Enaak glanced northeast, back in the direction of their large, isolated encampment several miles away. Field fortifications surrounded the neatly ordered lines of tiny tents. The laand here isn’t thaat different from places in the Fil-pin Laands, he mused wistfully, taking in the tall-grass savanna, interspersed with large clumps of high, narrow-trunked trees. There were hills nearby, and hazy purple, snow-capped mountains brooded in the distance. Closer, a small column of Svec’s troopers could be seen; one of the official scout details. They were angling closer, the lumbering gait of their tall kravaas belying how quickly the big herbivores could move. Kravaas and me-naaks didn’t like each other, but given their size and power, and the long horns kravaas wore all over their bony heads, the outcome of any duel between one of them and a me-naak was always a toss-up. Since most of those present had been around each other awhile, few such altercations occurred. They remained wary, cooperative adversaries. Kind of like us and Haalik, Enaak mused.
He resumed daydreaming of a home he hadn’t seen in two long years. I’m told it’s more thaan six thousaands of miles away, he thought. And though I’ve certainly traaveled it, I caan’t even imaagine such a distaance. He gazed back at Lake Sirak, its waves glistening under the dimming rays like those of Maa-ni-la Bay, and stretching beyond the horizon to the northwest. Svec says this lake was paart of the ocean where he came from. Something caalled the Persiaan Gulf. He sighed. He’d seen a lot of the world in the past two years, a world infinitely larger and more complicated than he’d ever suspected. Particularly when informed by the perspectives of those who’d seen another one entirely.
Aasi raised her head and snorted, water dripping from long teeth. Snorting again, she stepped back from the shore. Preoccupied, Enaak assumed she’d had her fill. Few things frightened me-naaks, but no land animal tarried needlessly long near water on this world. Virtually everything beneath it was dangerous—as were some things that had adapted to hunt from it . . .
“Col-nol!” came a cry from Enaak’s right. He spun to look at one of his troopers and immediately realized his mistake. The cav-’Cat already had his carbine up and was pointing it at the water. Aasi crouched, jaws agape. None of the 5th burdened their mounts with muzzles anymore; their meanies had grown too attached to them to eat them, so why sacrifice one of their best defenses? Fully half of Enaak’s troopers fired at the sudden explosion of spray in front of them, proving they’d remained more alert than their commander. Dashing out of the splashing cascade up on land was what looked very much like a me-naak—only it was easily three times as big and had eyes on top of its head. That’s how it crept so close unseen.
It had also just shrugged off half a dozen hits from .50-80 caliber Allin-Silva carbines as it lunged with open jaws for one of the troopers. As quick as the monster was, however, the meanies’ reflexes were faster and they bolted from the attack. Apparently even less attentive than Enaak, though, one trooper tumbled from his saddle and dropped to the ground in front of the beast. It began to stoop. A second flurry of shots distracted it—and the trooper’s own mount slammed into it with the force of a torpedo, jaws snapping closed on a longish neck. To survive in the water, however, the creature’s hide must’ve been at least as tough as a me-naak’s case, and it batted the smaller attacker away. It hit hard and rolled, knocking down another me-naak and its rider, who screamed when his leg was crushed.
Enaak now had his own carbine up, aiming at the thing’s eyes, but they were relatively small and in constant motion. “Baack!” he roared. “Fall baack!”
“But, Col-nol!” First Sergeant Liaa-Binaa cried helplessly, firing again. They had people on the ground in front of that thing!
“Fall baack fifty tails. Thaat’s an order. Then keep firing,” Enaak insisted. He finally fired himself, missing the eye, but probably hitting the thing somewhere in the head. It screeched and turned to face him. The .50-80 cartridge the Grand Alliance adopted for its standard Allin-Silva “trapdoor” infantry rifles and carbines was a potent round; very accurate out to two hundred, even three hundred tails (or yards) in the hands of any well-trained troop. Many soldiers could double that, and a talented few could triple it. Its big, heavy bullet would normally get good penetration on large, dangerous beasts and often killed multiple Grik in massed formations.
