Firestorm d-6

by Taylor Anderson

  Matt winced. I guess a little exaggeration never hurts when you’re trying to bolster a man’s courage. Twice the range, sure. Ten times? Not with black powder.

  “Indeed? Yet they are so small…”

  Spanky rolled his eyes but turned to Courtney. “Have you come up with any bug spray for them flyin’ devils, Mr. Bradford?” he asked.

  Courtney’s almost perpetually cheerful, open expression contorted into a frown. “I’m not sure,” he temporized. “They’re not indigenous to Imperial territories, at least not specimens of such size and aggression, so little is really known about them.” He brightened. “One of the officers I had the pleasure to meet is impressively knowledgeable about the local fauna! I thought I was a naturalist! There’s so much I can learn from him. Fascinating, utterly fascinating creatures abide here! Some are even rather familiar to me, but others

  …”

  “Courtney,” Matt said dryly.

  “Oh. Bloody hell! Of course,” Bradford fumed, but inhaled to calm himself. “Based on my own studies, I feel comfortable stating that, for all practical purposes, ‘lizard birds,’ ‘dragons,’ are flying Grik! Their physiology is somewhat different, of course-their arms and fingers have become the framework for wings; the tails are longer and the plumage more specialized. They’re also lighter for their size, but the corresponding flight muscles are greatly exaggerated.” He looked at Spanky. “Your ‘bug spray’ analogy might be as good as any, strangely enough. Their lungs are immense, and they clearly rely on a great volume of air to sustain their prodigious cardiopulmonary requirements…” He considered. “I don’t imagine they could thrive for long in a smoky environment, for example. Set fire to their ships, and I doubt they could loiter above them. The smoke alone might well choke them, or at least tire them quickly.” He shrugged. “That’s all I have for you, I’m afraid-besides what you already know: they’re vulnerable to gunfire, structurally and otherwise, and bleed rather copiously from any serious wound. Another drawback to their amazing ‘power plant,’ as it were.”

  Jenks was watching Matt’s face. “Does that give you an idea, my friend?”

  “Maybe.” Matt glanced at his watch. “In any event, you should probably go ashore and start sorting out your ‘army.’ I expect the enemy to try a coordinated attack of some kind, but we all know how hard that can be. You had better be in position as early as possible.” He looked at Rempel. “The ‘fleet’ will make all preparations for getting underway.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Grik East Africa Primary Industrial Site

  G eneral of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa smoldered with anger as he stepped onto the dock from the deck of his stately yacht. His Grik protectors hurried after him, but he ignored them. Once again, he was being forced to do something against his will, before he was ready, and the results might well be catastrophic. Word had arrived on a few ships that managed to run the Allied blockade that Generals Halik and Niwa hoped to hold Ceylon after all. General Esshk still doubted they could; they now knew the Allied fleet had thoroughly invested the place and had deployed a variety of highly effective attack aircraft there. This news didn’t come from Halik, but from the sole survivor of a supply convoy they’d tried to push through on the heels of the successful breakout. Lord Regent Tsalka seized on the notion, however, as a possibility that his beloved regency might be preserved, and he’d convinced the Celestial Mother to instruct Kurokawa to deploy his own as yet “idle” airpower to counter the enemy and ravage the Allied fleet.

  Kurokawa objected as strenuously as he dared, citing the many obstacles to deployment: the craft weren’t ready in the numbers he desired for a decisive blow, the crews were barely proficient, and even navigation would be a problem. He laid out his argument as carefully and respectfully as he could, even referencing the disaster that ensued the last time his advice was ignored, all to no avail. Esshk was on his side, as was the Chooser, but in the end it was Tsalka’s argument that they must resist the conquest of Ceylon with every asset available if they hoped to save the sacred “Ancestral Lands” from the corrupting tread of former prey that won the day.

