Iron Gray Sea

CHAPTER 14

Grik India

March 12, 1944

First Fleet “Northern” Allied Expeditionary Force

“Would you look at that!” Colonel Billy Flynn blurted when Captain Bekiaa-Sab-At led him to the vast open clearing and he viewed the… extraordinary sight before him. He wasn’t the only one staring. Many of his Rangers had already fanned out to secure the discovery, and most of them were gawking as well. The First Amalgamated and elements of the 6th Maa-ni-la Cavalry were responsible for screening the northern flank of II Corps’ leapfrog 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 assume a large enemy force is nearby.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe they were expecting us to stick to the road and we took ’em by surprise. The caretakers here probably weren’t fighting Grik, anyway.” He looked at his orderly. “Forget that part, write this: “Recommend Air Corps keep a lookout for similar sites. Placement may give clues about enemy plans.” He looked at Bekiaa. “They can’t count on us or each other for rations until after the fight, and they’ll damn sure need something to tide them over if they want to gather up anything big enough to face us.” He paused a moment, then nodded at the orderly.

“Run on. Get that to the Division runners as quick as you can, then get back here.”

“Yes, sur!”

“You think they eat these things all the time?” Bekiaa asked, gesturing at the pen. “Scuttlebutt says the flyboys been seein’ dino herds on the high plains we’re headin’ for, specially round water, but nothing in the woods or coastal plains.”

“Maybe the Grik live mostly down here, but herd these things down from up there. Who knows? Maybe they raise ’em and just let ’em graze up high.” Flynn waved at the trees. “Flyboys can’t see crap down in these woods from above. There could be a million Grik within five miles of the damn road at any point.”

“But… no dino-cows were in Maa-draas.”

“Maybe not, but I bet if somebody looked again, they’d find pens where they’d been.” He shook his head. “Or maybe they just carted in the meat. Killing something that big in the middle of a city might drive all the Grik there wild!”

“Then what about the bones? We should have found bones.”

“I may not be Courtney Bradford, but I know a thing or two. There’s lots of industrial uses for ground or powdered bone-and, hell, maybe they eat that too. The point is, if I’m right, the Air Corps should be able to tell us soon.” He looked at the pen again, then back at the sergeant. “Form a detail to feed and water those damn things, then tell Captain Saachic some of his cav ’Cats are going to have to learn to be cowboys. I want them all herded to the rear. Whether we can eat ’em or not, I’m not leaving them here for the Grik.”

The next morning, the Rangers returned to the road near a narrow lake just west of 3rd Division and the rest of Safir’s II Corps. They were moving to shoot the gap through a rocky, wooded pass bordered by a swift, steeply falling river and high, jagged crags. They were joined by the 1st Battalion of the 2nd Marines, as Flynn had requested, and were screened by Captain Saachic’s company of the 6th Maa-ni-la Cavalry. An hour after daybreak, they proceeded to do what they’d been doing all along: leaping forward to establish a defensive position to support the 1st Sular (this time), and another company of the 6th. The difference was that Flynn’s leap would also be a reconnaissance in force at the end of a longer limb, and the 1st Sular and 6th Maa-ni-la would follow almost immediately. In the confines of the gap, the only avenue for support was from the rear, so Safir would bring the rest of the Corps through as quickly as she could. No one had forgotten the near-catastrophic ambush this new Grik commander had laid for them on Ceylon, so Safir didn’t mean to leave any real spaces between the various regiments for the enemy to exploit.

The river formed an impassable barrier on the south side of the gap, snug against the sheer cliff it had carved through the ages. The gap on the north side of the river was strewn with great, undermined boulders but was reasonably wide, enough that the troops could negotiate most of it in a series of block formations instead of long columns. Against the Grik, massed firepower was still the only defense. Any open-order advance was suicide. The rise in elevation was significant, but fairly consistent. There was good visibility to the front and behind, at least where the road was straight, and though it couldn’t guarantee there were no Grik on the high, forested ridges, the Air Corps assured them they would face no artillery.

As usual, it was a hot, grueling day, and the rough, rocky, uphill passage made transporting their wagons and artillery difficult. Paalkas had hooves, but they weren’t hardened against this type of terrain, and many were lamed. Those too far gone to heal quickly were butchered for the cavalry. Others moaned and squealed in pain loud enough to be heard over the tumbling water, but labored on as if they somehow knew what awaited them if they gave up. Even the cavalry’s me-naaks weren’t immune to injury. None were lamed, but they did grow testy.

Pairs of Nancys occasionally rumbled by overhead, sometimes low enough to drop weighted messages with streamers attached. These would be carried back to Division HQ, but the pilots rightly thought Flynn needed the results of their forward observations first. Some of the messages disturbed him. Apparently, once they’d been told what to look for, the Air Corps had increasingly begun to notice odd clearings in the forest. Where before pilots might have been content to report that no Grik were seen, now they reported the clearings as possible corrals, whether dino-cows were present or not. Flynn was compiling his own mental map of the sightings and the picture practically confirmed, if he was right, that there were a lot of Grik in the area.

