“The rockets are bad news,” Monk agreed. “And as many as they shoot off, you’d think they’d run out.”
“Nah. Damn things’re so simple, they can probably crank ’em out as fast as we make shells. It’s almost humiliatin’, they’re so effective,” Laney said, startling Russ and Monk that he’d taken an interest in something beyond his engineering spaces. He seemed to notice their surprise and continued, a little defensively. “They’re just wooden tubes with fins an’ black powder motors, for Chrissakes. A lot of ’em probably blow up when they light ’em. But I looked at one o’ the early contact-fuse types we found at Grik City. Japs must’ve designed the motors an’ fuses for ’em, but from what the flyboys say, the new fuses scare me most. It took a while for us to come up with good time fuses for our guns, an’ we had some to look at.” He shrugged. “Maybe they did too. But they gotta light ’em different with a rocket. Maybe there’s a hole up the middle of the motor.” He thought about it. “Or they redirect the exhaust at the nose somehow, when they shoot ’em off. Have to get a look at their launchers.”
Russ and Monk looked at each other, then back at Laney. Russ took another drag on his cigarette. “Whatever they’re doing, however they make ’em, those stupid rockets are getting too many of our planes and people. Only a few each day, but it adds up.”
“Put enough musket balls, or whatever they use for shrapnel, in the air, and it doesn’t matter if it’s on the way up or down. You’re liable to run into some sooner or later,” Monk said. Russ watched the second-to-last Mosquito Hawk coming in astern of Arracca. By his count, most had made it back. When the pursuit ships were all down, the carrier would slow almost to a stop and begin recovering Nancys. Russ suddenly raised his binoculars again. The very last fighter descending toward Arracca was smoking, coming in too low and slow. Even as he watched, it struck the aft edge of Arracca’s flight deck and burst into flames. The smoldering engine tore away and cartwheeled forward until it snagged in the net rigged across the deck, even with the conn tower. The rest of the flaming wreckage dropped in the churning wake of the huge ship, the spreading fuel fire bright against the darkening sea.
“Damn,” Monk murmured grimly into the silence on the bridgewing.
“Staan by the sea-plane re-cov-ry detail!” came the voice on the loudspeaker again. “We got two hurt Naancys, gonna land alongside wit wounded aboard.” They immediately felt the ship begin to slow. Russ stayed where he was. To interfere might be seen as a lack of confidence in his officer of the deck, and this had all become routine. He did glance up and spot the damaged planes as they left the circling formation above, headed for his ship. He also thought he heard the distant, higher rumble of the flock of PB-5Ds heading in for their night attack. Still flying from the Comoros Isles, they used the task force as a way point. But if our friends can see us, so can the enemy, Russ thought. His greatest fear was always that Grik zeppelins would hit them now, when they could still see their targets, and before Arracca could get sufficient pursuit ships turned around to respond to what the CAP or the task-force screen spotted coming in.
“I wonder,” Laney said. Russ and Monk both looked at him again. “The transports,” Laney continued. “What if they ain’t got any? What if the Grik ain’t comin’ at all?”
“They’re somewhere,” Russ disagreed. “We haven’t sunk near all their BBs. Like I said, they’re tough. And they have other stuff too, that we already know of. More cruisers, at least.” He looked back at the dying fire on the water. “Those are offensive weapons, and can’t just sit in port an’ take what we’ve been giving them forever. And their huge army’s in the city now, too. Probably safer, even in the rubble, than it was out in the open, but troops can’t sit there and take it forever either.” He scratched his chin. “No, they’re still coming.” His eyes hardened. “It’s what they do, remember? How they do it or when, I don’t know, but whatever happens, it’s liable to be something we don’t expect. Again.”
