Blood In the Water (52 page)

“Bullshit!” Silva barked.

The pilot named Fiedler blanched and looked even more uncomfortable, even . . . ashamed? It was hard to tell. And Gravois merely continued speaking. “A large Marine named Arnold Horn told me to expect you to react with almost exactly that particular phrase, and that you would require proof. Very well.” He went on to briefly describe all the prisoners and finished with the revelation, new to most present, that Sandra was pregnant.

“All that proves is that you saw them,” Matt said. “It doesn't mean you aren't the very bastard who took them yourself. You say you're here to ‘reassure' us. So do it. What's the League going to do to get
Savoie
back from Kurokawa?”

Gravois spread his hands. “Sadly, there is nothing we can do. We have nothing nearly as powerful in this sea with which to confront her. And, of course, it remains our desire to remain neutral in your dispute.”

Spanky snorted, but Matt just nodded. “So you ‘warn' us. What's in it for you?”

“Just your goodwill—and safe passage. We have done all we can to prevent your war from expanding completely out of control. We have failed, and sadly see no choice but to leave you with it. We will be removing all our people and assets from this ‘Indian Ocean' at once.”

“Safe passage? In that?” Matt asked, nodding at the trimotor.

“I think not,” Gravois answered reluctantly. “Oberleutnant Fiedler assures me that it will not make the trip—and cannot carry enough fuel to fly us all the way home in any event. Obviously, we cannot expect to be refueled at Zanzibar.”

“Zanzibar?” Matt demanded.

Gravois blinked. “Oh? Did I not tell you? That is where the madman Kurokawa makes his base—and holds your wife and friends hostage, Captain Reddy.” He watched the reactions on the various faces but made no comment. “Consider the plane and the intelligence I just revealed a token gift, as some meager recompense for whatever the League may have inadvertently done to . . . inflame your, ah, situation.”

Matt's mind was working, but he put his personal thoughts aside. “So how will you get out of here? We're damn sure not taking you anywhere.”

Gravois waved that aside. “One of our ships, an Exploratori Class destroyer named
Leopardo
, will call on this port in several days. We would take passage aboard her, if you will allow it. If you do not,” he continued less amenably, “I cannot guarantee that our two powers will be able to maintain the . . . amicable relations they now enjoy.”

“Threats, now,” Matt said calmly, but his face hardened into stone. “Okay, then here's the deal. I don't believe a single damn word you said about what happened to
Amerika
or how Kurokawa got
Savoie
, and I consider the League of Tripoli our enemy. I may allow you to leave aboard your ship”—he sent a glance at Fiedler—“or I may hang you both as pirates. I'll take it under advisement. But if
Leopardo
tries anything we consider offensive in nature, we'll blow her apart. Do you understand? Furthermore, after she leaves here—with or without you—I'll issue standing orders throughout our entire alliance, in this ocean, around the cape of Africa, and clear across the Pacific, that if any unit of our Allied Fleet so much as lays eyes on anything flying your dopey flag, they're to sink it on sight. Do you understand
that
?” He turned to Safir. “Arrest these men and get them out of my sight.”

When the two men had been escorted away, Gravois acting indignant and Fiedler more resigned, Matt finally exhaled. He was so furious he had the shakes, and he grasped his hands in front of him.

“Shit, Skipper!—pardon my Grik, but . . . damn! Sandra's gonna have your kid? We gotta get her back!”

“I
know
,” Matt seethed through his teeth.

“But Kurokawa's got a goddamn
battleship
!” Spanky snapped at him. “And carriers, planes,
torpedoes
, and God knows what all else—and we have an avalanche of Grik about to fall on us, if we don't jump on them first!”

“We must do
something
,” Safir said hotly.

Dennis Silva looked back and forth between the faces around him; then, suddenly, he pinched Pam's cheek and grinned. “We will, Gen'ral,” he told Safir and looked at Matt. “Don't worry, Skipper. We got 'em right where we want 'em! Gen'ral Pete, Ol' Rolak, an' Gen'ral Maraan here can grind up the land lizards here an' across the strait. I told you these new ones are more like real soljers, but that might make it
easier
in a way. Just me an' Chackie, Larry an' Mr. Bradford licked a bunch of 'em with nothin' but guys shootin' arrows against their muskets. You just worry about the Navy war, Skipper. What's a battleship but a big-ass target for you an'
Walker
, anyway?” Finally, he nodded at Risa standing a short distance away, listening. “She an' me an' Chackie'll take the Raider Brigade an' get our people the hell off Zanzibar. Then you can burn the whole damn island down to the sea.” He scratched the dried blood in his beard, remembering what he knew about Simon Herring's “project,” and considered the ramifications. “Prob'ly have to, come to that,” he said enigmatically.

