and generally “lead” the expedition.
Ordinarily, Toryu believed he’d have killed Bashg and as many Uul as he could as soon as they arrived. He and his friends had discussed that very thing: kill their captors and flee to the mercy of the “others.” Toryu and Aguri each had a precious Arisaka rifle and fifty rounds of ammunition. Umito had a Grik crossbow that had been fitted to him. The problem was, Bashg and his troops weren’t “ordinary” Grik. They were some kind of “elite” Grik trained by Niwa and Halik before they left for Ceylon. Bashg was imperious and rude and probably not much of an “officer” to have been given this assignment, but his troops displayed an alarming level of awareness compared to other Uul Toryu had seen. They also carried guns.
The guns weren’t really that threatening, particularly under the circumstances. They were essentially simple Japanese matchlocks formed to fit Grik physiques. Easy to produce, they were the most foolproof firearms Kurokawa and the surviving Japanese engineers could-or would?-give the Grik. They weren’t terrible weapons, but they were useless in wet air. Toryu doubted they were even loaded. Their matches certainly weren’t lit.
No, the guns weren’t the issue. These Grik also carried swords, of course, and truly were superior warriors. Two Arisakas and a crossbow might not be fast enough. They also had a long way to go, through dangerous country. They’d need the Grik to defend them and carry their supplies-at least for a while.
“I can’t believe they made it back through the breakers,” Aguri said, referring to the longboat. Toryu couldn’t see it anymore, but Aguri was taller.
“A shame,” managed Umito, but he paid for his words with a racking cough that sounded deep and wrenching. Toryu looked at him with concern. The cough had begun during the wet voyage south, then west. They couldn’t stand being belowdecks on the Grik ship-the stench was simply too great-and they’d slept exposed on the cold, damp deck.
“Come,” snarled Bashg in his own tongue. The three of them had been chosen for the mission partly because of their ability to understand some Grik and speak some English, which Bashg could sometimes grasp. “Get things. We go!” Bashg wrapped his own fur coat more tightly around himself. “Sooner we go, sooner we done! Get back to warm!”
Toryu and Aguri slung their rifles and headed for their packs. Another coughing fit from Umito made them look back. He straightened, shaking, still staring out to sea. The Grik ship that brought them was piling on sail, beginning to slant away to the north, northeast. Leaving them behind.
“You get you sick man moving!” Bashg warned. “He make slow, we eat him!”
Toryu rounded on Bashg. “I’ll kill any of you who tries! The rest of you might kill us, but then where will you be? Who’ll deliver the message to the ‘others’? Your mission will fail and Esshk will give you the ‘Traitor’s Death’!”
Bashg stared hard at Toryu, then at Aguri who’d stepped forward as well, but his hand never neared his sword. “All well,” he said at last. “We no eat. He make slow, we carry. We only eat if he die.”
Umito joined them, walking slow, taking quick shallow breaths. “Thanks, Toryu,” he whispered raggedly. “I’ll be fine once we get out of here.”
Toryu nodded, trying not to show how much he was shaking with fury and terror. He feared Umito wouldn’t be fine, but even then there was no way he’d stand by and see him eaten. He suspected that would be when, one way or the other, he’d part company with the Grik.
Colombo, Grik Ceylon
General Halik lounged on Tsalka’s old throne in the regency palace, staring at a map of the island. He was exhausted, and if he noticed N’galsh’s indignation over his usurpation of what the vice regent considered his “chair” in Tsalka’s absence, he made no sign, and N’galsh didn’t speak it aloud. General Orochi Niwa stood by the map, doubtless just as tired, but unwilling to sit as he pointed out various places along the southern coast.
“The enemy has landed here, here, and here,” he said, “in impressive force. I imagine, combined, they have even greater numbers than we faced at Baalkpan, and their discipline and disposition are proportionately superior as well.” He paused. “And, of course, they’re better equipped.” His tone carried what Halik had come to recognize as genuine admiration. “They’ve built a real army, with uniform armor, accoutrements, and apparently, large numbers of standardized muskets,” he enthused. “Not to mention their many steam-powered warships!”