The Palace of Vanished Gods
Old Sofesshk
Sofesshk was burning—again—and Esshk and the Chooser paced in their usual place, each alone with his thoughts, brooding and forming his own ideas of what must be done. As had become the norm, the small enemy planes had come and done their worst in daylight, concentrating on factories and warships. Then the big planes followed with the night, raining fire indiscriminately on the teeming city across the river. The rocket batteries had small successes, occasionally damaging or destroying an enemy plane, but they did considerable harm to the city themselves, exploding on the ground, flying erratically and detonating where they struck, or sometimes the fascinating new fuses malfunctioned, until they fell from the sky. Even the scores of balls they blasted away when they worked perfectly had to come down somewhere, and many on the ground were injured or killed by those. But none of that compared to the destruction the enemy brought. Great sections of the city had become a charred, shattered wasteland, and more surged with living, spreading fires tonight, pulsing and shimmering, leaping and roaring, beneath the great pall of smoke they made. Esshk didn’t much care about the toll among the city’s Uul, too stupid to seek shelter or even flee in the right direction from the rampant, greedy flames. But the losses his Final Swarm, his army, was suffering, though still miniscule in comparison, were no longer trifling. And the damage to its carefully cultivated discipline and sense of purpose could not be measured.
“It is good that they do, but why does the enemy still avoid bombing Old Sofesshk?” the Chooser wondered aloud, breaking the silence.
“I have no idea,” Esshk grated back. Then he considered. “Perhaps the previous Celestial Mother was right, in a way: they dare not harm it. Even they must know by now that it is the most ancient, holiest cradle of civilization. It’s possible, I suppose, that she was only mistaken in her certainty that its protection extended to the Celestial City—and her—on the island the enemy calls Mada-gaas-gar.”
“Perhaps,” the Chooser reflected. “The tree prey—‘Lemurians’—originated on Mada-gaas-gar. The Celestial Palace was an invasion of their most sacred home, and could not be holy in their eyes.”
Esshk snorted frustration, confused thoughts mingling with the vapor that sprayed from his snout. “As much as we learn about this enemy, we still know far too little. I must ask Kurokawa about that in the next dispatch.”
The Chooser looked at him. “Indeed. And we must find our answers soon. To that and other things. Though they’ve suffered no personal harm, our esteemed Hij delegates from the various old houses of Old Sofesshk see the holocaust across the river and imagine it on their heads. Their respect for, and fear of, you remains strong, but they will not support us forever in the face of this.” He waved across the water.
“They urge me constantly to do something about it,” Esshk agreed sourly. “I argue with them—and myself,” he confessed, “that, in the broader scope of things, it’s just as well the enemy concentrates his attention here. The material loss in ships and facilities to make them—as well as all the other things the Final Swarm requires—has not been negligible, but is not crippling either. More ships and industry lie beyond the enemy’s apparent sight.” He took a deep, long breath and his crest lay flat. “But as you so often warn, I’ve waited too long for more and more troops to arrive from the far corners of the empire. We had enough to reconquer the Celestial City long ago. Only my ambition to sweep the enemy away entirely, in a single stroke, stayed my hand. Now, if the rumors of a battle beyond the Teetgak Forest, on the Plain of Gaughala, and General Ign’s reports are to be believed, weakening the frontier with the Other Hunters to the south was yet another error.” His crest rose again. “That, at least, I can remedy at once.” He gazed at the Chooser, eyes flickering with reflected fire. “My army is suffering, and one way or another, the time has come to move it.” He considered. “The threat in the south cannot be grave. We know little of the creatures dwelling there, only that they are
hunters of similar races to our other enemies. But just as we cannot abide their frigid climate, they cannot possibly thrive in ours. The farther they come, the weaker they must be. They strike now only because they sense weakness. That is my fault,” he confessed again. “Had I not stripped our warriors from the frontier to cross the strait or gather here, they would have never dared attack. So. We will turn all the troops we took from that land back, to face them at Soala, on the Ungee River.” He hacked a laugh. “If any survive to reach that place, we will destroy them.”
“And the rest of the Swarm?”
