She turned to Rizzo. “After what Savoie did, under League control, and then after giving her to him”—she nodded at Kurokawa—“how can you still imagine we aren’t at war?”
“I imagine—and pray for—a great deal, Signora,” Rizzo said quietly.
Sandra nodded, but looked at Kurokawa. “Very well. In that case, I remain morally certain that Matt will kill you all—and everyone on this island.”
“Like this?” Kurokawa demanded scornfully. “From the air? Our aircraft will be ready next time.”
“In the dark?”
Kurokawa made no reply to that. “But he has begun his attack,” he countered. “You said he wouldn’t bother with us—with me—until he is ready.”
“Maybe he is. I haven’t had any information since my companions and I were taken hostage. If I knew what’s been going on, I might advise you better.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Kurokawa demanded.
No, Sandra thought. A madman, yes. Not a fool. “I told you he wouldn’t let my presence here influence him, and tonight I was proven right,” she said instead.
“How so?” Rizzo asked.
“Because we were as much at risk as anyone else on the ground. Bombs fell very close. If they were dropped a few seconds earlier or later, we might’ve been killed. That would . . . hurt my husband, but he’d accept it.” She appeared to consider, and she was, but she was trying to think of something to say that would be obvious to them, yet appear as if she truly was revealing her inner thoughts. “With the means to do so now, he’ll keep bombing you. Maybe only now and then; maybe every night. But even that won’t mean he’s coming for me. It just means he wants you dead. If he can do it like this, that’s fine. But how many more nights like this can you take? It looks like you lost all your carriers, so if you want air cover, you’re stuck to the vicinity of Zanzibar. That may be good enough for him in the short term.” Then she remembered Savoie, just sitting there all this time, and spoke before she had a chance to think about it. “Wait! You’re afraid he’s coming soon! Before, you were going to use me as bait, to lure him into a one-sided duel with Savoie. You wanted him to come. But not now. Why?” She answered her own question. “You’re not ready, are you? Tonight’s raid did a lot of damage, but you’ve still got a fleet of cruisers, Grik BBs, and Savoie . . . But you don’t have Savoie, do you? You can’t crew her! You’ve been so busy trying to pick your duel, you forgot to load your pistol!”
Kurokawa took a deep breath and regarded her stiffly. “I have many pistols, Lady Sandra, and Savoie will be ready.” He took another calming breath before continuing briskly. “You will not be molested by my men again. If your husband kills you, as you say, I cannot prevent it. Otherwise, you’ll be safe . . . for now.” He nodded at the dark shapes gathered around Diania, kneeling next to Horn. “See to your man.” He tugged at the tight, ornate tunic under his pistol belt, then wrinkled his nose. “I had no idea you were living in such squalor. I will have fresh clothes sent over immediately.” He bowed his head. “As before, this conversation has been quite enlightening.” He started to stride away, then stopped. “You are most observant, most astute, but if Captain Reddy still lives”—he reminded her of that uncertainty with evident satisfaction—“he can come whenever he likes. Tomorrow or a year from now. It makes little difference to me. When he does, he will still find you in my power, and we may well discover the strength of his resolve. Either way, I will destroy him. Good evening.” With that, he turned a final time, and his round form disappeared into the night.
“A word of advice, Signora,” Rizzo said as he passed. “I beg you. Do not antagonize him. He is most dangerous when he appears most reasonable.” He touched his hat. “Buona notte.”
“What did Roly-poly-san and the Eye-Tye want?” Horn asked moments later when Sandra knelt beside him. Adar had finally lowered himself to the sand, exhausted, but the others had formed a protective circle around him and Diania.
“How are you feeling?” she asked instead, as Eddie handed her what was left of his T-shirt, soaked in water from the cistern.
“I’ve felt worse after a night on the town in Shanghai,” Horn replied. “Damn Jap hit like a girl.” His teeth shone bright in the dark. “No offense.” Sandra chuckled. She could see black blood streaming down the China Marine’s face from a cut somewhere on his scalp, and his hair was matted with it. But he seemed able to move, so he was probably telling the truth. There was danger of a concussion, though, so they’d have to watch him.
