Storm Surge

by Taylor Anderson

  “And yet you don’t use every weapon at your disposal to ensure that victory—which prolongs the war.”

  “What the hell?” Realization struck and he glared at Adar. In the corner of his eye he saw Bernie squirm.

  “Yes, we have developed this ‘mus-taard gaas,’ you call it,” Adar confirmed, “but not in any great amount. You may remember agreeing to develop, if not deploy it yourself, some time ago.”

  “Yeah. I said it would probably be best to have it, but I and many others were against its use except as a last resort. Not so much because of the Grik, but because of the possibly unwilling nature of the Japanese aid they’re receiving.”

  “It would seem that aid is not unwilling after all, or if it was, it is no longer,” Herring stated. “We’ve learned to communicate with Grik prisoners to a degree, as you know. Their Hij military leaders, ship captains and the like, still destroy themselves rather than be taken alive, but some few um, ‘civilians,’ have told us quite a lot. Also, as you saw yourself before you began your adventures in the East . . .”

  “Adventures?” Ambassador Forester exclaimed incredulously. “I must insist you rephrase that at once, Commander Herring! Captain Reddy saved my country and forged a strong alliance between us. I will hear those accomplishments made light of no longer, unless you are willing to meet me later!”

  Herring blinked at Forester, suddenly remembering how common dueling was in the Empire of the New Britain Isles. “I do beg your pardon, Your Excellency. There are those who consider Captain Reddy’s actions in the East, particularly those that involved us in yet another war on an entirely different and distant front, as . . . more premature than would be ideal from the perspective of prosecuting the war we already had.”

  “That may be from your very immediate perspective,” Forester growled, “but then the Doms would have conquered us, and you would have only eventual certain enemies in the East, instead of an enemy and a very appreciative friend. I believe it is your strategic thinking that is in error here!”

  “Perhaps, Your Excellency. And I apologize for any offense,” Herring said. “I stipulated that I am not good with people.” He looked back at Matt. “But even you saw that the Grik were changing. That change has accelerated, making them far more dangerous—but also more prone to consider their own survival at times. Statements from prisoners we took before the Battle of Madras have confirmed that not only has Kurokawa continued actively aiding the Grik, but he’s also achieved a position of true power as their ‘General of the Sea,’ and perhaps more. Further, the rest of his surviving crew appears to support him.”

  “But gas,” Matt said darkly. “If we can make it, there’s no reason the enemy can’t. And if we start throwing it around, they will too. And we can’t protect our people from it! Even masks won’t work. How the hell do you seal a furry face? If you come up with a hood or something, how will our people fight?”

  “Basing our decision on whether to use a weapon such as gas on what this enemy may or may not do in response makes me wonder if you might not know him as well as you think,” Herring accused. “Do you honestly believe the enemy, Kurokawa in particular, would even care if we gassed a bunch of Grik after they’d gassed our people first?”

  Matt took a deep breath, stunned by his own stupidity. The no-gas policy had always been based on (or was it excused by?) a promise to Shinya—but if there were no noncombatant Japanese anymore, how would Shinya feel now? And Herring was right about another thing: if Kurokawa got gas, he’d use it. But if we use it against the Grik, how long before we use it on the Doms—and why does the very thought of that make me want to puke? he wondered. Is it just because they’re human? No. It’s because even though some of them might be even more evil than the Grik, many aren’t evil at all. He wanted to pull his hair. Despite his near obsession with keeping things as black and white as he could, he knew, deep down, that he hated gas most of all because it made it impossible to pick and choose who he killed.

  “All this is ‘aac-aa-demic,’ as you say,” Adar said. “As I mentioned, we have created the capacity to manufacture gaas, but we have been working more on something else.”

  Matt’s eyes jerked to Petey, draped around his wife’s neck, and he remembered the other such creatures appearing in the Fil-pin Lands.

  “Yap,” he breathed. “My God, what’ve you done?”

  “Nothing yet, Skipper,” Bernie blurted, almost cringing.

  “What are you talking about?” Alan Letts demanded.

