Devil's Due

by Taylor Anderson

  “Us are honored.” I’joorka bowed his head. “Chack’s ’Rigade has earned great reskect.” He regarded Silva, Pam, and Lawrence. “Are you in Chack’s ’Rigade too?”

  Silva snorted, then grinned. “Not us, ol’ buddy, but me an’ Larry, at least, will be around. Hiya, Mr. Cook! Good to see you . . . sir.” He focused back on I’joorka. “Don’t worry, though. I bet we’ll get to play together again before it’s over.”

  “Major Risa will show you around,” Chack said, “and help get your troops settled. We’ll begin sorting things out immediately, and tomorrow you’ll start training with the rest of the brigade. You have much to caatch up on, and little time.”

  I’joorka nodded, but Cook spoke up. “Excuse me, sir, but we brought some new equipment along, and you might want to examine it directly. It’s, ah, possible that your troops may have a bit of catching up to do as well.”

  Chack looked at Cook and grinned, blinking anticipation. “Truly? Very well, I’m aan-xious to see what you brought.” He looked at Dennis. “Chief Silva, will you and Lawrence join us at the training ground?”

  “Sure thing, in a bit.”

  “I think I’ll stay with Chack a little while and see what Mr. Cook’s talking about, Skipper,” Spanky said.

  “Very well. Carry on,” Matt replied. More salutes were exchanged and Matt, Pete, Pam, Silva, and Lawrence left Spanky and Chack talking with I’joorka, while Risa formed dockworkers into details to help coordinate the disembarkation of the Khonashi troops. Strolling back the way they’d come, Silva had started humming the same tune as before, very low. It was an annoying habit, but sometimes endurable because it usually meant the big man was thinking. Whether his thoughts were pertinent—or appropriate—wasn’t always clear. Matt spoke. “One last thing, Silva, before you run back and play commando with Chack.”

  “Sir?”

  Matt looked at Pete, then back at Dennis. “A Nancy off one of our AVDs steaming close along the African coast spotted another Grik zeppelin flying just inshore, following the coastline. That’s three in the past week. The first two were heading north-northeast toward Zanzibar,” he added significantly. “This time, the Nancy shot the damn thing down, but it was apparently on a return leg.” He shrugged. “The pilot probably should’ve followed it. Might’ve found where that base, at least, is located. But it may work out better this way. We already knew Kurokawa and the Grik must’ve made up, but this means even if Kurokawa still hasn’t given his allies radio, they’re in direct, relatively prompt communication, most likely trying to coordinate their strategies.”

  “That’s not good,” Silva said thoughtfully.

  “No,” Matt agreed. “I don’t like any cooperation between our enemies. But . . .” He studied Silva’s expression. “It’s already given you the same idea it gave me, hasn’t it?”

  “If you mean that Griks are stupider than we ever thought to trust that crazy Jap again, then yeah,” Silva said, then paused, letting his captain roll his eyes before that disconcerting, gap-toothed grin spread across his face. “Course, I’m also thinkin’ that if lizards’re already flyin’ zeps back an’ forth to Zanzibar, the Jap-Griks there might not take much notice if we used my zep in some interestin’, apparently un-threatenin’ way . . .”

  “That’s more like it,” Pete ground out.

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Pam suddenly flared. “You’re not talkin’ about that heap of junk you crashed at Grik City, are you? Is that your zeppelin?”

  “Sure. We fixed it up good as new,” Dennis defended. “Mostly. It’ll fly.” He looked at Matt. “I figger maybe a dozen, includin’ the aircrew. An’, ideally, a few fresh-dead Grik if we can rake ’em up. That’d put icin’ on the cake.”

  Pete nodded. “We should be able to arrange that, complete with current Grik gear. We’ll get word to Colonel Miles an’ his irregulars, dogging the Grik force south of Grik City.” He grinned. “Might have to hurry, though. Word is they’re bogged down in a swamp on the edge of that big band of jungle, and the bugs an’ critters are getting them faster than Miles. If he can get us some bodies, alive or dead, maybe we can fly ’em up here in that trimotor Fiedler left. Leedom’s already used it to take a load of weapons and ammo down. Says it’s airworthy.”

