advance along the western road toward the looming, sawtooth escarpment ahead. The objective was another major crossroads beyond the mountain gateway on the more open land beyond that had been identified by reconnaissance flights as a potential marshaling area for significant Grik forces. The enemy might infiltrate through the forest, but they could only move artillery and massed troops by road.
Unfortunately, the time it took to secure the frontiers around Madras, and the recon required to confirm or amend Allied strategy previously based only on captured Grik maps and Hij-Geerki’s notions, had delayed any “lightning” thrusts to seize that next strategic crossroads. The Grik command had likely used that time to catch its breath. In several respects, maybe that was a good thing. The “Northern” AEF had needed a breath itself after the sporadic but fierce fighting that punctuated the consolidation, resupply, and reorganization required after the improved but still chaotic aftermath of the invasion. Also, the enemy had reacted to the capture of Madras as hoped, and sent most of its known armies northeast. This allowed III Corps and the newly constituted V Corps (together constituting the “Southern” AEF) to cross the narrow land bridge from Ceylon with little resistance, and secure that vital approach. The Cavalry-heavy V Corps was now racing north across a relatively open coastal plain to link up with Rolak’s I Corps as it began its push south. Hopefully, the V would take the Grik assembling to oppose Rolak in the rear.
The Allied High Command, from CINCWEST on down, was pleased with the campaign so far. Not only had they avoided a bloody smash-up at the crossing; they believed they’d dispersed the enemy into smaller, more manageable packets. They’d done the same with their own forces of course, but the Allies’ superior training, discipline, weapons, and growing cohesion should justify that risk. The Allies had uncontested control of the air after destroying a few snooping Grik zeppelins, and the rest, wherever they were, seemed reluctant to come up. Ultimately, they also had the only real deepwater port on the east coast firmly in their hands, and they were just now coming to grips with what an important industrial center Madras had been for the enemy. The sheer tonnage of enemy shipping and stockpiles of coal, timbers, and plate steel they’d captured was mind-boggling. The plate steel was an ominous discovery, but correspondence from Courtney Bradford had predicted that much of the enemy’s entire coal reserves would be in northeast India, and losing Madras had to hurt them.
Consequently, however, along with the element of surprise, II Corps’ ability to move quickly had also been lost. It couldn’t simply march down the rough road in column, so scout regiments were tasked with the difficult chore of moving forward through the dense forest on either side of the broad dirt “highway” one at a time, until they found defensible positions or land features where they forted up in the old Roman style. Only then did their opposite number do the same. Once the flanks were secure, General-Queen Protector Safir Maraan brought her corps up the road. It was a drawn-out process that slowed the rapid advances they’d made following the invasion, but only the Grik knew all the forest pathways that might allow them to strike a longer column in the flank. This way, they hoped, the corps as a whole would maintain greater cohesion and more rapid internal lines of support, and could rush troops to any major point of contact with the enemy.
“I already have looked at it, sir,” Bekiaa responded dryly, blinking mild frustration. “That is why I thought you would wish to.”
“Jeez,” Flynn murmured, ignoring her tone. “I bet no damn Grik ever built that.”
They’d seen some very weird things since the landing at Madras almost three weeks before; things unlike any they’d encountered yet. Again, the Grik noncombatants-if there really was such a thing-had fled or been slaughtered, but there were giant, furry, buzzard things, kind of like flying skuggiks, that had “cleaned up” the countless Grik dead. They were almost as big as the dragons Second Fleet had encountered, but they had beaks instead of toothy jaws and avoided anything alive. There were deadly snake… things… in abundance, much to their unpleasant surprise, most of which lived in the trees instead of on the ground. They had short, grasping claws along their bodies that allowed them to cling tightly to trees and limbs instead of drooping about. Lemurians as a race weren’t accustomed to snakes and only a few had ever seen one. Courtney Bradford actually suspected that the rare snakes described to him were probably transportees themselves, since there were so many things that would happily root them up and eat them. Rhino pigs would keep them off Borno, for example. Regardless, Lemurians instinctively hated anything that looked like a snake, and God knew how much ammunition they’d wasted before fire discipline had been restored.