  “Well, you remember that kudzu stuff they ran into on Yap Island?” Bernie nodded at Sandra, whose face had paled. “It had thorns on it, like seeds, that when it stuck in something or somebody . . . Mr. Cook got a thorn in his finger—”

  “And we had to cut it off to save his life!” Sandra shouted.

  “Yeah,” Bernie agreed weakly. “The thorns stick in you and immediately start shooting out roots through capillaries, veins . . . You’re probably dead by the time they get in your arteries. But there’s some kind of drug too, so even though it hurts, you don’t really care what’s happening. That’s how the stuff spreads. The kudzu grows up out of the corpse it stuck with a thorn! It occurred to some of us that if you strung those thorns out over the enemy . . . Well, the Grik go barefoot. An awful lot of them’ll get stuck, and they’ll die within a few days.” He took a breath. “Anyway, we got some—quite a bit—and Adar’s had me stripping the thorns out past Experimental Ordnance.”

  Sandra gritted her teeth. “You’re growing it here?”

  “No, ma’am! We brought it in dried.”

  “And nobody told me about this?” Alan demanded. He looked at Matt. “Honest, Skipper, I didn’t know!”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Sandra ground out. “If just one thorn, one seed . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bernie assured her. “We’ve been careful as hell—uh, pardon the language. And all our tests show the dry thorns won’t sprout in just water or soil.” He shrugged. “I guess it takes blood. We brought it in aboard a captured Grik ‘Indiaman’—which we burned in case any seeds got loose, even in the cracks. But that was before we knew for sure about the blood.”

  “That ship touched at Maa-ni-la!” Sandra accused.

  “Yes,” Herring stated, “but there was no way anything could have gotten off.”

  “Creatures like Petey did!” Sandra said, touching the furry lizard on the head.

  “That’s impossible,” Herring replied, but his voice carried less conviction.

  “We saw them there! You must warn Saan-Kakja at once that you might’ve contaminated her lands with the most pernicious, dangerous plant imaginable!”

  “I doubt the contamination,” Bradford said slowly, “if what you say is true. I imagine the creatures that went ashore are quite familiar with the threat posed by the thorns—but a warning must surely be sent so if anyone does become infected, it will be noticed.” His voice turned angry. “But if you use this . . . weapon, the plant will sprout, and as soon as that happens, it will spread! Surely you’ve considered that? It could spread utterly unchecked in lands with no defense against it! You could ultimately make entire continents uninhabitable! My God, this is so much worse than gas that it buggers any comparison—or any understanding of the mind that could consider using it!”

  “We have not planned using it yet,” Adar stressed a little weakly. Bernie had made the same warnings as Courtney and he didn’t want to use what they’d been calling the “kudzu bomb” for those very reasons. But he considered it his duty to seize any potential weapon he could, even if only to keep it as a last resort. He was confused, though. He’d thought, given Captain Reddy’s stated aversion to gas, that the kudzu might be better received. But now, judging by his face moving, he seemed less opposed to using gas than he’d been, particularly compared to the kudzu! It was wildly frustrating. All Adar wanted was a weapon—any weapon—that would kill as many of the hated Grik as possible, while requiring fewer of his p
eople to die while using it. He glanced at Letts, and the expression he saw on the Chief of Staff’s face almost broke his heart. He should have told him!

  “So,” Matt said ironically. “I guess I’m not the only one who makes mistakes. We can keep raking mine up all day, if that’s what you want, but I’d prefer to get down to business.”

  “Of course,” Adar said softly, still looking at Alan, who refused to return his gaze. “Comm-aander Herring?”

  “Very well,” Herring said. “As you all doubtless know, the situation in the East is somewhat stable for now. Preparations for an offensive are underway, and as much as High Admiral Jenks would like to have better access to our newer weapons, he understands we must first stabilize the situation in the West.”

  “Nice of him,” Matt mused, “but he doesn’t really know what he’s missing, does he?”

  “He does,” Herring countered. “He knows about the new weapons and would particularly like some of the new pursuit planes to protect his reconnaissance flights. He’s planning a recon raid, in fact, to remedy his deficiencies regarding his understanding of the enemy’s dispositions.”

