Devil's Due

by Taylor Anderson

  Gravois continued. “In any event, your tenacity and industry in the face of such adversity”—he paused, smiling slightly at his choice of words—“proves we should’ve pursued amity between our peoples from the beginning, and”—he waved again at the bay—“even depleted as you are, and confident of victory as I would be, I must concede that full-scale hostilities between us—which we do not desire—could weaken the League at a time it can ill afford it. Even if destroying you only required the redeployment of sufficient assets to accomplish the task.”

  “I guarantee a fight with us’ll take more than just a redeployment,” Matt said with complete conviction, leveling a piercing gaze on Leopardo’s captain. “And USS Walker has accounted for more enemy tonnage that we can calculate, including a Kagero class destroyer and a forty-odd-thousand-ton battle cruiser, either of which could’ve turned your ‘little’ ship to scrap. So I wouldn’t go looking for distinction at her expense, if I were you.” A predatory grin slashed his face. “I can’t deny Walker may need a touch of paint and a bolt tightened here and there, but she and her people know how to take down heavyweights. They’ve had a lot of practice. Have you?”

  It was Ciano’s turn to bristle, but Gravois touched his arm. “Nothing could be farther from our intent than a confrontation of any sort, I assure you.”

  “Good,” Matt replied. “Because we’ll be watching. You and your oiler will have safe passage down the Mozambique—I mean, Go Away Strait—and around the cape.” He paused. “And I wouldn’t expect a friendly welcome at Alex-aandra, if I were you, after the way Savoie behaved there. If you’ve got the fuel, I’d highly recommend you just keep going.” His expression went blank. “But if you deviate in any way from a least-time course to the Atlantic, you’ll think you kicked a hornet’s nest. You might knock down a few of our planes,” he conceded, “but the rest’ll shred your ships. Our pilots’ve had a lot of practice too.” He glared at Gravois. “And the same goes for the Kraut U-boat you’ve got sneaking around. When we find it, we’ll sink it on sight. Period.”

  For the first time, Matt appeared to have broken Gravois’s self-possession, but the Frenchman quickly recovered. “I have no idea what you mean,” he said, eyes narrowing, suddenly darting, searching. “Even if the League had a submersible in these waters, how would we supply it?” He waved at the Spanish oiler. “We’re taking everything away—that is in our power. And speaking of what is in whose power, where is my pilot? Oberleuitnant Fiedler?”

  “Just now worried about him?” Matt asked dryly.

  “Maybe Chiss-maas Island wasn’t the only base they had in this ocean,” Chack said aside to Safir Maraan, speaking for the first time, and Gravois goggled at him.

  “Yeah, our people out of Ja-vaa found it,” Matt told him, “while searching for survivors from Amerika. So now we know at least one of the ways you’ve been spying on us for Kurokawa. The base was abandoned, but it’s clear it was recently occupied by your League. It’s ours now, including the intact fuel-oil tank batteries you were kind enough to leave behind. But if we find another—and we’ll be looking now—whoever’s there will get just one chance to surrender before we bomb it out. Clear?”

  “Of course,” Gravois answered distractedly. “But where is Fiedler?”

  Hardly noticed until then, except for appraising glances when he and Lawrence—and Petey—joined the group, Silva suddenly slapped his own face. “Goddamn it! There’s a bug in my eye!”

  Nearly everyone jumped, but Matt kept watching Gravois. His reaction to the fact they knew about the submarine had been revealing, for a number of reasons. “Shit!” Silva cursed, bending low, and mashing around his eye with a finger.

  “Shit!” Petey shrieked in alarm, spewing sticky, chitinous fragments. Disturbed from his perch by Silva’s antics, he launched himself at the nearest person—Gravois—who frantically twisted away, swatting with his hands, terror rising on his face. Petey landed on the dock, glaring at Gravois for refusing him refuge, and then quickly scampered up Chack’s leg, over his rhino-pig armor, and settled on his shoulder.

  “Bastard’s kickin’ an’ floppin’ all around!” Dennis snapped. “Damn it! He just took a plug outa my eyeball!”

  “Here, let I see,” Lawrence said solicitously, trying to pry Silva’s hands away.

  “The hell with that! Get your damn, poky claws away from my one damn eye! Are you nuts?”