Nothing of the enemy had been seen on the more-open plain beyond the pass, but the patrol patterns the Nancys flew didn’t allow them to scout more than about twenty or thirty miles ahead. Twice Flynn sent requests for special flights to scout beyond that, hopefully as far as the Corps’ next objective. More planes eventually flew by, and he hoped they’d gotten the word.

Hours passed in the thick, humid heat within what was quickly becoming known as Rocky Gap, before advance scouts reported they were nearing the western end of the pass.

“Captain Saachic!” Flynn shouted. “Take your company forward, if you please, and scout the flanks as they broaden out. Then find us and the Sularans a couple of good places to park. You know what to look for. Remember, it may take a couple days for the entire corps to move up, so high ground would be nice. Feel free to detail a couple of platoons to begin laying out the position.”

“Yes, Colonel,” Saachic replied, whirling his mount. His orderly, mounted beside him, blew a series of shrill calls with his whistle.

The gap gradually widened, and the daylong tension caused by the confining passage began to ebb. A breeze stirred the regimental flags for the first time that day, and even if it was hot, it was welcome. Flynn didn’t know what he’d expected to find beyond the pass-maybe some kind of prairie, the way it had been described. It was a grassland, but the trees hadn’t surrendered to it entirely. They stood singly or in clumps amid and atop gently rolling hills. They didn’t look much different from the trees in the forest below, but the tall, straight trunks were bare much higher up and were topped with bright green leaves several shades lighter than the dark, thick grass. A line of denser trees followed the river that receded in the distance. In Flynn’s mind, it was beautiful country.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bekiaa admitted beside him. “Maybe north Saylon is kind of the same, but the trees are different. Only at sea have I ever felt the world was so… big.”

“Yeah,” Flynn agreed. “There’s an awful lot of sky up there, and these craggy, hilly, mountainy things we passed through turn into real mountains to the south. See?” He pointed.

One of Saachic’s troopers galloped up and halted, his me-naak blowing. “Caap’n pick two hills,” he said, pointing north, then south. Flynn looked. Both were about the same size, but were a little farther apart than he would have preferred. As the rest of the corps moved up it would fill the space in between and have two solid anchors, however. When they advanced again, the leapfrogging would no longer be necessary. They should be able to rely on conventional scouting in the relatively open land ahead.

“Okay. We’ll take the northern position, as usual. Ride back until you meet the next company of the Sixth and lead it up. You can show ’em where to go. The First Sular won’t be far behind us.” He paused, looking out at the lovely landscape. Pretty land. Two perfect hills just a little too far apart… He shook his head. Getting paranoid. He knew he’d faced this new Grik general before, and the bastard was sneaky. He hated his guts but had to admire him too, compared to other Grik generals they’d faced. He rubbed his bristly chin, introspective. He wasn’t really a colonel, after all. His only infantry experience prior to this was as a corporal a quarter century ago. Maybe I should’ve stayed with Mr. Laumer and that goddamn sub, he thought.

He shook his head again. No, that Grik honcho may be sneaky, but taking advantage of this would take subtlety-and a lot better understanding of strategy and tactics than any Grik has ever shown. Flynn often based his decisions on what human-or ’Cat-opponents were likely to do and then threw in a double handful of “wild-ass Grik” to compensate for the unpredictable nature of the enemy, but he supposed he usually gave the Grik, and even their new leader, too much credit. Better safe than sorry. Right now he suspected he was giving the enemy way too much credit. He looked at the cav ’Cat. “Well, get on with it.”

“Yes, sur!” cried the ’Cat, and jangled away, back in the direction they’d come. Like all the cav, he held his shortened, carbine-length Baalkpan Arsenal musketoon tight against the sling that kept him from dropping it-but also let it beat the crap out of him if he didn’t hold it that way when his mount was moving quickly. Flynn thought the cav was probably the only Allied force in the west to retain the old smoothbores. His Marines had the Allin-Silva. 50–80 breechloaders and soon the whole army should, but the cav liked the ability to fire heavy loads of buckshot at close range.

The Rangers reached the summit of the low, broad hill and began digging in and throwing up breastworks around the perimeter. Axes thocked against the trees that stood fairly dense atop the hill, and the trunks and brush joined the defensive structure. Two batteries of artillery-a full dozen of the much-improved twelve-pounders-and carts of supplies loaded with food, ammunition, water butts, even the field transmitter/receiver joined them. The comm ’Cats in charge of the wireless set began to assemble the apparatus and prepared to string an aerial in the remaining trees. The 1st Battalion of the 2nd Marines maintained a rear guard back to the pass with their quick-firing breechloaders and another battery of guns, until the leading elements of the 1st Sular pushed out of the gap and headed toward their own position about seven hundred tails away. The Marines remained in place until the first Sularan companies began to establish themselves. Then they limbered their guns and pulled back toward the northern hill. By then, as the sun crept closer to the western horizon, two more companies of the 6th Cavalry had deployed in the mouth of the gap, screening the advance of the rest of the corps.