  Kurokawa did manage to gain a major concession from the Celestial Mother. She understood his and Esshk’s desire to prevent another disaster and valued their opinions. Therefore, if there was a “setback,” on Tsalka would be blamed. Kurokawa was still enraged but managed to hide his temper-a skill he’d worked hard to master, and one that had served him well of late. He took the reversal with an apparent grace that visibly surprised General Esshk, but he’d secretly resolved to do everything in his growing power to ensure Tsalka took sufficient blame for any number of things to cost him his miserable life.

  At least Tsalka hadn’t insisted that Kurokawa’s New Navy be involved in this fiasco, but likely only time and distance preserved it. That could have been a real disaster. The Navy he was building would soon be invincible, but upon learning of the threat from the air, he’d realized overhead protection was now essential, and his projected date for completion had been postponed accordingly. He slowed his pace and gazed out into the massive, artificial harbor and marveled at his own genius. Once his fleet was complete, nothing the ridiculous “allies” had, or could conceivably make, would be able to stop it. Certainly, there’d be losses. His machinery was crude and many of his ships might simply break down, but the rest-the best-would be impervious to anything but modern weapons. He looked at his flagship, which was undergoing topside reinforcement. Not since Amagi was lost had there been anything like her on this world, and he felt a thrill at the prospect of “taking her out” against the foe. It would be a very different meeting from the last one, he swore.

  He growled and slapped his boot with his macabre riding crop. Damn Tsalka! Kurokawa had confidence in his fleet, but an unexpected combined attack would’ve been utterly irresistible, and he’d have had his own revenge at last! He paced the dock, watching the dronelike labor of the Uul, and hearing the harsh commands of his own Japanese officers as they instructed their overseers. He’d finally begun to forgive some of his old crew. Not all could have been traitors, he convinced himself, and they worked now with an apparently single-minded passion that mirrored his own. Perhaps they knew, with victory, a new order would emerge, and they wanted to be a part of it. Whatever the reason, most of his surviving “old crew” now worked with a will, and even if it was only to improve their own lot and not necessarily to advance the glory of Kurokawa or Emperor Hirohito, he was satisfied with what they’d accomplished on his behalf.

  He left the dock, his unspeaking Grik close behind. The guards themselves signified a shift in his personal fortunes; they were there to protect him with their lives, not monitor or curtail his activities. They belonged to him. He managed a brief, snorting smile at that and worked his way quickly past the tightly constructed buildings holding the acid baths, trying to hold his breath the entire length of the structures. It was impossible. He finally took a gasping breath and inhaled some of the fumes. “Aggh!” he said, and worked his way upwind. Soon the smell was gone, and he beheld the dozens of massive structures built to protect his mighty flying machines from the elements. Only one craft was currently in view, and he stopped to marvel at the scope of this, his second greatest achievement.

  “Magnificent,” he muttered, a little wistfully. Turning, he stepped toward the office of “General of the Sky,” Hideki Muriname, the last pilot of the old Type 95 floatplane that once bombed Baalkpan. The plane had been seriously damaged, and though it hadn’t been cannibalized, Kurokawa was assured it could never fly again. They used it now as a pattern for gauges and other technical things Kurokawa had no interest in.

  “General Muriname!” he boomed, throwing the door aside.

  “Sir?” answered a small man seated at a large desk, bluerints scattered before him.

  “You have orders.” Kurokawa proceeded to explain the mission and the timetable.

  “But”-the small man searched the room with his eyes-“that is madness!
Such a distance! There will not be fuel for them to return against contrary winds! We will not only waste the machines, but all the aircrews we’ve worked so hard to form!”

  Kurokawa allowed the outburst. It mirrored his own feelings, after all. Better to cultivate this man’s goodwill-and animosity toward their “masters”-than slap him down. “Indeed,” he agreed grimly, “as I argued. But their course is set. Do your best to consider alternate landing and fueling sites. Some will make it to India.”

  “But what of the others, destined for these even longer flights?”

  Kurokawa sighed. “Doomed, I agree. I fear within a fortnight we will have to begin all over from scratch! Fear not, however. I have taken pains to ensure none of us will be blamed for failure or loss, nor will any of our people suffer-beyond those few who fly the mission. And who knows? Perhaps it will succeed, and ours will be the greatest share of glory!”

