Devil's Due

by Taylor Anderson

  “The other carriers, New Dublin and Raan-goon, are colored the same, I’m told,” Lelaa said, guessing his thoughts. “Appaar-ently, we will see for ourselves tomorrow, at long laast,” she added in a satisfied tone. She cocked her head as she walked. “It will be difficult to get used to,” she confessed, “and it spoils her beauty, I think, but I understaand the purpose. The new paint job certainly distorts her shape, and even makes her seem more . . . menacing, somehow.”

  “That’s because it looks so strange,” Jenks said, absently twisting his long, braided mustaches. “Strange is always frightening.”

  “Then let’s hope it scares the craap out of the enemy!”

  Jenks chuckled. “I don’t care what color they paint her, or any of our ships, as long as they’re ready to fight.” He paused. “Can you really put your air wing back together? I know what you told the governor, but it seems almost impossible.”

  “If I get Orrin Reddy and at least some of my planes and pilots back, the Third Naval Air Wing should be restored. Raan-goon and New Dublin are bringing sufficient crated air-craaft and pilots to bring it up to strength.”

  “If you get them back,” Jenks agreed. “General Shinya needs close air support, and doesn’t believe we can provide it. We couldn’t for a while,” he confessed. “But with three carriers offshore, shadowing his movements on land, I think he’ll change his mind.”

  Lelaa was quiet as they drew nearer the docks. “You asked me; now I ask you. Will our surface element truly be so strong? It’s hard to imagine.”

  “Five of our ships of the line, veterans of Malpelo, will be ready to sail as soon as Maaka-Kakja. That I promise. They include Mithra, Centurion, and Mars, which were all badly damaged, as you know. Hermes was the least affected. Others, I’m afraid, will take too long, or better facilities than we have here, but Captain Ruik’s Destroyer, with its mixed crew”—Jenks smiled sadly—“will be ready for sea.” The Destroyer had been the Dom Deoses Destructor, captured during the battle. Her new crew was made of survivors of Ruik’s USS Simms and Lieutenant Parr’s HIMS Icarus, both of which went down alongside her. Their two decimated crews, one Imperial and the other from the Amer-i-caan Navy Clan, had formed a tight bond and been combined. Ruik was in command, though still suffering from losing most of his arm, and Parr was his XO. “Raan-goon and New Dublin are bringing four more ships of the line,” Jenks continued. “That gives us nine.” He took a long breath, watching a group of filthy, worn-out Imperial troops marching toward their camp outside the city. He nodded at them and they gave a half-hearted cheer. “We couldn’t have done any of it if all the ships’ crews, Marines, most of the troops assembled on the island, and virtually every able-bodied civilian hadn’t been pressed into service as shipwrights.” He chuckled darkly. “On the bright side, many who had none have now learned a trade. Like your people, however, they’ll soon have to adapt again. I suspect it’ll not be long before all our warships, at least, have iron hulls.”

  He shook his head, his thoughts returning to Lelaa’s question. “We’ll still be short of frigates”—he smiled at her—“I mean DDs, having only my old Achilles, as well as Ulysses, Euripides, and Tacitus. Some older DDs, converted to AVDs, are escorting the new carriers, but six of the latest class, similar to your Scotts but more heavily armed and armored, should be here within a few weeks. With smaller, better protected crews and a heavier punch, it’s estimated they’ll be even more formidable than ships of the line. There’s nothing about them not to like. They’re quite expensive, however, I’m told.” He grinned at Lelaa. “It’s well that, with the confirmation of the gold and oil deposits your people told us to expect near Saint Francis, the Empire’s credit is quite strong just now. In any event, I expect them to arrive by the time we move against that accursed El Paso del Fuego.”

  “Which brings us to that,” Lelaa said simply, stepping on the dock alongside Maaka-Kakja’s looming shape. Rope-and-plank scaffolds dangled down the side of the ship, covered with men and ’Cats plying paintbrushes. Raised voices attracted Lelaa’s attention to her XO, “Tex” Sheider, who was arguing loudly with Gilbert Yeager. Something to do with boiler soot and fresh paint. She shut them from her mind.

  “As you heard, Governor-Empress Rebecca wants us to take everything we have and smash directly through the pass. She won’t order it, of course. Not after what happened to Task Force Eleven. But she’s made her preference clear,” Jenks said.

  “I take it you dis-aagree?”

  Jenks shook his head and spoke wryly. “I’m attracted by the boldness of the move, but, again, perhaps based on the experience of TF Eleven, I’m compelled to counsel against it. General Shinya’s mountaintop wireless tower has established contact with Lieutenant Reynolds and Ensign Kari-Faask. We were all very relieved to hear that, but now we know, though the New United States fully intends to join in the destruction of the Dominion, their participation—expected much sooner—was delayed. In addition, though the dragons are fewer in the Pass of Fire than in the past—perhaps we’ve killed enough to make a difference at last?—it remains costly in aircraft and pilots to scout the defenses there. Perhaps the improved pursuit planes aboard the new carriers will simplify that?” He frowned. “But indications are that a powerful enemy fleet still remains on this side of the pass. It’s not as large as the one we fought near Malpelo, but it’s had time to prepare, to position and protect shore batteries. Who knows what else they might’ve done? We must not underestimate the enemy again. More disturbing, neither we nor the NUS know what waits on the other side of the pass. I agree we must break through, but we have to secure this side first.”

