“The battle here is quite over!” the officious voice declared, allowing Shinya to put a face with it. The man’s expression seemed more annoyed than relieved by that.
“Excellent. Then we’ll continue on to find another,” Shinya snapped. He kept walking.
“To what purpose? To further destroy this land?” the man snarled.
Shinya waved the column on but stopped himself. “It’s been a long march already today-after a predawn landing and a short fight that began it. I’m weary. It was my understanding this battle ended in victory, for which you should be thankful. The Dominion does not treat those they conquer with kindness, true? Rejoice that the fighting here is done and you still live.”
“But… that madman and his flying machines destroyed one of the most beautiful-not to mention strategic- resources in the Empire! This valley is almost sacred to those who live within it, and the timber is essential to the shipbuilding industry!”
Shinya looked around. “No one lives here now, and there are other forests in the Empire.” He waved about him. “These trees will still make fine ships; they’re only scorched on the outside.”
“Damn you, sir!” raged the officer. “Have you no compassion? No understanding of the tragedy here?”
“Damn you!” Shinya roared, his eyes darker than the blackened trees. “Have you no understanding of the word ‘ war ’? I desire words with the commander here, not fools. If you can’t produce such a specimen, I’ll be on my way-anticipating the day you and I meet again on the Dueling Grounds at Scapa Flow!”
“I command here, Colonel Shinya,” another officer announced firmly, after a brief hesitation. “As of this moment. Run along now, Colonel Meems. Perhaps I can convince this belligerent gentleman not to murder you in front of your children, come the next ‘Meeting Day’ Sunday!”
The officious officer whirled his mount and galloped away, followed by another, amid a rising, gray cloud, leaving four mounted men.
“Major Gladney, at your service,” the “commander” said, dismounting. “Of the artillery. Meems is an excitable fellow, where his trees are concerned. He has holdings here. Please, I brought maps when I saw your column. We have recent news of the fighting across the Sperrin range, and I think I can show you some pathways your infantry might use that will place you well to support our friends. The paths are quite steep in places and utterly unsuited for artillery, but men or… your people… should be able to negotiate them in daylight.”
“Thank you, Major Gladney. I’d hoped as much.” Shinya paused, looking at his tired troops marching by. “Can these trails be found in the dark?”
Gladney was taken aback. “I suppose, by one who knows them. I could not recommend it, however.”
“Nevertheless, there will be a good moon again tonight, and we must move with haste.”
“You’re talking about a march of thirty miles-as the parrot flies!-over two rough, high ranges without stop!”
“We will stop… now and then. I may not make it with all my troops, but I’ll certainly have my Marines. They have… practiced marches such as this.”
Gladney shook his head. “Very well. I’ll see that you have guides.”
Sunday, January 8, 1944
“Well, well,” Silva said, staring through an Imperial telescope with his good eye and stifling a yawn. “I figgered it was gonna be a helluva show. Glad we got here early for a good seat, hey, Larry?”
All night, the big guns in the bastion and the heavier ones the allies dragged forward from the ruined forts flared and snarled thunderously at one another, jetting white, orange, and yellow fire from vents and muzzles amid sparkling streaks of tiny red embers. The bastion was taking a pounding, as was the entire city most likely, but the Doms simply couldn’t give as good as they got. They were more concentrated, engaging well-placed and dispersed targets, and the weight of metal alone left them at a disadvantage enough to smother them eventually. That fact didn’t seem to discourage them, and they did their best to match the allies shot for shot. Silva had to wonder just how much ammunition had been stowed in the bastion. The Doms had to know they couldn’t last long under such a storm of iron and must’ve decided to use their artillery to cause as much damage to their enemy-and the city-as they could before their guns were silenced.
“Are you sure our guys know we’re here?” Lawrence asked nervously when a heavy roundshot struck the building on the ground floor below, crashing through the volcanic rock wall and sending pumice and plaster dust swirling up the stairs into their second-story overlook.
