Deadly Shores (41 page)

A thrown weapon of some sort, he had no idea what it had been, glanced off his helmet and sent colorful stars streaking across his vision. He sagged, trying to remember what he'd been thinking about. Campeti had him, he realized, holding him up by his sore right arm and yelling into his ear. He shook his head.
What the hell's Campeti going on about?

“What?” he managed. Grik wavered in front of him, and he tried to aim his pistol. He wasn't much good with it left handed, not beyond a few short steps, but that had been enough. Now, the Grik seemed to be holding back, and he couldn't get the sights to stay on any one of them as they turned away, apparently drawn by something else.

“We have to keep them occupied!” Matt ordered. “Don't let 'em go forward!”

“They ain't goin' forward, Skipper!” Campeti rasped. “Look!”

“I
see
them.”

“No.” Campeti shifted his grip and hoisted him higher. “I don't mean at the Grik!”

The roar of battle had intensified in the waist, and Matt realized there was heavy firing there for the first time in quite a while. More mushrooms of fire climbed to port and Matt felt their radiant heat, but he barely noticed them when he realized there were suddenly quite a few more Lemurian Marines along the
starboard
rail, advancing around the number one torpedo mount and shooting into the milling Grik aft of the deckhouse.

“Where'd they come from?” Matt managed, uncertain if he was seeing right through the bloody rain and sweat in his eyes. Even as he asked, he became aware that one of the DDs had drawn up alongside
Walker
despite the shallow water, and Marines and armed sailors were clambering aboard as fast as they could. Thunderous booming drew his gaze aft, and there was another DD, its sails furled and smoke hazing the top of its 'stack, furiously firing stands of grapeshot into the few Grik still staging to board. It was only then that Matt realized how few of those remained. The firebombs hadn't only burned hundreds of their enemies; they'd cut the bridge of corpses! Even beyond that, hundreds more of the enemy lay or writhed, crawling and smoldering, on the strangely smaller sandbar that had brought them so near. It suddenly dawned on Matt that he had no idea how long they'd been fighting, but the tide must've finally turned.

Ever so slightly, and possibly discernible only to those like Matt and Campeti who knew her so well,
Walker
shifted in her bed of sand and Matt looked to starboard once more.
Salissa
was passing in the deeper water of the channel, her high, massive form displacing a bow wave that caused the DD alongside to roll noticeably—and
Walker
to shift again as another wave struck her. Fierce fighting still raged aboard his ship, but shouts from below, and cheering, trilling jeers from the bridge informed him that many Grik forward of the platform were jumping over the rail onto the bridge of bodies, or even into the increasingly flashy-frothed sea. Matt felt a smile begin to crack his stony visage when he caught the flicker of a Morse lamp high on
Big Sal
's bridge.

“Keje wants to know if you're okay, and if we'll float if he pulls us off this damn beach,” Campeti croaked after clearing his dry throat and spitting on the corpse-strewn deck.

“I saw
that
,” Matt told him. “Let's see how quickly we can reply.”

More sunbeams found them, shifting and fading in the dirty sky, and the rain had stopped at last. The sunlight still looked rather odd filtered through the dense gunsmoke shrouding
Walker
once more, but the darkness that had been creeping into Matt's eyes and soul slowly began to clear.

//////
The Celestial Palace

D
ennis Silva only
thought
Grik City was a rat maze. Compared to the dank, dark, labyrinthine stone passageways through the bitter heart of the Celestial Palace, the shoreside slum had been a bright, cheery garden spot. The halls were narrow, and the ceilings were low and confining. What little light there was came from the meager flicker of small lamps recessed into the walls, and set atop large clay vessels of what was likely some kind of fish oil, judging by the smell. The lamps gave barely enough light to see the little compass Silva resorted to, time and again, to keep their bearings. Not that it helped much. The place was like a hive, with corridors placed at right angles to one another, but with no more sense of direction or purpose than an ant might have used to lay them out. Occasionally, they opened into broad galleries with arched ceilings and lamp-lit walls, but these had no apparent purpose either. Miyata proposed that they were dining halls or places where ceremonies of some sort might be held, but none looked like they'd been used for a long time. But Miyata had also promised them it wouldn't stink quite as bad in here, and he'd been wrong about that.
All a matter of taste,
Dennis supposed.
It is different, but still damn bad
.
Course, the air ain't exactly wholesome in
Walker
's berthing spaces, but it ain't a patch to this
.

