the title of enemy!”

  “You spew nonsense like wind from your arse!” Esshk dismissed to a roar of amused approval. Even Uul understood phrases such as that. “And the creatures that slew the Celestial Mother are our enemy; mortal to our very race!” Esshk paused and gazed at Ign’s warriors. “And as for my ‘army that cannot fight,’ few of its members were at the Celestial City—and only those that were there allowed the fight to continue long enough for the bloodline to escape!”

  “The Celestial City is the greatest, best defended city in all the Empire,” Ragak scoffed. “Any fool should have had no difficulty holding it, and protecting the bloodline there!”

  Esshk looked strangely at Ragak. “Any fool?” he asked mildly.

  “Of course! And retaking it as well—with fewer warriors than lost it, I am sure, against the contemptible prey animals that infest it now!”

  “Could you retake the Celestial City?” Esshk pressed, his tone thick with sarcastic admiration, and Ragak suddenly caught himself as thousands of slit-pupiled eyes turned to him. “I was not formed as a general,” he demurred, suddenly cautious.

  “But I was, and clearly failed to a treasonous degree in your vastly more sagacious estimation. You said ‘any fool,’ and you are not a fool—so a Hij who is not a fool should find the task almost effortless… should he not?”

  Only then, glancing down at the sea of faces, both Hij and Uul, did Ragak realize he was caught. He’d known Esshk since they were hatchlings and had long envied his influence at court, but having known him so well—he thought—and technically outranking him as a regent, he’d never fully credited how cunning Esshk had become, or the accounts of his greatest strategies: goading his prey into lunging to its own destruction.

  Esshk looked back at the crowd that Ragak had been so foolish to invite to this confrontation. Its presence probably made no difference, but it did make things simpler. “I have been named Champion of the Empire by the Celestial Mother Becoming,” he stated. “As such, I now commission Regent Consort Ragak, as general.” He looked back at Ragak. “You will take your army, untainted by the ‘unnatural’ trainings I have devised, and liberate the Celestial City at once!” He cocked his head. “Should you succeed, I will happily relinquish my duties as First General and Regent Champion to you, and destroy myself however you see fit.” His crest rose. “If, however, you should fail, I will not punish your courage. You will remain a general under my command, and all your armies shall belong to me.”

  He turned back to the crowd. “In the meantime, while General Ragak prosecutes his mission, we will continue the utter and complete mobilization I deem required to defeat our existential foe. I will lend General Ragak what support I may, from the air at least, and release what transports he requires to move his army. But the rest of us will build the greatest swarm that ever was, and finish this threat forever!” He paused and bowed to Ragak. “Unless our newest general does it for us.”

  Ign bowed to Esshk in admiration, as underofficers shouted his warriors back into ranks—which further exemplified the differences between them and Ragak’s warriors, who had begun drifting away as a mob. Ragak himself had quickly vanished.

  “How much will you give him?” asked General Ign with a hint of concern. “Our greatest shortage at present is in transports, as you know. Can we spare any for Ragak?”

  “We shall give him what I said,” Esshk replied grandly. “He will have as many of the old transports as he needs—to carry himself and his army of mindless Uul to their doom.” He was a complete convert to Kurokawa’s principles, which had created the new army, and he had little desire to employ simple massed mobs of warriors again. He’d tried that before. Suddenly, he actually caught himself wishing he knew where the loathsome, ingenious “Jaaph” was now. He assumed Zanzibar, but there’d been no reports. It was time to find out. “R
agak may even prevail,” he admitted, returning to the subject. “The enemy was sorely hurt. But at the least, he should make our return less difficult. We will, regrettably, have to keep the new transports that are under construction for our more considered effort.” More irony. The design for the “new” transports was actually quite ancient, predating the “old” design by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. But they were perfect for what Esshk now had in mind, and could quickly be assembled in huge numbers. “Otherwise, we shall finally use the greater portion of the airship fleet we have amassed. Granted, they have fared poorly against the more capable flying machines of the enemy,” Esshk confessed, “but we have so very many now—and I have seen for myself that the enemy’s machines are vulnerable to massed fire. Besides, they cannot have too many of them. One of the reasons we always considered the Celestial City secure was that Kurokawa assured me that flying enemies could not reach so far.” That was apparently true. But ships that carried flying machines could go wherever they liked.

  He snorted, watching the last of the crowd disperse while Ign’s warriors—his troops—marched back down the thoroughfare. Then he looked at the Palace of Vanished Gods. “That shall be our plan,” he said. “We shall support Ragak—to a point. We shall bomb the Celestial City nightly, without pause, from the air.” He caught Ign’s expression and coughed a chuckle. “Never fear! Mere fire could never harm the Celestial Palace!”

  “Then, Lord?” Ign asked.

  “Then, General Ign, we shall arm ourselves with the latest marvels the Jaaphs left us making, and take the greatest swarm ever seen across the Go Away Strait. I… sense that all is upon the scale and the heart of our foe is finally in our reach. Kurokawa always said their heart was their iron ship he hated so, but ships do not take timid prey and teach them to build fleets and flying machines—and frightfully capable armies. No, I think we shall find our enemy’s heart in the Celestial City when we return at last, and when I have devoured it, the scale will more than tip.”

  CHAPTER 4

  ////// Indus River Valley

  General Halik knelt and lapped cloudy water from the Indus River with feigned unconcern, but his eyes were fastened roughly two hundred yards away on the opposite, eastern bank—and on the regiment of me-naak mounted cavalry at the water’s edge. They were expressionless, as all Lemurians tended to be, but appeared to be watching him just as intently. He rose, shaking droplets from his snout, and ostentatiously turned his back on the enemy to gaze upon his army. It was a ragged, beaten force, encamped almost where it dropped, but through the exhaustion and resultant disability, there remained the discipline, order—the pride, that so distinguished it, even in defeat. No other Grik army had ever achieved so much.