  “Who would you need for aircrew?” Matt asked. Silva waved his hand. “A couple o’ the same ones as before, if they’ll volunteer.” He shrugged. “Me an’ them Shee-Ree’re the only ones checked out in Grik zeps, anyway. As for the rest, I guess I can make do with Larry an’ maybe eight or ten of I’joorka’s guys.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if he’s got ’ol Pokey with him.”

  “Okay,” Matt agreed. “I’ll have Mr. Palmer put it all together and send the request to General Maraan. We’ll get it in motion.” He saw Pam practically boiling, but holding her tongue. “Come on, Pete,” he said. “Let’s leave Chief Silva and Walker’s esteemed surgeon to . . . talk things through.”

  Dennis sighed heavily when Matt and Pete were gone. “Go give Risa a hand, will ya, Larry?” he asked his friend, then finally turned to Pam. “Okay, doll. Let’s have it out.”

  Instead of launching into the expected tirade, Pam suddenly burst into tears.

  Silva’s eye went wide with alarm. “No! No, damn it! You can’t do that! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “You are,” Pam confessed miserably.

  Dennis was at a loss. “Well, sure. I know that. An’ I warned you too. I’m no good.”

  Pam shook her head violently, tears pattering on the dock. “Oh, don’t start that again. We both know different. But I thought we understood each other. I wouldn’t push you—an’ I haven’t—but you’d stop pushing me away.”

  “There ain’t no understandin’ you, doll, an’ I been a mite busy.”

  “Not too busy for Risa,” she said caustically, and Silva’s expression hardened. There’d always been rumors about Silva and Chack’s sister, which neither had done much to squash. They’d been soul mates when it came to their unconventional personalities, and out of sheer amusement had never confirmed or denied that their great, obvious friendship, might’ve involved “experimentation” from time to time. Not even to Pam. But Pam was like a sister to Risa and had even participated in the joke to the extent of fueling further prurient speculation. But Risa finally tired of the game as the war made her more serious, and, besides, everyone—except maybe Silva—knew that Silva belonged to Pam.

  “Risa’s my pal,” Dennis stated simply, definitively. “I knew her before you an’ me ever met, when you were off on Mahan. An’ we been workin’ together, gettin’ ready for this next push. Don’t lay that crap on me.”

  “And I’m not your pal? At least? I was worried sick about you while you were running all over Madagascar. Didn’t know if you were alive or dead for weeks. Then you came back—an’ that was great—until I shipped out for here.” She shook her head. “Okay, that’s the breaks. But then you show up on Santy Cat an’ I think my guy is here—only he isn’t, far as I’m concerned.”

  Dennis scratched the whiskers on his chin, thinking. “Look, doll,” he finally said, his tone softer. “I am yer guy, always will be, though God knows why you want it that way. I even practically threw you at Colonel Mallory once, remember? He’s here. You should’a looked him up.”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” Dennis agreed, “but here’s the deal, same as before. I am what I am, an’ the war is what I do. More important, the Skipper needs me.” He grimaced. “Maybe more than ever. That Jap havin’ Lady Sandra an’ the rest is tearin’ his guts out, but does he let it show? Can he? Hell no. I don’t know how he does it.” He looked directly in Pam’s eyes. “If they had you, I’d say the hell with everything an’ do what I had to to get you back. No waitin’, no plannin’—an’ we’d prob’ly lose the damn war. He feels the same, wants the same, but he’s stronger than me, see?” He laughed bitte
rly. “I’m so weak, I do my best to push you away—even outa my mind, so if somethin’ happened to you it wouldn’t hurt me like he’s hurtin’ now; wouldn’t run me crazy, just killin’ an’ killin’ till they take me down. You know that’s what he wants. Me an’ him ain’t all that different, down deep. But his top layer’s thicker, stronger, smarter than mine, an’ it’s spread a lot wider too. When it comes down to it, he just . . . gives a damn about more than I do. He’s carryin’ whole countries on his shoulders, thousands o’ troops an’ sailors, maybe a couple hundred ships, all told.” He snorted and thumped Petey on the head with his thumb. “All I have on mine is this dumb-ass little lizard, the double handful o’ folks I’ve learned to care about, an’ my two simple little missions in life: kill anybody who threatens them folks—an’ not let the Skipper down.”

