3
////// Grik India
General Halik’s HQ
“Is that the new enemy weapon?” demanded General Halik, commander of all Grik land forces in the “officially” reconquered Regency of India. His yellow eyes and reptilian stance were intense. General Orochi Niwa, formerly a lieutenant of the Special Naval Landing Forces aboard the doomed Japanese Imperial Navy battle cruiser Amagi, had entered the strange ruins they’d commandeered as a command post south of the Great Lake. He was carrying a long, slender object of bright, slightly rusty steel and battered wood.
Niwa nodded. “One of them,” he replied shortly, gazing about with curiosity as usual. The ruins were truly ancient, their once ornate nature blurred by uncounted centuries of neglect. He speculated again about whatever lost civilization once inhabited the place. But the Grik conquest of India occurred so long ago that the builders were not remembered and Niwa would likely never know any more about them.
Halik hissed ironic frustration and beckoned him near. The enemy had many new weapons, and only Grik numbers and Halik’s and Niwa’s strategies had created the recent victory—if it could be called that. “Stalemate” was perhaps a more appropriate word, and if that somehow satisfied the new Lord Regent-Consort and General of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa, it couldn’t satisfy General Halik.
A makeshift roof kept out most of the rain that never seemed to ease. Halik and his immediate staff were infinitely more comfortable than his Uul warriors besieging the army of the “prey,” but he was heartily sick of his circumstances. He was immune to hardship but was a creature of action, and the weeks of delay since the great battles that established this current unsatisfactory situation made him short-tempered, even with Niwa.
General Niwa said no more, but raised the object in question and placed it atop the heavy-lined maps on the table Halik leaned against. He made no response to Halik’s tone either; he’d grown to accept it. But Halik knew as he peered at the weapon that Niwa wouldn’t speak again as long as he sounded like he was feeling sorry for himself. It is odd, Halik reflected, that he and I have grown so close, learned each other so well, when our physical forms are so different that we can barely even speak each other’s language. They could understand each other, but could form the other’s words only with extreme difficulty. The result wasn’t worth the effort and left them both feeling foolish.
Halik had initially likened his attachment to the alien creature to those transient . . . fondnesses that occasionally occurred between warriors in the heat of battle, but he’d never felt it this strong before or had it remain so long. Niwa often called Halik “my friend,” and Halik had parroted the term, but he’d begun to learn what the still ill-defined word truly implied. Niwa was Halik’s friend! He’d never had anything like a friend before, and, despite their differences, their strange—perhaps even unnatural—kinship was quite real. He’d come to believe the equally real understanding they shared might well be unique. In addition, both of them had grown apart from their own people, their own species in many ways, and though the concept of friendship remained a complicated thing for Halik to grasp, he knew he felt more . . . comfortable with Niwa than with any other being of any form.
“This is the weapon you described!” Halik said, his tone less severe. He traced the long, wood-and-metal thing with a claw. He’d seen some of the enemy’s weapons before; far more advanced than those entering service with his own army, particularly the more elite members of the Hatchling Host—Grik-designed from birth to understand the concept of defense and trained as an army instead of a mob of mindlessly attacking warriors. Elements of that new army had been deployed far earlier than intended, but even now held the enemy bottled up in the rocky gap that followed the flow of the river feeding the lake. They fought well despite their youth, and obeyed even complicated orders amazingly well, but their weapons, large-caliber—roughly four-fifth’s of an inch—tanegashima-style matchlocks, were primitive and unreliable—particularly in the rain!—compared to the enemy weapons he’d seen.
“What makes this one different, better than the others?” Halik asked. “It looks the same as the rifle muskets we captured from the force we destroyed beyond the pass. And these were found there also?”
