For a moment, Niwa could only stand in shock. “Uh, thank you, General of the Sea,” he managed at last.
Kurokawa smiled for an instant, then a frown creased his face as quickly as if a switch had been thrown. “Your exemplary actions to this point leave me particularly surprised that you did not seize the opportunity to destroy the forces that retreated from Madras. They were strung out, drawing supplies, helpless. Now they have established a strong defensive position that cannot be ignored.”
“I . . .” Niwa stalled. How could he describe how difficult it was to launch any kind of coordinated attack through that dense jungle south of the road the enemy took? He had attacked, and the fighting had been fierce—it was still going on—but most of the enemy had reached its new defensive perimeter. He simply hadn’t been able to bring sufficient force to bear at any one place to scatter the column. “I have no acceptable excuse, General of the Sea,” Niwa finally replied. “I tried, but was not successful.” He glanced at the others. The same could be said of all of them.
Amazingly, Kurokawa’s expression softened. “Never mind,” he said. “You and General Halik will have a chance to redeem yourselves. You have the enemy surrounded now, do you not? It should be a simple matter to coordinate your forces now and utterly destroy these . . . refugees. I leave the planning and execution to the two of you.” He held up a hand. “I will require some thousands of your warriors to assist in the refitting of my ships. Also, some of the local civilian population, including many artificers, that fled the enemy are with you, General Niwa? I need them back. See that they are sent here immediately.”
“Of course, General of the Sea.”
“Very well. Then if you have no further questions, I shall leave you to your task.” He turned to Muriname. “You remain a while longer before you fly away. I have other things to discuss with you.”
Niwa turned to leave, but noticed Halik hadn’t moved.
“You refer to your regency, General of the Sea, but what of Regent-Consort Tsalka and his vice regent, N’galsh?” Halik asked.
Kurokawa swiveled his head and rested his eyes on the Grik general. An odd smile twisted his lips. “Lord Regent Tsalka was given the traitor’s death,” he said bluntly, watching Halik’s crest flatten with horror and disbelief. “Vice Regent N’galsh died leading the airship attack against the enemy fleet, and I will have to replace him. But by the express wish of the Celestial Mother herself, I am Regent-Consort of Ceylon and All India now, by conquest!” Kurokawa paused, and actually giggled. “Perhaps not Consort,” he said, “but Lord Regent? Oh yes! I have reconquered the bulk of the lost regency; Ceylon will come in time. This land is mine, by promise of the Giver of Life!”
Niwa’s head spun. N’galsh lead an attack? Impossible! Kurokawa, a Grik noble? The man is utterly mad.
“Does First General Esshk support that?” Halik demanded, and Kurokawa’s face reddened.
“Why on earth would that matter?” he roared, forgetting himself at last. “It is the will of the Celestial Mother, supported by the Chooser. And as Lord Regent, I am no longer bound by the whims of such as General Esshk!” Kurokawa’s smile twisted further. “This land belongs to me now, as do all the warriors upon it. As do you, General Halik!”
CHAPTER 30
////// Baalkpan, Borno
The mood was grim in Adar’s Great Hall. It wasn’t an open meeting, and with a few exceptions, only the high command and senior Allied representatives were present for this first consultation. But there were too many for the privacy of the War Room. Adar sat rigidly on the stiff cushion he preferred, while frantic jabbering filled the lamp-lit chamber. He tried to calm himself by staring at a charred tapestry on the far wall, reminding himself that things had been much worse before. The tapestry was one of the few that had survived the destruction of the previous hall presided over by the great Nakja-Mur. Rising, angry voices brought him back to the present.
“General Alden and three corps—nearly forty thousand troops—are all alone out there!” Alan Letts shouted. “Surrounded and cut off! We have to get him some relief! Figure out a way to resupply, reinforce—”
“I doubt he has nearly that many troops now, Mr. Letts. He has lost! We should concentrate on getting his remaining troops out!” Commander Herring shouted in return. He paused in the silence that ensued. “I agree about relief, however. General Alden should be relieved of his command at once!”
“Under these circumstances? Are you insane?” Alan yelled, stunned. “And pull out? You are insane! We must have India, to keep it from the enemy, if for no other reason. Ceylon can’t hold without it nor can Andaman, eventually. After all the blood we’ve spilled, you’d have us right back where we started!”