  “Really?” Sandra blurted, suddenly glaring at Adar. “He’s going to risk lives on the ground when sending him a few planes would make that unnecessary?”

  “Sadly, it is not that simple,” Adar replied. “We cannot fly the planes to him; they must be shipped. Some few are indeed on their way, but their arrival will take time, as will the modifications to Maaka-Kakja that will allow her to operate them. We are sending some of the auto-maatic weapons as far as we can by Clipper, and they should arrive more quickly. At least the planes Jenks has will be better protected. As to the rest, I am confident Ahd-mi-raal Keje will soon resecure Maa-draas, and we can resume our offensive there. Once we push the Grik out of Indiaa, we will have all the resources of that land and the Grik will never wrest it from us again.”

  “They will,” Sandra insisted. “You’re setting up a seesaw campaign there like we had in the last Great War on our Old World!”

  “She’s right,” Matt agreed, a little surprised by her position. He knew that as much as he didn’t want her to go on his raid, she’d secretly hoped Adar would nix it because she didn’t want him to go either. “Even if we regain control of the sea, the Grik can keep pushing warriors in from the West. We know they have Arabia, at least along the coast. They don’t have to use ships. It’ll take a lot longer for troops to arrive, but we can’t get there much faster—and time’s the key. We can’t let this war drag on for years and years, because sooner or later, as long as they’ve got Kurokawa and his Japs, they’re liable to catch up with our slim technological advantage. They already have, in some respects. In the end, if we let this war turn into a slugging match that boils down to numbers, we’ve had it. Even if you could disregard the suffering, the math doesn’t add up. They can crank out warriors a lot faster than we can.”

  “That is a dreadful thought,” Adar murmured. “An endless war with no hope of victory, but every prospect of eventual defeat. I cannot bear it. I would use gas, kudzu—anything I could find—to avoid such a thing.”

  “So would I,” Matt admitted grimly. “But why not make sure it doesn’t come to that?”

  “You really believe your little raid will make such a difference?” Herring scoffed.

  “I do,” Matt insisted. “We have to give the Grik something else to think about! Madagascar’s become their capital, which means their ‘Celestial Mother,’ whatever the hell she—or it—is, is probably there. The Grik think she’s God, but because of that, and how far she is from the front, Madagascar’s probably the softest target in their whole damn empire. If we hit there—hell, if we just threaten to hit there—it’ll blow their minds. More important, they’ll have to keep troops and ships there, and lots of them, from now on.”

  “It is so distant, across such a deep and terrible ocean,” Adar breathed, a strange, faraway look in his eyes. “No one has ever considered the crossing, even in a Home. And of course, we didn’t know where it was before you came. And there were always the Grik. . . . But now that you have crossed the great Eastern Sea, I believe you can actually do it! But what then? What if the Grik are too many? What if they have a vast fleet? What if . . . there is nothing?” He looked at Matt, eyes aglow with intensity. “What if our ancestral home is as ‘soft’ a target as you hope? What if you could take it from the Grik? Would not that discomfit the enemy most of all?”

  Matt held up his hands. “Whoa there, Adar! My plan calls for a hit-and-run. With Walker, Mahan, and the PTs Saan-Kakja sent, we should be able to kick the hell out of anything big they’ve got hanging around. If the coast is clear, we’ll land the commandos”—he looked at Chack—“raiders,” he corrected, “and let them raise hell on shore for a while. Give us Big Sal, like I asked, and we can really raise some hell. But keep it?” He shook his head. “We might do it with all of First Fleet—but First Fleet’s got a job, and we don’t even know what’s there!”

  “He’s right, Mr. Chairman,” Herring said, concerned by the dreamy look in Adar’s eyes. “If he must go, asking more than a raid is madness!”

  Adar blinked profound regret, then nodded. “Indeed. Ridiculous, youngling fantasies.” He looked at Matt. “You shall have your raid, and Salissa as well. Keje could not live knowing you had done this thing and he was not there.” He blinked. “But first, we must address the emergency in the West. I want you there with Ahd-mi-raal Keje, before he accompanies you. After we retake Maa-draas, Commodore Ellis can relieve Keje, as comm-aander of First Fleet.” He paused and smiled slightly. “If that meets with your approval. It is your Naa-vy, after all.”