“Some few were found there as well,” Niwa confirmed. “The enemy obviously tried to destroy as many as they could—at the end. And it is the same as the others in many ways. Most of the parts are identical. But though the rifle muskets you saw right after the fighting were formidable and advanced enough, compared to what . . . we have, these are even better.” Niwa’s brows knitted. “With all the other advances the enemy has made, I would not have been surprised to see them eventually, but that they have them so quickly is a dreadful surprise indeed.” He paused. “The Americans and their . . . Lemurian friends”—even Halik couldn’t really consider their enemies “prey” anymore—“had smoothbore muskets when we first engaged them on Ceylon. Even before that campaign ended, their marksmanship made me suspect they had rifled some of their arms—a technique I described that forces their projectiles to spin, like fletching does a crossbow bolt . . .”
“Which makes them more accurate,” Halik finished for him.
“Indeed,” Niwa agreed, then gestured at the rifle on the table. “But this is a step, simple on its face, that not only increases the effectiveness of rifled weapons manyfold, but deeply concerns me regarding the enemy’s capabilities—and the level those capabilities are likely on the very brink of becoming.”
“You can see the future by gazing at a single weapon?” Halik asked skeptically.
“In a sense,” Niwa replied, and took a breath. “I was not here for the fighting beyond the pass, and did not even know these new weapons existed at first, since they were simply gathered with the others. They do look much the same. The supreme difference is not what they look like or what they do, but how swiftly they do it—and how quickly the enemy has put them in the field!” Niwa picked up the weapon and cocked the hammer back. “For the most part, this is exactly the same weapon the enemy has carried since Ceylon. It was probably even made from those”—suddenly, he raised a small lever and the top of the barrel at the breech flipped forward on a hinge—“only this one has been made to load self-contained ammunition from the back!” Fishing in his pocket, Niwa produced several shiny brass things and inserted one in the back of the weapon, closed the top of the barrel, and fired a thundering shot into the earth at his feet! Quickly, he recocked the hammer, flipped open the breech—which somehow launched a smoking brass cylinder over his shoulder—loaded again, and fired another shot. To emphasize his point, he did it a third time before laying the smoking rifle back on the table.
Grik dashed into the confined space, sickle-shaped swords in their hands, and rushed about amid the cloud of white smoke hanging in the humid air. Halik only stared at Niwa, his hearing stunned but his mind racing.
“Get out!” he roared at the guards and staff members still scrambling to enter the ruined room. “Get out, all of you!” He shouted at those already inside. He looked back at Niwa. “A most impressive display, and I appreciate the . . . exciting way you did it. It was . . . disconcerting and unexpected. Exactly as it would be for our warriors facing such a thing.” He clenched his sharp rows of teeth and blew the smoke he’d breathed through them with a gust of air. “No wonder the battle for the hill was so costly and prolonged!”
“With respect, General Halik, perhaps only one in ten of the enemy there had weapons such as that.” Niwa pointed. “Do not presume it alone made such a difference.”
“I know. Their aircraft remain better than ours as well, their artillery is superior, their ability to defend still favors them . . .”
“Their tactics, discipline, and individual combat skills are better too,” Niwa inserted pointedly.
“Granted,” Halik reluctantly agreed. “On the whole.” He gestured back at the breechloader. “But why do you . . .” He couldn’t say “fear.” The Grik word had only one very insulting application. “Then why do you think that weapon can make such a difference, then? The war will grow costlier in Uul, of course. It will take longer. But even now we build more armies in the Sacred Lands! We will reach a point where we can make warriors even faster than they slay them!”
“That is a very distasteful thought, General Halik.”
Halik blinked his large reptilian eyes. “Perhaps . . . I even agree with you, General Niwa,” he allowed, “but that is the Way. Regardless, because it is the Way, and particularly because these new Uul warriors will be better than any before them—a grand swarm of such as now comprise the Hatchling Host—victory may come later, but is assured in the end.”
“My uneasiness stems from this,” Niwa cautioned. “Look at the craftsmanship of that weapon. Look how well it fits together. Consider the skill, the industry required to make such things in large numbers! Consider the enemy aircraft—and the larger ones we’ve now seen that supply the force entrenched around the lake. Think of the better bombs, ships, guns—all these new things—then hear what I say.” Niwa looked hard at his Grik friend. “The Americans—the Lemurians—are better at war than we! We improve, but not as fast as they improve their weapons to kill us.” He pointed again at the rifle. “Weapons such as that, and what must quickly follow, mean they will likely change tactics—again!—very soon. Already they kill us from trenches we cannot approach. None of your . . . our warriors have trained for that! I submit, you cannot imagine how quickly our enemies will soon be killing us—far quicker than we can possibly replace the slain, I promise.” He nodded once more at the weapon. “Please take no offense, my friend. But can you even operate that?”