And there were Grik.

Their first encounters came very soon after they entered; a group of “palace guards,” most likely, rushing to reinforce the ones they'd killed, came charging around one of the blind turns. Silva hosed the leaders with his Thompson, and they tossed grenades around the corner before they showed themselves. Peering around at last, they saw close to a dozen Grik, wadded together, mostly dead. A few were only wounded, but they'd been stunned by the concussion of the blasts and were easily dispatched by the 'Cat Marines' bayonets. The next ones weren't as easy, probably realizing they needed to proceed with caution. Miyata had warned them that the guards were a “kind” of Hij themselves, and would be a cut above ordinary Grik warriors. Unfortunately, Irvin Laumer didn't think his party had the luxury of taking its time. Whatever they could accomplish in the Celestial Palace had to be done before they were overwhelmed by numbers, or their targets—the Celestial Mother herself, for one—could escape. Of course, it was hoped that her death or capture might influence events outside the palace, and that was another reason they were in a hurry. If the battle for Grik City was lost before they found the Grik leaders, it wouldn't make a hell of a lot of difference in the short term if they killed the Celestial Mother or not. To make matters worse, Laumer and Miyata weren't even sure that killing her was a good idea.

“That's what
I'm
here for, damn it!” Dennis grumped, his words echoing in the passage they searched—an empty passage, for the moment. “I even brung along a special tool for the job!” Petey stirred from his perch around Silva's neck, but was too terrified to make a comment. Instead, he just scrunched down tighter to the big destroyerman.

“But if we kill her, the Grik might just fight even harder,” Miyata argued. “Whereas if we capture her—hold her in our power—she may be convinced to force the rest to stop fighting entirely!”

“Yeah.” Pam snorted at Dennis. “Killin' her might be the most idiotic thing you ever did!”

“No way,” Silva denied with an ironic chuckle.

“I'm with the big idiot,” Isak grouched, puffing up behind with the 'Cat Marines. “Not that anybody cares what I think,” he added.

“I do,” Horn stated, “and I agree with your assessment of our priorities—and Silva. But the Jap may have a point.”

“He does have a point,” Laumer agreed. “But we've got to find her before we can kill her
or
take her prisoner. Where the hell is she?”

Miyata paused, considering. “You must remember I was only in the palace that one time, and I never saw the creature myself.” He frowned. “I came in through the entrance we used, but then I went down. I haven't seen a stairway yet—but I don't remember ever coming this far either. We must have missed it somehow.” He shook his head. “I only assumed she was on this level by the amount of activity at the time, but that may mean nothing today. In any event, she may reside on a different level entirely.”

“Helluva lot of good you are.” Silva sulked. “Our only ‘guide' can't even find the fattest Grik in the world—who I doubt would surrender even if the damn thing knew what surrender was! Buncha pie-in-the-sky
crap
, arguin' ‘Let's do this! Let's do that' like the goddamn League o' Nations—like anything you decide'll make any difference, anyway. I say we just follow our noses. She's s'posed to be bigger than the rest—and Larry's Tagranesi big mama sure was, so I guess it follows. If that's so, then she's liable to stink worse than the rest of 'em too. We sniff out the worst stink in the joint an' kill whatever we find!”

“Kill what we find!” Petey mumbled intensely.

Laumer had a compass of his own, and he looked at it in the dim light of a lantern. “I bet Miyata's right,” he said, ignoring Silva's rant. “I think we've just about covered this level, though I don't think we've seen anything twice. That leaves up or down.”

