Lt. Faal-Pel “Stumpy” (L)—“A” Company, 1st Battalion, 8th Maa-ni-la. Former ordnance striker.
Lt. (jg) Fred Reynolds—Formerly Special Air Division—USS Walker.
Ensign Kari-Faask (L)—Reynolds’s friend and “backseater.”
Army of the Sisters
Saan-Kakja (L)—High Chief of Ma-ni-laa and all the Filpin Lands.
Governor-Empress Rebecca Anne McDonald
Sister Audry—Benedictine nun, and commander of El Vengadores de Dios, a regiment raised from penitent Dominion POWs on New Ireland.
Colonel Arano Garcia
Lt. Ezekial Krish
General Ansik-Talaa (L)—Filpin Scouts.
Sergeant “Lord” Koratin (L)—Marine protector and advisor to Sister Audry.
Attached DDs:
HIMS Ulysses, Euripides, Tacitus
Enemies
General of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa—Formerly of Japanese Imperial Navy battle cruiser Amagi. Self-proclaimed “Regent” and “Sire” of all India, but currently confined to Zanzibar.
General Orochi Niwa—friend and advisor to General Halik.
“General of the Sky” Hideki Muriname
“Lieutenant of the Sky” Iguri—Muriname’s Exec.
Signal Lt. Fukui
Cmdr. Riku—Ordnance.
Grik (Ghaarrichk’k)
Celestial Mother—Absolute, godlike ruler of all the Grik, regardless of the relationships between the various Regencies.
The Chooser—Highest member of his “order” at the court of the Celestial Mother. Prior to current policy, “choosers” selected those destined for life—or the cook pots—as well as those eligible for “elevation” to “Hij” status.
Ragak—Regent Consort of Sofesshk.
General Esshk—First General of all the Grik, and acting Champion Consort to the new Celestial Mother.
General Ign—Commander of Esshk’s “new” warriors.
General Halik—Elevated Uul sport fighter.
General Ugla, General Shlook—“Promising” Grik leaders under Halik’s command.
Holy Dominion
His Supreme Holiness, Messiah of Mexico, and by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World—“Dom Pope” and absolute ruler.
Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha—“Blood Cardinal” and new commander of the “Army of God.”
General Ghanan Nerino
League of Tripoli
Representatives at Zanzibar:
(French) Capitaine de Fregate Victor Gravois
Aspirant Gilles Babin
(Spanish) Commandante Fidel Morrillo
(Italian) Maggiore Antonio Rizzo
Teniente Francisco de Luca
(German) Oberleutnant Walbert Fiedler
If I have discovered one genuinely profound truth in all my travels and adventures, it is this: mercy is a moral construct that does not exist in nature. No unthinking (as we would define it) creature possesses the merest notion of mercy. Raw nature quite literally subscribes only to the “law of the jungle” in which creatures kill, or are killed, for food, territory, breeding opportunities, and, yes, even pleasure. Those on the world from whence we came who naively maintained that Man is the only animal that kills for pleasure are fools—who have never seen their beloved, sated house cat torment its prey in the most horrid fashion. Their little monster is not hungry, nor does it fear for its life. Its prey, a small bird or mouse, for example, threatens no competition for territory or breeding opportunities. Their sweet pet tortures and kills without pity for amusement alone. Some may call this “instinct,” but does that then mean that cruelty is “instinctive”?
Mercy is unknown in the animal kingdom, there or here. What predator will release its prey with a contrite countenance at the sound of a pitiful bleat or the panicked, hungry cries of its young that only it can tend? None whatsoever, for pity’s sake, even when to make the slightest effort to slaughter the now-doomed offspring would be the greatest kindness it could do them. And when one mistakenly ascribes benevolent intent to some beast in its natural habitat, what one truly sees is complacency and satiation, even fear of personal injury. It is surely not a moral choice to do no harm.
