mean to tell me your General Alski-gator would just switch sides? That’s nuts.”
“The wise hunter joins the strongest pack,” Hij-Geerki wrote. “It is the same when we wage the war hunt among ourselves. It is true that no Ghaarrichk’k… no ‘Grik’… has ever joined other hunters against Grik before, but the Grik have always been the strongest pack.”
When Rolak read this last, his tail went rigid with indignation. “General Alden,” he said formally, “I respectfully insist that you must entertain no notion of any… alliance”-he spat the word-“with these vermin!”
“Cool your guns, Rolak,” he said. “I’m just picking my way through this. You’re the one who wanted to talk to ’em. I’m just talking.” He looked at Hij-Geerki. “You seem like a smart cookie… ah, Grik. What would you have done if Alski-gator was dead?”
“I would have made the same offer,” Hij-Geerki wrote in reply. “It was my idea. I am no general, no warrior. I am Hij, but just a… procurer of supplies. My general requires that I obey him, so obey him I must while he lives.”
“Holy smokes,” Pete whispered to Rolak, realization dawning. “Geeky’s a civilian! I didn’t even know they had civilians!”
“It would seem they do, after all. It makes sense. We know they must have females, though we’ve never seen one.”
“Yeah, but we’re starting to knock on their own door for a change. This might make a big difference when we move on Ceylon.” He turned back to Hij-Geerki. “What about the other Grik, the ones around the town, or port? By all reports, they seem like a whole other command. Weaker. Can he make them switch sides too?”
Hij-Geerki spoke with his general before replying. “Why? They are of no use except for fodder. They believed the Celestial Mother would not forsake them and remained overlong near the harbor where there was little food. We foraged and remained strong. Eventually, we came to feed on them with almost no resistance. Do you not now easily drive them like prey yourselves?”
Pete shuddered. He’d begun to suspect something like that. He could almost understand a rebel force, in this situation, separating itself from some Pollyanna leader who couldn’t read the writing on the wall, but to then prey on former comrades, to eat them like cattle! His skin crawled. The Grik were like Martians or something, totally unlike anything he could imagine, unworthy of existence. When he spoke again, his tone was wooden.
“We’ve heard your general’s terms. Here are mine. He and all his warriors will surrender at discretion, unconditionally, and take whatever I decide he has coming. That’s it.”
Hij-Geerki was practically wringing his hands. He could barely hold them still enough to write. The general spoke harshly to him and he made some sort of reply that didn’t seem to mollify his master. “He will not accept that!” he wrote. “He cannot accept that!”
“Sorry,” Pete snarled. “We don’t allow cannibals in my Marine Corps. We don’t even let ’em in the Army. Besides, if he changes sides once, he’ll do it again, and I don’t keep copperheads in my shirt pocket!”
Rolak looked at Pete. He knew what was about to happen, and knew it would happen fast. He agreed completely with the decision, but also feared losing an opportunity. “Hij-Geerki,” he said quickly, almost interrupting Pete’s last words, “you are not a warrior and you make no decisions here, correct?”
Geerki responded with a large, hasty “NO” on his tablet.
“You seem like a sensible creature that does not want to die, yes?”
“YES!”
“Then I suggest you lie down.”
Hij-Geerki flung himself to the ground just as Rolak drew his sword and slashed across the throat of one of the Grik guards in one continuous motion. General Arlskgter opened his terrible jaws in a shriek of fury and had his sword half out when Pete fired two shots with his. 45 that came so close together it was difficult to distinguish the reports. He still carried standard military ammo, and the empty shells dutifully ejected high and to the right amid the smallest wisp of brown smoke. Both 230-grain copper-jacketed slugs struck within two inches of each other, punching deeply recessed round holes in the general’s polished breastplate. At least one bullet must have severed the spine because General Arlskgter crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Both of the Marine guards had driven their long bayonets into the remaining Grik, and it squalled hideously as they twisted their triangular blades and jerked them free.
For just an instant the Grik horde seemed stunned. This whole activity had been beyond their experience from beginning to end, and a little confusion was understandable.