Matt looked at him, immediately suspicious. “Did you ever happen to talk to Miles about anything Commander Herring might've been working on before he died? Any goofy plans he had?”

Silva arched the brow over his good eye as if surprised by the question. “Me an' Miles never talked a lot, Skipper.” He hedged. “Sure, we had words on occasion, but they was mostly about how I was gonna . . . well, help him get squared away, in a manner o' speakin'. If Herring ever did come up durin' one o' them little chin-waggin's, I don't recall a single thing about any plan,” he stated innocently. Matt studied the big man a moment, not completely convinced, but finally nodded. With Silva, you often had to ask very specific questions to get straight answers, and even if he had any, Matt didn't want to have that conversation there, right then. “Okay,” he continued. “So. I guess that's the big plan in a nutshell. Pretty much what we'd already roughed out, with one new little angle. I just hope we can get everything ready, and have the time we
need to pull it off.” He sent Spanky a bitter frown. “Do you remember what I said, just a couple of weeks ago, about there being blood in the water?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

Matt sighed. “I wish I'd known then how much of it was going to be ours.”

EPILOGUE

Kotopaxi

Captain Blas-Ma-Ar stood at the sound of warning cries and stepped out from under the awning in front of her tent in the center of what had been the quaint mountain village of Kotopaxi. It was a bright, damp morning, and the camp that now included nearly a thousand Christian rebels and
ocelomeh
, “Jaguar Warrieos,” in addition to the company of Vengadores and her entire 2nd Battalion of the Second Marines that had moved up to join them shortly after their arrival, was stirring in preparation for the day. Nothing but charred timbers and blackened stone walls remained of the town, but at least all the bodies had been gathered and buried. The Vengadores had insisted on burial for “their” people, as opposed to cremation, and it made no difference to Blas's Marines. They were used to the weird notions of humans by now, and a few of them had even requested that they be buried as well, when
the time came. Any lingering stench of death had been washed away by heavy, crisp rains, and the cookfires serving a force that had grown to over twenty-five hundred troops and native warriors produced a benign, pleasant smoke that bespoke normalcy—and breakfast. Blas had been eating breakfast herself, joined by Teniente Pacal, first Sergeant Spook, and the two acknowledged leaders of their new “regiment” of auxiliaries: “Captain” Ximen and “Captain” Ixtli. They stepped out now as well, to join her as she watched the head of a column of Allied troops march into camp up the Chimborazo-Kotopaxi road. Two men, one woman, and a single grizzled Lemurian led the column, mounted on horses.

“There's Gener-aal Shinya! An' Sister Audry's got Col-nol Gaar-cia an' Sergent Koratin too!” Spook declared as Teniente Pacal moved past him to greet the newcomers. Captain Ximen hastily stroked his beard to tame it, then clutched his cross and hurried after Pacal.

“It's about time,” Blas groused, staring down the line of troops. She recognized them as the rest of Audry's Vengadores by the small white crosses painted on their helmets. But nothing was behind the wagons and artillery that brought up the rear in the distance. Her tail swished behind her. “Let's go say hello, Captain Ixtli,” she said to the younger local who'd remained with her and Spook. Together, they joined Pacal and Ximen and the growing crowd of uniformed men and 'Cats, backed by a large number of their new friends. The latter said nothing, nor did most of the 'Cat Marines, but Teniente Pacal's men called out to marching comrades. The leaders brought their horses to a standstill in front of Blas's group, and Shinya raised his hand.

“Vengadores!
Alto!
” Colonel Arano Garcia called behind him, echoed by junior officers and NCOs down the line and the column ground to a stop. Blas, Pacal, and Spook all saluted, and Shinya, Garcia, and Koratin returned the gesture. Sister Audry, smiling happily, stepped down from her horse and embraced them all, much to Blas's discomfort. Then she beamed at Ximen and his followers—and all the crosses she saw.

“General Shinya,” Blas said neutrally, wondering if he'd been ill again. He looked older than he had just a couple of weeks before. She nodded back the way he'd come. “I guess you an' Sister Audry's regiment outran the rest of the army.”

