Pass of Fire

by Taylor Anderson

  Chack blinked uncertainty—he had no idea what a canary was—but nodded. “Very well, but he must also stay back. Laaw-rence can keep an eye on him.”

  Silva raised a brow at Lawrence. “I’ll miss the little gecko by my side.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chack said. “He won’t be faar.” He blinked irony. “And you’ll haave me.”

  CHAPTER 29

  ////// Tassanna’s Toehold

  South bank of the Zambezi River

  Gettin’ pretty ripe around here,” General Pete Alden grumbled with a frown, waving at the flies buzzing around his face. He was standing in one of the forward trenches near the river, staring across the ragged no-man’s-land between the Allied line and the closest Grik position a quarter of a mile away. The oppressive sun was nearing the distant mountains far to the west, but the storm brewing offshore behind him was beginning to spread chaotic wind gusts that carried the stench of the congested Allied beachhead past him. “And it ain’t all just because we’re surrounded by Grik,” he added a little sheepishly.

  The Lemurian troops nearby were members of General Taa-leen’s “Triple I,” or the 1st Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, 1st (Galla) Division. They could’ve added a fourth I, since they were attached to I Corps under General Muln Rolak. As they had from the very start, some of the 1st of the 1st’s NCOs still carried Krags. They watched Alden apprehensively because everyone was a little scared of the force of nature they perceived him to be, but also for what his visit to Taa-Leen—joined by Rolak and XI Corps’ General Grisa—implied. Everyone knew the curtain was about to go up, and they were ready, but Alden wouldn’t be here if the Triple I wasn’t going to have a starring role in the show.

  “But it is, in a sense,” General Muln Rolak denied, his tone almost cheerful. “We haave almost five corps ashore, clustered more tightly thaan when we haad fewer troops around Flynn’s Lake. One caan haardly take a step outside the works without faalling in a laa-trine. And the relaa-tively dry heat we ‘enjoy’ here, as opposed to the sodden heat in Indiaa, only intensifies the eff-luv-ium.”

  “Effluvium.” Pete chuckled. “Right. Whatever that means, it sounds appropriate.”

  Rolak grinned back. “I do miss Mr. Braad-furd and his unusual words. Perhaaps we’ll soon be reunited.” He gestured almost benignly at the cloud of flies around them, multiplied to an insane degree by the waste and proximity of so many Grik corpses between the lines. Their density had actually driven a few troops mad, but most had gotten used to them. “Ready or not, we couldn’t stay here much longer before the aarmy was decimated by disease. Thaat the Aarmy of the Republic haas aaccel-erated our plaanned offensive is prob-aably for the best.”

  “True,” Pete agreed, “but a helluva lot’ll have to go right for us to see Courtney.” A little trepidation crept into his gruff voice. “We’ve put it all on the line. The whole Army of the Republic’s running loose, without supply. Chack’s Brigade jumped right down the Super Lizard’s throat, and now we’ve got to do exactly what we hope the Grik are expecting, and try to bash through the thickest part of their line. This ain’t gonna be a cakewalk,” he warned.

  “It will likely be . . . unpleasant,” Rolak agreed, gazing out at the river, the glare of the setting sun further distorting the dazzle-painted shapes of USS James Ellis, USS Mahan, and USS Fitzhugh Gray. USS Walker was still a dingy, rust-streaked light gray, and the newly—finally—arrived Republic monitors, RRPS Ancus and Servius, were a rusty off-white, with fanciful sea serpents painted along their waterlines and around their round, boxy turrets. They looked a little ridiculous to Pete, but were tough customers with big guns. Des-Ron 10, composed of USS Bowles, Saak-Fas, Clark, Kas-Ra-Ar, and Ramic-Sa-Ar, all with their new guns and armor, completed the naval-bombardment element.

  The only things Pete really missed on the water were the two additional brand-new tin cans, diverted from their sea trials but still in the Java Sea, and Savoie, of course. Savoie could steam, and even without fully integrated fire control for her main battery, she’d still be a monster firing in local control. But Matt was reluctant to deplete her magazines or risk her and her extremely inexperienced crew. Besides, things were suddenly happening much too fast to wait for her—or anything else.