The notion of “mercy” began simply enough among humans, on our “old world,” and is perhaps best defined here as unexpectedly refraining from causing death or harm to another being that either “deserves” to die, or that it is in one’s nature—or best interest—to slay. The earliest mention of the word “mercy,” to my knowledge, comes to us from the Old Testament, when God spared Lot from the destruction he rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah. That, however, might be cynically explained as the practice, common at the time, of allowing a few witnesses of a terrible act or massacre to go forth and spread the word of what will happen to others who do not submit to, or obey, a conquering king, warlord—or God. I strive to resist cynicism of that sort as best I can, though the struggle does grow tedious at times. Still, I endeavor to adhere to my own considered definition of mercy, which, simply put, is to avoid killing anything, either beast or sentient being, just because it appears menacing. Some may, on occasion, disagree with my personal judgment regarding whether certain creatures “need” killing, and I confess I may have been mistaken a time or two, but death is so amazingly permanent that I do prefer to “err” on the side of mercy when I can.
So. If mercy is not “natural,” then the question would seem to be: from what does it spring? The Grik did not know mercy, as a race, though General Halik once demonstrated surprising restraint when he agreed to an exchange of prisoners. Clearly, that was in his interest at the time, and one might argue that true mercy was no part of his equation. Or was it? Subsequent behavior, addressed later, may pose that question to readers again, or to philosophers of another, gentler time.
Lemurians did not show mercy to their enemies until we taught it to them—but do most understand it even yet? I wonder. Some do. Chack-Sab-At showed it to the beaten Doms on New Ireland, for example, when he had to be tempted to slaughter them all. But Chack was ever remarkable in many ways—and Doms were not Grik. What if they had been? Would any have been spared? Is mercy so selective? Once the most peaceful of races—with some interesting exceptions—Chack’s people embraced the warrior’s path so quickly and firmly that I still remain at somewhat of a loss to explain it. No doubt they were strongly influenced by self-preservation, the most powerful instinct of all, but their apparently latent talent for war, which we encouraged, argues vigorously for the thesis that their passivity was never instinctual and they were not always as peaceful as when we met—and as their only relatively recent histories suggest. Lemurians are generally good people who understand compassion and friendship, and who are amazingly tolerant of other races with which they share basic values. But I personally witnessed some few displays of what I considered quite uncharacteristic . . . harshness at the time; more like the aforementioned house cat than any thinking being. Granted, they’d had little enough “mercy” shown them across the ages, so the concept must have been difficult for them to grasp. I suspect many showed restraint toward their enemies when occasionally asked, at least at first, only to please us.
Apparently only my human friends from Walker, and then the Empire of the New Britain Isles, fully understood the concept of mercy in those early years to the point that they not only desired it for themselves but were willing to grant it on occasion. Does that mean that humans in general are more devoted to mercy? No. The people of the evil Dominion were human, just like us, but on the whole the “true believers” of their twisted faith behaved just as cruelly as the Grik. If anything, they were worse. And those who did learn mercy—and appreciated it when it was shown them—as evidenced by Arano Garcia and his troops, who swore their oaths to Sister Audry and Governor-Empress Rebecca McDonald, had to throw off entire lifetimes of indoctrination to accept mercy and lea
rn what it was.
Could that be the trick, then? I have no doubt that mercy is a gift from God. He has surely shown me enough of it in my life! But does the understanding of mercy spring forth, fully formed, within our infant hearts? I think not. I have come to believe that no being is born to mercy, but to know it and show it to others, one must first discover it. Perhaps the example must come as God once demonstrated it to Lot. Indeed, the Grand Alliance, which now includes the Union that sprang from a portion of it, has embraced that method a time or two. I would hope it is still possible that the lesson might come as my loving mother gently gifted it to me. But either way, if instruction truly is the key, it may be that one day we can teach it all across this new world of ours to any being capable of inspiration . . . unless, of course, perpetually assailed as we are by merciless foes, we ultimately forget all about mercy ourselves.