  Pam blinked. Then, as hard as she could, she punched him in the center of his left bicep with her sharp knuckles.

  “Ow! Goddamn!” Silva snapped.

  “Goddamn!” Petey shrieked, still groggy from the blow on his head that woke him.

  “That’s for bein’ a jerk,” Pam told him. Then, without warning, as soon as he lowered his right hand from briefly massaging the spot, she punched it again.

  “Ow!”

  “An’ that’s for bein’ stupider than your pet lizard. I guess Chack an’ Risa, Lawrence an’ Tabby—way more than a double handful—are people you care about too, aren’t they? You don’t avoid them. Why do you have to treat me different?”

  Silva wiggled his arm and flexed it a couple of times. “I told you. ’Cause you can hurt me more.”

  “That didn’t hurt you. What you’ve been doin’ hurts me.”

  Silva held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Damn. Women. Buncha harpies. Get mushy with ’em an’ try to tell ’em how you feel, an’ they take to beatin’ on you. Did you ever think maybe I been steerin’ clear out o’ self-defense?”

  “No.”

  Dennis looked at her, furrowing the brow over his good eye. “Is that your new favorite word?” He scratched his chin again, considering. “Tell ya’ what. I’ll come a-callin’ this very evenin’, when I’m done out at the trainin’ ground.”

  Pam’s eyes went wide in mock bashfulness. “Why, Chief Silva! Are you askin’ me out?”

  “Well, sure. I guess. Not many fine restaurants hereabouts, an’ I don’t think there’s any good pictures showin’. But there’s usually music, chow, an’ a little dancin’ at the airfield, even if they’re always dousin’ the lights whenever somebody thinks they hear a plane.”

  Pam seemed to consider it. “Okay, you big dummy. One last chance. But don’t do this to me anymore. Let’s quit hurting each other, okay? An’ if one of us gets it—probably you, with this next idiot stunt—that’s just the way it goes. But we can’t just quit livin’, waiting for it to happen, see?”

  “Sure.”

  Pam frowned. “One last thing. Lawrence is the sweetest lizard I ever knew, but you better tell him to find something else to do with himself tonight—and don’t come get me with that other lizard wrapped around your neck!” She stepped closer and smiled, looking up at him. “Just you an’ me, babe, an’ I’ll prove that ‘no’ ain’t my favorite word.”

  Petey, now fully awake, cocked his head and peered seriously at her with his big eyes. Then he nipped Silva on the ear. “Eat,” he said flatly. His morning feed was long past due.

  CHAPTER 12

  ////// The Plain of Gaughala

  Grik Africa

  November 14, 1944

  “Well?” demanded General Marcus Kim, of no one in particular, his oriental features set in a deeper frown than usual. “Where are they? I must say, it’s rather embarrassing when you attack an enemy you have feared for centuries, and they do not even notice.” Bekiaa said nothing; Kim already knew she believed most of the local Grik had been sent across to Madagascar or summoned to Sofesshk. Many of Kim’s other advisors were afraid to credit that. Inquisitor Choon tended to agree with her, however, and was staring fixedly at the map on the field table, his large, pale blue eyes intent. Courtney Bradford stood beside him, absently fanning himself with the huge sombrero he’d reclaimed since they’d moved north into lower, warmer climes.

  He’d seen his woolly sauropod at last—more than one—and his eyes now greedily absorbed a herd of massive, browsing beasts beyond the field fortifications. The standard trench-and-berm perimeter defense the Republic always erected was sprouting a permanent palisade, complete with gun emplacements, as Fort Melhausen became the primary forward supply depot more than a hundred and fifty miles into Grik Africa. The shriek of a train whistle drew Bekiaa’s attention. Much to Courtney’s surprise, the Republic offensive had actually begun months before when their cavalry ensured there were no Grik in the cold mountains north of Fort Taak, and heavily protected engineers had begun laying track through the passes even while Alex-aandra was menaced by Savoie. No one was much surprised by the lack of resistance at the time; both sides of the frontier were usually sparsely populated, particularly in winter. But it was spring now, and the real offensive had begun at last. The result, so far, was . . . anticlimactic.