  Pete took a deep breath. “Let’s just hope General Faan can do his part in the south, and for Chack’s sake, Safir can do hers,” he groused.

  “General Faan will aaccomplish his mission,” General Grisa assured. He was a mild-mannered Lemurian, most recently under Safir Maraan’s command, but now he had VI Corps after its Sularan commander was sacked for basically goofing off in Indiaa. There was suspicion he’d been up to a great deal more of benefit to his fractious island Home—and himself—at the expense of the new Union. “Nor should you worry about General Queen Safir Maraan aaccomplishing hers,” he added loyally.

  Rolak blinked concern mixed with frustration. “No,” he agreed, “and I do not. My queen—for thaat’s whaat all Aryaalans now consider her—will complete her aassignment if she reaches her objective. I haave no doubt. My only reservations concern the safety of her traansports, and”—he paused, tail swishing—“thaat in the heat of baattle she might press beyond her goal. She’s done thaat before, you may recaall,” he added wryly.

  Pete stuck a PIG-cig in his mouth and lit it, sucking the acrid smoke. He’d heard there was real tobacco in the NUS, but who knew when he’d taste any? And this stuff didn’t even make him cough anymore. “Yeah, well, this time it might be okay if Safir does run a little wild,” he said thoughtfully. He looked at Taa-Leen. “Everything ready on your end?”

  Taa-Leen nodded and absently stroked the facial fur he’d cultivated into something like the braided mustaches Imperial officers wore. He’d become friends with General James Blair back when they were both untested lieutenants, and besides the mustache, he’d taken on a few of the Imperial’s mannerisms as well. “Of course, Gener-aal,” Taa-Leen said. “Some squaads are aarmed entirely with Blitzerbug sub-maa-chine guns, but each haas at least one Blitzer and one shotgun. And every Maa-reen com-paany haas one of the wondrous maa-chine guns on the new wheeled carts.” His emphasis on “Maa-reen” makes it clear he considers that unfair, Pete thought. Tough. We ain’t got enough to go around. “And every comp-aany haas its own mortar section,” Taa-Leen continued. “Finaally, as you ordered, each soldier and Maa-reen in the Galla Division haas three days’ raations and three hundred rounds of aammunition.” Taa-Leen paused, blinking curiosity. “They’re to carry nothing else?” he glanced significantly to the east. “Not even blaankets or rain gear? No tents?”

  “They can take a poncho,” Pete relented, “so long as I don’t see anybody hunkered down under one, or flapping around while they’re trying to fight. They won’t need blankets or tents. If the rain comes, it’ll ruin the Grik’s ammo but won’t hurt ours and we’ll push even faster and harder. Either way, everybody’ll be too busy for pitching tents and sacking out for the next few days.” He frowned. “They better be,” he growled.

  Nodding, Taa-Leen passed the revised order to an orderly, who scampered away.

  The sun finally touched the distant mountains and the gloom gathered fast. A squadron of Nancys flew over from the east, then banked south, swooping low over the thinning Grik in front of III and XII Corps. “Gotta bomb there too, from time to time,” Pete explained. “Their general’s too sharp. If we hit ’em in the south too hard, he might get to thinking, but if we leave ’em completely alone, he’ll be sure we got something headed that way. Can’t have that,” he added softly. “We need to drag as much as he can move over here in front of us”—he nodded out at the water—“and under Captain Reddy’s guns.”

  “Not to mention in front of them,” Rolak said, looking behind them. Long after the Nancys’ engines faded, other engines could still be heard. To cover them, Nat Hardee had brought three of his MTBs close to shore, revving their own loud, twin six-cylinder motors a
s if daring Grik artillery to shoot at them. One gun did, missing badly, its roundshot skating far out over the water, and the MTBs popped a few light mortars back, just as ineffectively, from tubes erected in front of the MGs on their fo’c’sles. What they were really doing, however, was covering the advance of eight lumbering iron monsters, creeping up a sunken road prepared specifically for them. Ten more did the same, a little farther up the line.