Courtney Bradford, The Worlds I’ve Wondered
University of New Glasgow Press, 1956
CHAPTER 1
////// Zanzibar
Airfield #1
Near Menai Bay
“I am . . . uncomfortable with this meeting, my lord,” General of the Sky Hideki Muriname cautiously admitted to Hisashi Kurokawa. The small, narrow-faced, balding officer had been Amagi’s last surviving pilot for her sole remaining Type 95 floatplane, and he’d since created an air fleet of dirigibles and helped train countless aircrews for their Grik allies. He’d also been responsible for creating an entirely different—secret—air force for Hisashi Kurokawa, and the stress of that might have contributed more to his baldness than anything else. He gauged the reaction of the brooding . . . madman who stood beside him (even Muriname no longer doubted Kurokawa was mad), who had become, for all intents and purposes, his emperor on this world. A furious grimace split Kurokawa’s round face, and Muriname instinctively prepared for one of his leader’s signature vitriolic rants. Instead, he watched with mounting relief as Kurokawa visibly controlled his rage and his expression changed to a rational frown. Lately, he’d been managing that more often than not. Muriname had to admit that his lord, mad or not, was a brilliant man—and an extraordinarily capable survivor. That their current situation was so much better than he could’ve dared hope just a few short months before—almost entirely due to Kurokawa’s obsessive, manic determination—was conclusive proof of that. And for better or worse, Muriname knew his own destiny was irrevocably linked to Hisashi Kurokawa’s.
Muriname glanced back at the cloudy sky they’d been staring at all morning while Kurokawa contemplated a measured reply, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a brilliant white pocket handkerchief. He almost snorted at the sight of it. The Grik had never denied even the most frivolous requests by their Japanese benefactors during their association, and he’d used that openhandedness to amass far more than handkerchiefs on his “Sovereign Nest” of Zanzibar.
“I confess that I am . . . less than enthusiastic myself, General of the Sky Muriname,” Kurokawa finally said, affecting a mild tone. He’d continued using Muriname’s Grik title, just as he had his own, “General of the Sea.” He’d gotten used to it, and rather enjoyed it now. He still considered himself “Regent of All India” as well, but reasserting that—and more—would have to wait.
“We don’t need these strangers!” Commander Riku, head of Ordnance, flared. “We have our own army and navy now”—he bowed to Muriname—“and our own air fleet as well. All better than anything the Americans and their ape-man lackeys—or even the Grik—can muster!”
That was more than likely true, Kurokawa mused, but they’d believed that before. The 354 Japanese survivors of the battle cruiser Amagi now gathered on the island had supervised the construction of the Grik war machine from scratch. Since the Grik weren’t much interested in keeping records, all it had ever taken to shift untold tons of material, supplies, new machinery, and labor all over the place to build artillery, munitions, and mighty fleets of ships and dirigibles, was a Japanese project supervisor’s word, or short note. That such a large percentage of all that—in addition to what the “Jaaphs” overtly asked for—had quietly gone from the very beginning to Zanzibar would’ve come as a great surprise to First General Esshk and the Celestial Mother. Of course, Kurokawa had added even more to their hoard by intercepting every Grik ship and warrior sent to Madras to aid General Halik for the past several months, and without long-range communications, the Grik had no idea. The convoys had finally stopped, however, just a few weeks before, and that left him wondering whether the Grik had finally figured out what was happening—or if something else had occurred.
“Our new equipment and weapons should be better,” Lieutenant Iguri, Muriname’s Exec, agreed tightly. “But enough better? And largely manned by Grik who still think we aid their vile Celestial Mother!” He looked imploringly at Muriname. “And our pilots . . . !”
Kurokawa kept a placid face as he tamed another inner spike of fury at these men’s daring to question, or even discuss, his decisions. But he’d learned that the best way to keep and build their loyalty was to encourage them to invest themselves in his schemes. So long as they ultimately did what he wanted, he could control his anger and project an air of serene confidence. Let them dither and bicker all they wanted. He’d finally perfected the art of persuading men to believe he was wiser than they were yet truly respectful of their ideas. That way, even when he discarded their suggestions, they felt valued, as though they’d contributed and were involved.