“He was very brave,” Diania said quietly, tenderly, dabbing at his head with part of her shirt she’d torn from around her slim midriff. There was clearly no doubt in her mind where the confrontation had been headed, and what it would’ve meant for all of them. In the end, probably none of them would’ve survived. But Horn had tried to protect them. Protect her.
“I was an idiot,” Horn objected. “I should’ve just held back and watched you ladies kick their asses. But what did the bigwigs want?” he pressed.
Sandra sighed. “I don’t really know. I don’t think it was to gloat, for once.” She thought about it while she squeezed water from Eddie’s shirt over Horn’s head and let Diania mop it away. She had a vial of polta paste in her precious bag, and a needle and thread. She’d stitch the wound when she could see it better. “I think Matt really hurt them,” she said at last, “and maybe now would be a good time for him to come.” She shook her head. “It was so weird. Rizzo seemed almost panicky, and Kurokawa protected us, and then said we’ll get new clothes. It was like . . .” She snorted. “Like the condemned man on the gallows, bobbing his head and trying like crazy to dodge the rope, but still so arrogant, so slippery about it, you could hardly tell.”
• • •
Maggiore Rizzo joined Kurokawa on the seat of the rickshaw, even as Kurokawa snapped at the two Grik holding the poles to proceed. The rickshaw jerked into motion and their guards fell in, trotting alongside. It was five miles back to Kurokawa’s residence, and would take about forty minutes to get there at this pace. It was a good thing they’d been closer, at Riku’s ammunition factory, when the enemy attack began. They’d been able to see a great deal from there, and telegraph reports from around the harbor and the surrounding facilities had given them a more complete picture. In spite of his rage and frustration, it had actually been Kurokawa who guessed what might happen at the prison compound. Rizzo did beg him to intervene, but decided he’d meant to from the start. Still, when they set off, Rizzo wasn’t entirely sure Kurokawa didn’t mean to do exactly what his men attempted: kill the prisoners in retaliation for the raid, and rip his greatest vengeance from the women. Not getting an answer, Rizzo had reasoned with him, then threatened to depart—with his planes—if anything was allowed to happen to them.
Though a dedicated fascist and firm supporter of the League, he was unhappy with what Gravois had set in motion. Surely an accommodation could’ve been reached with the Alliance instead of this madman. They were half a world apart, after all, and need not come into direct conflict for decades, if ever. Who knew what the future might bring? But the policy of encouraging the warring parties to tear each other apart had been set in motion long ago and had succeeded quite well. Peace between any of them was clearly impossible. Best to make the most of it. But he’d personally been horrified by what Captain Laborde and Savoie had done to Amerika, and then by the treatment of the survivors brought here. The League had treated its own prisoners, human and otherwise, abominably, as it systematically subjugated the Mediterranean. Laborde had participated in that, was a product of it. Suspicions regarding his support for the pre-Revolutionary regime in France had probably made him even more zealous than others to prove his commitment to the League. But Rizzo liked to hope that one day, when the hard work of establishing civilization on this world was done, they might rebuild a measure of humanity to populate it.
That was what made him increasingly d
esperate as the rickshaw approached the prison compound. Kurokawa had said nothing as Rizzo threatened and cajoled, his demeanor merely shifting from manic fury to that unnerving, icy resolution. Rizzo still hadn’t known what Kurokawa meant to do, even as they strode toward the confrontation in the compound, and if things had gone as Rizzo feared, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done either. That Kurokawa’s behavior had surprised him was an understatement. He wondered if it signaled a return to sanity, or had merely been a fragile bubble of reason and humanity rising through the swamp of madness, only to pop at the surface. Hesitantly, he decided to test it.
“She was right, of course, as you know,” he said. “Besides Laborde and Dupont, only a tiny handful of Savoie’s crew remained behind. They have taught your Grik to make steam, handle ammunition, even fire her guns. But to teach them to maintain her, to repair critical damage, will take much longer. Old as she is, she is infinitely more complex than any of your other vessels.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Kurokawa spat. “That’s why I add my own people to each division. Amagi was far more advanced than Savoie. They will make the difference.”