“That went very well,” a satisfied Bekiaa said to Flynn. “Though it has been a long day,” she amended. Everyone was tired, but Flynn had been limping slightly for most of the long march. In his forties, he’d spent most of his life in submarines. Those had been dangerous years, but they’d left him ill prepared for a return to infantry life and he ached from his back to his toes all the time, it seemed. Even his shoulder ached from carrying his ’03 Springfield. Sometimes in the past he rode a paalka to give his ankles a rest, but that day he’d refused.

“Mmm,” Flynn replied, listening. “Say, I think our long-range recon is coming back.”

The breeze was laying with the late afternoon, and soon the distinctive sound of Nancy engines was plain. “There they are!” someone cried as the planes grew against the evening sun. One plane banked toward the north hill, the other to the south, and streamers fluttered down. A rider fetched the closest one and brought it to Flynn. He unwrapped the note from the small rock it was tied around and spread the sheet to read it:

MANNY MANNY GRIK AT CROSROADS AROWND RIVER BRIJ ABOUT 80–90 MILES WEST YOR POSISHIN. MOST COMING FROM WEST OF THER, BUT SOM NORTH. SAW LOTS OF DINO COWS.

“Damn it, I knew it!” Flynn said, waving the sheet at the planes as they disappeared east over the crags. “I wish somebody would teach those airedales how to make a report, though. ‘Many’ is awful vague, and what were they doing? Were they crossing the river or just plopped there? And where were the dino-cows? Orderly!” he shouted.

“Here, sur,” came a voice directly behind him.

“Tell those comm ’Cats to get a move on. I need comm!”

In the distance, beyond South Hill, a rumbling, roaring horn suddenly sounded, and all conversation stopped. A second horn joined the first, then another. In seconds, the air was filled with the bone-chilling and utterly unmistakable bellows-powered calls that signaled a general Grik charge! The slopes beyond South Hill, so still and peaceful just moments before, erupted with movement as seemingly dozens of shapes burst from beneath every tree and joined the growing, howling swarm flowing down toward the narrow plain below the Sularan position.

“My God,” Flynn exclaimed. “That lizardy son of a skuggik really did it this time! He Custered us! Drummers, sound ‘Stand To’!”

“What does that mean, Colonel?” Bekiaa shouted over the thundering drums that suddenly competed with the horns. “What’s ‘Custered’? You said something like that in the highland pass on Ceylon, before the battle there.”

“General Halik, or whatever the hell his name is, figured out where we were going, how we were moving, then let us stick our necks through that damn, rocky noose! There were Grik all over those damn heights on our flanks all day, just waiting for this! He tried the same stunt in the highlands, but this time it worked-and I let it!”

“But their guns! The planes saw no artillery, and no way they could get any up there!”

“Don’t you get it? They don’t need artillery, not yet. They aren’t going after the whole corps right now, just us! They can keep General Maraan bottled up in the Rocky Gap while they eat us alive. Between us, the Marines, the Sularans, and the Cav, that’s around thirty-five hundred troops, and a fair-size chunk of Second Corps!”

A gun flashed on South Hill, downward and away, the vent jet stabbing at the sky. Then another fired. Both reports were drowned by the growing, snarling, hissing shriek of thousands of Grik charging down out of the hills, where they must have remained hidden to crossing aircraft.

“What have we got coming at us here?” Flynn demanded when a ’Cat lieutenant raced up from the west side of the hill.

“Nothing yet. They seem all go at First Sular, yonder. They lots still not to top of hill. No dig in.”

The sun had touched the horizon at last, and the long shadows would soon be replaced by a very long night. Musket flashes and more cannon firelit the distant hill.

“They mean to take us one at a time,” Flynn decided. “My guess is they’ve probably got a lot more out there than are even coming off the hills. Probably have some guns stashed too. If they wipe us out, or even if they don’t, they can keep Second Corps stopped up in that gap until that ‘many’ force gets here from the east. After that, it’s all attack, attack. Their kind of fight.”

“But even they get us, Second Corps get away!” the lieutenant said, blinking furiously.

“Boy, have you even been with us the last couple of days? Remember the dino-cows? They didn’t cook this up on the fly. I guarantee they’re hittin’ Second Corps from behind and in the flanks right damn now! They’ll cork General Maraan in that lousy gap from both sides!”

“But… well, what we do?” the young officer almost wailed.

“You’re relieved, Lieutenant,” Flynn said, almost gently. “At least until you pull yourself together.” He looked at those who’d gathered around him. “ All of us better do that right quick, or we’ve had it. Saachic!”

“Sur?”

“Take all the cav and scoop up both companies of the Sixth in the gap. Whoever’s behind ’em will have to take the load when it lands. After that, haul ass to South Hill. If it looks like they can hold off the first shove, help them do it, then tell them to run, not walk, the hell over here.”

“Yes, sur… but what if they not holding?”

Flynn took a breath. “Then spike what guns you can and get everybody out who can climb in the saddle with you. We’ll cover your run back here.”