But this thing seemed particularly well armored, quickly flattening the slugs on impact and preventing them from going deep. And its head must be extra haard! Enaak thought as he flipped the breech of his carbine open, ejecting the spent shell over his shoulder and quickly inserting a fresh one. He cocked the hammer and aimed again. Aasi stood rigidly beneath him while the rest of her kind and their riders loped a short distance to the rear. Enaak felt a surge of gratitude and affection for the animal that had tried to eat him when they were first paired.
The first fallen trooper had taken his chance and scampered to join the others on foot, but the other was trapped under his fallen me-naak, struggling to rise under the weight of another that was dead or stunned. The ’Cat screamed as his mount writhed in panic atop his shattered leg. Dropping back on all fours, the water monster surged toward the wounded prey. Unaware of the firing that resumed behind him or the vip of bullets whizzing past—and sudden shouts that refused to penetrate his concentration—Enaak led the predator’s protruding eye just a bit. When he squeezed the trigger, the carbine bucked against his shoulder and the monster squealed horribly with a terrible volume. It spun toward him again, its left eye popped like a bloody bubble. A long red crease across the top of its head showed Enaak he’d nearly wrecked both eyes. The shouts intensified even as the monster charged toward Enaak—and a large brown blur smashed into its side, flinging it to the ground.
Enaak blinked incredulously as another big brown shape—a kravaa!—barreled in and slammed its long, forward-facing phalanx of horns into the monster’s belly. The beast squalled and rolled, vaned tail flailing, and tossed the second kravaa and its unsettled rider away. The Lemurian rider landed on his feet, his own tail whipping, and the kravaa rose a little dazedly, two of its horns snapped off. The first kravaa had quickly backed away but charged again, just as two more converged and impaled the monster. That seemed to do the trick, finally, and the beast convulsed and thrashed while blood jetted from gaping wounds. The kravaas and their riders cautiously moved a short distance back.
Colonel Enaak lowered his carbine and shouted, “Cease firing,” even though no one was shooting now. That’s when he noticed his hands shaking uncontrollably. Quickly slinging the carbine, he crossed his arms over his chest, clenching them tight, and tried to control his blinking. “Col-nol Svec,” he called as severely as he could as the second kravaa trotted toward him. It was huffing and blowing, sides heaving, horns and ugly face covered with blood. The big man with the long, bushy beard sitting atop the animal had quite a bit of blood on him as well, though his strong white teeth gleamed through and practically glowed in the gathering twilight. “You and your ani-maal just . . . raammed that thing yourself. I saaw you!” Enaak continued. “I insist thaat you refrain from such irresponsible aacts in the future. Whaat would haappen to the Legion here, and our joint efforts, if something haappened to you?”
First Sergeant Liaa was shouting for troopers to help the wounded ’Cat, and some of Svec’s people were dismounting to assist. Several kravaas and me-naaks, left unsupervised side by side, sniffed one another disdainfully, but there was none of the usual jostling. Colonel Dalibor Svec laughed, glancing back at the monster, which was only twitching now. “I must ask the same of you, Colonel Enaak,” he replied. “In my case, Major Svec would seamlessly continue our association.” (Major Ondrej Svec was Dalibor’s son by a mother whose origin was just as murky as that of his Lemurian troops.) He chuckled darkly. “You, on the other hand, are the only one who keeps me and my Volunteers from killing every Grik we see. If that voda plazivy got you while you sat waiting for its jaws to snap your hloupy head off, who’d replace you,
whom I’ve learned to respect?”
Svec had a point, and Enaak shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, his tail, somewhat embarrassingly frizzed out, whipping behind him. A lot of the 5th’s experienced officers had been shipped south to join Colonel Saachic for operations against the Grik capital at Sofesshk, up the Zambezi River. Their replacements, arriving with the reinforcements, had little combat experience. Enaak’s new XO, Major Nika-Paafo, had seen a little action in the New Ireland campaign, but was wounded there and had been an instructor at the Maa-ni-la ATC ever since. Enaak still wasn’t sure how well Nika would adjust to their . . . unusual circumstances here.