  To his credit, Gravois quickly collected himself. Straightening his tunic beneath his belt, he smirked. “Ah. The inestimable Mr. Silva!” he said, his tone ironic. “Brought low by a meager insect!”

  Silva slowly straightened, still pawing at his eyelid, but the eye inside was steady—and hard. “An’ you nearly pissed yerself at the sight of a little lizard, no more dangerous than a mouse. You ask where’s Fiedler. I’ll ask one more time where’s Lady Sandra an’ the rest. They better be safe.”

  Gravois’s smirk disappeared and he took a step back. “I have done—and will continue to do—all I can, by radio, to our, ah, embassy at Zanzibar, to ensure she and the others remain unharmed.” He turned to Matt. “You must trust me, Captain Reddy, in this above all else.” His voice had taken on a tone of pleading sincerity. “If in nothing else,” he added bleakly, then shook his head. “But Kurokawa is mad. There is no telling what he might do.”

  “Well, I’m mad too, by anybody’s lights,” Silva assured Gravois, his one eye slightly reddened by the rubbing, but even hotter and deadlier for it. “An’ I blame you personally for Kurokawa havin’ ’em in the first place. So, if anything happens to any of our people you left with that crazy bastard, I’ll hunt you down wherever you go, no matter how long it takes, an’ take it outa your ass.” He brightened. “Hey! That’s an idea! I’ll pull your wormy spine right outa your ass, an’ beat you to death with it.”

  “Indeed,” Courtney said, a serious, contemplative expression narrowing his bushy brows. “You know, Monsieur Gravois, despite the apparent physiological impossibility of Mr. Silva’s promise—and I would consider it a promise, if I were you—I suspect he’d somehow accomplish it. He’s actually quite imaginative about things like that, and I’ve seen him do a great many unlikelier things.”

  Gravois went pale. “Where is Fiedler?” he challenged Matt once more, though somewhat weaker than before, his eyes flitting at the big chief gunner’s mate.

  “Here he comes now, actually,” Major Jindal said cheerfully, nodding at a guard detail escorting a sullen-looking man in rumpled, blood-spattered khakis. He looked like he’d been beaten half to death. His lip was broken in several places and one of his eyes was swollen shut. “I’ll be honest,” Jindal said, as the guards shoved Fiedler at the League officers. The German stumbled but kept his feet. “I offered Oberleuitnant Fiedler asylum in the Empire of the New Britain Isles, in exchange for information.” Jindal shrugged. “He refused.”

  Gravois’s eyes bulged. “He has been tortured!”

  “He tripped,” Jindal countered. “And we may have asked him a question or two after we picked him up and dusted him off. But if I were you, I’d worry less about what we might’ve learned from him and more about whether you’ve told us everything you can regarding aid you’ve given Kurokawa—or any other way you’ve hurt our cause—because we’ll find out for ourselves.”

  “I told those bastards nothing,” Fiedler snapped and spat blood at the guards. Gravois glared at Jindal, then turned back to Matt. “I demand you arrest this man at once and punish him severely!”

  Matt held his hands out helplessly. “Can’t.”

  “But you are supreme commander of all Allied Forces!” Gravois protested sarcastically.

  “Yeah, and Major Jindal’s under my military command. But he’s the senior representative of the Empire in the west, and even if it’s part of the Alliance, it’s still a sovereign nation. Jindal offered asylum; I didn’t. I wouldn’t want Fiedler as a gift; he’s a Leagu
er, like you. A Kraut. And if I ever took my eyes off him, he’d probably throw another wrench in the works. But I can’t fool with any state decisions Jindal makes, or any . . . associated activities. You’ll just have to take that up with Her Imperial Majesty, Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald.” Matt appeared to consider that. “Which might be hard, considering all Allied military forces are under my command, and they’re under standing orders to sink anything flying your stupid flag in the Pacific too.” He shook his head and held his hand over his heart in mock solemnity. “I’ll mention his behavior to the Governor-Empress in my next dispatch, though.” The incongruous grin that appeared on Matt’s face looked more like a snarl without the sound that came with one. “Trust me.”

  “Trust me! Goddamn!” Petey hissed at Gravois.

  • • •

  “Good riddance!” Courtney practically stomped as Leopardo’s barge carried the Italian officers and Gravois out to the crowded ship. “I’ve always liked the French, y’know—oddly enough—but that twisted bugger proves a sharp exception!”

