He’d been in bad shape. The great teeth had torn his flesh and he was unconscious. The Khonashi lived nearer to Baalkpan then. They carried him to their village, where they nursed him back to health and he’d learned, by necessity, to speak their tongue. The first thing he’d gotten them to understand was that he needed to go home, but he still wasn’t fit to travel. By then the Grik had come to Baalkpan. Through a network of observers and allied tribes, the Khonashi knew much of what happened across Borno. They already feared the Grik were worse enemies than the ’Cats, from accounts of encounters with their strange ships in the northwest, and Tony convinced those who still doubted.
He tried to get them to join the Lemurians, but they fled the war instead. The problem was, the lands they found on the north coast of the island—as far as they could get from the invading Grik and the Lemurians—belonged to the Akashi, and the Akashi didn’t want them there. A brutal, bloody war ensued. Having no choice but to help those who’d helped him, Tony taught them crossbows, and longbows for the humans, as well as the short swords his shipmates had been training the Lemurians to use. With those weapons and others, the Khonashi defeated the Akashi.
Ironically, it was in that fighting, not the super-lizard attack, that Tony’s leg was wrecked, and it became impossible for him to return to Baalkpan. Ultimately, one thing led to another, and he married a high-status human member of the tribe. Eventually, through no fault of his own (he swore), he “wound up” king. There was a lot more to it, of course, and it really was a long story, but those were the bare essentials, and sufficient to bring them up to speed on his situation, at least.
Abel was nodding. “I can see all that,” he confessed. “Some of us have been marooned before—that’s how I wound up here myself; stranded with S-Nineteen and a bunch of submariners.” He looked at Silva. “Then we got marooned again . . .” He shook his head. “That’s a long story too. But my question is, now that you mention a ‘situation,’ why did you send I’joorka to find us? I’m not complaining. We were sent to meet your people, and I’joorka’s band probably saved us. Still, the coincidence is most interesting.”
“Yeah,” Tony replied. “About that: we knew when your group set out, and figured you were coming to find us at last. For one thing, I wanted to get you before the Akashis did.” He shrugged. “They might not’ve killed you, but I couldn’t take that chance. Besides . . . we got a problem I was hopin’ for some help with.”
Silva arched his brow over his eye patch. “A problem?” He rolled his eyes at Gunny Horn. “I knew it was more than just a reunion o’ beloved shipmates!”
“Yeah, well, down the coast about fifteen miles is a little bay. Not much of one, but big enough for one of those big ’Cat Homes to anchor in. You remember that Fristar Home? Under a Lemurian called Anai-Sa?”
“Sure,” Silva said. “Ungrateful bastards. Joined the Alliance to get cannons, and hung in long enough to get some muskets too, but then skedaddled. Buncha weenies. Didn’t want in the fight. Last I heard, they was huntin’ gri-kakka fish in the China Sea.”
“They’re in the fight now,” Tony declared, “but on the wrong damn side.”
“How do you know it’s Fristar? Lemurian Homes look a lot alike,” Brassey said.
Tony looked at the Imperial midshipman curiously. “’Cause it’s got ten big bronze guns, and our scouts described Anai-Sa, with his dark fur and gold rings, pretty good.” He frowned. “They ain’t helpin’ the enemy because they want to, and I been tryin’ to keep everybody convinced of that, but a bunch of our folks around that village are dead now, and a lot of my people have blood in their eyes.” He snorted. “Hell, I do too. But those Fristar ’Cats are doin’ slave labor, it appears to me, and I don’t want ’em hurt.” He gestured around. “Considerin’ my lizard folks’ history with ’Cats on Borno, some ain’t that particular. They’re all invaders, far as they’re concerned.”
“Enemy? Slave labor! What are they doing?” Brassey asked.
“Drilling for oil. At least that’s what they’ve got the ’Cats doin’. Workin’ ’em to death too!”
“What?” Pam cried. “The Grik? What do they need oil for? It doesn’t make any sense!”
Tony blinked. “No! Not the Grik. The goddamn Japs!”
In the stunned silence that followed, Abel looked hard at Scott, then leaned over and whispered something to Brassey. The Imperial nodded grimly.
“Perhaps we should let Mr. Scott explain from the beginning, Lieutenant Cross,” Brassey said.
