B00BPJL400 EBOK (38 page)

There was murmuring at that and reflective blinking. Pete scratched his beard. “Why now? you might be asking yourselves, and there’s several reasons. Two that really matter. We’ve spent weeks making the Grik think we’re running out of juice, lulling them while we hoard supplies for this stunt. Well, we’re not playacting anymore. All the dino-cows are gone, and we’re nearly out of food. Also, the Grik finally got wise about the barges bringing us stuff up the river, and they shut it down. They’ve pushed all the way up to the ford on the south side of the Tacos River, just east of the lake, and the river’s too dangerous to rely on anymore. Because of that, we’re starting to dip into the ammo we’ve been hoarding. Like I said, we’ve still got enough to dump about five hours of absolute savage hell on their lizardy heads, but after that, artillery and air, at least, will probably be spent.

“Now the kinda rough part, and the second reason that matters most right now.” He looked around. “Rolak’s pet Grik, Hij-Geerki, has been on loan to HQ for the last few weeks, and the little bastard’s turned into a pretty good spy.” Alden nodded at the ancient Grik, who always seemed to be relaxing on a cushion like a dog. Geerki raised his head and somehow managed a smug expression. Pete continued. “Between him and Lieutenant Leedom’s air reports, I’m convinced the Grik are about to hit us, whole hog, at any time. We have to beat them to the punch!”

There was alarmed murmuring this time, but Pete held up both hands. “That’s okay, because now comes the sweet part. We’re only starting the show a few days earlier than I’d planned, and I’m told that
if
we hit our marks, we won’t have long to wait before help arrives!” There was an expectant silence, and Pete nodded. “I don’t have all the details because we’re using comm discipline everywhere, but it’s the traffic we’re keeping down, not the content, so I can tell you some.” He didn’t tell them he also didn’t want to take the chance someone might talk if they were taken. He forced a grin. “This Grik movement has pushed things up a bit, but
most
of our ducks were already in a row. One way or another, Kurokawa’s fleet at Madras is about to get a really nasty surprise, and if all goes to plan, the city should be back in our hands directly!”

There was cheering and stamping feet. Pete grinned even bigger. “Not only that, but Captain Reddy himself and his leaky old tin can might have something to do with it.” There was even more cheering, and Pete caught himself almost wishing Kurokawa could find out about that part. There was ample evidence he might behave . . . rashly if he knew he was up against his old nemesis.

“Which, ah, ‘ducks’ are not yet aligned?” Rolak asked wryly as he moved to stand beside his pet Grik, who almost beamed up at him.

“Well,” Pete paused, then shrugged. The people around him would understand how little difference it should make to their situation. “
Walker
and
Mahan
are bringing up
Big Sal
’s battle group.” He didn’t say from where—again, just in case. “And they aren’t exactly
here
yet, but they’ll be along, and they’re the only ducks we’re missing. Besides, this isn’t shaping up to be so much a Navy fight, and all we have to worry about is what’s in front of us.”

“But what about Kurokaawa and his baatleships?” Safir asked.

“There’s other plans for them. The Navy shouldn’t even have to get its guns dirty.” He looked around again and nodded. “So, that’s it. Time to go. Do or die, as they used to say, but I ain’t foolin’.” He paused and finally gazed at the map. “You know, I hate leaving those guys out there in the breeze,” he groused, referring to the lonely pair of regiments in the Rocky Gap, “but they should be okay.” He took a deep breath. “At least for a while.” He turned and stared intently at the gathered faces in turn. “And that’s what it boils down to. This ain’t gonna be a long fight; it can’t be. We either win it quick, or we’re done.”

Suddenly, he stiffened and saluted them all. “It’s been an honor,” he said. Everyone present returned the salute and held it until Pete, red faced, stepped out of the tent.