Surprised, Halik looked at the captured rifle. Curious, he picked it up. He managed to cock the hammer and with a little fumbling got the breech to flip open. He looked at Niwa triumphantly.
“Now load it,” Niwa said, holding out a cartridge.
Halik reached to take it—and dropped it on the mushy, earthen floor. With a snort, he tried to pick it up, but his claws would find no purchase. He finally managed to snag it and hold it up. But it was clear it would take some doing to insert it in the weapon. He glanced at Niwa, pupils narrowing.
“You can,” Niwa said, “but not efficiently. Your lower-class Hij, the makers of delicate things, remove their claws to perform their tasks. Remove them. Just cutting them will not do—and still the best machines they make are crude, clunky things. Again, I mean no offense. Grik are born hunters; the finest predators in the world, no doubt. But to make anything like the weapons the Americans and their allies will soon bring to war will take a whole new level of understanding and craftsmanship.” He pointed at the cartridge. “That can be made, but to even prepare to make them in numbers will take time—and then we will have to train troops to use them, find a way to shape their claws so they can handle them with ease. You can’t just cut them off. How long would even the new army stand once they ran out of ammunition if they didn’t even have claws? More time lost.”
“We will make do!” Halik shot back. “Our weapons may be crude, but the projectiles are large enough for a proper warrior to hold—and they inflict terrific wounds! They work, and we will soon have them in countless numbers—along with warriors to wield them!”
“And they will die,” Niwa said relentlessly, “in countless numbers.”
Halik swished his plumed tail, and his crest stood up. “Are you saying . . . we will lose?” he asked softly.
“No. I’m saying only that time is not on our side. You, First General Esshk, even Regent-Consort”—he almost sneered—“General of the Sea Kurokawa have believed all we need is time for the new army of better warriors to mature, and we’ll sweep the enemy away. I believe the enemy will sweep those better warriors away with better weapons by the time they are ready.” He scowled. “Kurokawa has not ordered the general assault on the perimeter you plead for simply because he does not think it necessary. He thinks he buys time. As long as this . . .” Niwa scowled deeper and sighed. “The few prisoners that survived long enough to be questioned called our opponent General Alden. . . .” He looked away from Halik, wishing again he could’ve saved at least a few of those prisoners, but the Grik had no concept of quarter. Saving any even long enough to question had been an achievement. It had been Niwa’s first look at the enemy as people, as warriors, and he’d admired their courage. None had surrendered; they’d been overwhelmed. He’d been struck by the irony that he could not only talk with Lemurians in English, but there was also no doubt that he had far more in common with them than the Grik. They were making a monumental fight against a terrible enemy—an enemy that attacked them and that Niwa was aiding. . . . He slashed that thought from his head.
“As long as this General Alden’s army is trapped, Kurokawa thinks the enemy will concentrate on rescuing it. I agree, but I also think they may succeed if we wait too long!”
“But our warships control the sea. The enemy has nothing to defeat Lord Kurokawa’s iron monsters at Madras, particularly with the addition of the slower ships that have arrived. Only a trickle of supplies can possibly come.”
“The enemy had nothing that could defeat Kurokawa’s powerful fleet,” Niwa agreed, “but they will come up with something, I assure you.” He looked strangely at Halik. “Perhaps they already have. Why else have our own supplies become so dear . . . unless they are being intercepted?”
Halik grunted at the disconcerting possibility. The tricky trails they’d found through the mountains to the west were too treacherous for reliable, large-scale supply from that direction, and the enemy often bombed them in any case. If any supplies were making it through a possible Allied gauntlet around Ceylon, none were reaching Halik’s army from Madras. They’d been reduced to eating their own. That was not unusual or distasteful to Grik; they did it all the time. But it was annoying and wasteful that so much of Halik’s army that made the long trek up from the south, though growing in numbers, could not seem to grow decisively as long as it was forced to consume so much of itself. Halik believed that if only he had sufficient supplies, he could very quickly trample underfoot the all-too-competent enemy he faced.
