they listened for a moment as a furious cannonade abruptly erupted several miles to the north, the booming echoing back at them from the ships offshore.
“Ah,” she said with a predatory grin. “There had been no report, and it never occurred to me that the Sularans might make landfall exactly where they were supposed to! Perhaps, with practice, things grow less confused at last?”
Pete rubbed his neck with relief. Safir was right. After some recent… catastrophes, he always assumed their landings would be botched. But after Alan Letts’s visit, things had improved dramatically, and maybe practice did make perfect. Well, “perfect” was relative, of course…
“Okay.” He gestured around. “But we’ve still got to get this mess squared away, and Rolak should have been here to do it.” Another wave of barges loaded with Surgeon Commander Kathy McCoy’s medical division and hospital corps was hitting the beach, threatening to stack things up even more. Pete growled in frustration and held his watch to one of the lamps. “Third Division is attacking from the north right now. That’ll draw the enemy. In less than an hour, we need to be hitting Madras hard from the south, so let’s get these other guns on the move while we still can. General Maraan, Madras is your nut, so see if you can push things along up the beach. That attack has to go in before the Grik have a chance to get their shit in the sock.”
“And you, General Aalden?” Safir asked.
“I’ll stay here until we round up General Rolak; then I’ll join you. If we can take the city and the crossroads before the end of the day, they’ll never push us out.” Pete looked at Keje. “Sir, I know your bombardment element is already in place, but we have to have that combat air patrol up with the sun, in case our lizardy friends start poking around with zeps to see what the hell we’re up to. I’d also love to know if there’s anything unexpected heading our way on the ground.”
“Of course, General Aalden,” Keje rumbled. “I shall take your hint and return to Salissa.” He nodded at Safir. “May the Maker of all things be with you all.”
CHAPTER 4
Ghaarrichk’k Madurai
Provisional capital of Grik India after the loss of Ceylon
N’galsh, Vice Regent of India and Ceylon, was almost keening with woe in the Speaking Chamber of the ancient temple. He was one of the few beings who knew that the odd stone structure festooned with the curious weathered remnants of unknown creatures carved on nearly every exposed surface actually predated the Grik conquest, which had occurred perhaps five hundred years before, but he cared nothing about that now. General Halik had been intrigued by the structure when he first arrived, and General Niwa assumed a troubled expression. But Halik’s interest had quickly turned to the subject at hand, and now he glared at N’galsh with a loathing he could no longer conceal. He’d had just about enough of the officious, elitist, fear-crazed creature, and wondered that N’galsh had not already turned prey despite his Hij status. It had been a rough day for them all. Why could N’galsh not contain himself?
“They are coming, probably with the dawn!” N’galsh cried. “The world burns. It heaves! They will cross the Ceylon Tongue, and if you do not send more warriors, they will soon have all India as well! You must bring your warriors forward!”
“Silence!” General Halik finally snarled. “You lost any entitlement to make demands of me that your exalted station may once have afforded you, N’galsh, when you abandoned Colombo while the Battle of the Highlands was at its peak! It is you who cost us Ceylon, and you attend me now only at my sufferance!”
N’galsh’s mouth snapped shut with a stunned, toothy clack, but he was clearly preparing to open it again when General Orochi Niwa of the Jaaph Hunters, Halik’s implicit co-commander, stepped beside him.
“Consider before you speak, Lord Vice Regent N’galsh,” he warned. “This war was never meant to be decided in India. The enemy was supposed to extend his lines to the breaking point before we struck in earnest. Now, largely because of you, India increasingly becomes the focus of both sides-and our lines of supply are even more tenuous than those of our foes. Regardless of whether General Halik is right or not, the Celestial Mother herself appointed him to command here, and in martial matters even you must no longer interfere.” He shrugged slightly. “The only matters remaining in India now are military and within the province of the Great Hunt. Right now, he may feed you to his lowliest Uul, if he likes.”
N’galsh shrank back from the strange creature who so rarely spoke to or around him.
Niwa turned to Halik. “Anything more you send into that… grinder of meat will be wasted, General. Too many are already being wasted there, and our reserves are not what they were. I know you sent word that we could hold this land if General Esshk would send us the… more mature of his ‘Chosen Warrior’ hatchlings, and I even agree, but we must meet the enemy on ground of our choosing to gain the time for them to arrive.”
Despite himself, N’galsh hissed. Until recently, the chosen hatchlings Niwa referred to were selected by the Chooser, or members of his order, to be eaten at birth. The world as he knew it had gone insane.
“ If he sends them,” Halik growled, glancing darkly at N’galsh.
“If, indeed. Nonetheless, this can be our kind of fight.”
Halik nodded, still staring at N’galsh with contempt. “Yes, it can, and you are right. We will send no more warriors into the fight for the Tongue. The enemy will cross and he will be blooded by the Uul that survive there- those not already made prey.” He took a long breath. “Perhaps it might be different with the chosen warriors, as it is said. Perhaps they can defend. But they are not here now, and we will make this fight for India in the old way, even if just for one final time. But this time, we will strike when we choose.”
A mud-spattered First of One Hundred suddenly dashed into the chamber and sprawled on the stone floor amid a clatter of equipment. In Halik’s army, such creatures were not necessarily elevated to the exalted rank of Hij, but they were no longer just Uul either. Halik had been such a creature himself and understood the potential of older, experienced Uul. In a sense, they were Hij-in all but education-and they could think.
“Speak!” Halik commanded. Still groveling, the creature hissed without looking upon him.
“The prey comes!” it said.
“So soon,” Niwa mused. “I had expected a dawn attack, although that is not long now.”
“As had I,” Halik admitted. He considered how to get the most information out of the underofficer. “Do they come in force? Are there many of them on the Tongue?”
“Not the Tongue, Lord General!” the creature whined. “I runned here, long way. Others runned long way first! I told to repeat, ‘The prey is ashore in strength at Madras!”
Niwa straightened, and Halik stood from his lounging hassock. “Madras!” they chorused, and looked at each other, both their faces hardening in their own way.
“They have done it to us again!” Halik breathed bitterly.
“Yes,” Niwa said, thoughtful, even with a touch of admiration, “but where they have landed changes nothing. True, we must deploy to react, even launch spoiling attacks to keep them off balance, but the bulk of our army must remain concentrated! We can still choose our ground!”
“Yes,” Halik replied, looking at the great map on the broad table. “But first we must see where they turn, how they face.” He stared hard at Madras on the map. “Not this time, my clever foe!” he softly swore. “We are learning, you see. This time, you have leaped upon the back of the radaachk’kar, and it will snatch you off. This time I will have you!”
Madras Crossroads
The sun was above the horizon now, and Colonel Billy Flynn’s Rangers remained crouched behind what cover they could find. The ground in front of their position heaved with mewling, wounded Grik, and feathery reptilian corpses lay sprawled before and among the bloody, exhausted troops. The Rangers and 1st of the 2nd Marines had reached their objective after floundering in the dense, almost junglelike forest for unanticipated hours before they finally cut the road that led them here. Only the most meager protective breastworks had been thrown up before the first sizable Grik force arrived and charged headlong in their singular, terrifying way to slaughter them. As usual, there’d been little organization to the attack, just a pell-mell, roaring sprint up the south fork of the road. But the blow fell with such sudden ferocity, Flynn nearly lost his tenuous grip on the strategic choke point. That initial attack was finally crushed only by concentrated volleys of loose-fitting “buck and ball” from the muzzle-loading Baalkpan