  “Yeah,” Pete agreed. “Chack’s gonna hate that he missed this.” Chack had taken the Alliance’s first four “tanks” into battle on Zanzibar. They’d been little more than armored boxes protecting what reminded Pete of the engine, drive train, and tracks of the first bulldozer he ever saw, except the tracks were bigger and the engine was in back. The armor had been riveted together in such a way that the things looked like turtles with a pair of small sponsons for machine guns slightly inset in the “shell” above the tracks. Two had survived the attack on Zanzibar and were actually here, but they were too slow to keep up with this newer model, which was supposed to be able to make a whopping eight to ten miles an hour. The older pair were assigned to General Faan. “I don’t know how Chairman Letts got ’em built and shipped so fast, especially after they got canceled, but Chack’s report must’ve helped.”

  Rolak coughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gener-aal Aalden! It’s obvious Chair-maan Letts never stopped their development, ‘caan-celled’ or not, for not only are they here sooner thaan would otherwise be possible, they’re better thaan the prototypes in every way!”

  They’d immediately noticed improvements in the first few additions that arrived even before the invasion, and more kept coming on the heavy-hauler transports, one or two at a time. The new machines were still only about sixteen feet long and ten feet wide, and used the same big water-cooled 6-cylinder engine as their predecessors and MTBs. They looked pretty much identical, in fact. But their suspension and tracks had been improved in various ways and they were a couple of feet taller and carried slightly heavier armor. More significantly, they could get up and move their approximately seven tons twice as fast. Lemurians’ burgeoning understanding of geared-head engine lathes and advancements in reduction-gear technology required by the new steam-turbine ship engines allowed them to bless these machines with a transmission, clutch, three forward gears, and one reverse. For the first time, they could finally harness more of the abundant—for their size—horsepower the engines were capable of. Just as important, they were expected to be more reliable and they were better armed.

  The Mk-II Grikoshai or “Grik Smusher” required a crew of four, though five Lemurians were small enough to squeeze inside. That made them the ideal operators, since an extra ’Cat could help keep all the weapons loaded and serve as a relief driver. (Scuttlebutt had it that driving a Smusher was physically exhausting.) At a glance, they kind of reminded Pete of the interwar British Mk-II, and maybe a little of the US M-3, except the now-welded armor was more sloped in places and should—hopefully—better deflect Grik shot. There was no cannon yet, something Chack suggested, because the new 25 mm guns—loosely based on the Japanese Type 96—were still in development and there wasn’t enough room inside for anything larger. But in addition to the two .30-cal machine guns on either side of the crew compartment, mounted in smaller, cleverer sponsons that weren’t only more recessed, but allowed a wider arc of fire, the commander now had a small round turret on top. It mounted a .50-cal machine gun, slightly offset, so the commander could squeeze down the hatch between it and its big ammo can. The turret itself was pretty light, supposedly only proof against a square hit from a Grik 9 pdr, but it rode on roller bearings, with angle lips to keep it from being knocked off by a Grik 9 pdr, and was easy to manually traverse.

  “Well,” Pete replied, “I’m glad for it, if he did.” The engines started cutting off, ’Cat commanders shouting down below over the din. Pete was somewhat grateful for the strong odor of rich exhaust washing over him, momentarily covering the reek of the beachhead.

  “Indeed,” Rolak agreed. “Chaar-maan Letts waas never the greatest soldier or sailor, though to his great credit, he served his time. But he’s been the indispens-aable person when it comes to meeting the needs of our forces.”

  “Damn straight,” Pete nodded. He glanced at his watch, the hands barely visible in the deepening gloom. “About an hour yet,” he murmured. “Lizards’ll be surprised by that, at least. They don’t like to fight at night.”

  “No,” Taa-Leen said, “but they’re better at it thaan they were. And why should they be surprised? We almost always attaack in the daark.”

  “Yeah, but in the dark before the dawn.” Pete snorted. “That’s gotten to be almost as universal on this world as it was on my old one, so hittin’ ’em all-out, right after dusk, ought to add to their confusion.”

  “Hopefully enough to counter-aact our own,” Rolak observed dryly, then waved to the northwest. “And I fear whoever they send against Chack may think the same. Reconai-saance confirms another contingent of unknown size aassembling at the edge of the great forest bordering the city, south of the river.”

  “When did you hear that?” Pete asked.