A loud groan interrupted them and the two downed me-naaks finally rose and stood a little uncertainly. The one must’ve been merely stunned after all. ’Cats picked up the wounded trooper. His leg looked bad, but it was probably a miracle from the Maker that things hadn’t gone much worse. “Still,” Enaak continued to Svec, “I wish you’d stop paarticipating directly in these scouts. Even without Haalik’s aarmy trying to kill us, there are maany Grik here who not only haaven’t joined his Hunt, as they say, but don’t even know about him. Or us, for that maatter. This is a perilous laand.”
“As we were just reminded,” Svec agreed. “And again, I redirect the admonition to you,” he countered, now impatient. “That you lead from the front is one reason I like you. But as I pointed out—and for other reasons—you’re even more indispensable. And if you personally lead each scout, how will your replacement officers gain the experience they need?”
Enaak started to object that he wasn’t scouting . . . but wasn’t that the very definition of “seeing the sights”? He sighed. “Very well. Perhaaps we both might be more careful.” He glanced at the horizon, then back toward their encampment. The sun now gone, twinkling campfires were sprouting like tiny orange stars on the prairie. “I must be getting baack. I haave a meeting with Gener-aal Ni-waa and Gener-aal Shlook,” he said, an edge returning to his voice. “You couldn’t know, because you were already gone when they asked for it. I waas actually raather vaguely looking for you, as a maatter of faact,” he added wryly, “because I’d like you there. Ni-waa rarely requests meetings on such short notice, and I suspect he has maatters of importaance to discuss.”
“My troopers . . .” Svec began.
“Are in capable hands,” Enaak countered. “Come baack with me.” He paused. “And thaanks.”
* * *
* * *
General Orochi Niwa, Halik’s co-commander, was Japanese. He was thin but hard, and wore brass-studded Grik-style leather armor altered to fit a human over a long, dingy brown smock not unlike the tie-dyed camouflage smocks the Allies had adopted. He carried no weapons and entered Enaak’s command tent a little self-consciously. That may have had to do with the minor deception he’d inflicted on Enaak. Warned only moments before by a runner from the detail escorting the visitors, Enaak, Svec, and their most senior officers saw for themselves that General Regent Halik himself and not General Shlook had accompanied Niwa, when he strode through the tent flap behind the Japanese “Marine.”
This could be good, Enaak thought, or very, very baad. Everyone stood, since there weren’t any of the saddle-like chairs Grik could use. Niwa stepped aside and Halik moved to stand in front of Enaak and Svec. Almost as tall and massive as the Czech, with muscles bulging under tight, feathery/furry skin crosshatched by the scars of many fights, Halik dwarfed Colonel Enaak. His leather armor was battered and hard used, and a few daggerlike teeth were missing from his long, savage jaws. Even his high, bristly crest had taken battle damage it hadn’t fully recovered from. He wore no cape, like other Grik generals often did, and his tail plumage flared out to the sides. Without any affectation of finery, Halik remained the most impressive Grik Enaak ever saw.
He’d been a warrior and sport fighter before his elevation, and those experiences added not only to his military talent, but also his understanding of what warriors could endure. To say he was physically frightening, with his wicked teeth and claws and obvious power, would be an understatement. But he’d come alone with Niwa and really did have every reason to appreciate the . . . nonaggression and grudging support of the Allies.
He and Niwa were an odd pair. Niwa had been a member of a detachment of Special Naval Landing Forces aboard Amagi when the battlecruiser followed USS Walker and USS Mahan to this world. Sent to Ceylon with Halik as an advisor, Niwa and the Grik commander endured a great deal together, and actually became friends. Friendship was a concept no Grik had ever been exposed to, much less understood, but there was no doubt Halik grasped it now, along with many other very un-Grik-like notions. And Niwa was important to Halik in other ways. He’d taught him everything he understood about the Allies’ position and perspective and had certainly made Halik a more formidable opponent, but he’d also taught him things like honor, mercy, and, apparently, ambition.