  “What did haappen to Fiedler?” Chack asked, grimly blinking at the departing boat as well, while trying to untangle Petey from the long, brindled fur on the back of his neck.

  “Yeah,” Silva chimed in. “Last I saw, he was at the airfield, workin’ on that junk heap they flew in on. Seemed like a right enough guy—for a Kraut. ’Specially since the plane ain’t as bad off as he made out to Gravois. Fiedler wanted to come here, an’ knew the frog’d never risk his sorry ass all the way back to Egypt if the plane sounded like it was gaspin’ its last.” He chuckled. “Buggered it up just enough, well enough, over long enough, he even fooled his Spanish copilot into thinkin’ it was crappin’ out for real. Him an’ the rest o’ Gravois’s toadies’re either on that ship”—he motioned at Leopardo—“or still at Zanzibar. Hey, maybe they’re who Gravois meant by his embassy?”

  “Possibly,” Safir agreed, blinking her silver eyes. “But I think Graa-vois came here specifically to secure Leo-paardo’s escape past our forces, and personally take our measure. Fiedler only ensured he would not desire to continue on in a faltering aircraft.”

  “He came to spy,” Jindal spat.

  “You get that outa Fiedler?” Silva asked.

  “It was obvious,” Matt agreed, sidestepping Silva’s question and looking at Safir. “He came for all those reasons, but spying is the main reason we let him go.” They all looked at him in surprise. “Sure,” he said. “We know he’ll blab. Definitely to his League, and probably to Kurokawa. And if Kurokawa gets it, General Esshk might as well. But what did he see?”

  “That we got damn little at sea to stop anybody,” Silva growled thoughtfully.

  “True. Or to move what’s here. And that is true. But not as true as they think, based on what they saw in the bay. What else?”

  Safir waved at the sea of tents. “That we are strong on the ground?”

  “Also true”—Matt smiled—“if less accurate. But mostly he saw what I wanted him to—that we’re all here, including both corps that made it through the Battle of Mahe.”

  “But,” Safir hesitated. “Only Second Corps is here. First and Third are still at Maa-he.”

  “Exactly,” Matt said. He gestured the Maroons closer. One was named Will, and had seen fierce fighting at the Wall of Trees. His regiment of Maroons had since doubled to brigade strength as more of his people filtered in to be armed with “maskits” and join the fight. “Based on Jumbo and Leedom’s recon flights to Sofesshk, we may have an opportunity—and not much time to take it,” Matt explained. “Maybe our only—and last—chance to win this war,” he added soberly. “That’s why Chairman Letts”—Matt couldn’t hide a slight, wistful smile at the memory of the gangly, sunburned, lieutenant (jg) who first reported aboard Walker in Cavite before the old war back home—“gave the go-ahead to our plan. Colonel,” Matt said when Will stood before him and saluted.

  “Cap’n Reddy.”

  “You’re now in direct contact with Corpor—” Matt smiled. “I mean, Colonel Miles, to the south, both by radio and runners.” Miles and his Shee-Ree had found a nice, level place along the bank of a wide spot in the West Mangoro River, upstream from where they’d engaged the Grik, and fashioned a passable airstrip simply by scything down the tall grass. Since then, several Fleashooters had flown down, laden with a few small arms and their own machine guns, which had been removed before they returned to be rearmed. And one of the Clippers had made two trips full of muskets and ammunition, landing and taking off from the river. Matt wanted their new Ju-52 trimotor to carry much more—once it was deemed airworthy. “What’s your assessment of his reports?” he asked the Maroon officer.

  Will frowned. “Aye, an’ thar’s a heap’a Gareiks a-camin’, as ye saed. Miles an’”—he shook his head almost unbelievingly—“the mankey falk”—he glanced apologetically at Chack and Safir—“them Shee-Rees, is nippin’ at ’em an’ the march. But tha’ll lakly git hare in a manth er sae—thaugh twixt the nippin’ an’ the jangle buggers tha’ll hae laft half thar army’s banes fer tha rats tae gnaw.”

  Matt looked like he’d followed Will’s tortured English fairly well. “And if they arrive with, say, fifteen thousand, can you and your men—and the Shee-Ree training here—hold the wall alone?”