“I guess it’s a damn good thing you ain’t in charge, Mr. Herring.” Dennis Silva rumbled. He was one of the exceptions, and he’d just “come along” with Bernie again. Now he towered beside Letts, his mighty arms crossed. “Or is that what you’re anglin’ for, Mr. Herring?”
“Don’t be absurd!” Herring snapped. “And just who the devil are you to make such an accusation?”
Silva leaned forward. “You might just be amazed how ‘absurd’ I can work myself up into bein’,” he said in a tone too many people recognized. Herring took a step back, but Sister Audry—another exception—reached up and put a restraining hand on Silva’s bicep.
“You might indeed be amazed, Commander Herring,” Sister Audry said, just as angry, but controlled. “Very briefly. Pray do not bait the beast. You are new here, so perhaps you do not understand. General Alden and his command are family to most of us here. In some cases, quite literally. God alone knows how many cousins our Lord Adar himself has in the field! General Alden has faced the Grik many times before, and you have never done so. It is easy for you to decry his ‘incompetence’ while safely away from the fight!” She glared around. “It would seem General Alden made some mistakes, but so did Admiral Keje—so did everyone! The enemy is changing somehow, and most dramatically.” She looked back at Herring. “But once those mistakes were made, can you think of anyone else who could have salvaged anything of the situation, as it appears General Alden has done? Could you?”
Adar began to realize that perhaps things had never been this bad after all. Before, they’d always been united, and now he saw . . . factions . . . developing. Far too many of his own people seemed to support Herring’s proposition. He reached over and struck the bronze pipe gong insistently. “Gentlemen! My dear Sister Audry!” he said into the dissolving roar. “My people, my friends,” he continued more quietly. “As you know, the situation is this: The government of the Empire of the New Britain Isles remains in disarray after the cowardly assassination of the Governor-Emperor and his mate. Our dear Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, whom many of you know so well, has ascended to the throne with the aid of loyal elements and our ambassador, Mr. Braad-furd. I am hopeful that stability there will soon be restored.” He blinked determination. “I said the new Governor-Empress is ours, and I meant it. She has won greater love from Baalkpan, Saan-Kakja, and doubtless the Amer-i-caan clan than I ever will. She and Saan-Kakja are as sisters. If nothing else, her ascension will likely garner even greater support from Maa-ni-la than had been forthcoming thus far.
“Otherwise, in the east, Second Fleet has succeeded in driving the Dominion from Aal-ber-maarl, the most important of the Enchanted Isles, thereby securing a forward base for eventual operations against the evil Dominion itself.” He sighed. “That is the good news, such as it is.
“In the west, Generaal Aalden has encountered a more vigorous and much more advanced and cunning Grik force than we have ever seen. He was unprepared for this, as anyone would be, and his campaign is faced with stalemate.”
“Disaster, you mean!” someone shouted in Lemurian.
“Not disaster!” Adar retorted. “He has quickly—and I must say, masterfully—consolidated his continental force into what he calls a ‘satisfactory’ defensive posture. He needs sup
plies to maintain it, of course, and with the reverse suffered by First Fleet, those will be difficult to deliver for a time. We still hold all of Saa-lon, and should be able to keep it. The enemy has no means of delivering troops there at present except across the low-tide crossing, and it is well defended. Saa-lon will become our forward supply base for the Expeditionary Force. We will sustain it until it can be relieved!”
He stared hard at Herring. “And as long as I am chairman of the Grand Alliance, there will be no more talk of retreat, or relinquishing one single tail of territory we have conquered from the enemy! Most of you know there is no negotiation with the Grik, and with every backward step we take, the Grik will try to take two steps forward. We grow stronger each day, but so does the enemy. We must not—will not—abandon our gains. As the hu-maans put it, this war is for all the marbles, and always has been. If we retreat now, where will we stop? There will be no second Battle of Baalkpan!”
“How can we supply Gen-er-aal Aalden, or even Saa-lon? The fleet is destroyed!” blared a former Aryaalan noble, and Adar wondered again how the creature—and others like him with little interest beyond themselves—had been acclaimed as representative for anyone.