  The same engineers had followed the initially cautious progress of the army, laying temporary track as it went. Here, at Fort Melhausen, they’d continue improving the rail line, assemble fresh troops, munitions, victuals, and all the cornucopia of war, while the bulk of the army moved on. For now, Kim’s corps-size 1st Army remained encamped in its orderly rows of yellowish tents, still conspicuously separated by cohorts and legions. A third of Kim’s entire force, 1st Army consisted of nearly twenty-five thousand men and ’Cats, thousands of horses and suikaas, hundreds of freight wagons, and a hundred Derby guns. Two other corps, though they called them 2nd and 3rd Armies, had taken alternate routes of advance up dirt tracks they’d discovered through the low hills and gullies blemishing the lowland Plain of Gaughala that lapped against a belt of heavy timber their meager maps called the Teetgak Forest.

  Bekiaa gazed around her. The senior officers of nine of Kim’s twenty-six infantry legions, as well as the new artillery and cavalry commanders, were gathered under the huge command pavilion, their aides outside beneath the afternoon sun. The scene struck Bekiaa with a number of contrasts. The pavilion was a dark, muddy color, and the uniforms were the usual dull yellow-brown with dark-painted helmets and black leather accoutrements. All would’ve normally provided fair concealment in most terrain if many of the officers hadn’t been wearing their polished cuirasses and helmets. The cavalry was the worst, adding short capes reflecting the colors of their legion’s standard. General Taal-Gaak, the Lemurian cavalry legion commander (whom Bekiaa had to admit looked particularly dashing), had explained that horsemen were easy enough to see already; no sense trying to hide. And perhaps they’d intimidate the enemy. Bekiaa knew that was nonsense, but also a pointless argument compared to others she’d raised.

  Besides Taal-Gaak and his cavalry men and ’Cats, the surrounding prairie presented the sharpest contrast of all. It was almost as flat as the table Choon leaned against, and except for the distant hills and blue line of the Teetgak Forest far to the north, a vast sea of riotous flowers of every imaginable color rippled in the breeze as far as the eye could see. And flitting among them in great, heaving swarms were broad-winged insects just as vibrant, and apparently benign, as the flowers they so manically attended. She knew the land was cut and gouged by ravines and draws, but none were visible from where she stood. It was beautiful, and unlike anything she’d expected to find in the land of the Grik. Herds of enormous animals, similar to others she knew but much, much larger, grazed on the colorful plain. Most paid little heed to the invasive host. There were some frightening creatures, to be sure; large predators like Borno super lizards, but even they avoided the army for the most part. Bekiaa suspected their instinctual memory had taught them to avoid swarms of hunting Grik, and tha
t was an advantage. It should also have served as a warning to her comrades, but they were content with the fact and unconcerned by the implications. Most interesting and frustrating of all, however, regardless of the abundance of life on the Gaughala prairie, was that they’d encountered very few Grik.

  “We have looked, Gener-aal,” Taal-Gaak said almost plaintively. “We have looked everywhere and found no concentration of the enemy beyond Agut.” He blinked. “Other villages have been located. Quite a few, in fact. Most are along the coast, discovered by Third Army, but Second Army, paralleling our march to the west, has found some as well.” He paused, blinking consternation. “All were praac-tically empty,” he added, “with the exception of some, ah”—he looked at Bekiaa—“Griklets, I believe they’ve been termed. Naasty little brutes.” He continued looking at Bekiaa and Courtney. “There was considerable evidence of death, however. Much blood was splashed about, but few corpses were found.”

  “They’ll have dragged the dead along as rations, I shouldn’t wonder,” Courtney stated grimly.

  “Indeed,” Taal agreed, blinking disgust. “The clear impression was that the Grik departed in a hurry and slew all who couldn’t travel. That suggests, despite our diligence at Agut, they know we are coming.”

  General Kim grunted. It also implied that there couldn’t have been a great many Grik left in the area in the first place. He looked at Bekiaa and Courtney as well. So far, their assessment, based on Courtney’s observations in Madagascar and communiqués from the distant Cowflop at Grik City, had been borne out, and they’d pushed the combined Armies of the Republic, now numbering almost seventy-five thousand troops, all the way to Agut—the first real Grik city they’d expected to find before they met any opposition at all.