Instead of answering, Shinya looked at Garcia. “Colonel, your men
may fall out by companies and erect their tents.” He looked questioningly at Blas.

“Teniente Pacal will show you where, Col-nol,” Blas said. “We've already laid out plenty of space for you”—she looked back at Shinya—“and the
rest
of the army,” she pressed again.

“Thank you, Capitan Blas,” Garcia said, favoring her with a genuine smile. He dismounted and followed Pacal, leading his horse. Sister Audry blinked apologetically at Blas in the Lemurian way and stepped after Garcia, followed by a grumbling Koratin, Ximen—and a buzzing cloud of forest people. Blas expected Audry would address them as soon as her troops were quartered, and was actually anxious to discuss Ixtli's revelations with the human holy woman herself. But first things first. She looked back at Shinya as the former Japanese naval officer dismounted and stood before her, nearly alone at last.

“The rest of the army isn't coming here,
Major
Blas-Ma-Ar,” he said simply.

Blas blinked, at the emphasis he'd placed on her apparent promotion, and with concerned confusion. “And why is that . . . Gener-aal?” she demanded, suspecting she wouldn't like the answer.

“Actually, because of the report you sent back when you arrived here, along with what little aerial reconnaissance we've managed,” he replied. “As is obvious, Don Hernan has fled north through the forest in the direction of Popayan. As you also observed, we must attempt to prevent him from reaching there or he will have an open road back to the heart of the Dominion, not to mention uninhibited supply. We simply can't stop him by chasing after him, not in the jungle the emissaries you sent to me describe. The terrain is incredibly difficult, more like the interior of Borno than anywhere else we have been, complete with large numbers of similar . . . monsters, I understand. For those reasons and others it is wholly unsuited to launching any kind of decisive attack even if we caught him.”

“Then . . . what will we do?”

“Right now, General Blair is racing to stop him by a more roundabout route,” he explained. Blas noted absently that Blair had finally been promoted too. “He, Saan-Kakja, and the Governor-Empress are taking the army from Chimborazo to Quito, on the coast.” He paused. “I will join them there. Together, we will strike east once more in hopes of reaching Popayan from that direction in time to block the enemy. It would seem
impossible, given the distance involved,” he confessed, holding her gaze with his, “but I am reliably assured that the relative ease of movement will more than make up for that.”

Blas shook her head, even more confused. “So . . . what are we doing here? Why are
you
here with the Vengadores? Why didn't you just order us to march on down the Quito road to meet the main army days ago?”

Shinya took a deep breath. “I came here on my way to Quito specifically to talk to you. Regardless of the terrain, someone must still pursue Don Hernan. Make contact and maintain it, harass him, slow him however possible—even hurt him, if the opportunity arises. We have to convince him that we are doing exactly what he wants, following directly after him, and he has all the time he needs to reach Popayan. Is that clear?”

“Me,” Blas said glumly. “This is what you want
me
to do.”

Shinya nodded, his lips pursed. “In more ways than you imagine. Though Sister Audry will be in nominal command, everyone understands that she will not exert . . . tactical control. And despite your difference in rank, even after your well-earned promotion, Colonel Garcia will defer to your—and Sergeant Koratin's—judgment. His and Sister Audry's apparent supremacy is more”—he frowned—“political than anything else. The primary reason for that lies in the fact that you will likely receive more assistance from the Christian rebels than from the ‘Jaguaristas.' Yet, even they should be satisfied to know that it is you who holds final authority.”

“As for all that . . .” Blas shook her head, mind reeling. Apparently, Shinya already knew a great deal more about the two primary rebel factions than she did. She'd definitely have to sort that out. It wouldn't do for her to say something stupid that might put them at each other's throats.

“Please understand,” Shinya continued earnestly, “despite any . . . displeasure you may harbor toward me, it is my regard for you as a soldier and a leader that compels me to entrust you with this assignment. Your race is a factor, of course, as it pertains to influencing the Jaguar Warriors,” he confessed, “but Saan-Kakja and Admiral Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan are probably the only Lemurians in this theater who command greater respect, and even if they had your experience I'm sure you'll agree that they cannot be
allowed
to go.”

Blas gestured around. “So . . . it's just what we've got here, plus the rest you an' Sister Audry brought in? That'll take us up to about thirty-five
hundreds or so. You do realize Don Hernan's prob'ly still got fifty or sixty
thousands
, right?”