Other new discoveries included bizarre gliding and tree-leaping rodents that infested the forests as thickly as insects, and there were tiny hummingbird-like creatures that behaved like mosquitoes. Added to the real mosquitoes, the needle-nosed little devils contributed significantly to the misery of the Allied troops.
They saw very few large animals besides Grik-and the adolescent Griklets that had apparently been released to harass them once again. As on Ceylon, it grew evident that without the Grik, there was a big hole in the local food chain. Almost nothing substantial or easy to catch had been seen, leaving everyone to wonder again what the Grik ate besides one another-and their enemies, of course. Hij-Geerki had been a “frontier clerk,” basically, and though he’d been to Ceylon and had given them some useful information, he’d never been in a position to explain how large populations of his species fed themselves in older, more established parts of its empire. It was well- known that frontier and expeditionary Grik relied on “prey” and even each other for sustenance, but he had no idea what else they ate in the sacred ancestral lands. Prey-of any sort-had to be scarce and, obviously, no species could rely entirely on itself for sustenance, particularly when it needed more numbers, not less.
Another new mystery had taunted them in Madras. Mixed with the usually simple adobe Grik architecture they’d grown accustomed to, were ancient, far more sophisticated ruins that didn’t make any sense at all. So far, they’d discovered only tantalizing fragments, incorporated directly into Grik construction, but now Flynn gazed at a granite cliff face adorned with strikingly ornate ruins carved from the living rock. His first impression was of a temple of some sort, and arched entryways surrounded by crumbling columns extended deep into the cliff. His second impression was that it was very, very old. Only when his focus expanded and he began to digest the entire scene did he begin to form a possible answer to one fundamental question about the Grik, at least the “locals.”
The ruins they’d found had been incorporated into another structure as usual, but in this case it formed one wall of an immense, recently cut, tree-staked pen that nearly filled the clearing. Inside the pen, shuffling and lowing, their ribs becoming visible along their sides, were hundreds of large, greenish gray beasts with long tails and oddly duck-shaped heads. They were actually bigger than the Asian elephant-size brontasarries in Baalkpan, and maybe two-thirds the size of a super lizard. Their hind legs were much larger than their forelegs, and they stumped around, cowlike, mostly on all fours, vainly rooting at the dirt for something to eat.
Me-naak mounted cav ’Cats eased forward, their slathering mounts snorting and sniffing, but the penned animals showed no fear. Some merely raised their large heads and gazed disinterestedly at the new arrivals. Flynn was glad to have cavalry, even if meanies gave him the creeps. They were a pain in the ass to feed; worse than medieval heavy horse, he suspected, because there certainly wasn’t any forage for the dedicated carnivores and they always seemed tempted to forage on his troops. Oddly, they obeyed their riders about as well as any horse Flynn had seen, and even appeared to bond with them to a degree. Sometimes, in a capricious fit, they might try to eat one, but that was rare.
The point that struck him then was that whatever they were, meanies were obviously predators-yet the penned… whatever the hell they were weren’t afraid of them. That meant there likely weren’t any large predators around, other than Grik of course, and hadn’t been for a very long time. Also, since the pen had to have been made by Grik, the creatures inside apparently didn’t consider them predators either, in the traditional sense.
“My God,” Flynn exclaimed. “Dino-cows. They’re cattle for slaughter, I’ll bet. Orderly!” he shouted back down the trail Bekiaa brought him. A young ’Cat scampered up, slate and chalk in hand. They had paper now and ink, but it was simpler and more economical for orderlies to carry the older tools. First, not all of them could read or write English. And second, their dispatches would be transcribed before transmission or distribution.
“I tripped on a root,” the near youngling apologized, blinking too fast for Flynn to decipher the meaning. “I thought it was snake!”
“Caap’n Bekiaa!” cried a Ranger sergeant who trotted up and slammed to attention, tail straight.
“What have you found?”
“There is rolls of leaf fodder, stored in those… cave holes, an’ a… gizmo for diverting spring water to the pen, but no sign of Griks here for days.”
“Get this out,” Flynn snapped, suddenly terse, and the orderly ’Cat poised his chalk. “Have discovered more goofy ruins of non-Grik origin. More important, we’ve found a big… herd of large animals, apparently corralled as live rations for the enemy. Most of the structure enclosing the animals is of recent construction, and I must therefore