  “On my waay to join you here,” Rolak answered. “They’ll be bombed, of course, but most of our air power will soon be focused on other things. Or grounded,” he added gloomily, flicking his eyes to the east. “The enemy doesn’t know thaat yet, but obviously knows he caan only cross the river in the daark.”

  “Chack knows too,” Pete said with certainty in his voice, but blinking worry in the Lemurian way.

  “And haas been reminded by raadio, I aassure you,” Rolak stated mildly. “He won’t be taken unaware.”

  “Little guy’s been through a lot,” Pete reflected, then snorted. “So’s Silva, whether he knows it or not. Things’re bound to be heaping up on both of them.”

  Rolak blinked agreement, tail now swishing more sedately. “True.” He looked at Pete, now blinking irony. “In . . . a few smaall ways, those two often remind me of younger versions of you and I. Much younger, in my case,” he added, blinking amusement. “Yet though I doubt they could do whaat you and I haave done with such laarge forces at our disposal, I also doubt either of us could’ve prevailed in vaarious situations they’ve found themselves in.”

  He unexpectedly raised his voice so even the Marines around them could hear. “All will be well with them,” he declared, “as all will be well with us. Reconai-saance also reports more Grik shifting from the south to face us here.” He chuckled at the nervous blinking, then added, “Which might ordinaarily be caause for concern.”

  Uneasy laughter followed his understatement, but Rolak’s voice rose higher, harsher. “In this case, however, the more Grik we summon to die before us, the greater will be our share of glory!”

  Pete blinked. Whether he personally still believed in it or not, Muln Rolak was probably the only Lemurian alive who could stir his troops with promises of something like glory.

  “And we will slaaughter them, my brothers and sisters!” Rolak proclaimed with utter conviction, eyes bright and tail lashing. He waved around. “Even in this time of profound change, we cling to the faamily of claans. Thaat’s good. And thaat those claans grow ever laarger is better still. You Maa-reens belong to the Amer-i-caan Navy Claan. Others belong to the Homes, the ‘States’ of Aryaal, Baalkpan, B’mbaado—maany others—but all are now joined together in the Union Claan of the United Homes or within the Graand Alliaance. We’re all claan brothers and sisters,” he roared, “and all here upon this field shaall be remembered as such until the final setting of the sun!” He waved at the Grik. “They know nothing of the force that binds us, drives us, and caan’t imaagine whaat they’ve brought upon themselves.”

  Barks and yips of approval threatened to drown him out and Rolak raised both hands. “The will of the Maker of All Things shaall be done tonight and in the days to come,” he bellowed, “and forlorn with sha
me will be aany you know who waasn’t among us to see it through!”

  The intensity of the answering cheer made Pete a little uneasy. Then again, he realized, the Grik know we’re coming—and we’re about to make a lot more noise.

  “That sounded kinda familiar,” Pete shouted with a grin, even as Rolak’s words were repeated and waves of cheering thundered along the trench line, taken up by thousands of throats.

  “It should,” Rolak yelled back. “The inspiration came from a book from your world. Readings Courtney Braadfurd once suggested from Waa-kur’s library. The essence of it seemed appropriate now.”

  Pete remembered the book, from long-dead Doc Stevens’s collection. “You ought to run for chairman someday. Everybody here’ll remember this as long as they live.”

  Rolak shook his head and blinked disinterest. “I already hold the only civiliaan office I desire: Protector to Queen Safir Maraan. I doubt I’ll live thaat long, in any case. You forget,” he reminded, without the slightest hint of regret, “I owe my life to Cap-i-taan Reddy, and suspect he’ll still need it before all is done.” He nodded back at the cheering troops. “No, I’ll be fortune-aate if aany remember my name one day, but the flavor of the words I borrowed are timeless and unbounded by worlds. If they remember them, I’ll be content.”

  CHAPTER 30

  ////// USS Walker

  Zambezi River

  Cap-i-taan on the bridge!” Minnie called loudly.

  “As you were,” Matt hastily responded, walking to his chair. He’d been gone only a moment, to the head. “Must be something I ate,” he added under his breath, but if anyone heard they made no sign. Strain, more likely, he confessed honestly to himself. Worry, tension, anxiety, fear . . . He took a deep breath. Fear? Hell, it’s terror, he conceded. “Has Commander Miyata returned to his ship?” he asked.