“Meanies don’t like extra riders,” Saachic warned. “And even if we all get some, we can’t get all.”

“I know.”

The battle for South Hill intensified as darkness fell, flaring and slashing with fire. Every instinct Flynn had told him to march to the aid of the Sularans, but he knew that was probably exactly what the Grik wanted him to do. With the darkness, he had no way of knowing how the enemy deployment was developing. The cavalry was keeping a clear line of communication between the hills-the Grik seemed to respect their me-naaks-but he already had reports of Grik circling around South Hill to threaten that line. One way or the other, the Sularans had to pull back here soon.

In the meantime, his Rangers were digging like fiends and heaping the damp earth in front of their lines. Stakes were being cut, sharpened, and driven into the ground, and details were busy spooling out the new barbed wire they’d just recently received from Baalkpan. It was crummy, lightweight stuff compared to what Flynn had seen in France as a youngster, but this would be the first time the Grik ever ran into such an entanglement, and it was going to cost them. Other details were starting work on several bunkers to give them some overhead protection, and revetments were taking shape around the guns. The Marines maintained their position on the south side of the hill, throwing breastworks in front of their own forward battery, which was prepared to fire down the flanks of the gap held by the cavalry when the Sularans finally came out. When they were withdrawn into the fortifications, their guns would serve as a mobile reserve for any hot spots that might develop.

Flynn looked around. He’d done his best to prepare, he thought. There was little more he could do but make North Hill so costly to take that the Grik would choke on it.

“Col-nol Flynn! Col-nol Flynn!” he heard called in the deepening gloom.

“Here!”

One of the comm ’Cats hopped closer. “Col-nol, we got contact with Maa-draas HQ! Gener-aal Taa-leen wants to know what the hell is going on! We can’t get Division or Corps. Them damn hills round the pass block us, I bet.”

“I’m on my way.” He paused for an instant, listening. High above, he heard the sound of motors, lots of them, and they weren’t Nancys. The night suddenly brightened with the lights of what looked like falling meteors that illuminated the bellies of Grik zeppelins in the sky. The things didn’t light up until they’d fallen some distance from the ships, and he guessed that made sense. They were using some kind of delayed-ignition system to protect their hydrogen-filled airships. The first meteor struck out on the plain and burst amid a roiling ball of spreading flames. It was followed by many more. None landed on North Hill. They probably couldn’t see it in the dark. Some probably burned Grik when they fell, but several splashed fire on South Hill, and Flynn swore.

“C’mon,” he said to the ’Cat. “Now they’re throwing Grik fire at us! If the Air Corps can’t keep those bastards off us, they’ll burn us out for sure!”

“What the hell’s going on out there?” General Pete Alden demanded, storming into the briefing room adjacent to the comm shack in Madras.

General Taa-leen commanded 1st Division, and while it occupied the city, he was essentially Pete’s Chief of Staff. “A counterattack, General. A big one. Beyond that?” Taa-leen spread his arms.

“Where?” Pete asked, shoving through milling, confused staff officers to stand before the most current map they had, tacked to the wall. He did a double take when he saw Hij-Geerki lying on a pair of the common Lemurian cushions in a corner, as inconspicuous as he could make himself. He’d thought Rolak had taken his pet Grik south. He shook the distraction away.

“Everywhere. Or so it seemed at first,” Taa-leen answered.

“Show me what we know; then we can wonder what it seems like.”

“Of course. In the south, Third Corps has not been directly attacked, but a strong force has assembled opposite it. Fifth Corps is heavily engaged and has been forced to pause its advance and assume a defensive posture. Its supply lines south have been cut. General Rolak has encountered increasing spoiling attacks, he calls them, but continues to push First Corps south even now. He thinks the large enemy force that he hoped to fix in place for Fifth Corps to hit from behind has turned to crush Fifth Corps, or at least drive it south and prevent it from linking up with him.”

“Nobody could ever call Rolak timid,” Pete said respectfully.

“No, sur.” Taa-leen blinked. “And perhaps he is right to push. Where he had been the anvil, he might now become the hammer, and the result could be the same.”

“Is that what you think?” Pete asked, eyebrow raised.

“It is. The Air Corps saw no indication that fresh enemy troops had moved against Third Corps. Co-maander Leedom believes it faces the same battered troops that the fleet gave such a pasting.”

Lieutenant Commander Mark Leedom had been assistant Commander of Flight Operations on Salissa, and was acting COFO of the 5th and 8th Bomb Squadrons and the 6th Pursuit-all from the lost Humfra-Dar. He also had two new squadrons that had literally been assembled in Madras, right off the transports.

“If true,” Taa-leen continued, “it cannot be a steady force and is likely there only to fix Third Corps in place.”

“Okay,” Pete agreed. “We’ll give General Rolak his head. If anybody can keep it together in a night march, it’s him. We’ll know more about the big picture in the morning. In the meantime, if he runs into anything he even thinks he can’t handle, I want him to pull back.”

“Yes, sur.”

“So, what’s the worst of it? There’s got to be more, or you wouldn’t have sent such an urgent message. There’s nothing going on here, so that leaves Second Corps.”