  Lelaa blinked thoughtfully, her tail swishing beneath her white kilt. She’d been thinking about something Orrin once said. . . . She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time. “A careful, methodical approach, then. An unusual straa-ti-gee indeed,” she murmured. Jenks started to bristle, then realized she was blinking irony. “And I aa-gree,” she added. “We must also support General Shin-yaa—and Governor-Empress Rebecca and Saan-Kakja. Not knowing what lies beyond the paass, who’s to say something won’t prevent us from returning? That could make things . . . awk-waard for us, and do our ground forces no good. On the other haand, if we destroy the enemy at the paass and land troops there, they might support General Shinya’s effort to stop Don Her-naan. If he caan’t stop him, we might be the laast chance to cut him off from New Graa-nada. We caatch him between our forces, and he caan’t run anymore. He’d have no choice but to fight or surrender. Either way, we could finally break his army and throw all the Doms into confusion.”

  “Yes,” Jenks said, twisting his mustaches. “I’m almost tempted to suggest that General Shinya let Don Hernan escape for now, so we can do exactly that.”

  “But . . . we might fail,” Lelaa said flatly. “What if we caan’t take this side of the Paass of Fire and land troops?”

  Jenks was nodding. “And that’s exactly why Shinya must continue as before, trying to block the enemy while slowing him and herding him with Sister Audry’s and Colonel Garcia’s tiny TF Skuggik Chase.”

  “You mean Major Blas’s taask force?” Lelaa had nothing against Sister Audry, but everyone knew who was really in command.

  “Yes, I suppose I do.”

  “So, our plaan is?” Lelaa asked.

  “When we’ve gathered our full strength, we’ll move against the pass and destroy what remains of the enemy. We will not fail. Only once we have firm possession and can fully and sustainably support operations ashore will we try to push through. By then we should have aerial reconnaissance as well, and know what lies on the other side. Information the NUS might be grateful for. If we could then, finally, coordinate our efforts . . .” His voice trailed away.

  “Then I only hope, in the meantime, Gener-aal Shin-yaa gets his forces in place at Popayan in time to block Don Her-naan, for everyone’s sake, but particularly Major Blas, Sister Audry, and the r
est of their little force pretending to be an army.” Lelaa’s tone turned bitter. “I can only imagine what kind of chik-aash they’re enduring, while we stand here, safe and sound, discussing how they should be used.”

  “Shinya’s almost there,” Jenks assured, trying to lighten her mood.

  “Almost? Blas has what? Thirty-five hundreds of troops? Against forty thousands? More?”

  “I think she has around five thousand now, counting the locals she’s collected,” Jenks said weakly.

  “So many?” Lelaa snorted sarcastically. “And ‘almost’ will not help if Don Her-naan realizes he has a flasher fish on his tail instead of a mountain fish, and chooses to turn on it.”

  Jenks nodded sadly. “Indeed. But if Don Hernan does that, despite General Shinya’s personal feelings, it will still give him more time—and serve his purpose just as well.”

  TF Skuggik Chase

  Between Kotopaxi and Popayan

  (La Frontera Horribles)

  November 10, 1944

  Major Blas-Ma-Ar, sometimes still called “Blossom” behind her back, waited tensely in the damp, drizzly, predawn dark. And it was unnaturally dark, deep in the dense, mountainous forest of the Horrible Frontier, as the locals described the almost trackless, foliage-choked wilderness between widely spaced villages in this part of the Dominion. And in addition to the thick overhead cover, there was no moon, and the stars couldn’t penetrate the low-lying overcast. Blas wasn’t alone, however, and heard the soft sounds of men to her right and ’Cats to her left. The men were Vengadores, former Dom soldiers converted to the “true” Christian faith by Colonel Sister Audry, whom they adored. Counting the recruits from Guayak, Puerto Viejo, and the Christian Rebels under “Captain” Ximen who’d joined them on the march, Colonel Arano Garcia’s regiment of El Vengadores de Dios had swelled to a brigade of more than three thousand men and women. The Lemurians belonged to Blas’s own 2nd Battalion of the 2nd Marines. It had once grown to regimental strength itself, but had been whittled down in fierce battles to fewer than seven hundred, fit to fight. They had a few more men and ’Cats, from other units of the Army of the Sisters, mostly artillerymen and support personnel, and there was still a tiny remnant of twenty horse-mounted Imperial dragoons, primarily messengers back and forth to the new wireless station at Kotopaxi almost a hundred miles behind. They traveled the heavily trampled and hewn-down path that Don Hernan’s large army, then Blas’s TF Skuggik Chase, made in passing, but mounted scouts were useless for probing the enemy on the impenetrable flanks of the ragged trace. For that they had squads of Ximen’s Christians and Captain Ixtli’s Ocelomeh, or “Jaguar Warriors.” They’d lived in this dense, claustrophobic environment full of terrifying predators for generations, and knew every meager game trail well enough to give them names. Finally, the Ocelomeh also added nearly twenty-five hundred troops to the task force, armed with good-quality Imperial flintlock muskets and their own edged weapons.