“Or their flying machines,” Halik added darkly.
Niwa nodded, becoming more solemn. “Indeed. Honestly, I suspected they might have created some aircraft, but the numbers, sophistication, and frankly, skill with which they were employed, came as a complete surprise.” He shook his head. “That, and their ability to transport them here in the first place. I never expected aircraft carriers!” His admiration returut his expression was thoughtful. “We must consider the enemy airpower in every plan we make. Consolidation will be difficult, and we must use the terrain and jungle to best advantage. We’ll have to move carefully and employ misdirection whenever possible, because whatever we do might be observed. We must also find some way to combat these aircraft-shoot them down!”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Niwa replied honestly. “Perhaps if we lure them low enough, into a specific, pretargeted place, we might have some success with even field artillery, loaded with canister-they are rather slow.” He shook his head, still considering. “Perhaps something else…” He looked at Halik. “We must pass word of these developments to General of the Sea Kurokawa-and General Esshk at once! The enemy will certainly move to blockade us again, in greater force than ever before!”
“That has already been ordered. All remaining ships in Colombo except our own ‘escape squadron’ will dash out this very night under cover of darkness. Perhaps some will get through.” Halik studied the map again. “The enemy concentrations are slightly isolated from one another. How will they proceed, and can we use that?”
“It will be difficult,” Niwa confessed. “We didn’t expect landings where they occurred, and it will take us time to deploy in response.” He shook his head. “I doubt they intended to land where they did, but it’s turned out fortuitous for them, in the short term. They’ll likely consolidate as they advance, and we’ll have to watch for opportunities. There’s nothing we can do against their beachheads-oh, if we had planes of our own!-so their strength will build behind them. But they have far to go, and we should seize numerous chances to bleed them as they move.” He rubbed sore muscles in his neck. “We must have a care, however. They may retain reserves, make further landings. They can watch what we do and take advantage.”
Halik blinked. “But what if we use this ‘misdirection’ you mentioned to lure them into committing those reserves, or some force, where they only think we are weak?” He drummed his claws on the arm of the throne, sitting up. “They have already shown an aversion to losses, a desire to rescue those who are doomed. If we strike a mighty blow somewhere they do not expect, might it not delay their advance? Cause confusion? Doubt?”
“That… is possible. They do cherish the lives of their warriors more than we,” Niwa said with irony.
Halik let it pass. He already knew Niwa disliked the wanton waste of Uul. So did Halik, for that matter; he’d been one. There still existed a difference between them regarding the definition of “wanton,” however. “We fight for time,” he declared. “Time is our ally, possibly more than theirs. With time, we might match their marvels and even their warriors. Kurokawa and General Esshk would surely rather employ our own new wonders here than on sacred ground if we can hold this place long enough for them to do so decisively.”
Actually, Niwa believed Kurokawa wouldn’t, but he couldn’t stall Esshk-or more particularly Tsalka-if Ceylon held out, especially if Halik won a few victories. N’galsh would doubtless have stressed that proposition in the dispatches he sent with the blockade runners. “A stunning victory might give us the time you seek,” he conceded at last.
“Good,” said Halik. “Instead of attempting to oppose the enemy everywhere, we will concentrate all our thoughts on devising a strategy to crush a portion of his force so unexpectedly and thoroughly as to give him por morei› everywhere… and then we shall see.”
South Ceylon Coast
“Lizard Beach 2” was a dozen miles east of the “Sand Spit” where Task Force Garrett ceased to exist. In wounded and dead, the once-formidable squadron had ultimately exceeded eighty percent, and a portion of the new assembly area had been designated for the rest and reorganization of the bedraggled remnants under Greg Garrett’s command. Garrett and Chapelle had temporarily remained behind to oversee the effort to refloat Donaghey. The grisly battlefield was now secure, and an Army company, chosen by lot, remained to recover and try to identify the dead. Many Lemurians would fly to the Heavens in the smoke of pyres, but the lost humans, and a surprising number of ’Cats, based on their stated preference, would be temporarily buried in a less exposed area, until they could be disinterred and taken back to the growing Allied cemetery at Baalkpan.
