“What is happening?” Bekiaa shouted from above.
“There’s some big beastie down here, Lieutenant!” Chapelle replied. “You stay right where you are!”
The creature described a long, leisurely arc, settling on a heading that would bring it back to the barge. It didn’t accelerate or anything, so maybe it was just curious. Of course, they could see only a small fraction of its mass and they already knew it was big enough to overturn the barge. Its curiosity might kill them. ’Cats on the other barges had clustered near the middle, clinging to the heavy machinery, tool crates, and supplies. The few Marines who’d remained behind aimed muskets at the thing as it approached. It slowed.
“Ugly devil,” Laney said.
The head was fairly clear now and it didn’t look like a croc. It was huge, about four feet wide and maybe seven feet long, but it was broader and more rounded and there were no grotesque, interlocking teeth. The eyes, while mounted like a croc’s, were even larger in proportion to its body and possessed an almost mesmerizing, alluring quality. If Courtney Bradford had been there, he would have been fascinated, but he also would have told them that the shape of the head was cause for greater concern than any crocodile.
“I think he’s kinda cute,” Mallory said.
With an erupting spray of water, something pink, shiny, and rather bulbous darted from the creature’s suddenly gaping mouth and slammed into Sammy, knocking him back against the hot, exposed boiler. Just as quickly, the ’Cat was jerked toward the bulwark. He hadn’t even had a chance to cry out. For an instant, everyone was too stunned to react-everyone but Moe. The powerful old Lemurian dropped his crossbow and clamped onto Sammy’s legs. The blur of motion slowed just enough for the others to see what was happening. Sammy was still sliding toward the open mouth, with Moe along for the ride, but now realization had dawned.
“Shoot it!” Russ yelled. Seven rifles cracked almost together and Ben’s pistol barked quickly, filling the sudden silence while the others worked their bolts. Muskets roared from the other barges and heavy lead balls slapped into the monster’s body while the riflemen fired another volley into the thing’s head. Both its eyes were reduced to spattered, gelatinous orbs, and white bone glared around a ragged, bloody gash between them. It started to convulse.
“Grab Moe!” Russ shouted, and Isak and Gilbert dove on the ’Cat. The creature in the water jerked backward and began to flop and roll. Sammy shrieked in agony as the massive “tongue” was torn away, leaving his entire arm and shoulder naked of fur. The terrible beast continued to flail with wild, mindless abandon, sometimes lunging almost entirely out of the water and drenching the barges when it splashed back down. Once, its whipping tail nearly swept the Marines in the second barge over the side, but eventually the convulsions ebbed. Finally, the mighty lake monster floated still, the brackish water around it turning black with blood under the afternoon overcast.
Bekiaa’s corpsman had crossed from the adjacent barge and was tending Sammy’s wound. A lot of skin had come off with the fur.
“You okay, Moe?” Gilbert asked.
“Swell,” the nearly toothless ’Cat replied, using the term he’d heard Silva use so often. It sounded strange coming from him.
“Well, you done good,” Gilbert said. “You know, I bet that was the booger that got Chack’s Marine in the aft hold of the ship! Chackie said he was there one second, standin’ on some ammo crates to stay outta the water and then”-he snapped his fingers-“pop! He was gone.”
“Stands to reason,” Chapelle replied. “If it wasn’t the same one, it was probably something like it. That thing was damn big, though. I hate to think there’s a hole in the ship big enough for it to come and go.”
“Maybe it growed some since then,” Isak said hopefully.
“There not be many monsters like that, big as that, ’round here,” Moe said judiciously. “Be like too many super lizards in one place. I bet they no agree so well. We git off boats quick now, though. Bloody water, big food, other things come soon, I bet too.”
CHAPTER 11
Rangoon
T he plan had seemed so simple, so clear, in Dowden ’s great cabin riding at anchor in Port Blair. Now, in the vast, thick, reeking darkness of the misplaced river the Amer-i-caans still called the “Ayarwady,” nothing whatsoever was clear. There was no moon to speak of, and what little there was, was heavily smothered by an oppressive, visible humidity, almost a fog. As reported and expected, there were no channel markers of any kind and leadsmen in Dowden ’s bows constantly tossed their lead as the steamer crept slowly upstream against the moderate current. Dowden made just enough steam to keep steerageway and continue her advance with her heavy burden of troops and the long train of troop-packed barges behind her. If she’d been a coal burner or a side- wheeler, this would never have worked. Telltale sparks from her funnel or the noisy, churning white water alongside would have betrayed her to anyone watching from shore. As it was, commands were kept to a minimum and muted, and even her engine had been muffled with blankets, wrapped around what was accessible and otherwise hung as baffles in the engineering space. Nakja-Mur was under the same discipline, with much the same burden. USS Haakar Faask , another new steamer that had arrived a few weeks earlier, had the newest, most powerful engine, and behind her trailed Donaghey with her sails all furled, as well as her own allotment of nearly two dozen barges filled with troops, field artillery, and a short company of the 3rd Maa-ni-la Cavalry with their silently purposeful “me-naak” mounts. The paalka teams to pull the guns were kept inconveniently muzzled and stowed belowdecks on the frigates to prevent them from causing alarm with their shrill cries.
General Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado and representative to the Allied Assembly, was immaculately groomed for battle, as always. In fact, she was practically invisible on Dowden ’s quarterdeck in her black cape with her almost blue-black fur. She wore a silver-washed helmet, though, that complemented her form- fitted, matching breastplate, and that was how Lord General Rolak picked her out of the gloom and the milling throng of nervous, excited, whispering warriors.
“This creeping around in the dark always makes me uneasy,” he confessed quietly, joining her by the rail.
Safir grumbled a chuckle. “An admission I never expected from you, O valiant opponent.”
Rolak chuckled back. “I will never be your ‘opponent’ again,” he said. Then his voice turned serious. “You are the daughter I always wanted of my one mate who passed into the Heavens too soon.”
Safir touched his scarred, furry arm. “And you have become as my father, as the noble Haakar-Faask did before you.” She paused. “Do not make me mourn you today as I still mourn him-and my true sire.”
Rolak grinned in the darkness. “Fear not. I am already too old to die properly, bravely, on an honorable field against respected foes. That time is gone.” His tail drooped. “There is no honor in this war, as I have said many times. It is not fun.”
“It is not fun,” Safir agreed, “but there is honor.” She huffed. “You know that. The honor comes with the cause, a cause far greater than any we had before: the very survival and freedom of our people-even if it is just the freedom to choose ‘fun’ wars!”
They both chuckled then. They knew that few of their allies would understand. They also knew that for them to succeed, for the Alliance to endure, “fun” wars were over forever. Things could never be as they’d been before, with Aryaal and B’mbaado remaining apart from others of their kind. Any wars of the future would always be like this: desperate wars of last resort.
“But why are you uneasy?” Safir asked at last. She gestured at the southwest bank of the river. There had been lights there, obscured in the riverside wood of unfamiliar trees ever since they’d entered the river mouth. Most were probably lingering cook-fires, left unattended by sleeping Grik. A few rough structures eyed the river with lights from within, but there was no sign that the stealthy squadron had been detected. They’d seen only two Grik ships moored near the once impressive harbor facilities they’d passed, and one appeared half-sunk. The garrison here had clearly been abandoned, and the Hij in charge understood that the remaining ship represented suicide, not escape.
“Oh… you know. These night antics of the Amer-i-caans still disturb me,” he admitted. “Just on the off chance that this battered old sack of bones was to manage a noble deed, or even die an honorable death… I’d like
