Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen (49 page)

“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

T
he 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.

“Kari!” came an urgent, imaginary whisper from the gloom. “Kari!” the voice repeated, and she stirred.
It can’t be,
she thought.
I am going mad. That sounded like . . . Fred . . . but that is impossible. He has already gone insane, absorbed by the evil of this terrible land. Tortured into accepting the vile faith of our captors, he has entered the service of the demon Don Hernan himself!
The shock and betrayal she felt that one time he visited her had torn her soul. Fred Reynolds had become her closest friend—and he had thrown her away.

“Kari, damn it! We don’t have much time! Wake up! Snap out of it! We have to get out of here!” The lock clattered like a bell against the iron hasp.

“It is open, Lieutenant,” came another oddly familiar voice, “but I don’t know if we can get her out if she does not aid us. Perhaps she is too far gone, after all.”

“No!” the first voice insisted. It
was
Fred! Kari struggled to rise from the filth.

“Are you really here?” she croaked. “Is it really you? Who”—she coughed—“who is that with you?”

“We have met before, ah, Ensign Kari-Faask,” a man replied. “I told you once that you have friends, and you do. So does Mr. Reynolds. It has taken much longer to arrange this escape than we had hoped, but the time has come—and we
must
hurry!”

“Escape?” Kari asked, amazed.

“Yeah. C’mon, Kari. We gotta go! There’re horses waiting outside the wall that borders the plaza.”

“Horses?”

“Yeah, ah, like paalkas—sorta. They had ’em in the Empire. Remember?”

Kari started moving toward the cage door, but paused. “You were converted! Turned! You became the tool of Don Hernan!”

A black, strangely haunted chuckle sounded in the gloom. “Yeah, that’s what that sick bastard thought. I ought to be an actor! Won’t he be surprised? Listen, honey. I’ll tell you all about it later, but we have to blow this joint!”

Honey?

Suddenly, Kari could no longer resist. Nothing made sense, but Fred was here. He would sort everything out. She collapsed.

“Damn.” She heard the strange, familiar voice again as she slipped toward the darkness. “She’s passed out. We’ll have to carry her.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Fred said bitterly. “
Look
at her! Those
bastards
!”

“You are weak yourself,” observed the voice. “Can you manage?”

“I’ll carry her on my head, if I have to,” Fred swore, “but just who are these folks that are waiting for us?”

“Never fear,” the voice replied cryptically. “They will never harm her.
You,
they might kill, but never
her
.”

Kari heard nothing more as her thoughts swirled away.

Baalkpan
April 3, 1944

The Saanga River Ferry north of Baalkpan was one of the most advanced outposts of civilization short of the very first Allied oil fields farther upriver. It was relatively new, and used primarily to transport hunters, workers, and light cargo upstream or across the river to the wild and still vaguely explored frontier. It was
on
the frontier in many respects, and was the only work of Lemurians or men visible on the landing hacked from the dense jungle around it. A broad, well-patrolled avenue connected it to the curing yards, processing plants, and other industries that supported the city and expanding shipyard, but those were several miles distant, and the illusion of utmost isolation prevailed.

The landing was unusually crowded today, however, as the Corps of Discovery and Diplomacy—or, as Silva irreverently called it, the Codd— prepared to set out at last. Lemurians heaved crates of supplies to the ferry from carts drawn by paalkas that squeaked nervously at the unfamiliar smells the foreign beasts didn’t know. Lawrence directed his fellow Sa’aarans—and the few “tame” Grik attached to his contingent. The Sa’aarans would serve as scouts and pickets and were combat loaded and dressed in their camouflage battle dress. The half-dozen Grik would be unarmed porters. They seemed slavishly devoted to their new masters, but they were still Grik. It was impossible to be comfortable around them, and they had sufficient natural weapons to defend themselves. Their presence on the trip was an experiment and even they seemed to realize they had something to prove. In any event, for now, everyone worked together to get the expedition underway.

“For the record,” Dennis Silva muttered to Ensign Abel Cook, as he threw a crate of ammunition for his massive new cartridge-converted Doom Stomper on his shoulder, “I think we should’ve called off this jaunt, at least for now.”

Cook looked at him. “Chairman Adar remains insistent. And besides . . . why?”

Dennis shrugged, and the crate on his shoulder rustled metallically. “’Cause you can’t go without me, and with the mess in the west, a fella of my . . . powers . . . why, such as me, oughta be there, savin’ General Aalden’s ass.”

Cook chuckled. “I thought you said you were out of the battle-winning business and would now allow others a share of fame. Besides,
Walker
will be here soon for her refit, and you should be back in time to join her when it’s complete. That was the plan, as I remember.”

Silva frowned. “Yeah, but who knows if that’s
still
the plan. Plans are highly overrated, if you ask me. Besides”—he lowered his voice—“why’s ever’body so mum about
Walker,
anyway? The scuttlebutt is she got into it with that
Hoodoo-y-yamy
an’ popped her bubble. Couldn’t report it herself ’cause she took some hits and lost her comm gear, but a Fil-pin DD met up with her an’ passed the word she was headin’ in to Manilly with some new holes—an’ some wounded.”