“Yeah.” Scott looked back at Silva. The two had been friends, and he felt more comfortable talking to him. “Both ships showed up about two months ago; that big-ass Home, and a heavy Jap tin can. The can was all shot up, like, as bad or worse than Walker was when we first made it to Baalkpan. But they’d captured Fristar and had her under their guns. About two hundred Japs came ashore with rifles and machine guns and shit and just about wiped out the whole village I was talkin’ about. Next they put most of the ’Cats, a couple thousand or so, ashore, and started ’em drilling for oil on half a dozen rigs not much different from the one those goofy Mice cooked up.” He grinned at the memory, but the smile faded and his eyes turned grim.
“Have they struck oil yet?” Abel asked.
“I’m not sure. They might have.” He paused. “Will they?”
“Good question,” interjected Horn. “Is there oil around here? I mean, you guys found a bunch down south—and I guess that’s why the Japs wanted the Dutch East Indies in the first place, you know, back home. But will they find any here?”
Abel jerked a nod. “I’m afraid so. Mr. Bradford’s notes indicated significant local reserves discovered in the twenties. What’s more, these . . . later-arriving Japanese are sure to be aware of them, since they conquered the region from my people—the British—before we even fled Surabaya.” He sighed. “Barring a miracle or gross incompetence we can’t count on, they probably will find oil, if they haven’t already.”
“Later arriving,” Scott said, nodding. “I figured you knew about that Jap ship—or she knew about you. That explains why they keep her snugged up, close to shore, covered with trees and bushes and such. You guys have airplanes now—we’ve seen ’em a few times—so I thought the Japs might be hidin’ from you.”
“Hidoiame,” Brassey said, his tone certain, and Abel nodded agreement. “It has to be, particularly based on the description.”
Silva swore. “Bitch has more lives than a . . .” He shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean.”
Abel frowned at Tony. “You’re right, Mr. Scott. The Japanese destroyer is hiding from us, and USS Walker gave her many of the wounds you’ve seen. We thought she was doomed, but she clearly survived long enough to coerce Fristar’s aid. Even with her few cannons, Fristar would’ve been helpless against Hidoiame. Her people would’ve had no choice but to obey the Japanese. I’m glad you’ve restrained your people from attacking the workers, Mr. Scott. They’re just as much victims as the Khonashi.”
“That’s what I thought, but it ain’t been easy. Especially with them workin’ for those murderin’ Japs, willing or not. My people have suffered and they’re mad. I can’t make ’em love the ’Cats, but so far I’ve been able to keep my folks from killing them—on the condition that we will kill the Japs.” He blew a frustrated breath. “The trouble is, as we taught the Grik, swords and crossbows ain’t no match for modern weapons, and a straight-up fight’ll be a bloodbath. We might win, but even if we do, we’ll be easy pickings for our other enemies.” He looked ruefully at Silva. “Bein’ king ain’t all fun and games.” He turned back to Abel. “Maybe I’m AWOL, but these’re my people now, just as much as my old shipmates and even the Baalkpan ’Cats. I know you won the fight at Baalkpan, but I also know the war ain’t over. Too many ships keep building and sailing off, and too many troops too. I been doin’ my best to get it where my people here, and my people down south can get along with each other, but it’s to the point where I need some kind o
f goddamn help up here!”
“You could just wait them out, let them get their oil and leave,” Abel said softly.
Scott turned back to Silva. “Who the hell is this kid, Dennis? I’ll let my people kill every single worker on the rigs before I let those Japs just steam out of here! That’s what I’m trying to stop!”
“Relax, Tony,” Silva assured him. “He knows.”
Abel nodded. “I was merely pointing out that despite your unusual circumstances, you’ve not forgotten your duty. Ultimately, it’s in all our interests to capture or destroy Hidoiame. With fuel, she may well reach our other enemies and make them even more difficult to defeat.”
He glanced at Silva and Horn, and suddenly looked very much the young teenager he actually was once more. “I . . . I didn’t expect this sort of thing at all. I suppose our next move should be to see the situation for ourselves, then decide what to do about it.”
“Yessir,” Silva agreed. “That’s exactly what we gotta do.”
“I wish we could just whistle up some air from Baalkpan to take care of that Jap can,” Horn grumped.
