Deadly Shores (21 page)

“I wish Mr. Bradford could see this,” Greg murmured.

“He shall, if we determine this is a good place for another ‘staging point' as you put it,” Choon said. He'd borrowed Sammy's glass and was raptly watching the colorful, chaotic drama. Greg felt a prickly suspicion, however, as he watched the line of bird splashes edging toward his ship—and the whaleboat that had slowed almost to a stop.

“I don't know,” he murmured. “Sammy,” he said louder, suddenly decisive, “signal the whaleboat to return to the ship at once! Fire a gun to get their attention if you have to.”

“Ay, Cap-i-taan!” Sammy replied, a new urgency in his tone. Smitty went to prepare a gun.

Greg raised the glass again, even as the signal raced up the halyard. Bekiaa had been right—her lieutenant knew his stuff. He'd already ordered the boat about. In a sick instant, though, Greg realized it wouldn't make any difference. New explosions of water erupted on the bay, from below this time. Apparently, the birds had chased their prey to a drop-off or other underwater feature guarded by something like flasher fish—voracious, tuna-size predators that congregated in virtually every shallows they'd visited. Here, they began snatching the swooping lizardbirds in their jagged teeth even as the fliers slammed the water with even greater determination to eat their fill before the baitfish, or whatever they chased, escaped their grasp for another day. Caught in the middle of this sudden confluence of savage appetites was the whaleboat.

Flashies started hammering the boat with their hard, bony heads, probably going for the brightly spinning screw at first. The coxswain, standing in the sternsheets at the tiller, was pitched sprawling into the sea. He never even surfaced. A growing number of lizardbirds dove on the Marines, snatching bites from furry arms or bouncing off helmets and leather armor. Somebody, probably Lieutenant Ra-Saan—it was impossible to tell at this distance—opened up with a Blitzer, the muffled report reaching them seconds later. The lizardbirds recoiled from the unfamiliar sound, but they quickly renewed their attack. Screams began to reach the ship.

“Fire a gun, Smitty!” Greg yelled in desperation. Almost immediately, one of the eighteen-pounders directly below in the waist roared, spitting fire and a dense cloud of white smoke that swept swiftly downwind. Greg focused his glass, but quickly saw the great gun had no effect. Either the lizardbirds were so used to thunder or the booming surf on the reef, or they simply didn't care what transpired beyond their apparent boundary, and they flocked around the boat in countless numbers. The whaleboat itself, now settling due to the battering the flashies had given it, had become a heaving mound of colorful lizardbirds, frantically feeding on the unfortunate Marines. As the boat flooded lower, it looked like a little flowery island in the calm water of the bay, surrounded by white, splashing breakers of its own. If anyone was left alive to scream by now, the sounds were mercifully drowned by the raucous roar of feasting birds.

“Lookouts and topmen below! Get out of the rigging!” Greg bellowed. “Clear for action!”

“Rig the overhead netting,” Sammy added. “Marines will draw shotguns, but all others will go below and batten down!”

Greg nodded agreement. Some of the smoothbore muskets had been converted to breechloaders with the same Allin-Silva technique as the standard-issue rifles, essentially becoming 20-gauge shotguns. They might be effective, but to use them, they had to get as many people out of the way as they could. He stared back at the colorful swarm as 'Cats slid down stays and bare feet thundered on the deck.

“They are not coming,” Choon said mildly. “They have stopped.” Greg felt an irrational surge of anger at the Republic snoop, but it quickly vanished as he realized his rage was misplaced. He
wanted
the lizardbirds to come on so he could kill them for what they'd done. But that was nuts. There weren't enough shotshells in the entire ship to put a dent in the swirling mass, and
Donaghey
would be lucky to escape an attack with no worse than shredded rigging. He sighed with belated relief, but he had to wonder if Choon really was as unaffected by all this as he appeared. Shaking his head, he stared toward shore. Slowly, like a receding wave, the swirling clouds of lizardbirds had begun edging back toward the island. Already, the explosive splashing of the flashies had ceased. A couple of orange, black, and green fliers still stalked the gunwales of the whaleboat, the only part still visible, but when it finally slipped under entirely, the lizardbirds flapped their furry, membranous wings and joined others of their kind surging back toward the trees.

“The island is theirs,” Choon observed. “And the waters to a point. There is no food—or life for them—beyond where the water belongs to the fish, so they do not cross.” He regarded Greg with his big, sky blue eyes. “Quite fortunate for us, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed hollowly. “But I guess Mr. Bradford won't see this place after all. Not much point.”

“No.”

“Now we know why nobody lives here, though,” Saama-Kera softly agreed.

“Secure from battle stations, but keep a sharp lookout,” Greg told his exec. “And run up a signal Captain Bekiaa and Ensign Kaar can see when they return. Tell them, whatever they do, to stay the
hell
away from that island when they set down!”