30

//////
The Battle of East Indiaa
II Corps, North of Lake Flynn
0505

“T
hank you, Haasa,” said General Queen Protector Safir Maraan, as the old B’mbaadan warrior finished securing her customary black cape. He’d already rebuckled the shiny cuirass around her torso, and now stepped back to look at her with his one eye brimming full. He merely nodded, unable to reply. Haasa had been her personal servant all her life, and next to the great Haakar-Faask, and now her old enemy, Muln-Rolak, he was the closest she remembered to a father. He could no longer walk long distances, and a lifetime of wounds had made most types of movement painful for him, but he always attended her wherever she went and was hurt that she’d forbidden him to follow her that day. It couldn’t be helped. Her corps had far to go and would face perhaps the toughest fighting. She knew, one way or another, he’d contrive to keep up; that wasn’t her concern. What worried her most was what it would cost him to do so.

She prayed to the Heavens that they really had a chance in the coming fight, because if they lost, she’d have gained old Haasa—and all the rest—little time. She shook her head.
No! Defeat cannot even be considered. Only through victory can my corps and my people survive—can
I
survive to see my beloved Chack once more!
She shuddered.
It has been so long!
She might never know what it was about the young wing runner from
Salissa
Home that so stirred her blood when they first met. He was beautiful to her eyes, certainly, but he’d also retained a charming, tempered merriment despite the horrors he’d already seen. Perhaps it was simply that he hadn’t been a warrior at all before this terrible war, and though he’d grown very good at the business of killing, he retained a different perspective, one of war as necessity, not play, unlike that which had so pervaded the cultures of B’mbaado and Aryaal. Like General Lord Muln-Rolak, Safir Maraan now knew there was nothing at all “fun” about this war, and possibly what first drew her to Chack was the realization that he, young as he was, had the wisdom to understand that no war—no
thing
that caused suffering—could,
should
, ever be fun.

She sighed and stepped from the meager light of her tent into the predawn darkness.
There is fog,
she realized.
Thick and low. It will probably thicken for a time before it burns away. Then, of course, there will be fog of a different sort. . . .

“Good morning, my queen,” said Colonel Mersaak quietly, appearing from the gloom. Mersaak commanded her own 600, the royal regiment belonging directly to her. Both battalions, Silver and Black, were composed entirely of B’mbaadans, and probably alone in all the army did such a nonintegrated force remain.
They’re just as good as Marines,
she thought proudly.
They train with Marines and learn the same tactics. They also now have the same mix of weapons, which is why—along with Captain Saachic’s 5th Division, consisting of the remnants of the 1st of the 2nd Marines, the 1st Sular, the 6th Maa-ni-la Cavalry, and Flynn’s Rangers, of course—would lead the breakout north, to cut the Madraas road
behind
the enemy
. Saachic’s “division” had only about 140 effectives, not even two companies, but they’d requested the honor and she’d granted it. Supporting their thrust would be everything else she had, in echelon. Most of Rolak’s I Corps would attack north as well, then east. Hopefully,
hopefully
, the Grik in front of Safir’s corps would rout in the confusion, in the old way they once had, then Rolak’s flank attack would scatter them to the north. It was all they had. The battle would soon commence around the entire perimeter and everyone had a job, but I and II Corps would have the farthest to go and would have to keep what they took or all was lost.

“Colonel Mersaak,” Safir greeted. “What news?”

“All appears in readiness. This fog could be a problem,” he hedged.

“As great or greater for the enemy.”

Mersaak paused. “That may be. There are . . . noises to our front. That vile pet of Lord Rolak’s . . .”

“Hij-Geerki?”

“Indeed. I believe he may have been right. It is said he overheard shouted orders from the enemy lines that when pieced together indicate the Grik plan their final attack against
us
at first light!” He blinked.

“Vile he may be,” Safir agreed, “but his information has been amazingly accurate. Lord Rolak says he sneaks back and forth between the lines! His only fear, apparently, is that, old as he is, the Grik Choosers will catch him and send him to the cookpots!”

They snorted dry chuckles.

“Still, the timing for their attack is most interesting,” Mersaak observed.

Safir considered. “But fortuitous. We’ve been in our starting positions for some time. If we catch them moving into theirs, with this fog, they will already be confused, strung out, afraid . . .” She blinked predatorily in the darkness, and her tail swished in anticipation. “We await only the signal, Colonel Mersaak! Where is Captain Saachic?”