Stuart Brassey nodded helplessly. He’d long since discarded the damaged wireless equipment. He couldn’t fix it, and not only was it heavy, but their relentless pace and the climate-induced corrosion had outdone his best efforts to maintain the salvageable components.
“We could cut a large clearing in the jungle and light a signal to ’atrol ‘Nancys’!” Lawrence suggested, joining the conversation. He’d been conscious that he was the center of much curiosity from all the natives, as well as this Tony Scott.
“Jaaphs see s’oke, go search us!” I’joorka warned.
“Probably not from that far away,” Tony speculated.
“Yeah,” Horn agreed, “and we lay out a big arrow or message that says ‘Japs are anchored to shoreward of Fristar.’”
“It’s not a terrible idea,” Silva grudged. “An’ besides the usual patrol grids, our folks are prob’ly out lookin’ for sign of us, anyway. But Borno’s near as big as Texas. You might have to keep a smoke signal like that goin’ for weeks before anybody sees it. If we could lay out a message they can read from the air, they’d likely spot Hoo-dooy-yammy once they’re lookin’ for her, though. Prob’ly use the P-Forties Ben Mallory left in Baalkpan to paste her. Ever’body’s happy—if it goes down like that.”
“P-Forties?” Tony asked, incredulously.
“Another long story.”
“That may be the most sensible course of action,” Abel said thoughtfully, “and we should certainly do it immediately. But I believe we need to consider it ‘plan B,’ as you say. Chief Silva has reminded us that there’s no guarantee our planes will see a signal for some time, and Hidoiame may steam away”—he shrugged—“well, tomorrow.” He set his jaw. “Under no circumstances can that ship be allowed to leave this place.”
Silva grinned and thumped Abel on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. “Then what are we waitin’ for?” He glared at Tony’s wasted leg. “You ain’t good for much, so why don’t you get the smoke signals started while we go have a look at this Jap?”
“I get around better than you might think,” Tony snapped back, “but I’ll have a detail get started on a clearing and a fire that’ll draw attention for a hundred miles!”
“Excellent,” Abel said, then paused. “I think we should begin as soon as possible, but I’d like to ask a few questions first.”
“He’s kinda Courtney Bradford’s pro-to-jay,” Dennis said, rolling his eye. Abel glared at him. “Quite so.” He looked back at Scott. “But I simply must ask where all the humans came from, and how long they’ve been Khonashis!”
Scott blinked at him. “Hell, I don’t know. I figure they’re Malays or somethin’. Wound up here a hundred years or so ago on fishing boats. Least, that’s their story. Joined up with the Khonashis against some other tribe in the southeast and been together ever since.” He gestured at the woman who’d ushered him out. “She knows the whole story by heart, and you can nag her about it all you want when we ever get a chance to just sit around and swap yarns.”
“I look forward to it,” Abel said, looking at the woman.
“I got a question,” Pam interjected when it seemed they were all about to just dash back off into the jungle. “I mean, I’m tired and starvin’ and I just gotta know: you folks don’t eat bugs all the time, do you?”
CHAPTER
23
////// North Borno Coast
“N o half measures,” Dennis Silva muttered, staring through his small Imperial telescope. To all appearances, Fristar was moored in the narrow, deep-water cove to render oil from the huge gri-kakka fish—various types of plesiosaur, according to Bradford—which was the primary commercial occupation of all the great seagoing Homes. Her massive “wings” were stowed athwartships, and dark smoke streamed shoreward from multiple tryworks. Gri-kakka boats, lateen sails set, towed a near-continuous stream of the massive, lance-festooned fish into the cove. There they were hoisted onto wide, floating platforms away from the flasher fish feasting on them. Dennis had seen the operation only a few times, and he’d always wanted to go on a gri-kakka hunt. The idea of harpooning such a large animal, then riding the small boat like the whalermen of old—but on an even more hostile sea—absolutely thrilled him. He’d been ordered not to do it, of course, but that didn’t matter as much to him as the fact there’d just never been the time. Also, like any hunt, chasing gri-kakka wasn’t all adventure. Even here, more than a mile away, the fishy, fatty stink of boiling lard and rotting flesh was sharp.