//////
Above Mauritius

B
ekiaa-Sab-At had flown before, in one of the big lumbering “Clippers.” But those had four engines and enclosed passenger compartments. Flying in the Nancy was an entirely different experience. The takeoff had been weird—and wet—and the mass of swirling lizardbirds had actually frightened her. She hadn't thought that was possible anymore, and she was frankly encouraged that it was. She didn't know how much damage hitting one of the creatures would do to the plane, but imagined there'd be some. As little as she knew about aircraft and flight in general, even she knew that hitting
hundreds
of the things at once would not be survivable. Ensign Kaar was a good pilot, though, and he'd managed to avoid the mass of flying creatures that seemed to rise just as the plane did. She briefly wondered about them and hoped everything was all right back at the anchorage, but she also began enjoying herself for the first time in longer than she could remember. Flying—this kind of flying—was fun!

The view was stunning and unforgettable. There were little islets scattered around “Maar-ishus,” some little bigger than
Donaghey
. Only one was as large as
Salissa
, and it was merely a barren black rock. Nothing else but the subsiding sea was visible on any horizon, and the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. Mauritius wasn't very large itself, but it was charming enough from the air. Shaped much like a flattened squash on this world, it was roughly fifteen miles wide, east to west, and twenty or so from north to south. The neck of the “squash” was on the northernmost end, jutting into the sea and curving east and slightly south like the neck of a goose. There was a broad savannah in the north, but the rest of the island was largely blanketed by dense jungle. Bekiaa remained amazed by how many of the colorful lizardbirds there were, flowing in swarms as if controlled by a single mind, but they stayed down close to the treetops and didn't venture near the plane flying a couple of thousand feet above them. They didn't go far out to sea either, and she watched as they churned the shallows for food. There seemed to be a threshold though, beyond which they didn't go, and she wondered about that. She also wondered why they didn't fish the reefs that almost completely surrounded the island, and took note.

“Any sign of
Sineaa
?” she shouted through the voice tube, suddenly ashamed of her inattention. She should've been scanning for their consort herself.

“I haven't seen her,” the tinny voice of the pilot responded.

“I haven't seen any Grik, or any settlements of any kind either,” Bekiaa said. “Let's fly back south, over the ship, and see what's down that way,” she suggested a few minutes later. “Then we'll head north again, along the west coast.”

“Ay, ay.”

The plane banked right and flew down the eastern shore. Before long,
Donaghey
was in view, still anchored in the picturesque little bay. Bekiaa had never seen the ship from the air, and though it looked quite small, she felt a surge of admiration and affection. Then she squinted. “There's a signal,” she announced. “It says to not land close to shore. I wonder what that's about.”

“Maybe they seen something there we didn't.”

Bekiaa didn't answer, but still stared at the ship as they flew overhead, and it slowly grew smaller behind them. Finally, she turned around. The southern end of the island was dominated by a high, sheer, rocky monolith that drew her attention. It didn't seem to belong on the otherwise gently rolling landscape. “Let's have a closer look at that,” she directed.

The plane turned a little to the right and aimed for the high, flat-topped feature. “It must've been a vol-caano,” Bekiaa exclaimed. “I bet that's all dead laavaa. Maybe the earth around it has blown or fallen away over time.”

“The wind might get funny around it,” Kaar said. “I'll just fly over the top, okay?”

“Sure.”

They got closer. Bekiaa hadn't brought a telescope. The Imperial-made instruments were far more numerous in the fleet than binoculars, but they weren't exactly disposable. Each ship had a few, but only a few. There were four on
Donaghey
. Bekiaa thought she caught a hint of movement on the dark crags ahead, and wished she could make out what it was. Normally, her keen eyes didn't need assistance. “Wait,” she warned uncertainly, leaning out to the left to get a better look past the spinning prop and the pilot beyond. “There
is
something moving on that mountain!” Size was deceptive at a distance, and their elevation altered perspective as well, but she was sure now that something—numerous somethings and all fairly large—were clinging to the sheer cliffs ahead, and it looked like there were more of whatever they were crowding along the ridge at the top. “Let's turn away,” she ordered, perhaps half a mile short of the peak.

“You sure? I don't see anything.”

The first creature launched itself into the sky, great wings unfolding from its side and catching air. Others quickly followed, beating their wings and rising toward the plane.

“The nose blocks your view!” Bekiaa cried. “Those cliffs are crawling with
really
big lizardbirds, and some are coming for us! Turn away at once!”

The plane banked hard left, back toward the coast, and Bekiaa twisted around to look. “Uh-oh,” she murmured to herself. She'd never seen the “Grikbirds,” or “dragons,” as the Imperials called them, that the Allies had to contend with in the east, but she understood they were aptly named. They looked and acted like Grik Uul, displaying limited intelligence and a pack mentality, and were about the same size. The main difference was that they had wings instead of arms, of course, and a longer tail. The creatures rising toward the Nancy were similar, Bekiaa supposed, but much larger, possibly two-thirds the size of the plane! There were other differences. These had long, narrow, toothy jaws—well suited for snatching fish, or perhaps other fliers—and almost more striking just then, they were blue and white!