“His company—I cannot call it a division, in good conscience—guards the right flank of the Six Hundred. I will try to shield it as best I can.”

“Do nothing extraordinary, Colonel. I’m sure we will all have to look to ourselves before the day is done. There are few reserves beyond what we leave within our defenses. Captain Saachic and his troops know what they have asked for.”

To the south, across Lake Flynn, a sharp, pounding rumble began. Safir had no doubt that the rightmost battery in III Corps had commenced firing at exactly 0515. The thunder continued as the next battery to the east fired as well, by the piece from the right, at predesignated targets, fuses carefully set. On and on it went, battery after battery, with a growing, accelerating, unending
whump, whump, whump, whump, whump
!

“I wish
we
had a wall of fire to advance beneath!” Mersaak muttered.

“As do I,” Safir agreed, “but General Aalden says if we advance without a preparatory barrage, the enemy will be even more surprised; hearing the guns to the south, he will think the main attack falls there and will not expect us! It does make a kind of sense.” She grinned. “Fear not; we have all the mobile artillery and will employ it soon enough!” She paused, listening a moment longer. “I believe the signal for us to advance has been sounded, Colonel! Lieutenant!” she said to a comm officer behind her. “Signal ‘Second Corps is advancing!’ Drummers, if you please.”

General Halik’s HQ
South of Lake Flynn

Halik was awakening slowly to oversee the final preparations for his dawn attack. The confusion following his orders had been profound, and he’d visited nearly every part of his southern line before going to his bed just a short time before. He was exhausted and had no choice but to rely on the judgment of his more promising officers to complete the plans he’d laid if he hoped to greet the day with the slightest semblance of a clear head. Groggy and still half-asleep, he was lapping from a bowl of water beside his bedding when a stupendous thunderclap sounded, seemingly just over his head.

His first thought was that it
was
thunder—until the next blast, and the next. Lanterns swayed in the command post, and dust filtered down from the bombproof ceiling as the concussions rolled over him, receding, then returning to jar him from the very ground. The prey—the
enemy
—had been silent so long, except in response to his own attacks, it hadn’t dawned on him they remained capable of such a barrage, yet clearly they were. There had to be a reason they’d unleashed it now.

“My weapons! My armor!” He roared as he leaped, swaying, to his feet. An attendant rushed in, already burdened with his kit, and began dressing him as fast as he could. Halik saw the attendant’s eyes and noted the first gleam of panic reflected there.
This creature is not far from turning prey already,
he realized, and wondered what the attendant saw in his own eyes. Forcing a calm, steady voice, he soothed the creature as he soothed himself and prepared for what he’d see outside.

Sword in hand, cape flowing behind him, he slashed through the entrance to his quarters and viewed the world. A fog lay heavy, almost impenetrable, and his vision could pierce only a short distance in any direction, but what he saw was enough. Dull strobes of fire pulsed to the north, from the direction of the lake, and flashes of exploding shells popped in the darkness overhead. Hot iron and copper fragments whirred all around, or sizzled on the damp ground as he strode among them. Bodies were already heaping up, some moaning in agony, others still. A column of warriors shifting positions had been caught in the open by an unlucky stroke, and some lay sprawled, still in marching order. The pounding continued unabated, and the sound was enough to deafen him. Worse, the dense white smoke of the cannon bombs was joining the fog and making it even more difficult to see.

“Sound the horns!” he bellowed, referring to the note he’d added that meant, essentially, “stand-to in place.” Too many shapes were already dashing past him to the south, and he hoped he’d have the strength to stop the assault he knew was coming. Somehow, the enemy had divined his plans. Most of his preparations hadn’t begun until after dark, but the enemy still controlled the skies, albeit more feebly than in the past, and they
must
have seen something! And the enemy’s air mapping had to be responsible for the precision of the preparatory bombardment! Alden’s terrible mortar bombs had long possessed the range to his forward positions, and his viciously efficient artillery could reach farther still. But this barrage was methodically pounding the marshaling areas and reserve encampments, as well as Halik’s headquarters section! It must also be focusing on his sadly limited artillery emplacements, since he didn’t think many of his own cannon were adding to the general din. Ultimately, Alden couldn’t have struck at a better time—for him—with Halik’s army still deploying for its own attack.

