River of Bones_Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  “But . . .”

  Muriname sighed. “Tell me, Lieutenant Ando, what was Kurokawa to you?”

  Ando looked confused. “He was my lord, sir, and the representative of the emperor on this world.”

  Muriname pursed his lips. “He was your captain where we came from, where you were merely a seaman second class,” he said, almost brutally. “It was I who advanced you, not he. True, he still represented the emperor—at first—until he tried to supplant him over time as his madness deepened, to become him in our minds, binding our honor to him alone. All while aiding the Grik in their abominable cause and sacrificing those most loyal to him for his purposes. Not the emperor’s!”

  “Then . . . are you my lord?”

  Muriname became frustrated. “No. I’m your commander. What I’m trying to say is that we have no lord here, besides our honor and our conscience, and neither of those things will allow me to aid the Grik anymore.”

  Ando ran a hand across his face, trying to concentrate. “But you have, sir! Just days ago you forwarded them our plans for the copies of the Type Eighty-nine machine guns we developed on Zanzibar!”

  “Only to buy time, Lieutenant. They desperately desire weapons to counter the Allies, particularly what they call ‘fast-shooters.’” He shrugged. “So I gave them plans for those and other things. I doubt they’ll understand them, and they certainly can’t make them without our help. We can’t make any more without the sophisticated machinery and specialized steelmaking facilities we lost on Zanzibar!” He nodded at the planes gathered around the airstrip. “Our only value to them is what we can do to advance their hunt and exterminate all who oppose them. Kurokawa joined their hunt, as he said others have done before. But what others? Have you seen them? What became of them after they were no longer of use? That League serpent, Gravois, said their spies reported that the Allies had determined they were often exterminated, or their survivors planted on Madagascar for the hunting pleasure of highly placed Hij. Some have even joined the Allies now—but none still fight with the Grik. What does that tell you?”

  “That they’re even worse than I thought,” Ando allowed, “but what of our honor, having pledged ourselves to them? Can we concern ourselves with anything beyond that?” He looked at the planes himself. “I did not hate Americans in the world we came from, but in service to the emperor, we were at war with them when we came here. Lord . . . Captain Kurokawa did what was necessary to continue that war. I agree he was mad and had other motives, but what else could he do?”

  Muriname shook his head. “We were at war with America! Not a handful of Americans on a couple of small ships. We were certainly not at war with a world full of beings we never knew existed. And the America we fought is not here, any more than our Nippon or our emperor! Kurokawa fought for vengeance and ambition, not because he thought it was what the emperor would have us do! Honestly, Ando, what do you think the emperor would desire of us if he knew everything about our situation?”

  Ando had no reply. “What will you do?” he asked instead.

  It was Muriname’s turn to rub his face. “I don’t know—other than that I cannot help the Grik again.” He considered. “Nor can I join the League. If anything, they’ve shown themselves to be more treacherous than the Grik. I suspect our planes would be most welcome to the Dominion, but I know little of them. What I do know supports my suspicion that they’re the most repugnant of the three.” He paused. “Have you considered that the Americans, their Imperial allies, and their ape-man friends are the only ones who have behaved with any honor at all?” He sighed. “It must be them. I must go over to them.” He balled his fists at his side. “But how? I’m not . . . insensitive to the fact that they were our enemies on another world. But others of us have joined them, you know. One even commands their armies against the Dominion.” He said that with a tone of wonder.

  “I . . .” Ando began hesitantly, then stopped.

  “Yes?” Muriname prompted.

  “You’re not my lord?”

  “No. You’re bound to obey me as long as you remain with me, but I won’t demand your oath.”

  “So I’m also free to choose as my honor and conscience dictate?”

  “You are.”

  Ando looked tortured. “Then I must, most respectfully, honor our commitment to General Esshk. I understand why you can’t, and even sympathize. Your arguments are most compelling.”

  “What can you offer Esshk?” Muriname waved around. “These planes are mine.”

  “Are they?” Ando challenged. “If you’re not our lord, how can everything be yours? In any event, you placed me in command of the fighters. They, at least, are mine.”

  Muriname had to nod at the justice of that. Not all would defect with him. Perhaps most wouldn’t, and he’d have to let them all decide. Even the Grik. But they weren’t “normal” Grik, and knew that others like them had fought with the Allies at Zanzibar. So joining the enemy’s hunt might seem less unnatural than might otherwise be the case. Besides, many would surely follow him, considering him their “lord” no matter what he said. Muriname determined then and there that he must have all the bombers. Any he couldn’t crew would have to be destroyed. They were the only bargaining chip he had that might protect him from Captain Reddy—and his wife.

  “Very well,” he said sadly. “As many fighters as you can find pilots for are yours. We’ll gather my—our—entire command and put the choice before them. Then you can fly south and die for General Esshk,” he added bitterly.

  “I can’t lie to Esshk on your behalf,” Ando warned. “That will only get me killed. But I won’t volunteer the information that you’re not coming either.” He managed a small smile. “You’ve already told that lie and it should give you several days to arrange whatever meeting you can with the enemy.” The smile vanished. “When they do ask where you are, however, I’ll tell them—and the next time we meet, we must be enemies.”