  “That cavalry are ‘regulars,’ from a place called Maa-ni-la,” General Shlook murmured, his snout also dripping after following Halik’s example. “I have learned to distinguish the pennants they fly.”

  “They have formidable weapons,” Orochi Niwa reminded, still staring at the Lemurians astride what might be best described as long-legged crocodiles. “Shorter versions of the new breechloaders we began to see even before the battles in the Rocky Gap. Carbines, but fully capable of reaching us here.” He glanced at Halik, his expression slightly amused. Halik’s disdainful gesture had clearly been meant to impress his watching army. “I would not recommend you turn your back on Colonel Dalibor Svec’s cavalry, his ‘Czech Legion,’” he suggested wryly. “They hate us even more than most.” Niwa’s use of the word “we” was not lost on the officers around him, and Halik in particular felt genuine pleasure that his Japanese—human—friend had fully returned to them. He’d been badly wounded and given to the Allies to cure. That they’d not only cured him, but returned him, demonstrated a measure of sincerity from General Alden that Halik would never have expected. It also allowed him to pursue independent confirmation of much that Alden had told him. “The Czechs—human and Lemurian—are primarily equipped only with shortened smoothbores such as the Allies used on Ceylon, but inaccurate as they are at this distance, they would strike us down if the entire regiment unleashed a volley,” Niwa continued.

  Halik glanced at his Japanese friend, pleased even more by the man’s renewed mental vigor. “As we learned west of the Rocky Gap, General Alden has far greater control of the ‘Czechs’ than he once implied,” Halik agreed. “And he gave his word that as long as our army continued its retreat toward, then across the Indus River, he would not molest us further.” For reasons Halik could only barely articulate, even to himself, he’d grown to trust his most formidable foe. Of course Alden would attempt to deceive him in battle; that was how it worked. But they weren’t fighting anymore, and with Orochi Niwa’s… interesting counsel, Halik truly believed that Alden would keep his word.

  “You agreed to retreat ‘without delay,’” Niwa reminded. “When I last met with Colonel Svec, he seemed inclined to consider our occasional… delays to be in violation of that agreement.” Since rejoining the Grik, Niwa had served as an emissary between the two forces.

  Halik produced a Grik shrug as he gazed at his assembled warriors, still affecting disdain. He had to appear unconcerned no matter who was watching, because of who was watching. His army—all the Grik—had just been expelled from Ceylon, and then from India itself; land that had been considered sacred ancestral territory for hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. That had never happened before. “General Alden wanted all the Grik out of India. We had to stop and wait now and then while other groups moved to join us.” He waved around. “We could not bring all our people, but our army, which had dwindled to barely thirty thousand, has swelled to twice that number.”

  “One of the reasons Svec voiced concern,” Niwa stated pedantically, but Halik’s eyes became intent.

  “We had no choice. We cannot know how things stand beyond those mountains to the west. How has the Grik Empire reacted to the loss of Madagascar—and the Celestial Mother herself? Is there war between the regencies? Have our whole people turned prey? We may be all that remains!” He sighed. “Alden has pulled the bulk of his army back, to reinforce the Allied effort against our homeland. Now would be an excellent time to retake a portion of what we lost—but what could be the point? Suicidal revenge?” he spat bitterly. “The enemy still has complete control of the air, and”—he gestured at the cavalry across the river—“a mobility we cannot match. We might even make it all the way back to the Rocky Gap, bleeding ourselves to death, before the enemy consolidated sufficiently to annihilate us completely.” He shook his head. “No. We have no master, unless First General Esshk has somehow survived, and even he cannot help us here. I must cling to the belief that his priority for this… increasingly extraordinary army we have made, would coincide with mine: survival.” He glared at Generals Shlook and Ugla, and each of his other officers, sparing only Niwa. He knew that he understood. “This army that you and I have grown to cherish above all things must survive, if only as a core for our shattered people to build around. It is now our people, our cause, our nation. And to it, as a whole, we must devote our utmost loyalty.” He paused. “Yet we remain its masters. We are our own masters, from this point on, until relieved by First General Esshk—or he himself instructs us to destroy ourselves! I see no other way.”

  “So… what shall we do?” General Ugla asked. “We have indeed gathered many warriors, but few are what we have… grown to rely on. And there are a number of unwarlike Hij—and even a sprinkling of lower-caste females!”

  Halik waved at the fertile, wooded valley. “For now, we remain here—a short distance farther from the river,” he added with a touch of genuine humor. “We shall regain our strength and heal from our battles and the long, hungry march. There are food beasts in abundance and the climate is agreeable.” He looked at Ugla. “We shall turn the new warriors into what we want them to be, and let the worker Hij help rearm and equip us.”

  “Then?” General Shlook asked. “We still cannot strike east. Only one ten t
housand—one ‘division’”—he nodded at Niwa—“has muskets, and we have barely three tens of artillery pieces. Little enough ammunition for either.”

  “No,” Halik agreed. “We cannot strike east. And I desire no further conflict with General Alden, or any of the Allied powers, in fact.” He looked searchingly at Niwa. “Can you convince them of that?”

  “If you speak the truth, I will try,” Niwa promised, then frowned. “In spite of everything, they treated me well when I was their captive, and even released me back to you. I will not lie to them.”