“Yes, Gener-aal,” Taa-leen admitted, “I don’t think the Orphan Queen is in a jaam; I know she is. All physical lines of communication have been cut between here and the place they were calling Rocky Gap. Wireless transmissions report that her situation is dire indeed.”

“What happened?”

Taa-leen explained what they knew so far; that II Corps was basically trapped in the gap and the 1st Amalgamated, the 1st Sular, the 1st of the 2nd Marines, and several companies of cavalry were independently trapped beyond it. At first they’d been on separate hills, but now they’d consolidated. Losses, particularly to the 1st Sular, had been high. To make matters worse, a very large enemy force was assembling, and likely advancing from the west. “We are in wireless contact with Colonel Flynn and General Maraan,” Taa-leen continued, “but they cannot communicate with each other. Of the two, the smaller force is in the greatest jeopardy. I have just received confirmation that zeppelins are bombing it with Grik fire! I suspect the rest of Second Corps will soon receive the same treatment.”

“Get Leedom in here,” Alden barked at an aide, who dashed out of the briefing room.

“You will send planes up there? In the dark?” Taa-leen asked, blinking concern. “The air crews are all tired. Most have flown numerous sor-tees, and we lost two more aircraft today for no apparent reason. Commander Leedom blames hasty maintenance caused by the pace of operations.”

“Night flying here is different than it was for those guys in Second Fleet,” Pete conceded. “India’s a hell of a lot bigger than New Ireland! But Leedom’ll take care of those damn zeps, if he has to do it himself,” he ground out. “I’ll tell him to ask for volunteers.” He looked at Taa-leen. “He’ll get ’em too. You know why? Because nobody in Ben Mallory’s Air Corps could sleep a wink tonight knowing the damn Grik are burning our people!”

He turned back to the map. “So,” he muttered. “That’s the deal. I think you’re right about the south. It’s clever and might even work, but I think this General Halik has deliberately tossed his best dice at Second Corps, hoping to wipe it out. The question is, what the hell are we going to do about it?” He turned and looked at Hij-Geerki, who was watching attentively. “What do you think?” he blurted with a sour expression.

“I no t’ink,” the creature answered tentatively in its strange but improving English. “I… ’e-long to Lord Rolak. I t’ink what he t’ink. I can’t… self t’ink like Gen’ral.” Geerki hesitated. “Ony… ’aybe dis Gen’ral Halik not t’ink like Grik Gen’ral.”

North Hill was ablaze and the trees that stood atop it flared like great vertical matches in the dark. A lucky hit by the first flight of zeppelins had landed on its flank and ignited one of the Marine artillery caissons and the resultant flashing detonation had drawn the attention of the other airships. Most had already dropped their firebombs and the plain between the two hills was dotted with dying fires. The tall, damp grass just wouldn’t burn, at least without a wind to fan the flames, but the few airships that still carried loads quickly dumped them on the illuminated hill. Finally out of ordnance, the zeppelins departed, but they left plenty of misery in their wake.

“Get the wounded in the ditches!” Flynn roared over the hideous, wrenching screams. Bad as the cries of the wounded were, the agonized, squealing wails of scorched paalkas were probably worse. “Throw dirt on those fires… and put those poor damn animals out of their misery!”

“What about the trees?” someone cried.

Flynn wiped the soot from red, streaming eyes and looked up at the crackling trunks and naked limbs above. The flames were already diminishing. The tree bursts had been the worst, spattering the Grik fire over a broader area than the ground impacts. “Nothing for ’em. They’ll have to burn out.” He stared a moment longer. “I don’t think they’ll burn once the fuel is gone. Pretty wet wood.” For the first time, he was grateful for the almost daily rains and high humidity. “Jesus,” he mumbled, taking in the rapid activity and smoldering bodies around him. He didn’t know how he’d escaped with little more than a few light burns; most of the Grik bombs had fallen right around him. He coughed on air that was thick with smoke and the stench of burning fur.

Bekiaa appeared out of the swirling gloom and stopped beside him, gasping, her hands on her knees. Flynn offered his canteen.

“You better save that, sir,” Bekiaa grated. “We lost all the Sularan water butts, and I don’t know if ours made it through this or not yet.” She waved around.

“Take a drink,” he ordered grimly. “We have only about half the Sularans to worry about.”

“We were lucky to get that many out,” Bekiaa reminded him, and relenting, took the canteen. “The Grik nearly got them all, and the caav, once they figured out they were retreating.” She took a small sip and handed the canteen back, blinking admiration. “The caavalry earned their pay today! I confess I never imagined such a… quickly moving fight on land! And the Marines who covered them at the end!” she added proudly. “Those new breechloaders are a wonder! The Grik pursuers melted before them like wax!”

“Yeah, the cav did swell,” Flynn agreed. “Everybody did. And those Allin-Silvas are great-but they use a lot of ammunition, fast.” He looked around. “Just swell,” he muttered. “So, now everybody’s here with us, in one place, being burned alive.” He paused, steeling himself. “What’s left?” he asked at last.