Key to the latter had been Niwa’s influence in turning Halik from a traditional Grik general with no regard for the lives of his warriors into a commander, now regent, whose underlying purpose had become the survival of his warriors—his people—and what they’d become. He led a Grik army that, for the first time in history, was almost entirely composed of sentient, thinking Hij, and not just mindless Uul. Enaak had reports that other Grik were “getting wise,” having been trained to think and fight as soldiers virtually from hatchlinghood, but Halik’s army had been the first, and learned what it knew the hardest way imaginable.
Part of Halik’s mechanism for accomplishing that had been simply preserving his army long enough for its warriors to reach mental maturity instead of destroying them when they “got old” and learned to think too much. He himself had been surprised to discover that warriors past the age of three or four tended to elevate themselves to a degree and only required education after that. So, by saving his army—something it was highly conscious of—he’d instilled another previously unknown concept within its ranks, one that made him a leader to his people instead of just a general to his troops: loyalty. And it wasn’t blind, instinctual loyalty like they’d owed to the Celestial Mother or General Esshk; it was earned. Motivated by that special, different loyalty, his troops actually trained and fought harder now to please their general regent and preserve his cause. Particularly since his cause was them.
On one hand, Enaak, Captain Reddy, even Chairman Letts applauded that, but they knew Dalibor Svec was right to remain wary. With a proper army of disciplined soldiers now almost two hundred thousand strong, Halik was on his way toward remaking all the Grik in Persia, perhaps beyond. He appreciated his unusual relationship with the Allies—for now—but what if his own loyalty to General Esshk, pushed by his new sense of honor, pitted him against them once again? Especially at this critical time? Henry Stokes, Letts’s head of intelligence, constantly prodded Enaak and Svec to evaluate whether Halik could be trusted to stick to the deal or was already more dangerous than ever before.
“Greetings, Colonel Enaak, Colonel Svec,” Halik said in Grik. Then he lowered his muzzle in the direction of the other officers, few of whom he knew. Enaak and Svec understood him, just as Halik understood English, but none could really speak the other’s tongue. Niwa, as always, would try to clarify any misunderstandings. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay in my new regency,” Halik continued, “won with your assistance in no small part. The weather is certainly preferable to that which we endured to get here.” That was undeniable. It got bitterly cold in the mountains to the east, and Grik were particularly susceptible to cold. Svec and his people might actually find it rather hot and humid here, but Enaak’s troopers were reminded as much of home as he was. “And you’re satisfied with the provisions?” Halik pressed. The majority of their meat came from foodbeasts supplied by the Grik themselves, though the arrival of Allied supplies had come none too soon. Humans and Lemurians both required a more diverse diet than Grik and almost nothing had been coming up behind them acr
oss the vast expanse of Indiaa, and now Persiaa as well. They’d also been extremely low on ammunition, which gave them the willies, despite Halik’s apparent benevolence.
“Quite saatisfactory,” Enaak assured, “though I hope you haaven’t depleted your neekis herds too greatly,” he probed. Obviously, neither Svec’s nor Enaak’s troops would eat dead Grik—a food source in great abundance of late, which the Grik themselves were happy to consume. But Halik’s Grik had recently adopted other uses for neekis, a type of plains hadrosaur, and were training them as beasts of burden. Neekis would never be cavalry mounts—they were too big and Grik weren’t shaped to ride them—but they were biddable and could pull much greater loads (including artillery) than paalkas or suikaas. Needless to say, they’d added a lot to Halik’s ability to project power, each able to perform the labor of a hundred warriors—now free to swell his combat ranks.
“Not at all,” Halik denied, waving it away. “The herds here are massive and had been underutilized.”
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