  Muriname ignored the reference to glory, though he was relieved there’d be no more reprisals. “Must we send the entire fleet? All our trained crews?”

  “Yes,” Kurokawa said. “To hold back would be seen as courting failure, and if the balance of victory is perceived to have teetered on numbers, we will be blamed.”

  “I must keep at least two craft to continue training operations,” Muriname stated. “Otherwise, it will take months to recover the most rudimentary skills. “Production will continue-it’s only now reaching its stride-but we must keep training so the machines will have aircrews that can fly and maintain them.”

  Kurokawa frowned. “Of course. I’m sure Esshk and the Chooser will agree. Two craft should make little difference. But I must get the blessing of their vile empress, to protect our people.”

  “Yes, Capt-General of the Sea.”

  Muriname remained standing for some time after Kurokawa left. The new “Air Forces” had been his project since its inception, and be- sides the improved treatment he’d won for the Japanese engineers and other former Amagi crewmen in his “department,” he was proud of what they’d accomplished. Despite the limitations and difficulties they’d faced pertaining to Grik physiology, not only had they built machines the creatures could operate, but they’d solved the difficult technological problems of power plants with simplicity itself: horizontal-opposed, two-cylinder, Reed valve, four-stroke engines that weighed only about one hundred thirty pounds, even made of iron. Lower rpm meant higher torque and reliability-and no need for a reduction gear. Muriname believed the things developed close to forty or fifty horsepower, while burning only about three and a half gallons of precious gasoline-they’d only just started to receive in quantity from the north-per hour.

  Unlike the enemy, as far as he knew, they had naturally occurring rubber (or something so much like it as to make no difference) within the territory under their control, and they’d solved most of the other issues of large-scale production in the face of a labor pool with less intelligence than young children. Many of the “mass production” techniques pioneered by Kurokawa in the shipyards had been well applied, but the precision required for weights and shapes was far more critical for flyng machines, and he’d noticed that, slowly, even his most unskilled laborers-those who survived-had begun to grasp more and more of what they were taught. Some were becoming quite competent, in fact, and a precious few could even comprehend how what they did related to other things.

  The training aircrews were on an entirely different level; all were “Hij,” or “elevated” specimens that generally exhibited levels of intelligence on a par with young adult Japanese. They were enthusiastic learners, and though insular and as slavishly devoted to their “Celestial Mother” as many Japanese youths were to their emperor, they demonstrated a hungry curiosity. He was beginning to form some rather radical ideas about their “allies’” society, and though he still loathed the Grik in general, he no longer hated them individually. He supposed he even felt vaguely attached to some of the aircrews! Regardless of the terrible waste of time, training, and resources, deep down, much of the sudden anxiety he felt regarding his orders stemmed from the simple fact that he just didn’t want his students to die. He felt torn and confused.

  Grik Ceylon

  General Halik hissed and slashed at the map with his claws. “They are monsters!” he howled. “Each attack we send against them is savaged, and many turn prey!” He looked at Niwa. “Those who do are not destroyed, but they are so far gone, I fear they may never recover-or become useful for anything but fodder!”

  “Give them time,” Niwa said. “You’ve seen it before.”

  “But we don’t have time! I want victory! A victory, any victory, to show General Esshk that Ceylon can hold. Only that will gain us aid!”

  “That was not our mission,” Niwa reminded him.

  “It becomes mine,” Halik snapped. “If I were… accustomed to failure, I would not be alive. Only victory in the arena deserves life!”

  “But this isn’t the arena, and we’ve accomplished the mission we were set-to engage and assess the enemy; learn how they fight and what they fight with. That was the greater mission. Saving Ceylon was never expected of us.”

  “I expect it of myself, ” Halik replied in a quieter tone. “I cannot help it. Despite my ‘elevation,’ I’m not-cannot be-dispassionate.” He straightened. “Nor does it seem I have gained the wisdom General Esshk expected of me. I don’t have the troops being bred and trained for defense, but as you said, wise offense can counteract that. I know it is so! I just can’t… make it happen, and I chafe!”

