“Of course,” N’galsh said hesitantly. “I have arranged for you to review a gathering of the warriors here.”
“Thank you,” Halik said, “but there is no need for that. I know precisely what I will see-a mob of wild hatchlings, for the most part. General Niwa and I require interviews with… others such as myself.” Halik coughed ironically. “Hunters ‘past their prime,’ who have faced the enemy, in particular. I also want those who have been defeated, but were not ‘made prey.’ ” He looked ominously at N’galsh. “Unless they have been destroyed?”
“No, no, General Halik! General Esshk left strict instructions regarding that, before he and Regent Tsalka went to meet with the Celestial Mother!” He paused. “Despite the… irregularity… of that meeting, I obeyed!”
“Good. Additionally, General Niwa and I require transportation to various points on the land. Have those we wish to meet assemble in those places. Our staff will supply a list of locations.”
“Of course,” N’galsh replied. He hesitated. “Forgive me… Generals… this is all quite new, and I confess some confusion. I pray you will suffer my presence on your travels? Perhaps I may attend your councils? There is much I have to learn; much I crave to know.”
“You are most welcome,” Halik said. Suddenly it was his turn to display self-conscious confusion. “Perhaps,” he began, paused, then continued. “We are all ‘new’ to this, with the exception of General Niwa, and this situation is beyond even his experience. Personally, I crave an answer to an extremely profound question, and you may be the only one with an answer of any sort.”
“Why… surely I will answer, if I can,” N’galsh said, surprised.
“Why are we even here?” Halik asked. “More specifically, why is the enemy not here already?”
N’galsh sighed with relief. He didn’t know the answer, but he did have a guess. “A most interesting question,” he temporized. “After the hideous, wrongful defeat at their ‘Baalkpan,’ we abandoned Aryaal, lost Singapore, and there is every indication that the enemy has conquered Rangoon as well. All that happened in rapid succession-yet they have stopped short of attacking us here. I confess complete mystification. I do not complain,” he hastened to add, “but… I think perhaps… their mouth is full. They must chew before they take their next bite?”
Halik looked at N’galsh with new respect. “I think you are right, Vice Regent.” He glanced at Niwa, who was nodding thoughtfully. “They have suffered no reverse-that we know of-yet they pause. As so recently… elevated… I am sometimes painfully reminded that fatigue and hurts often do not show, but they can shorten the reach of one’s sword.” He grunted. “And of course, a hunter-a warrior-must eat. It may be that their sword has reached its most extreme reach-for now. Perhaps they gather their strength for the next mighty blow. Possibly they await the arrival of a new, sharper sword. Regardless, their delay has already given us some time that may be crucial.” He hissed a chuckle. “It has given us the crucial time to arrive here, General Niwa, if nothing else!”
“True, General Halik,” Niwa replied in the English Halik now more perfectly understood. They’d had a long voyage to get to “know” one another and strangely, something resembling friendship, a form of “warrior bond,” had evolved between them. Neither was exactly “of ” even his own people anymore, and despite their vast dissimilarities, they had much in common. “But without reconnaissance,” he continued, “we can’t know what ‘new’ swords they may have been given. I can imagine a few, and we can try to prepare for some of those possibilities, but you must understand that other than the war in the Philippines on our old world, my people had rarely faced American tactics before, and those were strictly defensive. ‘General of the Sea’ Kurokawa has a low opinion of their discipline and capabilities, but I do not. When we were intercepting their un-encrypted messages, we learned that their ‘ground’ commander is a Marine named Alden.” Niwa shook his head. “I have never faced this ‘Alden’ before, but he is clearly talented-and a Marine.”
“What is a ‘Marine’?” N’galsh asked after Halik translated.
“Marines were some of the finest warriors our old enemy possessed. No doubt this Alden has taught their methods to many of our new ones.” He looked at Halik. “American Marines are notorious for their ferocity and oddly, considering their high level of discipline, their initiative. Initiative is not encouraged among Japanese troops, and has been virtually unknown among the Grik. I suspect that when the enemy does come, it will be amid a firestorm like we have never seen.”
CHAPTER 32
Fil-pin Sea
Dennis Silva was scratching his name on the rough-hewn wood of the boat with a small knife he’d always kept in the shooting pouch he’s managed to save. He’d already carved abbreviations of the names of all the other Allied “survivors” of the monstrous wave: Princess “Becky,” “Lt. Tucker,” “Lelaa,” “Cook,” “Brassy,” “Sis Audry,” “Larry.” For some reason, he’d even added “Petey” before adding “D. Silva.” He thought it was important, if the boats they’d gathered and lashed together were ever found, that folks would know they’d made it this far. Otherwise, nobody would ever know what happened to them. He considered carving Rajendra’s name, but didn’t know how to spell it, and didn’t have the energy. He couldn’t remember the carpenter’s or engineer’s names. Dumb-ass, he thought of Rajendra. Silly, useless dunce finally rears up on his hind legs like a man-when it didn’t make a difference anymore. Hanging on To The tiller migh’ve seemed like a brave stunt at the time, but the boat was going over no matter what. Silva shook his head. The rest of the Imperials probably never even woke up-never knew what hit Them. Whether they did or not, they didn’t tie themselves in. Buncha dopes. Or were They? A quick drownin’ might’ve been better than this slow, dessicatin’ to death.
No. Scratchin’ names on a boat is one Thing-never hurts To cover all The bases-but just givin’ up and dyin’ is for pansies. One way or another, somethin’s going to have to kill Dennis Silva! He finished his wood work and put the knife back in his pouch. They’d collected and lashed together eleven proas that would float, but all had lost their masts and there wasn’t an intact sail left among them. There’d been no sign of the rest of their little “fleet” and all the food, and virtually all the water had been lost or spoiled. Over a hundred of Lawrence’s people survived the wave, but they’d begun dying almost immediately. The creatures could handle the sun and heat extremely well, but only if they had plenty of water. Now, most of the survivors were bundled beneath scraps of the rough Tagranesi sailcloth, seeking protection from the sun. Looking around at the mounds of gray “canvas,” Dennis saw little sign of life, and he began to imagine he was the last one alive. The proas themselves looked more like a logjam than anything else he could imagine, bobbing and undulating with the swells beneath the merciless sun, inexorably coasting northward with the current. They might wash up on Japan someday, he thought, but they’d be long dead before then.
He caught sight of a blurry figure on the far side of the “logjam.” That was about as far as he could see with any clarity anymore. Squinting, he recognized Chinakru. The lizard leader had posted himself there as a lookout, much as Silva had done on this side. Silva was strangely encouraged that the old guy still had the juice to do it, even if there was little point. Maybe, like Silva, he just didn’t have it in him to give up while there was any life left in him at all. He felt light-headed, and his tongue was swollen so tightly in his mouth that he doubted he could speak, but he nodded solemnly, respectfully, at the old lizard. Chinakru nodded back.