  Still, combined, Blas’s and Sister Audry’s force numbered barely six thousand against the possibly forty thousand Don Hernan still had. They’d made a brave front, impersonating Shinya’s entire army in pursuit, nipping at the enemy’s heels hard enough to make him stop and deploy from time to time. On each occasion, he’d taken bloody losses, inflicted by the Ocelomeh and local Vengadores who infiltrated through the forest and savaged the flanks of his ragged, dispersed battle line. But Blas couldn’t make a frontal attack. She just didn’t have the strength. So eventually, Don Hernan pressed on. Blas desperately wished she had better aerial recon, but most of COFO Reddy’s planes were leapfrogging to new airstrips and lakes in preparation for supporting Shinya when he got to Popayan. And TF Skuggik Chase was a long way from the last Nancys at Puerto Viejo, beyond high mountains, and few planes could risk such missions. It isn’t all baad, she reflected, looking around, finally able to discern vague shapes in the gloom. We got plenty to eat, even if it’s pretty weird. Their native allies constantly brought wild game, strange roots, and unusual vegetables. She frowned. They also carried in baskets of bugs, little lizards, snakes, and some very unappetizing-looking fish they trapped in streams. She wasn’t keen on any of those, but they were food.

  On the other hand, all her scouts told her that Don Hernan’s army was starving. That made it weak—and desperate. The problem was, the scouts also told her it had apparently grown desperate enough to do what she’d most feared: launch a major attack on her. They’d seen all the preparations, and reported troops massing in front of her. Don Hernan probably hoped to completely wreck her army so he could quicken his pace. Worse, he didn’t have to make it all the way to Popayan before he did that either. Blas now knew there was a tiny village about fifty miles south of it, with a road of sorts leading north. And it was only thirty miles ahead. Once the enemy no longer had to hack its way through heavy timber, it could race away.

  Blas sent a pair of her precious dragoons to Kotopaxi with the news, to warn Shinya to pick up his pace and ask for any support he could give—a few planes, anything. She had no other means of communication. But it would take time for the dragoons to make the trip. Even if they survived the predators, which only numbers seemed to deter, they’d be lucky if their news arrived quickly enough to help Shinya. There was even less chance it would do her task force any good. Whatever happened today would be over long before Shinya heard of it.

  Oddly, Blas wasn’t particularly afraid. She knew it would be tough, and she’d probably die. She’d once endured a terrible violation that destroyed the youngling she’d been, and since then she’d seen more action than most. As a result, her mind and soul had hardened in a way she suspected few could understand. She didn’t understand—or like it—herself. She wanted to live, and, in spite of everything, she loved life. But she’d become a different, damaged person, who’d come to literally love killing the enemies who tried to hurt those she cared about—particularly her 2nd of the 2nd Marines. That both excited and sickened her. She suspected it was normal to be proud and satisfied when she fought well, but to actually crave the killing, the primal release only the violence of combat gave her . . . She preferred not to dwell on it, but couldn’t imagine a better way to die: in the midst of all that, doing what she loved.

  So now they waited behind hastily erected breastworks across the track the Dom army made, as prepared as they could be for the attack they knew would come. Blas looked at the Marines materializing to her left as the black night began to gray, and in spite of the situation, managed a pang of amusement. She was aware they called her Blossom, and loaded the name with irony since they knew what a fighter she was. What they didn’t know was that she liked the name the dead super bosun, Fitzhugh Gray, bestowed on her.

  “What aa-muses you so?” Sergeant Koratin asked in his gravelly voice, sliding up beside her. He’d been an Aryaalan lord, but despite being fully capable of leading this entire force himself, he had no desire to advance beyond sergeant. He had real power once, he often said, and wasted it. He didn’t want it anymore. Blas looked at him. “Nothing,” she replied. “Just thinking. Where’s the Col-nol?”

  “Which one? Col-nol Gaar-cia is with his troops, on the right. Where he belongs. Sister Audry will be near him, no doubt, where she should not be.”

  “You still think she should stay back from the fighting?”

  “Of course. She is all that holds the Vengaa-dores together.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” Blas said darkly. “If their cause can die with one person, it’s too fragile to rely on.”

  Koratin sighed. “Perhaps I am wrong. I hope so.” He shook his head and blinked. “I believe I think so. I do tend toward a measure of cynicism from time to time. But given the faact she will not fight, even to defend herself, she has no place in the firing line.” He shrugged. “So I caan’t fight as I would wish, since it’s my sworn duty to protect her.” He grinned. “She is armed, with a pistol and cut-laass, at mine and Col-nol Gaar
-cia’s insistence, but I’ve never seen her draw either weapon. She caan’t have any idea how to use them.”