Niwa sat on a bench beside the table and steepled his fingers. “Do not forget the other information we gleaned from the prisoners: our enemy has another enemy besides us! These ‘Doms.’ Their efforts have been divided between two distinct fronts. Just imagine what that means. Without that distraction, they might have sent twice what they did against us, and our war—in India at least—would already be lost. As it is, whoever or whatever these Doms are—sadly, I could learn little about them, particularly where they are beyond ‘in the east’—they do us a great service whether they know it or not. Still, the fact that our enemies are fighting two wars at once says much about their industrial capacity and reserves. Unless that other enemy has recently beaten them more soundly than we have, I would expect an increased focus on us.”
“And yet it may be the reverse,” Halik speculated. “If these Doms even now drive our enemy on another front, he may be hard-pressed to make good his losses, much less intensify his efforts here.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Niwa, “but that is only a hope—and a double-edged hope at that.”
“In what way?”
“Our current enemy is quite enough to satisfy me. I do not relish facing anyone who could defeat him.”
Halik was silent, contemplative, and Niwa finally took a deep breath.
“Ultimately, my friend,” Niwa said softly, “between us, whatever plans the enemy has may not be our greatest concern. Do not place too much faith in our new regent, General of the Sea Kurokawa. He has plans of his own that do not include you or me, the Grik, or anyone but himself.” He paused. “He is mad, you know. Do you understand what that means?”
Halik looked troubled. “Not angry, in the context you use. He is . . . mind sick?”
“That is close. He should have followed his naval victory with an immediate advance on the enemy, as soon as more ships arrived. Complete victory might have been possible then, but I’m no longer sure that’s what he wants—or that he wants it yet. I know he has a scheme, but I have no idea what it is or what he hopes to achieve.”
“So . . . he is a traitor to the Celestial Mother?”
Niwa actually burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. He suddenly sobered when he saw Halik’s crest rise in anger—and when he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. “I don’t know if he’s a traitor,” he said at last, “but I know the man, and he’s truly loyal only to himself.”
Halik considered. “We should have attacked this Alden immediately also, with everything, before he had a chance to improve his position. Still, without reinforcement and major supply, time is not on his side.” He looked at the rifle once more. “I believe he has few more of those, and his ammunition will be short for everything. I think we will use this time of delay to make him use as much of it as we can.” He looked at Niwa, and his crest flattened. “That, we are already doing, as you know. As you say, we have supply issues of our own and cannot keep an army this size in the field forever in a land so barren of food beasts . . . without feeding upon our own, and doing our enemy’s work for him! General Ugla’s Hatchling Host west of the gap has all the supplies it could want, carried overland from ports in the west. They also have the large creatures of the plains to consume at need. But the gap was to be the principal path of supply for us! Few of the food beasts we gathered in the lowlands remain, and the enemy is actually better off in that regard than we. They discovered many of the kraals and captured a considerable herd.” Halik gazed out at the rain. “So you are right after all, in every way. We simply cannot wait much longer for whatever Regent General of the Sea Kurokawa has in mind.” He paused, considering. “And regarding him, I will think on what you said. We must discuss it again—and discover how we can destroy the enemy entirely before he destroys us.”
Niwa was silent.
“Come,” Halik said in an ironic tone, ringing a bell for his attendants. “It is time to demonstrate against the enemy again, to provoke him to use more precious ammunition!” He snorted angrily. “And help us ease our own supply problems once more,” he added with heavy sarcasm. His attendant appeared. “Fetch my armor!” he ordered. “And bring something for General Niwa as well!” He looked at Niwa. “I know we decided not to put ourselves together on the field of battle anymore. We are co-commanders, after all. But this will not be a real battle; merely a harvest of provisions. Still, you might observe something of interest. Would you care to join me?”
“Of course, General Halik.”