“Actually, I'm taking most of your dragoons with me. I'm informed that horses will not serve you well where you are going. But essentially, yes, if that's your current force. On the other hand, I've been assured that you'll also have large numbers of . . . additions along the way, as the local resistance moves to join you.” He gestured at the long line of wagons where the tail end of his column had been. “And we brought five thousand muskets with which to arm them. They're Imperial muskets, not recovered Dom weapons. Better in every respect—particularly when it comes to ammunition supply—and the socket bayonets, I'm sure you'll agree. They suddenly became available when they were replaced by shipments of more modern weapons that were already en route before the Battle of Malpelo. Sergeant Koratin will be in charge of training your new recruits on the march.” He smiled, and a predatory gleam appeared in his eyes. “When you do finally prod Don Hernan into contact with us at Popayan, the rest of the ‘Army of the Sisters' will be almost entirely armed with Allin-Silva breechloaders at last, and I promise you we will greet him most warmly.” In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, he suddenly drove his right fist into his left hand. “We
must
destroy Don Hernan and the evil Dominion he represents as soon as possible! Things . . . haven't gone as well as we may like in the West, of late. Sister Audry and Sergeant Koratin will give you more details regarding that, but suffice to say that Captain Reddy and the rest of our friends need us there rather badly, Major, and I mean to join them as soon as we possibly can!”

“I'll sure agree with you on that,” Blas murmured, concerned about what might have happened, but her mind was already racing, planning. “When do you want us to start the chase?”

“Almost at once,” Shinya replied apologetically. “The sooner the better. Don Hernan may already wonder why we have not yet pursued him beyond Kotopaxi.”

Blas nodded. “Ay, ay, sir. I'll get with Sister Audry and Col-nol Garcia as soon as they're settled, and the local leaders as well. We'll get things sorted out and on the move.”

Shinya started to leave her, recognizing the concentration blinking he'd seen so often that meant her mind was already somewhere else. “Oh!” he said. “I almost forget to tell you.”

Blas focused back on his face. “Sir?”

“You'll be glad to know we finally received a wireless transmission from Lieutenant Fred Reynolds and Ensign Kari-Faask. They actually made it, it would seem, and after various adventures they managed to contact representatives of the people their Captain Anson was associated with. There are few details at present, but it's possible we'll soon have even more assistance in this war after all. Saan-Kakja has conferred full diplomatic status on Fred and Kari.” His smile turned lopsided. “I certainly hope they don't ‘blow it,' as certain of our American destroyermen friends often say.”

“That's very good news, Gener-aal Shinya,” Blas said with sincere, surprised relief. “Any word from Cap-i-taan Gaar-ett and
Donaghey
?”

Shinya shook his head. “Nothing yet.” With that, he finally turned completely to climb back on his horse. “You may keep a squad of dragoons. You may need messengers. Please have the rest join me by the wagons in one hour. We will leave immediately after that.” He sat very straight in his saddle. “Good luck, Major. I will see you in Popayan.”

*   *   *

Baalkpan Advanced Training Center

“Good afternoon, Mr. Chairman,” said Lieutenant Abel Cook as he, Stuart Brassey, and Major I'joorka raised their hands in salute.

Alan Letts hesitated and frowned when he stepped on the dock from the MTB that had carried him and a number of his staff out to the Baalkpan ATC. “That's going to take some getting used to,” he said self-consciously, returning the salutes and glancing past the Khonashi and two young men at the regiment of human and Grik-like troops arrayed to receive him. “Good morning to you all,” he added belatedly before introducing his companions. All but two were middle-aged Lemurians with various-colored pelts, dressed in styles roughly identifying them as delegates from Baalkpan, Maa-ni-la, and Sular. Commodore Sor-Lomaak, of
Woor-Na
, had been acclaimed the representative for the seagoing Homes. The humans were Henry Stokes, now director of the Office of Strategic Intelligence, and Lord Bolton Forester, ambassador from the Empire of the New Britain Isles. Stokes had been on HMAS
Perth
, arriving on this world with the prison ship
Mizuki Maru
. He'd been elevated to his current post
upon the death of Simon Herring. Ambassador Forester had been scheduled to return to New London for some time but continually postponed his departure while his country's closest allies created a new union. Now, Alan reflected, faced with the current crisis, it was a good thing he'd stayed.