At a more than casual glance, the hunt and subsequent rendering of oil and meat was all that was happening in the vicinity of the cove, and it took Silva some careful study to spot the Japanese destroyer. “They’re bein’ damn sneaky about it too,” he murmured. “They’ve made their ship look like a beaver dam!” He closed the telescope. “That’s her, though.”
“How can you say so sure?” Lawrence hissed beside him. “You hadn’t seen her afore now.”
Dennis glared at his furry-feathery friend. “’Cause you can see her hull down by the waterline. That’s how I spotted her. There’s damage there, and believe me, if anybody can tell a hole made by a four-inch-fifty, it’s me.” Pam scrabbled up on her hands and knees to join them. “Well, why don’t ever’body just come on up?” Dennis griped. “Hell, we can wave flags an’ shoot rockets in the air!”
“If they haven’t already seen your big, giant ass, they ain’t gonna see me,” Pam snapped. “Gimme that!” She motioned for the glass.
“Okay, doll, but shade the lens with your hand. There’s ’Cats over there, remember? I doubt the Japs’ve made friends with ’em, but if they spot us, it might get others lookin’.” He scratched his moldy eye patch. “They’ve got a fair number o’ ’Cats doin’ their usual thing, but I wonder where they’re keepin’ the rest when they’re not workin’ on the rigs.” I’joorka had supplied them with the locations of all six oil wells, built very much like the Fort Worth Spudders the Allies used. Some of Fristar’s people had helped in the Baalkpan oilfields for a while and might’ve supplied the design, thinking the quicker they finished, the quicker they’d be free of their captors. Dennis had plotted the sites on a map he was making.
“Maybe we’ll find out soon,” Pam said, hopeful. Moe and his three remaining Marines had crept down to what Tony’s scouts had reported seemed like a kind of prison camp in the jungle near the water, east of the slaughtered Khonashi village. Labor continued at the wells night and day, but only a few hundred workers could possibly fit in the protective perimeters around the rigs, so perhaps a thousand Lemurians remained at the camp. Gunny Horn, once a prisoner of these very Japanese himself, suggested they probably kept them there as hostages against the good behavior of those on the great ship, as well as the laborers in the jungle. Some of Tony’s people had shown Moe’s little squad the way, and their objective was to make contact if possible and not only tell Fristar
that aid was at hand, but also that the Khonashi weren’t Grik. No matter how well armed the Japanese were, Abel had theorized that only the fear of being overwhelmed by Grik could keep the ’Cats so docile under the Japanese. Dennis wasn’t so sure. Fristar remained under Hidoiame’s guns and was a powerfully restrictive hostage herself. But he conceded that whatever they decided to do, they needed to ensure that the people of Fristar would cooperate with the Khonashis, not run away—or try to kill them.
“There’s Japs,” Pam reported. “Workin’ on the ship. I see ’em movin’ now and then through the bushes and brush draped across her. But they’ve put up shelters past her, over in the trees too. Damn, they’ve moved whole trees! You can tell because they don’t look so good compared to the rest. Like they’re dyin’. Maybe they’re usin’ ’em like little cranes?”
“Here, gimme that back,” Dennis demanded. Pam handed the telescope over. “Huh. I think you’re right! Pretty smart. They have built cranes an’ scaffolds an’ all sorts o’ stuff outa livin’ trees.” He looked appraisingly at Pam. “Course, they ain’t as livin’ as the others. Good catch! For somebody whose eyes is so close together, yours seem to work okay!”
“Gee, thanks. Be still my flutterin’ heart!”
“Don’t mention it. Okay, Larry. Scoot on back an’ send misters Cook an’ Brassey up to have a look. We need ever’body with the same picture in their heads. When they shift back down, send I’joorka an’ Gunny Horn up—but make sure I’joorka’s pals keep an eye out behind us!”
Once everyone had observed the layout, they all pulled back to a well-hidden shelter in the jungle to await Moe’s return. An army of nearly three hundred Khonashis, of both races, had been gathering all day and I’joorka had assured them that the meeting place should be secure. The enemy no longer patrolled, he said. There were plenty of terrifying predators in the coastal jungle, but the unknown—and the Khonashis themselves—were more likely reasons why the Japanese relied on a perimeter defense and heavily armed squads to escort and protect their Lemurian workers and their worksites.
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