  Will’s brows arched but he nodded. “Aye. We’s may hafta abandon tha two cities alang tha coast we’s gardin’, but wit’ maskits an’ big gaanes—an’ tha trainin’ ye’ve gave us—we’s’ll kill that many Gareiks wi-oot nae trabble.” He paused. “Ye’s . . . ye’s abandinin’ us?”

  Matt shook his head. “We’ll never abandon you,” he said with sharp finality. “The Maroons, and now the Shee-Ree, are as much ours as anyone we brought with us, as far as I’m concerned. And several companies of our best troops will remain to give you a hand, just in case. But it’s time for us to go on the offensive.” He looked at Safir Maraan. “So though we’re not abandoning Grik City or our friends, most of us will be leaving when First and Third Corps arrive here, and embark Second Corps.” He looked back at Will. “But we’re not leaving the fight. After we finish some . . . other business, we’re taking it where the Grik live. Up the Zambezi, all the way to the enemy anthill. Sofesshk itself.”

  “Than tayke us tae!” Will objected, but Matt shook his head.

  “We still have to defend this place, and who better for that than the people who live here?” Matt regarded Safir and Chack separately, with an expression deeply apologetic. Silva realized it was the first time he’d seen the Skipper radiate anything but fury in many days. And he also understood the emotions at its heart. “I hate to split you two up again,” he said simply. “God knows you’ve spent enough time apart. But I need you in different places. Hopefully, it won’t be for long this time.”

  Chack blinked understanding and, with a nod from Jindal, stood slightly straighter. “My First Raider Brigade will be ready for whatever you require of it, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” he said.

  “As will Second Corps,” General Queen Safir Maraan assured. Then she blinked fondly at the mate she outranked on so many levels, but the heirarchy couldn’t have mattered less to either of them. “You brought us together in the first place, and always reunite us. Chack will help return that favor to you and Lady Saandra while the rest of us prepare to make a world fit for us all to live in.”

  Matt could only nod. “Very well,” he said briskly. “We all have our assignments, it seems. Second Corps and the indigenous forces detailed to defend the city will remain here, while Chack’s First Raider Brigade embarks aboard Santy Cat and Arracca for Mahe. Just as soon as that thing”—he nodded at Leopardo—“is well underway. Within the next few days at the latest. Arracca and Santy Cat will then steam south to the mouth of the Zambezi and start raising hell.” He smiled at Safir. “Some time after that, we can’t know exactly when, the Republic of Real People will begin its offensive in t
he south. It may take Esshk a little time to get word of that and try to respond, but when he does, General Alden will come down here with First and Third Corps to get you, and you’ll proceed with the invasion of Sofesshk together. You’ll be in complete command here until then, but after that”—he turned to Will and nodded slowly—“you’ll command the defense of Grik City. You,” he stressed. “Not your cap’n or anyone else who might try to pull clan rank. Is that clear? You’ve learned our ways, and I trust you to get along with all our people here. You can let others advise you, and by all means make use of the Shee-Ree and their unique communications network. But you’ll be the senior Allied officer. Is that understood?”

  Will gulped and glanced at his swarthy comrade, a seasoned warrior named Andy. “We’ll git nae guff,” Andy assured. “Ye’re tha one, Will. Sance ye farst met that’un.” He nodded at Chack. “Nay’n tha cap’ns’ll buck ye.”

  With a deep breath, Will took a step back and crisply saluted Matt as he’d been taught. “I unnerstand, sar, an’ ye hae me sacred oath.”

  “Thank you, Will,” Matt said, returning the salute.

  Chack nudged Jindal, finally peeling Petey loose and holding the clearly resentful but suddenly limp reptile by the scruff of the neck. “In that case, Cap-i-taan, if there is nothing else, I will begin preparing the First Raider Brigade to embark.”

  “And Second Corps has much to prepare, even if its departure will be considerably more delayed.” Safir grinned and blinked at Chack. “It is somewhat larger than Chack’s Brigade, after all.”

  Matt managed a smile. “Then by all means, consider yourselves dismissed. And, Chack,” he added. “You have capable subordinates. Majors Jindal and Galay, as well as your sister, Risa. Let them do most of the work. You still need rest from your latest adventure. Take some time with General Queen Safir Maraan. I’m sure you have a lot to . . . talk about.”