“It was bad,” Bekiaa admitted, “but the work you had us do paid off. We lost over a hundred dead in the bombing, and many more wounded.” She sighed, her tail swishing in the glow. “A lot of those will not live. I estimate twenty-eight hundred effectives remain.” She stood up straight at last. “We brought out some of the Sulaaran’s caissons, with many people clinging to them-but then lost several of our own to the fires. I am not sure exactly what our ammunition situation is, but we can still fight.”

Flynn pointed at the sky. “We can’t fight that! Where the HELL is the Air Corps?”

Bekiaa shook her head. “I do not know. The communications equipment survived, but the aerial is down-for now. Saachic has taken out a patrol, but the Grik stay back.”

“Makes sense,” said Flynn. “No point in them getting burned by their own zeps when they come back.”

“You think they will?”

“Why not?” Flynn said bitterly. “The fires are dying down, but we can’t put ’em all out. We make a fine target from the air.” He grunted.

“What?” Bekiaa asked.

“Oh, just a weird thought. There might be fifty thousand Grik out there-plenty to go over us like a steamroller-but they’re waiting for their high-tech weapons to finish us off!”

An hour passed, then two. Axes dropped most of the rest of the smoldering trees and they were shifted into a checkerboard of revetments, fighting positions, and overhead protection. The aerial was restrung, but now there was a problem with the batteries. Apparently, one of the trees they felled landed heavily against its cart and cracked their mobile power supply. A Ronson wind generator was rigged, but there was no wind. The handles for the hand generator couldn’t be found, and the comm ’Cats were trying to make some with the help of a battery forge. It was all infuriatingly frustrating and exhausting work-on top of a long, difficult march the day before and the events of the late afternoon.

Heavy, echoing thunderclaps of massed artillery fire and ripping sheets of musketry drifted toward them from the Rocky Gap, and flashes like lightning beyond the horizon lit the sky above it.

“Second Corps is in it now,” Flynn said to Bekiaa, still by his side. None of the 1st Sular’s senior officers had survived, and she remained his exec. An exhausted Captain Saachic returned and blearily reported that there very well might be fifty thousand Grik surrounding North Hill, but for now they were holding back, waiting, as Flynn had predicted. Flynn ordered him, and everyone who could, to get some sleep. The long night wore on and the flames faded almost entirely, giving them hope that the enemy airships might not return. Of course, they could just be waiting for daylight now. The fighting in the gap ebbed and flowed, but never ceased, and all that William Flynn, Bekiaa-Sab-At, and much of what remained of the 5th Division could do was stand, sleeplessly, and wait.

Eventually, just as the sky was beginning to turn gray in the east, the dreaded sound of the odd little Grik zeppelin engines reemerged. Inexorably, the airships drew closer, nearly invisible in the dark sky above.

“Sound ‘Stand To,’” Flynn sighed, and shortly after, the drums began to rumble.

Staring up, Bekiaa thought she could just make out the enemy craft, the sun beginning to reach the higher objects. She was startled when a stream of reddish, flaring dots suddenly arced through the air and impacted against one of the dingy cylinders. Almost immediately, it erupted into bright, hungry flames and began to fall out of the creeping formation!

“Col-nol!” she cried, grasping Flynn’s arm.

As was customary at that latitude, aided by the elevation, dawn came swiftly-particularly to the “furball” that suddenly erupted in the sky. A squadron of white-bellied Nancys swarmed the remaining eight zeppelins, hosing them with tracers from the single. 50-caliber machine gun mounted in their noses. The weapons were further gifts from the salvaged Santa Catalina; either spares or guns that had been removed from the P-40s. It had been deemed unnecessary for all the Warhawks to carry their full complement of six, particularly those deliberately lightened to increase their range or carry bombs. Now the slowly resolving sea of Grik around the hill emitted a rushing wail as the Nancys slashed their own machines apart.

Blazing, crumbling airships stumbled from the sky, some intact, but most in disintegrating, fire-breathing sections. Some even fell on the gathered Grik below. Firebombs vomited flaming fluid from the impacting machines, or drizzled fiery tendrils down on clots of Grik between the hills. Shrieks echoed and seethed. A flight of Nancys rumbled low over the horde and Allied bombs tumbled among it, detonating and spewing fire, weapons, and parts of Grik in long, roiling ovals.

“All batteries, commence firing with spherical case!” Flynn roared. “Fire at will!” The Grik were too far for canister to be effective. “Mortar crews, stand by! Action south!” Mortar ’Cats scrambled from their various positions around the perimeter, lugging their tubes and crates of ammunition.

Chest-thumping concussions ringed the hill and white smoke billowed outward as exploding case shot soared among the Grik, popping with gray-white puffs above or within their ranks, and scything them down with hot, jagged shards of iron. More bombs fell from another flight of the strange little seaplanes before it clawed its way back into the sky. A huge mushroom of smoke chased them this time, and one of the planes staggered. Its port wing fluttered away and it spiraled down amid a smear of fire.