Cook shook his head. “That’s more than I have heard,” he said with a trace of concern, “and I have learned to respect this scuttlebutt phenomenon.”

Silva nodded seriously, then stiffened, looking down the road to Baalkpan. Another cart was approaching in the distance. But closer, a tall form was walking toward them. “Why, if it ain’t Gunny Horn!” he hooted as the black-bearded China Marine approached.

Horn grinned strangely as he neared, backpack and weapons slung, apparently effortlessly, over his still somewhat skinny shoulder. He’d clearly piled a lot of weight back on, but he had a way to go to match Silva’s powerful form.

“Been looking for you, you diabolical squid,” Horn said menacingly.

“An’ I been here, easy to find,” Silva challenged. Lawrence and Brassey had joined Silva, and Lawrence bristled at the hint of hostility.
Who is this man?
Ensign Cook was also alarmed. He was already nervous, as the expedition’s titular leader, and they hadn’t even started out yet. Now it looked like his two biggest men were about to have at each other.

Horn stopped in front of Dennis and laid his burden on the ground. “Not as easy to find as you should have been.”

Silva shrugged. “Hey, I’m a busy man! Mr. Sandison’s had me jumpin’ up and down an’ flappin’ my arms over in Ordnance, and Mr. Letts has had me figgerin’ up ever’thing we might ever need to pull this stunt. Then, once in a while, Mr. Cook needs me for somethin!”

Noticing Cook for the first time, Horn saluted the boy. “Good morning, sir!”

“Good morning, ah, Gunnery Sergeant Horn,” Cook replied.

Silva snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you two already met.” He looked at the old Lemurian sergeant Moe, who’d also stepped closer. “Been trompin’ around out in the brush, learnin’ the primordial ropes of the neighborhood. Hey! See any super lizards?”

Moe shook his head. “No super lizards,” he said. “We kill some rhino pigs, though.”

“Hmm. So Gunny Horn here really don’t know what he’s getting himself into then,” Silva said. He looked at the man. “Maybe you oughta stay here, learn how to be a Marine on this world and kill Griks. You could take up knittin’ or croquet.”

“In honest,
you
don’t know what you get in to, Si’va,” Moe quipped, then shrugged. “Me neither.
I
rather stay here.”

“I’ve been cooped up in one place too long,” Horn grumbled. “I’d like to stretch my legs. From what I hear, there’ll be plenty of Grik to kill when we get back.”

There was still a palpable tension between the two men. Finally, Silva revealed his gap-tooth grin. “Well? You still got it, Gunny?”

Horn grinned back and fished his dog tags from around his neck. “Japs would’ve taken it if I had it in a suitable, jewel-encrusted gold setting.” The tags slid down the chain, and Horn displayed a human tooth.

“Ha!” Silva barked.

“Is that . . . yours?” Cook asked, amazed.

“Yep. Gunny Horn . . . extracted it for me one night in Shanghai!”

“Saved your useless life!”

“I misremember the details,” Silva grudged. “Last time I ever went ashore with Dean Laney, though, I’ll tell you that!”

“Laney,” Horn spat. “Of all the
really
useless bastards to show up here—”

“So . . . you two are
friends
?” Cook ventured hesitantly, wondering what on earth had required Horn to—apparently—knock Silva’s tooth out to (evidently) save his life.

“Hell no!” Dennis said, indignant. “He’s a Marine!” He looked seriously at Horn. “But I won’t never worry about my back in a fight with him around.” He reached over and ruffled Lawrence’s crest.

“Sto’ that!” Lawrence yelped.

“’Specially with ol’ Larry along,” he placated his Grik-like friend. “Won’t be much for me to do but see the sights, er”—he laughed at Horn’s expression—“what was it? Chase butterflies!”

“Chasing butterflies is against the rules.” Horn grinned back.

“Except along Soochow Creek,” Silva agreed, mock serious, and both men exploded in laughter.

Utterly mystified, and wondering if he ever would—or wanted to—hear the tale Silva and Horn shared, Cook glanced at the cart that should be bringing the last of their supplies. “Oh no!” he breathed when he saw the cart’s lone passenger hop down. Nurse Lieutenant Pam Cross wore a light, linenlike smock and trousers of the nearly universal tie-dyed camouflage adopted from the Sa’aarans. She reached up and grabbed a medical pack and a Blitzer Bug submachine gun off the cart and carried them over to the suddenly speechless group.

“What’re you dopes gawkin’ at?” she demanded.

“Why . . . you, I s’pose,” Silva said evenly. “Just weren’t expectin’ you to show up here, all dressed up like you thought you was goin’ with us.”

“This outfit needs a doc,” Pam said simply, defiantly. “I’m it.” She handed Cook a sheet of rough paper. “Adar’s orders.”

“Bullshit,” Silva said more harshly. “We’re headed off to make contact with them Injun jungle lizards—which might be hostile as hell—through some of the scariest country we know of on this screwed-up world! This ain’t no trip fer—”

“For what?” Pam demanded. She gestured at some of the female Lemurian troops loading gear on the ferry. “For dames? I don’t think you can really stand there an’ say that, you big jerk. The dame famine’s over.”