“Up, I would think.”

Laumer nodded. “Okay. But how do we get up? Where would the stairs be?”

“If not near the entrance, then toward the middle—I think.”

“Grik!” Silva barked, and loosed a burst from his Thompson. Petey squawked and launched himself back down the passageway with another squirt from under his tail. Bullets slapped into two of the charging warriors and they sprawled on the stones, but four more were coming. One threw a spear that narrowly missed the top of Laumer's shoulder—but buried itself in the throat of a 'Cat Marine behind him. Laumer blasted that one with his shotgun, and Pam killed the others with a sustained burst from her Blitzer.

“As we were sayin',” Silva said, suddenly breathing a little harder while Pam checked the 'Cat, “which damn way?”

“This one's dead,” Pam announced, helping shift the body so one of the other Marines could take the cartridge box and sling their comrade's weapon.

“I suggest the direction these Grik came from,” Miyata offered tensely, watching them do their job. Then he shrugged. “They had to come from somewhere.”

“And there ought to be
more
of them,” Horn suddenly interjected. “Here we are, running loose in the big house, and all we've run into is a few scattered groups. I don't know. . . . It just seems like it ought to be harder, you know?”

Laumer looked at him speculatively.

“So our strategy is to just go whichever direction offers the
most
resistance?” Silva asked, cocking a brow. Then he grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

The blood-spattered corridor suddenly echoed with a monstrous roar that seemed to shake the very stones.

“Whoa!” Lawrence said, his crest rising, and his bright eyes wide. “That sounded like a su'er lizard!”

Petey had reappeared, and he made panicky little chirping sounds as he scrambled up Silva's leg and back and resumed his perch. “Make up your goddamn mind,” Silva scolded the creature, then looked at the rest of them. “Relax. That can't be no super lizard! Even if they had one, they'd never stuff him in here.”

“It was
somethin'
,” Pam insisted. “Somethin' big. Somethin' that might explain why we've only seen these small groups of Grik!” Another
pair
of roars, possibly closer, shook grimy condensation from the ceiling.

“More than one, whatever they are,” Miyata observed, “and Surgeon Cross might well be right.” He looked at Laumer. “Onward? The way the Grik came?”

Laumer nodded, and Silva, Horn, and Lawrence trotted ahead. It might not've been much of a plan, but at least it was one. The passage took an abrupt left turn, and they followed that for a while. Here, at last, the corridor opened into several dark chambers, but again there appeared to be nothing inside them. There was a fair amount of evidence of recent occupation, however, suddenly interrupted. Finally, after another left turn, they entered one of the larger halls, similar to those they'd seen before. This one was different, however, in that several other passageways opened into it, and there were two broad staircases, hewn from stone, at the far end. One led up, the other down. Another chorus of roars, apparently very close, froze them in their tracks, and they heard a kind of loud snuffling sound as well.

“They're here!” Lawrence warned.

“Up the stairs!” Silva urged. “We'll fight whatever the hell they are from the high ground!”

“Belay that!” Laumer ordered. “We don't know what's up the stairs! We fight here, where we know there's nothing at our backs!”

“With all due respect, sir,” Horn said, “we don't know that either!”

The argument was quickly rendered moot when “something big” suddenly flowed out of one of the passageways and into the hall. The first thing they noticed was the head. Long, massive jaws, easily as frightening as a super lizard's, filled with a double row of yellowed, sharklike teeth, gaped at them as small, pinprick eyes swiveled toward them like a chameleon's. The deadly head was framed by a large spiky frill and a pair of forward-facing horns. Another horn, shorter than the others, protruded near the snorting nose. The face, at least, looked like a narrower, “sport model” version of the giant creature they'd seen when Chack's Brigade went ashore. That was about the only similarity. Behind the head, the body was long, almost serpentine, with more spikes down its back and four short, powerful legs. The skin was a mix of scales and fur, very closely matching the stone walls around it, but the scales glittered like inset jewels in the lamplight.