“The fleet is not destroyed!” Letts countered. “Sure, we got licked,” he admitted, “and we lost some ships. A good chunk of Commodore Ellis’s DDs were lost or damaged. But Jim’s alive and sorting things out at Andaman—still working with a busted jaw!” Letts looked hard at the Aryaalan. “Other than that, we came off pretty light, considering what they threw at us. Ironclads, zeppelins, suicider Grik! Damn!”
“What of Salissa and the Ahd-mi-raal?” Adar asked softly, still concerned for his younglinghood friend. “They also reached Andamaan?”
“Yes, sir. I got the word on the way here.” He paused. “Keje’s okay,” he said to the anxious faces. “Singed his fur a little, I hear. It was touch-and-go for Big Sal for a while, though. Most of her boilers were blown out by some kind of hit amidships, and she was burning bad. If those Grik battleships hadn’t been so focused on Madras, she’d be a goner. As it was, the rest of the fleet helped put out her fires, and she got a lot of her boilers relit. She averaged ten knots to Andaman, even with a hole in her guts near the waterline hangar. She won’t be carrying planes for a while,” he admitted. “Nearly her whole flight and hangar decks were gutted by the fire. If Keje hadn’t turned her downwind when he did, she probably would’ve burned to the waterline. Damn good damage control.”
“Will she have to come here for the dry dock?” Bernie asked.
“Hopefully not,” Alan replied.
“But what of the rest of the fleet?” the obstinate Aryaalan asked.
“Colonel Mallory tore up the zeps that were headed for it. Arracca didn’t get a scratch. One of those crazy suiciders got one of the new fleet oilers, but that was it. The rest of the fleet got out before those damn Grik battleships could cut ’em off. Captain Tikker and some other ‘Nancys’ were up and down; saw the whole thing. He said the battleships didn’t act like they much cared about anything but steaming into Madras and blasting hell out of everything.” Alan smiled. “Of course, our people were already out of there. Either on the ships or back at Alden’s perimeter.”
“So . . . if Alden’s backed up against the mountains, with no sea access, how are we gonna supply him?” Silva blurted uncomfortably.
“By air, mostly,” Adar said firmly, “any way we can. And there might still be sea access,” he added cryptically. “In the meantime, the ‘Clipper’ program will get whatever resources it needs to double—triple—production of long-range aircraft. Col-nol Maallory is on Saa-lon, and will coordinate the air supply—and air offensive! Generaal Aalden may be isolated, but we will continue killing Grik!”
There was stomping and cheering, but it was subdued. Adar blinked at Sister Audry. He’d discussed his next subject with her and Alan, as well as with Saan-Kakja, Ambassador Forester, and Courtney Bradford, over wireless. There was currently no communication with Walker and Captain Reddy; nothing since her announcement that she’d engaged the Japanese destroyer. Only a few people were aware of that, and he wasn’t going to bring it up now. He didn’t even want to think about what a disaster Walker’s loss could prove to be. Captain Reddy was too important to the Alliance, and Walker was disproportionately important to its people. He tapped the gong again lightly, then stood.
“We have faced desperate times before, but always we prevailed. I think we did so, in greater part, because of our unity. After a long succession of victories, we have been dealt a setback. Was this not to be expected? I hate the Grik more than anyone, but I have learned to . . . respect their capabilities like I never did before.” He nodded at Herring. “This is in large part due to the efforts of Commander Herring and his studies of the prisoners. With his . . . different focus, he has made discoveries that might have eluded even our eminent Courtney Braad-furd. He prepares other projects, other missions, to learn even more. These are things we need to do—should have been doing already—but our focus was narrower, of necessity. I believe, with his experience and training, he brings a greater grasp of the big picture, as Cap-i-taan Reddy would say, to the table than perhaps even Cap-i-taan Reddy has been able to do—despite his own long-ago recognition of the need.”
Incongruously, he blinked annoyance at Herring.
“Commander Herring has established himself as a valuable asset, and his Office of Straa-teegic Intelligence must be confirmed. But as much as he has learned on our behalf, he has much to learn about us. With respect, Mr. Herring, I propose that your perceptions are colored by your admittedly dreadful experiences. You were forced to surrender to the Jaaps and they treated you very badly—yet you survived. You must come to grips with the fact that there is no surrender to the Grik, and no possibility of survival if they are victorious. You consider the misery you suffered to be as bad as any being can inflict on another, but you must grasp the fact that the Grik are even worse than the Jaaps!” Adar paused while a long-ago vision flashed before his mind’s eye. “Much worse,” he whispered. He glared back at the man. “I will decide who requires relief and who gets relieved, Mr. Herring.”