Silva turned and spat a yellowish stream of “tobacco” juice that missed Lawrence’s clawed hand by inches. “ Course they know, dummy! You think I’d lie here all comfterble an’ ser-een, careless o’ danger, if our fellas didn’t know we was in what the Doms’d expect to be a prime target for our guns?”
“Yess!” Lawrence hissed darkly. “That was one of ‘ our ’ guns!”
Silva shrugged in the gloom. “So? With all that flashin’ out there, some poor gunner was prob’ly seein’ triple. ’Sides, it might raise suspicion if they didn’t shoot at this shack once in a while. It was an observation post, after all.”
Six Dom corpses kept them company in the building that had once been a drying house for a wheelwright. The Imperials made good wheels and the place was full of them. There were probably thousands of spokes and felloes of all sizes, and hundreds of hubs. Five dead Doms were downstairs where they’d been killed by Silva’s Thompson when he and Lawrence burst in upon them, utterly unexpected. A sixth man had fled upstairs, but Lawrence caught him from behind and tore out his throat before he could leap from the window they now stared through.
“I wonder why the ene’ee doesn’t shoot at us,” Lawrence said. “It’s not as if we send any signals. They ha’ to think we’re here.”
“Naa. What would we do if we was them dead Doms? Run back ’n forth ’mongst all that iron an’ shit out there? Make a light? They prob’ly had ’em here for daylight spottin’, or to holler if we was doin’ somethin’… like we did. Now, quit bein’ a weenie!”
Dawn began to break at last, and the cannonade slowly tapered off. It was as if each side yearned for a look at what they’d done to the other. Then, by some unspoken, mutual consent, all the guns on the north side of New Dublin gradually fell silent. Sunday was a holy day to all present, except Lemurians, and perhaps no one wanted to be first to resume the killing under the bright sun creeping above the eastern sea and displaying for all to view what that terrible night had wrought. Dark smoke towered into the sky from a large percentage of the city, rising above the mountains and joining a purple-brown haze moving west. Dennis, and likely the rest of the allies, caught their first real glimpse of the “dragons” then, spiraling high above on rising thermals in the clear air to seaward. There weren’t many, maybe half a dozen in view, and they weren’t nearly as scary in the daylight-at least to Dennis, who’d seen far more frightening things. They did look like big Grik, though, with longer, more feathered tails-and broad, almost batlike wings, of course-and he knew if Lieutenant Reddy had been able to see them they’d have never brought his “Nancy” down. One of the creatures approached the battlefield from upwind and swooped down to light on a corpse, savagely tearing into it. Where the body was, it had to be a Dom.
“Eww. Not particular about the menu, I guess,” Silva said. “Flyin’ Griks, all right. Nasty bastards. Can’t even tell whose side they’re on down here!” He blinked. “Hey! Maybe they can’t tell, with everything so mixed up. I wonder what good they are? They would’a had to already be here before the Doms ever saw a plane! Maybe they use ’em for goin’ after ships or somethin?” He shrugged. “Get a load o’ this, Larry! Your lofty relations got shitty table manners!”
“Not relations!” Lawrence snapped. “You’re a ‘right guy,’ Sil’a, usually. You’re also an asshole!”
“Well, this world is so screwed up, I guess it’s up to me to balance the scales,” Dennis replied philosophically. He continued to watch the creatures kiting lazily above. “Not real energetic this mornin’,” he muttered to himself, “and they don’t seem to care much for smoke. Every time one gets close to any, he veers off, soon as he notices it. Huh.”
The “cease-fire” persisted, and it started getting hot in their upstairs lair. Eventually, a distant church bell tentatively rang, then another. Still the Doms didn’t fire.
“I’ll be damned,” Silva said. “I was hopin’ for somethin like this!” He was peering through the telescope again, adjusting the length to sharpen the focus.
“What?”
“Everbody’s takin’ a break from the killin’, for a prayer meetin’! Since that didn’t poke the Doms into shootin’ at the ‘heretics,’ maybe they’ll have a ‘God save my murderin’ ass, ’cause I’m fixin’ to die ’ meetin’ of their own!” He shifted his view to the steep mountains beyond the enemy stronghold, refocusing and examining, then returned it to