“Jesus Christ!” Horn whispered. “It's a Chinese dragon!”

“Bullshit!” Silva hissed. “It looks more like a giant horny-toad poodle to me!” He grinned. “It's a dragon poodle!”

Whatever it was, it attacked.

Pam's Blitzer Bug and Silva's Thompson sprayed .45 ACP at the thing, amid the deeper booming of the Allin-Silvas. Faced with this unexpected cacophony, the monster slowed its rush. The .45s didn't seem to do much, and some even ricocheted off the horns, frill, and even what were apparently armored casings around the eyes, and whined off the stony walls. Some got down its throat, no doubt, and that might have stung. The heavier bullets fired by the far more powerful Allin-Silvas gave it something very unexpected to think about, however, as they plowed past the facial armor and deep into the flesh beneath. Even Isak's Krag did some damage when it blew the casing off one of the eyes.

“Spread out!” Dennis roared, grabbing Pam by the arm and starting to move to the side. He stopped, feeling something drag him back, and he whirled. Isak's hand was in his bag of grenades.

“Nearly yanked my arm outa its socket,” Isak sneered. “I need one 'o these!”

“Well, don't throw it in
here
—it'll just get us!” Silva snapped, still holding Pam. She was reloading. “Me an' her gotta get at the damn thing's sides. Wish I had my ol' Doom Stomper!”

The beast had recovered itself and lunged again. A renewed fusillade from a wider front startled it again, and it roared in pain and frustration. Miyata bolted to the side to get a better angle, and his motion drew its attention. It snapped once on air, but spun as fast as a striking snake and snatched his leg in its jaws. Miyata cried out as the monster picked him up—then dropped him on the stones when two Lemurian Marines drove their bayonets in its side. With no apparent thought, the beast simply rose up slightly and slammed its body down on its tormentors. They didn't even have time to scream. Silva changed magazines again and bored in, chewing a hole in the scaly hide and into the flesh beneath, while Pam began judiciously firing bursts to distract it whenever it focused on another victim.

“Hey!” Isak Reuben screeched, his voice shaky. “Leave it be a second, wilya?”

The firing tapered off as the stunned combatants looked at him. So did the monster. “Looky here, you big, fat, horny-toad poodle dragon! I got somethin' for ya!” Isak spat. He pulled the pin on his grenade and started a classic windup, just as the monster went for him, jaws open wide. With a grunt, Isak pitched the grenade with all his might straight down the dark gullet as it came, then threw himself to the side. Silva yelled, and everyone started firing again, to distract it from Isak. The grenade went off with a muffled thump that would've been anticlimactic—if it hadn't blown the monster's throat out with a sudden cascade of smoke and blood. It must've broken the thing's neck too, because the giant body started flopping and rolling around the chamber with spastic abandon, slamming the slack-jawed, lifeless head against the walls and floor. It almost smashed Laumer as he and Lawrence pulled Miyata out of the way. Slowly, the corpse lost animation, and the diminished group gathered at the stairs.

“You oughta strike for pitcher on the ship's team,” Silva told Isak. “Jeek's gonna be jealous.”

“Not me,” Isak grated.

“Well done, Chief Reuben,” Laumer said, just as another roar thundered in one of the passageways.

“Thanks . . . Mr. Laumer,” Isak said, flustered by the compliment. “Now let's get along up them stairs!”

“What?” Dennis said. “You mean you don't wanna wait for another one?”

“Hell no!”

“We're gonna hafta carry Lieutenant Miyata,” Pam announced, tearing the man's trouser leg and quickly smearing polta paste from her pack on the wound. Miyata didn't make a sound, but he clenched his teeth in pain. “Gimme a hand here!” she ordered one of the seven remaining 'Cats before looking defiantly up at Laumer. “We sure can't leave him!”