Esshk was quiet a moment. “That has become more problematic,” he said. “No matter what we do, the enemy will see our movements and know when we are coming. All we can do is shorten the warning they have. Fortunately, Lord Regent Kurokawa”—he spoke the title with heavy sarcasm—“is preparing to amuse the majority of the enemy fleet in some final way. I do not know what he intends, but if we can coordinate our attack with his, all we should have to face is the smaller fleet that lies off the coast.”
“Our great warships should make short work of it,” the Chooser agreed, his enthusiasm growing.
“Indeed. But that is the dilemma as well. Our transports—and the Swarm they will carry—cannot fly across the strait. Not only are they dreadfully slow; they are fragile as eggs. We built them in their hundreds, using designs of the earliest human prey we overcame because of their simplicity, but also in the certainty we would strike with surprise. Now we cannot even gather them here, let alone load them, without giving the enemy air attacks days to destroy them, lined up, immobile. We must find another way.”
“Send our fleet to destroy the enemy! Then they could not harm our transports.”
“Sadly, Lord Chooser, I do not think that will work. If we amassed all our warships, making a larger fleet than they can imagine, the enemy will see that too. They will attack it, even sink some of it, and when it sails, what will the enemy do?”
“They will die!”
Esshk shook his head. “No. They will continue to attack from the air, sinking more and more, while avoiding direct ship-to-ship combat. Our fleet, powerful as it is, cannot match their speed. Nor can it reconquer the Celestial City, or any land, by itself. We would lose many ships to no purpose—without the lure of the transports to make the enemy oppose us directly!”
“But you just said—”
“That we cannot assemble the transports or the Swarm where they can see it, and we will not.” Esshk clacked his toe claws on the burnished stone walkway decisively. “Beginning this very night, we will start to disperse the Final Swarm away from New Sofesshk. It will be arranged by full crews and companies appropriate to the capacity of the transports, and each detachment will march toward where a specific vessel lies hidden. It will be difficult to coordinate,” he conceded, “and there will be much confusion, but I see no other choice.”
“But, Lord Regent Champion! Such a thing has never been attempted! The transports are scattered far and wide! To organize something so complex, so . . . independent, without proper leadership for the hundreds of detachments you describe . . .” The Chooser was struck speechless.
“It will be even more complex than you yet know,” Esshk said. “The detachments detailed to transports across the river must bring them here under cover of darkness. And some of those are hidden quite far away. Yet those troops might have the easiest task, able to use the water to reach here—as long as they’re not seen by day. Others detailed to fetch transports from this side of the river will have to carry them.”
The Chooser finally found his voice. “Carry . . . But why? And to what point?”
“You’ve seen the transports. Their full complement is perfectly able to carry them if they must. Slowly, I admit, and the terrain might pose difficulties, but for whatever reason, the enemy is clearly reluctant to attack Old Sofesshk. We will use that to our advantage in three ways. First, we will stage our transports here, on land, with their crews and troops ready to rush them to the water and move with the fleet at a moment’s notice. The enemy will know we gather our battle fleet, but will not know what to make of our intentions. When it sails, probably at night, it will do so in company with the transports, quickly launched all at once, and the enemy cannot know they’re coming until dawn reveals our entire force already in the strait. We may lose many transports then,” he said, “to air attacks, most likely. But they will remain dispersed, difficult targets. More than enough will get through, and the enemy fleet will have to fight. Second, it is time to fully involve our ‘loyal’ Hij in the war effort. They and their servant Uul will help hide the transports in the city, covering them from view from the air, and helping feed and quarter the troops who must also not be seen. Those who object . . . will wish they had not.”
The Chooser’s crest was fixed in place but his tail plumage flared in admiration. “And so the third thing you accomplish is total control, far more quickly that we ever planned! And with the Swarm—your devoted army—around you, pleased to be out from under the bombing, glad to be doing something, and enraptured by the comforts of Old Sofesshk that you granted them, no one can possibly oppose us.” He picked at something between his teeth with a painted claw. “But again, what you envision will take even more time.”