“They think we're one of them!” Bekiaa shouted.

Ensign Kaar had finally seen the things as they turned, and his voice came shrill through the tube. “Is that good or bad?”

“How should I know?” Bekiaa demanded. “Step on it! They are gaining!” She snatched the Blitzer Bug from its spring-loaded rack beside her, inserted one of the Thompson-style twenty-round magazines, and yanked back the bolt. Her stomach flew into her throat. “No, no!” she yelled. “Do not dive! We may be faster, but you shorten the distance they must climb!” Kaar had instinctively pushed the nose down to gain more speed, but realized his mistake as soon as Bekiaa pointed it out. Quickly, he pulled up—just as one of the creatures shot past the plane.
They
are
fast!
Bekiaa realized.
Maybe faster than us!
Another monster slashed by, and Bekiaa started to fire, but hesitated.
Surely they would have slashed
through
us if they meant to attack. What if they really do think we are one of them?
She had no doubt the jagged snouts and long, thinly curved claws could've just made short work of the Nancy. She leaned out. Maybe a dozen more of the things were still climbing, but they were struggling now.
They
wouldn't catch them. That just left the two that had. She looked forward and saw the beasts, flapping their wings for all they were worth and trying to maintain the leading formation they'd taken. They couldn't succeed. Their mouths were hanging open now, and their oversize chests were sucking and expelling air with every beat. One creature glanced at her as the Nancy crept past, its yellow, slit-pupiled eye bulging almost indignantly. She still held her fire. “Do not fly straight to the ship,” she warned. “Let us lead them out to sea. My guess is, they'll abandon the chase.”

“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan!” Kaar replied, apparently relieved, for the first time, to have someone tell him what to do. Before long, the pursuers did give up. But instead of turning back to their rocky roost, they dove down toward the breakers formed by the reef.

“They
had
to think we were one of them,” Bekiaa mused through the speaking tube. “Perhaps they noticed we were larger, oddly shaped, and somewhat noisy, but that may have inspired a sense of competitiveness!” She shrugged. “Or maybe they were just trying to herd us back to the cliff.”

“Could be they were males, and they thought we were a female,” Kaar offered, a hint of humor cracking his tension.

“Or the opposite, Ensign,” Bekiaa stated more formally. “Just as possible. Either way, I wonder what would have happened today if the Navy, in its wisdom, had not decided long ago on such a fortuitous paint scheme for its aircraft.”

Ensign Kaar didn't respond, and Bekiaa leaned out to stare down once more. The frightening creatures were far below now, but already rising from the turbulent breakers. Each had a large fish—perhaps a flashy?—clutched in its formidable claws and was beating its wings with considerably less gusto than before. No doubt they needed to replace the energy they'd just expended. Bekiaa could sympathize. “Let's return to the ship and report this interesting encounter. I could use a meal myself.” She smiled. “I may even compose a letter of thanks to Commaander Letts and Col-nol Maalory. I believe it was they who chose the colors for the Naval Air Corps!”

Bekiaa wasn't smiling later when she stepped aboard
Donaghey
and learned what had transpired in her absence. Nor was she particularly hungry anymore.

“There'll be no more scouts from here,” Captain Garrett said grimly. “We'll bring the plane aboard immediately, but won't strike it down just yet. It'll be a pain working the ship with it in the way, but if the weather holds, we'll use the plane to scout Reunion Island as soon as we raise it, and before we bring the ship in range of any more flying lizards!”

“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan,” Bekiaa said, looking at the shore her Marines never reached. It was a shore
she'd
have never reached if she hadn't been so intent on going on the scout—yet another source of guilt for her.

“When will we leave this place?” Sammy asked.

“With the tide, if the wind holds like it is,” Greg said forcefully. “There's nothing for us here, Lieutenant. I'll want the launch to precede us through the reef, taking soundings all the way, but we'll use volunteers only, in case those bigger lizardbirds Bekiaa ran into like to use that time to hunt the breakers.” He snorted. “Maybe if they do, they'll leave us alone with the Nancy on deck.” He looked away. “Every shore,” he muttered.

“What's that, Cap-i-taan?” Bekiaa asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Greg replied, forcing a brittle smile. “It just seems that every shore we touch on this goofed-up world is even deadlier than the last, with the exception of Diego.”

“I understand there have been others, not so inhospitable as well,” Choon encouraged.

“Sure,” Greg agreed, “I guess. But I can't help worrying that when our people hit the beach at Madagascar, they're going to find the deadliest shore of all.”