“I beg to differ,” McClain said.
“We have perhaps two weeks,” Jenks said. He pointed at the map with his sword. “The Doms may even now have an army poised to strike from the south, but the land bordering the Sea of Bones is a terrible place; a sparse, rocky desert inhabited by unimaginable horrors. Oddly, the lands on either side are just as fertile as it is desolate, but therefore teeming with vast numbers of large, terrifying beasts.” He shook his head. “Any force attempting such a march would likely lose half its number before the first shot was fired. I predict the assault will come from the sea, as it did here, and it’s on the sea we must meet it.”
“The fastest ships, the frigates, might get there in time,” Gerald observed. “Ships of the line are too slow.” He paused. “And they will evidently already be employed elsewhere. The questions are, do we have enough to send, and will they have the weight of metal required when they get there?”
“I mean to take Walker,” Matt announced. “We might even beat the dispatch sloop you sent. With Commodore Jenks along to talk to the locals, sound the alarm, rouse the colonial defenses, we can at least have them ready for what’s coming.” He looked measuringly at Lord High Admiral McClain. “That’ll leave you to command, or choose somebody to command, the biggest force of fast steamers you can wrangle together, including my ships here. They have to sail immediately, and for God’s sake, don’t forget my oilers!”
CHAPTER 4
Maa-ni-la Fil-pin Lands
“For the last time, I’m tellin’ you to take it back!” Dennis Silva practically roared. The raggedly clad, one- eyed, sun-bronzed giant loomed menacingly over a much shorter, but entirely unintimidated (brevet) Colonel Tamatsu Shinya. Shinya no longer wore his ruined Japanese Imperial Navy uniform, having traded it for the blue kilt, white leather armor, sandals, and bronze greaves of the Lemurian-Amer-i-caan Marines. The only real difference between his appearance and that of many others on the broad “parade ground” on what should have been the Bataan Peninsula, was that he still wore his old, Imperial Navy hat, and he had no fur-or tail. He also had the vertical red stripes of an officer on his kilt instead of horizontal NCO stripes around the bottom above the hem.
“And for the last time I’m telling you, Mr. Silva, that I will not… unless you force me to prefer charges of insubordination!”
“Then do it! I ain’t never seen me this insubordinate before!” Silva ranted.
“What on earth is going on here?” demanded Sandra Tucker, arriving with a small escort including the Grik- like, “ex”-Tagranesi, Lawrence, Captain Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan, Lieutenant Irvin Laumer, and a small group of “graduated” Marines. Sandra had recovered considerably from her recent ordeal, as had the others, and her once- red, peeling skin was turning a dark tan. Her normally sandy brown hair still looked almost bleached blond, however. Irvin was much the same, but he’d cut his hair very short and shaved his beard. Lelaa and Lawrence looked the same as always, but they’d physically recovered from their adventure. All except Sandra (and Silva) used the brief pause in the argument to exchange salutes, even Lawrence. Trading salutes with the strange, furry/reptilian creature still seemed ridiculously odd.
Silva and Shinya were silenced by Sandra’s appearance, and she took a moment to gaze at the adjacent parade ground portion of the Advanced Training Center (ATC) established here, away from the city, where troops could perform large-scale maneuvers, as well as small-arms, artillery, and mortar practice without disturbing or hazarding the Maa-ni-la inhabitants. It was actually quite a scenic spot. The Maara-vella mountains loomed over the closest thing to a coastal plain she’d seen since Aryaal and Baali. Herds of paalkas grazed the grassy, rolling foothills in the distance, inured to the thousands of troops and their noisy weapons. Maa-ni-la Bay stretched broad and peaceful to the south beneath a warm, clea sky. The island fortress of Corregidor was a fortress here as well, even more imposing due to the lower sea level. The small, almost-quaint town of “Maara-vella” was the only settlement on the peninsula, and it often shook with the thunder of live-fire exercises and mock battles, but the town had no cause for complaint. It had more or less evolved to support the training facility, as well as the harbor defenses. Sandra liked it. Baalkpan was too enclosed by the surrounding jungle; she preferred open spaces. She always felt lighter of heart when she visited there.
Belatedly, she noticed the staring Lemurian faces; Marine officers and Maa-ni-los in their black and gold kilts. “Silva,” she said with a sigh, “what have you done now?”