“True, but not as much as you believe. My army is quite different, you know, and I have every confidence the detachments will accomplish their tasks. In the meantime, the enemy will continue bombing across the river, thinking they accomplish much, when all they really do is feed our army!” He snorted again in satisfaction. “It is unfortunate, in a way,” he reflected, “that when all is done, most of the wondrous army we have made will have to be destroyed if we mean to remake the world, as we must.”
“Indeed,” the Chooser agreed. “But I’ve little doubt that battle will accomplish that end. Some survivors may join us in ruling the new empire as regents, I suppose. We will need new ones, you know. But those we do not need will end with the satisfaction of what they helped achieve.”
Esshk’s eye caught movement near the entryway to the palace and he was surprised to see the new Celestial Mother herself venturing out to view the fire across the river. Her relatively small entourage consisted of the few remaining sisters Esshk rescued that she hadn’t been forced to fight to the death. None could ever take her place now; only hatchlings of her body could do that. But her sisters would always have status at court, and only breed with the finest Hij. And as long as the Celestial Mother lived, they’d stay in the luxury of the palace. For that reason, she couldn’t have better bodyguards, and that was what they were training for. Their training, like hers, was far from complete, however, and though no one could actually say no if the Celestial Mother chose to take a stroll, Esshk was stunned that she’d exercised the will to override the strong objections she must’ve faced. He paced quickly toward the group of females.
“Giver of Life,” he greeted her humbly. “You should not be out here. Danger lurks from the sky and . . .” He glanced around. “Other directions.” She turned to him and regarded him, her large eyes and coppery plumage also reflecting the distant flames. She was already larger than she’d been at the time of her elevation, practically obese even compared to her sisters. Ripe for breeding, Esshk thought. He couldn’t help himself. The faintest scent surrounded her, signaling she’d soon be ready. But Esshk could control himself. He could wait. That smell would be enough to drive any Uul mad, however, and he glanced around again.
“My Lord Regent Champion,” she said. “Please explain. Why does fire fall from the sky?”
“You have no reason to concern yourself with such things.”
“I want to know. Is that not reason enough?”
Esshk was taken aback. Already so sharp, so innately imposing! Her mother’s blood runs thick in her. “Of course,” he finally replied.
“Is it a natural thing? My tutors say that f
ire can spout from the ground beneath us. Can it also fall from the sky?” She closed her eyes. “I seem to recall another time, before I came to this place, when there was much fire. Much fear. But the memory is elusive.”
Esshk was surprised again. Few females elevated at her age could remember anything before the rites and their education began. “You know the purpose, the principles underlying the Great Hunt?” he asked.
“Of course. We pursue prey across the world until it is all our own. When that day comes and all prey are vanquished at last, the Vanished Gods will return and smile upon us. A new time, like that which was lost, will begin.”
“Yes. Well. Occasionally, in the course of the hunt, we encounter prey that hunts us in return. Worthy prey, but also hunters in their own right. They seek to deny us our destiny and must be destroyed. Such contests between more equal hunters are called wars. So in that sense, yes, what you see is a natural thing, just as is the fire that spouts from the earth.”
She waved at the burning city. “And such as they have poured fire upon us?”
“Yes. They have been . . . most obstinate.”
“Will they not join the hunt? Tie their destiny to ours?”
“No, Giver of Life.” Now wasn’t the time for a history lesson, to describe why this particular prey would never do that, why such things had never really worked. “They seek to destroy us entirely.”
“But . . .” The young Celestial Mother rapidly licked her bright, fresh teeth. “You will not let them?”
“Never fear. I will personally lead your Final Swarm to bring them down.”
CHAPTER 17
////// USS Donaghey (DD-2)
Mid-Atlantic
November 20, 1944
Devil's Due Page 35