“But will it be enough? I have seen. And the simple fact that your people are used to more—and less—sophisticated equipment makes Savoie difficult for even them to master. Then, as Signora Reddy guessed, you have very few men available not already occupied with critical tasks. Dumb Grik must operate equipment that takes men many months to learn.”
“My ‘dumb’ Grik are smarter than you think now, and even the stupidest can learn anything by rote.”
“But rote can quickly vanish in battle. How can they cope with the unexpected? With damage? With the loss of their precious few supervisors with the understanding they need?” He paused, knowing he was about to tread on dangerous ground. “And what will you do for fire control? Without it, Savoie is much like your ironclad battleships. Far more powerful and better protected, but little better able to strike a target.”
Kurokawa seethed. “I should kill Laborde for allowing his lieutenant, Morrisette, to savage her fire-control equipment!”
When Kurokawa’s fleet returned from the battle north of Mahe, Leopardo and her oiler had already sailed and Gravois had departed. But he’d been entranced by Gravois’s “gift” of Savoie. It was in that mood that he received Sandra for their first meeting, even before inspecting the great battleship. That Morrisette, apparently under Gravois’s orders, had taken a party and utterly disabled the ship’s primitive but still quite effective fire-control equipment, had come as a terrible surprise. Even the critical level/cross-level mechanism had not been left him. It was simply gone. Perhaps removed and taken aboard Leopardo, or even thrown over the side. It had probably been Gravois’s final way of leveling the playing field one more time.
“Laborde and Dupont had no idea,” Rizzo said. “Or opportunity. I had placed them under arrest. I didn’t know Gravois would give them the choice to remain with you, to redeem themselves. Had they known what Morrisette would do, they might’ve chosen otherwise.”
“If I thought you had anything to do with it . . .” Kurokawa muttered menacingly.
Rizzo, driven beyond fear, simply laughed. “Do you think I would have stayed, had I known? Not counting Laborde and Dupont, who have been abandoned, I remain the ranking League representative—and I only stayed because my countrymen, in my planes, are here. And one of those planes has already been lost. It’s fortunate I moved them to a different airfield, or more would’ve been destroyed tonight. If your enemy continues to bomb us, can your aircraft defend the airfields? In the dark?”
“Not as well as yours,” Kurokawa confessed. “Your planes must protect us!”
Rizzo laughed again. “I only have five left, and little more than the ordnance they brought with them! Your aviation fuel is terrible and bad for their engines. More ammunition for their guns will arrive with the submarine, but no parts, no more aircrew.”
“Then place the submarine under my control!” Kurokawa demanded. “With it, I could seek out and destroy the rest of the enemy’s carriers, at least!”
All expression vanished from Rizzo’s face. “Honestly, General of the Sea, I would never do that, even if I had the authority to do so.”
Kurokawa actually gasped with fury, his eyes bulging beyond the point that Rizzo thought they must pop out of his head. Practically flailing with his hands, Kurokawa groped for the pistol at his belt. Rizzo saw what he was doing, but only sat straighter in his seat, turning to look directly ahead. “If you kill me, you may as well murder my pilots. They will never fly for you. Some of your people might use my planes, but not well. Nor will you get the ammunition the submarine is bringing. And there will be no further aid of any kind from the League.”