“Damn!” Flynn growled. “Must’ve been those antiair mortar things of theirs again!” The cumbersome Grik weapons had made their first appearance on Ceylon.

Another Nancy was in trouble high above. A long stream of gray smoke chased it as it peeled away from a final, plummeting zeppelin. The plane steadied for a moment, but the smoke grew thicker and darker and it dove for the earth.

“Caap-i-taan Saachic!” Bekiaa shouted over the pounding guns. “That plane looks like it will try to set down there, near where the Marines had their works last night! You must rescue the crew if they survive the crash!” Nancys had no wheels-but wheels would be useless in the tall grass, at any rate. Maybe a hull designed for landing on water would fare better?

Saachic, already mounted, whirled. “First Squad!” he cried to the ready unit that had been around him throughout the night. “Follow me!”

With a clatter of equipment, swords, and carbines, 1st Squad’s me-naaks vaulted the breastworks and raced toward where the wounded plane was leveling off above the long grass that glowed golden green under the bright sunrise. The Nancy was burning now, its engine gasping and popping in agony. It nearly stalled, but the pilot dropped the nose and it swooped low, into the very top of the grass, and practically fluttered to the ground. Even with such an amazingly light impact, the high wing immediately sagged to either side of the engine and the fuel tank in front of it ruptured with a searing whoosh!

A man leaped out of the forward cockpit, coveralls smoking, and did a somersault in the damp grass. Immediately, he jumped to his feet and tried to get around the collapsed port wing to the aft cockpit, where his observer/copilot sat. It was no use. The plane was fully involved by then. Ammunition for the. 50 cal started cooking off and finally forced the man back.

“Look!” someone shouted. “The Grik!” A mob of the enemy several thousand strong was sweeping forward despite the fires and the other pursuit ships that had followed their comrade down. The planes began making strafing runs to keep the Grik back, but it wasn’t working.

“Damn it, they’re going for him!” Flynn growled, eyes darting from the Grik to Saachic’s cavalry, now streaming toward the man. It was going to be close. He had a sinking feeling; not only because of the danger to the flyer, but about the Grik they faced. Once, the trauma of the last quarter hour would have rattled them badly. They’d stood against unusually determined Grik in another pass, on Ceylon, but even they had finally broken off. The Grik trying to take the flyer showed no hesitation at all, and Flynn suddenly noticed that the vast majority of the rest of the army surrounding them had remained steady as well.

“I think we may really be in for it,” he whispered.

“Mortars!” Bekiaa roared. “Commence firing in support of Captain Saachic and the flyer!”

Saachic’s cavalry won the race, and Saachic himself scooped the pilot onto the me-naak’s back. A flurry of crossbow bolts and even some musket shots chased the squad as it bolted for the safety of the breastworks. Flynn wondered if the shots came from the new Grik matchlocks or weapons captured on South Hill. There was a flurry of toomp sounds as mortar bombs arced into the sky and began snapping among those closest Grik, sending geysers of earth, screaming Grik, and shredded grass into the air. The enemy fusillade was interrupted and none of the galloping cav ’Cats were hit. A couple of me-naaks may have been, but they all flowed back up over the barbed wired entanglements, and the hasty berm.

“They’re not stopping!” Bekiaa shouted suddenly, still staring at the Grik. The whole mob that had gone for the flyer-and some other groups as well-kept right on coming, straight for the south slope of the hill. A couple of planes dropped two more bombs into the mass, and the gun-armed Nancys made another firing pass but then they flew off, into the rising sun, maybe low on fuel but certainly out of ordnance.

“Battery!” Bekiaa yelled. “Load canister! Mortars, increase elevation. First Marines and Company-A Rangers, make ready!”

Saachic’s meanie picked its way through the fallen trees to rejoin Flynn and Bekiaa, and a bloodied, scorched man slid down from the animal and stood before them. He saluted absently.

“Goddamn!” he gasped, taking an offered canteen. “Thanks!”

“Leedom?” Flynn asked, remembering the man’s name.

“Yes, sir,” the man replied, taking a gulp and wiping his mouth. “Lieutenant Commander Mark Leedom, acting COFO for Army and Naval air out of Madras! You’re Colonel Flynn?”

“I am.”

“Battery!” Bekiaa roared again. “Marines and Rangers! At my command… Fire!”

The yellowish white smoke that always seemed to accompany their canister gushed downhill in an opaque, rolling wall, and the deafening thunder of the guns overwhelmed the volley of muskets.

“Independent, fire at will!” Bekiaa ordered, her voice cracking, and with a glance at Flynn, she dashed toward the guns for a better view. With the stirring breeze, the smoke would clear there soonest.

“What happened, Commander?” Flynn asked.

“I got shot down!” Leedom replied defiantly. “They had some kind of gun mounted in the gondola; like a little cannon loaded with shot. It hammered us just like a damn duck!” He looked at the plane, burning amid the surging Grik. “Tacos-my OC-got hit…” He looked down. “He was a good ’Cat. God, I hope he was already dead before…” He looked back at Flynn. “Colonel, you’re in the shit.” Artillery and the firing of the fast-loading Allin-Silvas almost drowned his words, but Flynn heard.