  CHAPTER 22

  ////// Giorsh

  December 24, 1944

  It was almost dark when the pitiful few hundred galleys, of ten hundreds—almost one part in three that remained of those they’d built to carry the Final Swarm to the Celestial City—gaggled back past the mighty Giorsh from the clotted nakkle leg, where they’d fought all day. Regent Champion and First General Esshk was beside himself with fury, pacing and ranting for all to see on the open fo’c’sle of his great flagship.

  “Repulsed again!” he practically shrieked, his crest so rigidly erect it almost vibrated. “It is impossible! There can be no more than six or seven hundreds defending that pathetic wreck that blocks the river, yet they threw back a hundred times their number. Again! It cannot be borne!” He rounded on General Ign, who’d been pacing with his lord since he joined him, to describe the action he’d seen. No one else would draw near, and the rest of Esshk’s advisors huddled at the base of the sloping casemate beneath the monstrous forward guns protruding from it. “Who is to blame?” Esshk roared. “Find someone to blame!”

  “Of course, Lord First General,” Ign almost simpered. Inside, he smoldered. There is only one to blame, and I needn’t search far.

  “Address me as Regent Champion at present,” Esshk snapped petulantly, gesturing wildly at the tower of smoke around the bend, glaring bright under the setting sun. “I will have no association with what happened today!”

  “Of course, Lord Regent Champion.” Ign hesitated. “I will scourge whoever is responsible,” he swore, “and destroy him with the traitor’s death. But our true advantage did not quite amount to a hundred to one.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. They still have their flying machines and cruisers—our cruisers, before they were stolen—and their detestable fast-shooters that allow few to fight as many, but even then only incompetence and terror could have thwarted us. The traitor’s death is too lenient for the culprit!”

  Ign’s mind soared to agr
ee but quavered at the concept. No, he thought. Esshk is my lord, the greatest general of the age, and he is, for all purposes, the Celestial Father of all the Ghaarrichk’k now. I cannot blame him! Ign was one of only a very few who understood Esshk and the Chooser’s ultimate aims, and he supported them wholly. Not only was it essential and far past time that warriors lead their race, but they also must be worldly and wise. No Celestial Mother had ever been a warrior—More than that one time in her life, he amended—and their cloistered lives made them anything but worldly. Real wisdom could never naturally occur in them. It is time for a warrior. It is time for Esshk. It is time for me, he told himself again, to stand at Esshk’s side as First General and Vice Regent! Esshk would never be called Celestial Father, of course, but he would be such in all but name. And all these things will come as we reconquer every speck of ground we’ve lost, rolling the enemy back and back until we eat the marrow from their bones, in their most distant places. But first we must get past the wreck of the Santa Catalina.

  “It was more than just the flying machines and cruisers, Lord,” Ign informed him, “though with no cruisers of our own to counter theirs, they crushed countless galleys beneath their rams. Still, the wreck was almost surrounded, the cruisers nearly overwhelmed. The day was almost ours at last—until their Arracca, the monstrous carrier of flying machines, stood in to the rescue. Not only is it large enough to turn warriors prey at the sight of it, but at such close proximity, it is heavily armed with cannon of the old style and new. It went directly alongside the wreck and lashed on, allowing hundreds of troops to reinforce those so close to death. No one could have foreseen such a thing—not even the . . . designer of the battle.”

  Esshk closed his eyes, and his narrow, muscular shoulders slumped. “Perhaps,” he allowed, grasping at the excuse. “But what do we do now? The Swarm remains strong, but we meant to transport much of it on barges once the enemy scattered, hunting the galleys. Of the galleys themselves . . . their numbers dwindle.”

  “Can we not bomb Santa Catalina again? And the carrier as well?” Ign asked, but Esshk slowly shook his head.

  “I did not wish to distract you with this news while you organized the assault over the past few days, but the Lord Chooser learned from reports that still pass first through the Palace of Vanished Gods that, just a day after our airships struck such a heavy blow and paved the way for today’s disaster”—Esshk would’ve snorted fire if he could—“three of our remaining primary airfields were attacked and destroyed. Destroyed! Somehow the enemy prey discovered where they were at last. Only the one near Lake Galk survives, and there are few airships there. It is the farthest from the fighting,” he added bitterly. “Perhaps even worse, now,” he continued, “few, if any, of the galleys we lose can be replaced for some time. Nor will there be any more cruiser hulls. The enemy was not content to destroy only our airfield and airship manufacturing yards at Lake Ukri; they attacked there again and again. Surely you noticed that the larger bombers have not come here for some days? In any event, they burned the yards and much of the stockpiled timber on the east shore of Lake Ukri, where we focused the construction of lesser vessels. The yards for greatships of battle on the northwest coast of Lake Nalak are intact, but those ships are of little use to us now.” He paused. “Finally, the rocket works across the river have suffered sorely. It is fortunate we have others, and none of the major gunpowder-mealing centers have been found, but we must be more sparing with our rockets until production can match the demand.”