“Come along quickly now, Hij-Geerki,” Rolak said. “You will live, but you are mine, understand?”
Hij-Geerki croaked something unintelligible, but punctuated it with a definitive nod. Together, the four “delegates” and their new, possibly priceless acquisition, scampered back to the Marine lines, just as crossbow bolts began thrumming past. Each of the eight light guns of the 1st Marines fired double canister off the muzzle flash of the closest gun on the right, creating a rolling, booming thunder, punctuated by the shrill screech of projectiles and the horrible screams of the enemy.
“Well,” Tikker said, sighing theatrically to himself when he saw the gouts of smoke belch from the Marine line, “I knew it would never last.” He shifted his face so he could speak more directly into the voice tube. “‘A’ flight to form on us,” he instructed. “Send ‘Apparent failure of “diplomatic” effort. Will proceed with final instructions to “kill them all,” unless ordered otherwise. Inform Commodore Ellis we are only a little over half fuel level any way.’ ”
“Roger,” Cisco replied, again reminding Tikker that someday, he’d have to ask why they said that. It was a name, wasn’t it? There was a Mahan destroyerman in Ordnance named “Roger.” Maybe he would know? He banked a little left and pulled back on the stick until his compass indicated north. He’d gain a little altitude, then roll out on a reverse course and align his attack on a north-south orientation. He didn’t want to risk hitting any Marines, and he’d still have to be careful not to release too late, or he might drop an egg on the force moving past the target to the south. He glanced around, confirming that the flight was with him-including a stray he’d picked up from “B” flight. He shrugged. There was too much comm traffic as it was, with everybody stepping all over one another. He’d let the pilot’s flight leader deal with it later.
Judging that his distance was just about right, he banked hard left and gave it some rudder until his nose started to drop, then he leveled out and pushed the stick forward. Ben Mallory had passed on what he knew of dive-bombing attacks and the information was good, but Nancys were a little different. With their very high wing and considerable engine and radiator drag, one had to be careful with the rudder so as not to release one’s bombs into one’s own plane. Steadying up, he concentrated on the target below. For once, he didn’t check behind him to make sure everyone else had executed the maneuver properly. He was going in hot, and there was nothing he could do about it. Either they had or they hadn’t.
The dingy sailcloth tents and rude makeshift shelters grew rapidly in size. The Grik were running in all directions: toward the Marines, away from them, and into the surrounding jungle. Smoke still drifted downwind from the Marine line, and it even seemed as if some of the enemy were trying to hide in it-from him! That was it. The air attack was panicking them! Whether it started the panic or not was unclear, but it was definitely making it worse. A large jumble of Grik gathered near the center of the camp, either for protection or for orders from some leader. Tikker aimed for that.
Their altimeters were always slow, but they were taught to compensate. Judging his altitude, he pulled back on the stick, counted “one, two, three” to adjust for the relatively low angle of attack, and yanked back on the lever attached to two cables that in turn pulled the pins that held the bombs secured to the hardpoints under the wings. It was a ridiculously simple release. Bernie Sandison had actually been a little ashamed of its lack of ingenuity, but it worked every time they tested it, and it worked again now. The Nancy literally leaped upward when the bombs fell away, and Tikker continued climbing, bleeding off the airspeed he’d gained in the dive. Finally, he banked left again and turned to see the show.
His bombs had already gone off, unheard and unfelt. Smoke and debris filled the air around his target and pieces of bodies were beginning to fall back to earth. As he watched, the next plane in line performed an almost identical attack, and this time he witnessed the impressive effects of the fifty-pounders going off. They weren’t in the same league with Amagi ’s ten-inch guns, but they appeared at least equal to Walker ’s four-inchers. They were far more destructive than the little mortar bombs. He whooped with glee when two plumes of smoke and earth rocketed into the sky a third time, and a fourth. So far, the pilots were being careful not to drop on the exact spot he had. They were trying to saturate the clearing with the heavy explosions and lethal, whizzing fragments of crude