There was murmuring over that, but the shouting was not renewed. Adar sighed and took a deep breath with his eyes closed. He opened them. “I was made high chief of Baalkpan by acclamation, then again chairman of our growing Alliance by the same process.” He blinked apology. “So, ultimately, it is I who have failed, not Gener-aal Aalden or Ahd-mi-raal Keje-Fris-Ar! I bear the greater responsibility.” He shook his head at the rising denial.
“It is true. Too long I have remained disassociated, content to allow others who know more of war than I to set the policy of the war, define its goals, select the stratagems. That must end—I must end it. I am to blame for the situation our family”—he bowed his head to Audry—“faces in Indiaa, because up until this moment, it is I who have neglected my duties. I put it to you now—representatives of all the Western Allies are here, at least—to reaffirm my acclamation or cast me out.”
He held up a hand to still the surprised roar that began. “But only bear this in mind,” he cautioned. “If I am sustained, there will be no more bickering, no jockeying for precedence among the various Homes. Those Homes will retain their identity as in the past, but they must follow the example of the Amer-i-caan clan; independent but a loyal part of the whole—dedicated to the whole. We will move forward as one people to defeat the twin scourges that threaten us in the west and the east, and I will be chairman in deed as well as name. I will decide the priorities of this war, with your able counsel, and I will make the final stra-tee-gic decisions!”
He paused in the near silence that followed his words. “Think carefully, my people, before you decide. What I ask has never been done, not here. And remember this condition: if I am sustained, it will be with a mandate to win the war—and it will last until the bitter end!”
“We cannot acclaim such a thing!” shouted the Sularan
representative. “We are too few!”
“I have communicated with Saan-Kakja of the Fil-pin Lands, and she pledges her support, as does the Governor-Empress of the New Britain Isles.”
“But that is different! They enjoy hereditary rights, much like the Queen of B’mbaado!”
“Who at this moment is fighting for her life—and yours—in Indiaa! Have you so little support from your people?”
“Have you such great support from yours?” the Sularan countered.
“We will see, I suppose,” Adar murmured. “They might cast me out. A sufficient number of the various representatives might do so as well—or your Home can always leave the union that I propose. But until that time, as long as I am chairman, I will pursue the war as I see fit, until absolute victory is achieved! If I fail, it will because I did something wrong. Not because I did nothing!”
CHAPTER 31
////// La Plaza Sagrada del Templo de los Papas
The Holy Dominion
April 3, 1944
The sultry night was utterly black and almost as utterly silent. Occasional steps echoed off the stone pavement of the plaza, accompanied by ghostly, hovering lamps that marked their course. Otherwise the vast expanse was virtually abandoned for once. It was a time for fasting and prayer throughout the Dominion, and there would be no boisterous crowds, shouting vendors, or garishly clad revelers celebrating ancient gods—now officially “servant saints” to the One God—for several days to come.
Kari-Faask had gathered that much, but it was difficult to summon any real interest. Perhaps she would be left in peace for a short time. Her spirit hadn’t shattered entirely, but it had been laid very low at last, and she couldn’t rouse herself to care about much of anything anymore. No one had pestered her the day that Fred and Don Hernan came to her, but she’d been so depressed by Fred’s attitude and transformation that she hardly noticed—and the torment resumed afresh the following day when a different festival commenced. She rarely snarled at the gawkers that gathered around her cage or poked at her with sticks that vendors had started selling for the purpose, and she stopped trying to keep herself fit on the meager slop they fed her. She’d grown too weak and lethargic to do much at all but lie in the vermin-infested, rotting straw within the iron-barred cube that no one bothered to clean anymore. The cage had become her whole world. In a few days, the plaza would fill again as yet another bloody festival began, and she almost hoped, at long last, they’d take her from the cage and drag her to the high top of the central, black-stained temple and end her misery. Even if she’d had the strength, she no longer had the will to resist. The spectacles she’d seen performed there filled her with horror—but the horror would be brief and then she would be free.
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