  He hissed furious frustration and spun away, fluttering his long red cape in an arc behind him. He stood silent for a long moment, staring at the darkening smoke in the distance, past the bend. The sun had gone down and the sky in the east was a brooding purple-brown. “In any event,” he ground out, “we have less than five tens of airships left and must use them wisely. We need them for communications now more than anything. Particularly with our forces in the South,” he added cryptically, but didn’t elaborate. “And to continue the search for General Halik in Persia.” He blinked dismay. “He must be there, but none of our airships sent to find him have returned. The enemy must be intercepting them, possibly from Indiaa or Zanzibar.”

  Ign considered that. He didn’t know Halik, or really understand how Esshk could be so sure he even still lived, but for whatever reason there was no doubt his Lord was unusually fond of the missing general. “Then what shall we do here?” he asked.

  “I summoned General of the Sky Muriname most insistently,” Esshk replied. “You know he actually has Ghaarrichk’k pilots for some of his machines? We must make more of them as soon as we can, and train more of our race to fly them. Then we will have no further use for the tiresome Japhs.” He growled frustration. “But that, like everything, will take time!”

  “The General of the Sky will come?” Ign asked skeptically.

  Esshk sneered. “He and his larger machines remain delayed, a matter of ‘repairs,’ I am told, but he sent his smaller machines to counter those of the enemy. They are at the small airship field north of Old Sofesshk. We have not used it since it was first attacked and the enemy will not expect us to now. Besides, the flying machines have been carefully hidden in the forest surrounding it.” He stopped, suddenly thinking furiously. “I meant to use them immediately, but then I could do so only once, since their specialized fuel and weapons have not yet arrived.” He looked at Ign, his eyes narrowing with resolve. “We will wait until we are ready for the next assault, and then use them with surprise. Even with the arrival of the enemy flying-machine carrier, the defense of the nakkle leg must be desperately weakened. They do not risk those ships lightly, and it cannot operate its flying machines and fight at the same time. Perhaps they ran low enough on them that they could be of little further assistance?” He clacked his teeth. “Speculation. There were quite a few flying machines in the air today, not so?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Still, we must have hurt them, as they have hurt us, and they must be growing weak in numbers and ammunition for their weapons. If nothing else, we forced them to use a great deal of that today! But we retain the advantage if we can just bring our full weight to bear.” His jaws suddenly opened in a savage grin and his eyes were alight. “So we will do what we have not before. We will mount an all-out attack, with as much of the Swarm as we possibly can, advancing onshore with heavy batteries as well as on the water.”

  “But, Lord! They will see! They will prepare and slaughter our forces before they are even in position.”

  “Not if we do what they least expect!”

  Ign just looked at him, waiting.

  “We begin the attack at night, of course! Not just in the darkness before the dawn but in the deepest black of night.”

  Ign was shocked but intrigued. They’d almost done that once before, and at the time it would’ve been hopeless. Now, however, with the proper preparation, fast and deadly flying machines of their own, and particularly with their primary target immobilized . . . “The confusion will be so great, we may lose nearly as many as we did today, just in collisions on the water,” he warned.

  “That is why you will plan it carefully, plan it yourself. Lead the attack yourself!”

  Ign gulped. He wasn’t afraid to fight or die, but he never wanted to be the cause of one of Esshk’s furious fits, like the one he’d seen that evening. The traitor’s death could be a mercy compared to what might happen. Then again, with enough time—and without excessive meddling—it can be done. He straightened and a surge of . . . not confidence, exactly, but something more akin to the eager acceptance of a difficult challenge gripped him as notions became possibilities, and possibilities began to form into plans. So be it. I will gladly stake my life on the battle taking shape in my mind, he swore. “In that case, I will relate an observation of note,” he said carefully. “One of the returning galley crews discovered a gap in the wreckage that cruisers, at least, might take advantage of
. We must confirm that, but if it exists, I will plan a night attack in which the leading galleys mark the gap for as many cruisers as we can push through. We could be upon the enemy before they know it, with vast numbers and heavy fire from the water and the land—all before they can engage us at long range. As day comes, the Japh flying machines can support us.”

  “Excellent!” Esshk enthused, warming to the plan that belonged to them both. Never had Grik generals truly collaborated to such a degree, and it was a satisfying, almost giddy experience. General Ign felt it too, and was amazed by the change in his lord. It was almost as if this terrible day had never happened.

  “There are only two great things left to consider,” Ign ventured.

  “They are?”

  Ign took a long breath. “First, such an attack will take time to plan, since there will be tens of hundreds of small things to prepare. More specifically, we must practice for it. Just as a warrior learns the sword, or one of the New Army teaches his muscles to load his garrak without thought, they must all be able to mount this attack as if with their eyes closed! There is no other way it can succeed.”

  “Time is of the essence, Second General Ign,” Esshk said severely, but his crest lowered slightly in acceptance. The Chooser’s counsel had taken root—perhaps too late—and his obsessive rebellion against the constant delays was what had caused the day’s disaster.

  “Indeed, but nevertheless.”

  Esshk paced back and forth several times, but at least he had himself under control. Ign was relieved. Seeing their lord in such a state couldn’t have been good for any warriors watching nearby. “What is the second thing?” he asked at last.