“We must seek alliances,” Kurokawa declared. “Our power is great, but Lieutenant Iguri is correct: that’s largely due to the many Grik we control. The world is too large, and we are too few, to face it all alone,” he added with great solemnity. “These strangers do not threaten us—they can’t—but they might be of help.” He snorted. “And frankly, they have taunted us long enough with their cryptic messages and solicitations. It’s time we finally met.”
The discussion ended, as it should with such an absolute pronouncement, and the men stood beneath the broad pavilion on the jungle-bordered airstrip, silently sipping refreshments brought by Grik servants. The strip was one of three in the vicinity of the growing installation around what they still called Menai Bay, on the southwest coast of Zanzibar. The island retained its brilliant white beaches, but was considerably larger on this world and the interior jungle was remarkably dense. The airstrips had been difficult to construct, taking tremendous effort to clear and prepare, but “their” Grik troops had provided all the labor required. Responsible for controlling that labor—and the warriors performing it—were other officers, all former members of Amagi’s crew, promoted to lofty ranks. Many were present now, quietly conversing nearby in their surprisingly fine Grik-made “temperate white” uniforms. That was another excellent stroke, Kurokawa reflected, watching them. Nice new uniforms—except for the painted-on rank, he reminded himself, with a splash of annoyance. But Grik embroidery is deplorable, and it’s the symbol that matters, after all. Even Amagi’s lowliest seamen have some rank now, and it makes no difference if they only outrank Grik. A little power is enough to “invest” them too—and make them want more. He smiled.
Turning to Muriname, he waved at the long row of aircraft lining the north side of the runway, their dull paint shiny with dew under a brief beam of sunlight. “They are wonderful, General of the Sky! I never tire of looking at them! The lovely green color and glorious, undefiled hinomaru! You have outdone yourself.”
Muriname recognized the backhanded compliment. His first aircraft had been dirigibles—quite an achievement—but filled with hydrogen, they’d been very vulnerable in combat. He also knew Kurokawa hadn’t been pleased when he added Grik swords to the otherwise Japanese insignia on the big airships. He’d done it to inspire his Grik crews to think it symbolized them—and it worked. Over time, the modified rising sun flag had been embraced by all the Grik at sea and in the sky, and Kurokawa had grudgingly accepted it. Now, however, even th
e simple red disk was recognized by the Grik as their own (red had always symbolized the Celestial Mother, after all), and Muriname had been more than happy to revert to it on his new aircraft.
“You have done well,” Kurokawa decreed.
“Thank you, Lord. I apologize that they were not ready sooner. Perhaps they might have . . .” He stopped, preferring not to remind Kurokawa that they hadn’t been available for the disastrous battles around Madras. A few had been complete, after more than a year of development, but large-scale production had been delayed by everything from problems with the radial engines, to the rubberlike material they needed for tires—from Madras. Commander Riku had certainly taken his time developing something to arm them with as well. “They’re monoplanes, of course,” Muriname continued, “but you can certainly see the fuselage shape of the Type Ninety-five floatplane we used as a pattern so extensively. I also incorporated many aspects of the Mitsubishi A Five M, Type Ninety-six, as best I could from memory, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. The elliptical wing and wheel pants, for instance. There is even a cowling for the engine, made of thinly rolled steel,” he added proudly.
“Indeed,” Kurokawa vaguely agreed. He cared little for the details of the planes, but was impressed by their existence—and Muriname’s enthusiasm. And of course the last comment reminded him of how far their steel-rolling capabilities had advanced, and that had countless applications. The planes were mostly wood and fabric, and he doubted they’d ever have aluminum. But they were doing wonderful things with the hoard of reasonably good steel he’d secretly sent from Madras. “You know,” he continued, “I had seen your sketches, and with their open cockpits and fixed landing gear, they look much like the new American planes. The first time I saw them, I thought you had surprised me with some of these!” His smile vanished. “Until they attacked.”
“I had already left Madras, on your orders, when the new American planes came,” Muriname reminded him. “I did not see them. From descriptions, however, I’m certain these will outperform them.”
Straits of Hell Page 2