To the cookpots with him!
Halik raged.
How? How did he know?
He must have observed something, and with his cursed radio that General Niwa told him of, had been able to coordinate his forces in a way Halik could only envy.

Or did he know, indeed?
Halik suddenly wondered. General Niwa had only recently explained the meaning of “coincidence,” and though Halik wasn’t sure he believed in the phenomenon, something about Alden’s attack here now just didn’t make sense
.
Even if he smashed through, he’d still be trapped between the escarpment and the sea. Perhaps his army had chosen to die like the small force on the hill west of the Gap—selling their lives in exchange for the cream of his army? If one considered it from a position of strength, that would seem all they could achieve. But with radio . . .
How far can radio speak?
Halik pondered.
They may NOT have seen me massing,
he decided,
and even Alden couldn’t have prepared an attack such as this in the short time since they had, in any case
. Could the
timing
of the attack be coincidence after all? Possibly coordinated with something else, even larger? With radio, they might know something he—or General of the Sea Kurokawa—didn’t.

An eerie roar muffled by the fog and his own damaged hearing reached him from the trench lines to the north. It was a yell from thousands of throats, unlike anything the voices of his own people could manage. Another whip crack of primal terror jolted his spine. “They are coming!” he roared. “SOUND OUR CURSED HORNS!” He paused, listening, as the roar built to a crescendo that overwhelmed the guns. Then he heard his horns at last, braying in the smoke and fog along the seven-mile front between the crags to the west and the low-water ford across the river to the east.

“I need runners!” he yelled over the thunder of war. “Fast ones. At least two tens! Send two along the pathways to General Ugla, and six to try to cross the river and contact General Shlook!”

“The rest, Lord?” cried a commander of ten hundreds.

“To Madras, to General of the Sea Kurokawa. We must report what is happening here and warn them to . . . beware.”

“At once, Lord General!”

A staccato crackle of musketry erupted in the gloom, the flashes still blanketed. The clatter of volleys and independent fire quickly grew to a sustained, throbbing rumble. The duller pop of Halik’s own musketeers joined them, but he knew his fire weapons would be next to useless in this thrice-cursed damp. There was more yelling, closer now, and the sharp, metallic clamor of shields and edged weapons joined the tumult. Then, just as his own horns began to fade, he heard another sound that stunned him to his marrow and convinced him that the fight, south of the lake at least, was lost before it truly began. The horns blared again, but this time with the signal to withdraw.

“Who ordered that call?” he shrieked. “
I
did not order that call!”

“I . . . I do not know, Lord General!” another officer cried in a tone that made Halik’s heart sink even lower. The officer, a good one, was near the edge. If his senior officers turned prey . . .

“Destroy yourself immediately!” Halik commanded sadly.

“Of course, Lord General,” the officer replied, his voice steadied by the order to release himself from the conflicting imperatives surging in his breast. He drew his sword. Halik was already pacing away, ordering other officers to stem the rush of warriors streaming to the rear—possibly never to be recovered.

“To the fire with Kurokawa!” Halik seethed. He immediately suspected that the enemy must have learned the secret of the horns and captured or made enough to give his army the one command it yearned to follow at that precise moment! They
couldn’t
have prepared for this long, but Kurokawa had delayed the final assault long enough for this latest trick, at least. He ordered his own horns sounded again, but it was no use; it was too late, and too many had probably already been abandoned. Nothing could stop the rout—but what could the enemy do? Alden
had
to know this attack, regardless of its gains, couldn’t hope to churn so far south as to combine with the troops guarding the Ceylon tongue. They’d face another entire army before they reached it. And the horn trick would
not
work again, Halik swore.
So what does that leave?