Breathing hard, Kurokawa slouched back, as if his fit had exhausted him. Finally, when he spoke, his voice had lost all inflection. “Then your planes—and pilots—had better make themselves useful, Maggiore Rizzo. The next time Allied bombers come, I want them opposed. Discuss how best to do that with General of the Sky Muriname.” He pursed his lips. “And as you say, the Lady Sandra may be right about the rest as well. The damage we sustained tonight will trap us here for a time, and might prompt Captain Reddy to focus on the Grik at Sofesshk.” He smirked. “General Esshk has been under heavy bombardment as well, and the airship couriers imply that he must soon launch his offensive against Madagascar. He desires that we join him, of course, and I’ve assured him we will. But my . . . sudden inability to do so can’t be held against me. Esshk’s offensive should force Captain Reddy’s attention away from here, long enough for us to repair Akagi, at least,” he smoldered, “and then we can, perhaps belatedly, join the attack and destroy whatever the Grik were unable to, whether they’re successful or not.” He smiled at the thought, but just as quickly his expression turned grim once more. “And if Captain Reddy comes sooner rather than later, we will destroy him with what we have. Savoie’s secondary batteries are more powerful than anything Reddy has, and my Grik can at least fire her main battery in local control. Not ideal, of course, and many shots will miss—but one hit on whatever he brings against me will be quite enough. We still have the advantage.”
CHAPTER 14
////// On the Plain of Gaughala
Grik Africa
November 16, 1944
“What a foul, unnatural, bloody place!” Optio Meek observed, eyes squinting in the sharp light of the sun, rising over the mist-shrouded depths of the Teetgak forest. “I don’t fancy a stroll through there a’tall.”
“Careful, Optio,” Bekiaa said, blinking mild amusement. Their banter over survivable habitats never stopped. “It looks a lot like many lovely places my people live.” The Teetgak was extremely dense, practically a jungle, composed of tall, narrow trees resembling ships’ masts, knotted together with concentrated, vinelike limbs. These were clotted with broad, ferny leaves from near the ground to the very top, almost a hundred feet high. And the abrupt distinction between forest and plain reminded Bekiaa of many islands within the Malay Barrier.
“Aye, p’raps,” Meek conceded, “but that there’s prob’ly full o’ Grik. An’ it’s so bloody straight-like,” Meek continued, “like they done it a’purpose.”
Bekiaa briefly pondered that. He might be right, but her mind was mostly elsewhere. It had taken two whole days for First Army to advance the twenty-five kilometers to the edge of the forest. The snail’s pace was less the result of renewed caution than the sheer amount of baggage the army brought, much to be dispersed among the other armies when they gathered. Third Army had been less than a day’s march away and quickly moved within sight to the west. Second Army had to negotiate some treacherous ravines in order to rejoin, however, and not only did that cause serious delay, it clearly illustrated how impossible mutual support would’ve been in an emergency. Finally, all three armies had converged about where Kim intended, roughly a kilometer
from the sharply, perhaps artificially, defined boundary of the ominous wood. Now, still distinctly separated by cohorts, legions, even armies, Kim’s entire force presented a formidable—if possibly fragile—front, more than four kilometers long. And at least Taal’s limited scouts had discovered that all the woodland roads and paths seemed to emerge somewhere before it.
Bekiaa had marched with the newly arrived 23rd Legion, trying—again—to pass her knowledge to the raw Republic troops. Most listened solemnly to the war wisdom she shared, but the colonel, Lok-Fon, a haughty, red-furred ’Cat from Augustus with near-black fur on her face that surrounded blue eyes, darker than Choon’s, appeared disinterested in her lectures. She seemed more concerned that her personal baggage wagons, groaning under a truly stunning quantity of expensive wine from Colonia, nestled among other luxuries, not be excessively jostled. Bekiaa made several attempts to engage the colonel, but despite her unusual status, she’d been rebuffed. Most annoying, the snub was accompanied by the utmost courtesy. Bekiaa doubted its sincerity, but had no grounds to complain. Instead, she focused her attention on Lok-Fon’s officers and noncoms, most of whom were anxious to learn how to stay alive.
“I’d wager it is artificial!” Courtney enthused, surveying the abnormally straight line of trees with his Imperial-made telescope. He’d quietly joined the 23rd shortly before dawn, as if drawn to Bekiaa by a sense of what lay ahead. Ever since the darkness faded, he’d been studying the swarms of lizardbirds swooping and surging above the distant treetops. Occasionally, they darted out, en masse, to scour away thousands of the butterflylike insects that hovered among the flowers. “It’s likely a boundary between regencies! Perhaps the inhabitants of the plain are devoted to hunting the great beasts upon it, while those in the forest engage in other pursuits?”
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