“I ain’t done nothin ’ this time-honest! It’s what this damn, jumped-up Jap’s tryin’ to do to me!” he almost whined.
“Mr. Silva!” Shinya warned, his tone angry.
Somewhat shocked, Sandra realized she believed Dennis. He’d done many… questionable things during their acquaintance, but he’d never really lied about it. She honestly doubted he’d ever lie to her . After some of the stunts he’d pulled-and told her about-she couldn’t imagine why he would. Few imagined atrocities could compare to his very real, common-knowledge deeds. She looked at Shinya. “What have you done to him?”
It was Shinya’s turn to project a defensive expression. Sandra Tucker was a tiny thing, but her authority, moral and official, had few limits. Not only was she Minister of Medicine for the entire Alliance, and few veteran soldiers hadn’t been treated or saved by her hands, or those she taught at one time or another, but she enjoyed the profound friendship of Saan-Kakja, High Chief of all the Fil-pin Lands. In addition, she had-and deserved-the daughterlike worship of Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald; only heir to the Empire of the New Britain Isles. She was also, incidentally and famously, the fiancee of Captain Matthew Reddy.
“Against my better judgment,” Shinya explained, sourly, “I informed this ridiculous oaf he’s out of uniform- still-and someone about to be decorated and promoted should set an example.”
“See?” Silva demanded. “He said it again! ‘Promoted’!”
“What’s the matter with that?” Lelaa asked, blinking confusion.
“What’s the matter with that?” Silva mocked. “He’s tryin’ to make me a officer! A-a loo-tenant!” He smoldered. “I can’t be a officer! Hell, I might as well drown myself.”
Lieutenant Laumer’s face reddened. “And what’s wrong with being an officer?” he asked darkly. He was also to be promoted to full lieutenant from a jg, a move he much appreciated. In his defense, he really didn’t know Silva well at all.
“Well… nothin’-for a officer,” Dennis tried to explain. “They squirt up the ladder all the time. They start out officers-born to it, you might say, with no offense meant-and that’s what they do. But I ain’t a officer; never have been, and never wanna be. I don’t know how ! I swear, I’ll screw it up so fast, it’ll make your heads spin smooth off!”
Sandra nodded. “I think I get it,” she said. “Mr. Silva, you must apologize to Colonel Shinya this instant! I don’t believe he’s the one who… inflicted this honor upon you; the confirmation came from Acting Chief of Staff Steve Riggs. I guess he thought your recent.. . accomplishments desrved recognition and reward. I doubt he expected you to react so negatively, though. Spanky’s a ‘mustang,’ after all. So is Mr. Chapelle now, as well as Campeti. It’s not as if you’d be a freak.”
“Yeah, but… Spanky’s a different sort!” Dennis insisted. “An’ he ‘jumped up’ before the war. Ask the Bosun how he’d feel to get bars pinned on! You think he’d consider it a promotion?” He shook his head. “With gobs of respect, I’m good at killin’ things and blowin’ stuff up. If I was a officer, they’d wind up puttin’ me in charge of somethin’ I got no more business bein’ in charge of than a fried chicken’s ass!” He blinked. “Um, ’scuse me, ma’am… but it’s a fact!” Silva’s expression changed; it became dark-and something else. He looked hard at Sandra. “Miss… Minister, Lieutenant… whatever you want me to call you, you know me. You know what… I’ve done… an’ what I’d do again in the same situations. Give me a squad of Marines; a handful o’ mugs with guns, and that’s fine. Make me chief over a division; I can handle that.” He paused, then continued quietly. “But don’t ever put me in charge of more fellas than I can ever get to know before I wind up gettin’ ’em killed.”
It hit Sandra then. The mighty, monolithic, irrepressible-arguably psychotic and inarguably depraved-Dennis Silva was afraid. He feared no man or beast on this entire messed-up world, but he did fear himself and his own shortcomings. He’d become an incredibly valuable and resourceful man, but not because he was necessarily “good.” A number of times in fact, as he’d alluded, he’d done some very bad things no “proper” officer could have condoned, much less done, but they’d been the right thing to do, regardless. More than once, he’d saved Sandra’s life, and Rebecca’s and Lelaa’s, and no telling how many others-maybe the whole Alliance-by naturally and ruthlessly doing