  “You still talk of attacking with your shield, as you did in the arena,” Niwa observed, “but you know that sometimes a shield is just a shield, a tool to deflect a blow. Even your lowliest Uul understand this.”

  “Ha! You expect them to line up in the face of the enemy and deflect his lead spheres, arrows, cannon, bombs, with shields? They cannot stand that. They will attack, and nothing I can do will stop them!”

  “And they are slaughtered.”

  “Yes.”

  Niwa sighed. He understood how Halik felt, and he felt for him. At some point, he’d finally stopped thinking of Halik as a creature, a Grik he somehow got along with. Maybe it was his isolation from his own kind, or perhaps it was the prestige of his position and his real power over the Grik of Ceylon. Maybe it was just the camaraderie of battle. Whatever the reason, he considered Halik a friend, and he couldn’t help it any more than Halik could prevent suffering under his own burden. Oddly, Niwa wasn’t even conflicted. He hated Kurokawa and had no real attachment to any of his “own” surviving people. Nor did he feel anything for the enemy other than a measure of admiration, even though he knew he had far more in common with them than any Grik. In spite of everything, they were the enemy. Halik, on the other hand, was honest, loyal, and brave. He was perhaps a true samurai in all the ways that mattered, and Niwa respected him for that.

  “Then use your mind to shield them,” Niwa suggested. “You already laid the groundwork for our ‘surprise’; is it complete?”

  “Not yet. Everything has happened so quickly, and the enemy moves like a machine! I never imagined anything like it. Now our front collapses to the south, and all we…” Halik stopped and stared at the map. “All we can do is take from one place and put it in another,” he said softly. “The enemy will see that-their thrice-cursed aircraft-but they cannot see what we do in the dark!”

  “That’s true,” Niwa said. “They occasionally fly at night, but they can’t really see.”

  “They’ll expect us to take from the highland front to reinforce the southern plains. The highlands are difficult country, and though they don’t know it, that was precisely why we amassed such power there, emplaced your ingenious devices! But they won’t come!” He paused. “Or will they?” Excitedly, Halik peered at the map. “They will watch us take forces from there to a place where they have made it necessary! The highland passes will appear to have been abandoned, while the plain grows more formidable! They will come where we wa
nt them, thinking it an empty road!” Halik snarled again, in triumph this time.

  “Excellent,” Niwa said approvingly. “But the movements must be convincing, and the troops and guns we leave must be well concealed.”

  “Of course,” Halik agreed, “as well as the warriors we return there!”

  “How do you mean?”

  “As we both agree, they cannot see what we do at night. We’ll move nearly everything out of the highlands! Prod them into attacking just as Uul will chase wounded prey! Under the cover of darkness, we put it all back!”

  “Chancy,” Niwa said, “all will depend on concealment and exaggeration-two things they will not expect of Grik, based on those they’ve met before.”

  “Indeed,” Halik said with a self-satisfied gurgle. “We must see to it ourselves. The warriors we leave, those trained on the cannons, will have to hide-not an easy thing to achieve in itself-and…” He paused. “When we shift the warriors back to the highlands in darkness, we will fill the lines south of the city with the city’s inhabitants themselves. Use the noncombatants.”

  “What will N’galsh say?” Niwa asked.

  “He will wail as if being flayed alive. All his followers, merchants, artisans-his preparers of food!-all the privileged Hij in the city, along with their own little armies of Uul forced into the company of ungroomed warriors…!” Halik could barely contain his glee. “Perhaps we’ll even arm them!”

  Niwa chuckled himself. “The idea of N’galsh wielding a sword is amusing… but can he if he must="3

  “Of course not, but if we fool the spies from the air, we will know it soon enough. The enemy will pause before the ‘mighty force’ we assemble before it, long enough to strengthen itself, while his lighter center force that slogs slowly through the mountains to the east will charge headlong into the trap! Once we destroy it, we’ll attack the western force from the side, the ‘flank,’ as you say!”