  “That’s fine,” Matt said. He was a little disappointed not to be starting his raid immediately, but knew its timing wasn’t as important as his—and Walker’s—presence at Madras might be. “Madras is kind of on the way, after all,” he said, stretching the truth, “and I would like to make the show.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Sandra interrupted. “You, both of you, want Walker to participate in the upcoming campaign, then head for Madagascar?” She turned to Matt. “What if . . . your ship gets all shot up again?”

  “Shot up!” Petey shrieked. Those who hadn’t seen him before gave a start, but no one else seemed to notice.

  “Then we fix her and continue with the mission,” Matt said shortly. He looked at Adar. “May I recommend that General Alden take over as CINCWEST after Keje and I head south?” He glared challengingly at Herring. “Unless you want it?”

  “Oh no. I agree General Alden should assume that post. But I must admit your suggestion that I don’t know as much about the enemy as I could is well founded. Naval officer or not, I’ve been placed in charge of strategic intelligence, and I believe it’s time I took a trip to the ‘pointy end’ myself. In fact, I’d like to come with you, Captain Reddy.”

  Matt was stunned, but not as much as he was a moment later when Alan Letts stood from his stool without a glance at Adar and stepped in front of him.

  “Me too, sir.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  ////// Templo de Los Papas

  Nuevo Granada, Capital of the Holy Dominion

  D on Hernan DeDevino Dicha, “Blood Cardinal” to His Supreme Holiness, the Messiah of Mexico, and, by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World, stepped through the ornate entrance to the Holy Sanctum at the base of the great temple. He was well-known by the many guards, and none even dared meet his eyes as he passed, much less challenge him. Striding softly down the long, dark corridor designed to resemble the living rock of the sacred caves, he paused automatically at its end and smiled benevolently at the pair of gold-painted but otherwise naked girls standing as attendants before the rich drapes at the entrance to the sanctum itself. He didn’t speak to them; there was no point. Both had been deafened with heated wires and had their tongues removed as soon as they were old enough to understand their duties. Instead Don Hernan sat on a padded lou
nge, and one of the girls removed his slippers. Then both assisted him to his feet and took his robes, leaving him in only a sheer breechcloth; otherwise he was as naked as they except for the heavy, twisted gold cross around his neck. No one, not even he, could enter the Holy Sanctum wearing anything that might conceal a weapon. In this condition, he stepped through the drapes and beheld the scene within.

  All was red and gold, flickering in the light of braziers lining the garishly columned walls. Like elsewhere throughout the Dominion, there were many crosses, and the columns themselves were formed to resemble the barbed, grotesque version Don Hernan wore. Masked statues of each great pope stood in relief between the columns, surrounded by paintings of scenes reminiscent of their rule. They represented the true servants of God in the Holy Dominion. He who was symbolized by the cross had been the holiest of men, God’s own son, but even His understanding of the one True God had been imperfect. The lessons in his Bible had been greedily incorporated, and explained much about the nature of God previously unknown in this land. But like the first son, those who brought it had misunderstood the most significant lessons of all: God was all powerful, terrible, and jealous. His limitless power was founded on fear and reward, not love, and he required his servants to rule through fear, reward, and sacrifice, so much so that he’d required the sacrifice of his favorite son, who’d strayed from those fundamental principles. The cross was a constant reminder of the brutal sacrifice required of all mortals to find the path to salvation.

  The popes—a relatively new title meant to placate the few obstinate and dangerously well-armed Spaniards of a few centuries past—were the true Messiahs, the living sons of God. They were chosen for elevation to the near divine, to replace the bizarre, inhuman monsters so many of the barbarians of this land still clung to against all reason. The twisted cross represented the power of God and inspired fear, as well as a fatalistic acceptance of the final trial of life. It was a symbol of unification that drew the masses from their pathetic, equally harsh but heretical traditions. In that sense, despite the suffering it represented, it was also an object of stability and comfort.