“Don’t I know it,” he agreed grimly, watching the slope below the guns, willing the Grik to break. But they just kept coming, running or crawling over their own dead in places. “Shit! Just a minute!” He spun toward a ’Cat beside him wearing the painted bars of a captain on his leather armor. “Get your company up there right damn now! They ain’t stopping!” The ’Cat bolted, and the crackle of rifles increased amid the hissing roar of the Grik. Two guns bucked at once, spewing canister and scything down dozens, maybe a hundred of the enemy, they were so tightly packed. Mortar ’Cats, no longer able to bring their primary weapons to bear, were throwing grenades like baseballs, as fast as they could pull the pins. The wailing shrieks were terrible, and with the combination of concentrated fire, canister, and now the storm of grenade fragments, the swarm finally seemed to balk.

“Reserves already, Colonel?” Leedom muttered. “God, I hope not!”

“Flying reserves,” Flynn admitted, troubled. “We have more-but we’re surrounded, as you can see, and I can’t strip much around the perimeter.” He pointed at the south slope. “So far, this is the only attack, but if they see a hole somewhere else, they might go for it.” He hesitated. “Why? What did you see?”

Leedom stripped the goggles off his head and threw them on the ground. “Colonel, you have no idea how surrounded you are.” He snorted. “ We are.”

The reserve company formed, standing, behind the junction of the Marines and Rangers, where the two battalions had become intermingled, firing as quickly as they could. That’s where the most densely packed Grik thrust seemed to be headed, as if deliberately aimed there, like a wedge.

“What the hell?” Flynn murmured.

Four guns snarled with distinct, separate thunderclaps of fire, and the reserve company poured in a volley of buck and ball at less than thirty yards. Finally, finally, the Grik charge staggered, shrouded in smoke, lead, and a blizzard of downy fur and reddish vapor. Only then did something like Grik Rout grip what remained of the bloody stump of the enemy thrust. Maddened by wounds, pain, and panic, some Grik turned on each other, fighting to get back, aside, away from the hail of bullets and buzzing canister. These, as always, were hacked down by their comrades, but not before the charge stacked up behind them and the withering fire spread the effect. Hundreds fell in the next few moments while those behind pressed against others that retained no notion other than an instinctual imperative to escape.

All the veteran troops had seen Grik Rout before, and they cheered when they saw the symptoms now-but the cheer slowly died and the stunned Marines and Rangers resumed firing with a will when it didn’t really happen. The charge came apart, and many did flee mindlessly, but the great bulk of the surviving attackers backed away, still shooting crossbows or firing the weird matchlocks, if they had them. Only the Rangers had ever seen the enemy retire before, and they’d been beyond musket shot then. The rifled muskets still picked at them and so did the big guns, but it hadn’t really been a retreat under fire. Not like this.

Flynn gave the order to cease firing after the Grik moved beyond a hundred yards. Leedom’s words still echoed in his mind, even without a proper explanation, and he instinctively knew that explanation would mean they had to conserve ammunition. The smoke slowly drifted away and dissipated in time for them all to see the attacking force rejoin the multitudes that ringed them-and be welcomed back into those ranks.

“A hell of a thing,” Flynn muttered. His gaze turned to the field below the breastworks and the dark mounds bearing down on the tall grass. He couldn’t see them all, of course, but there were surely thousands; maybe half the force that broke ranks to go after the fallen plane to start with. He could see inside the breastworks as well, now that the smoke was gone, and stretcher bearers climbed out of the ditch with their grisly, moaning burdens. These were carried to the centrally located medical section that had set to work under lean-tos erected around a tree-trunk stockade. After they deposited their burdens with the surgeons, the stretcher bearers returned to the ditch for more.

Bekiaa rejoined them. The white fur around her mouth was smudged black with powder from tearing open musket cartridges with her teeth, and her painted armor was dingy and streaked with blood. She’d slung her rifled musket, but seemed to sag under its weight.

“That was… closer than I expected,” she said softly, barely audible over a loud, eerie chant the Grik had begun. None of them had ever heard anything like it, but its newness didn’t compare to the other changes they’d seen in the short fight.

“Yeah,” Flynn agreed. He turned to Leedom. “What were you saying? What did you mean?”

Bekiaa looked at the flyer and blinked tired curiosity.

“I’m afraid we’re cooked,” Leedom said, almost matter-of-factly. “Have you got comm?”

“I hope so. The guys were trying to patch up the generator,” Flynn admitted.

“Listen, sir, I gotta report what shot me down so other guys don’t get it!”

“You need to tell me what you saw!” Flynn demanded.

“Okay. General Alden needs to hear it too. If comm’s up, I’ll tell you while we send it. Fair?” He suddenly looked around with an almost-desperate expression for the first time, and patted the holster under his arm. “Say, uh, I sure could use a weapon besides my pistol!” He looked dubiously at Bekiaa’s rifle musket. “You got any oh-threes around here?”