Kurokawa allowed the outburst. It mirrored his own feelings, after all. Better to cultivate this man’s goodwill-and animosity toward their “masters”-than slap him down. “Indeed,” he agreed grimly, “as I argued. But their course is set. Do your best to consider alternate landing and fueling sites. Some will make it to India.”
“But what of the others, destined for these even longer flights?”
Kurokawa sighed. “Doomed, I agree. I fear within a fortnight we will have to begin all over from scratch! Fear not, however. I have taken pains to ensure none of us will be blamed for failure or loss, nor will any of our people suffer-beyond those few who fly the mission. And who knows? Perhaps it will succeed, and ours will be the greatest share of glory!”
Muriname ignored the reference to glory, though he was relieved there’d be no more reprisals. “Must we send the entire fleet? All our trained crews?”
“Yes,” Kurokawa said. “To hold back would be seen as courting failure, and if the balance of victory is perceived to have teetered on numbers, we will be blamed.”
“I must keep at least two craft to continue training operations,” Muriname stated. “Otherwise, it will take months to recover the most rudimentary skills. “Production will continue-it’s only now reaching its stride-but we must keep training so the machines will have aircrews that can fly and maintain them.”
Kurokawa frowned. “Of course. I’m sure Esshk and the Chooser will agree. Two craft should make little difference. But I must get the blessing of their vile empress, to protect our people.”
“Yes, Capt-General of the Sea.”
Muriname remained standing for some time after Kurokawa left. The new “Air Forces” had been his project since its inception, and be- sides the improved treatment he’d won for the Japanese engineers and other former Amagi crewmen in his “department,” he was proud of what they’d accomplished. Despite the limitations and difficulties they’d faced pertaining to Grik physiology, not only had they built machines the creatures could operate, but they’d solved the difficult technological problems of power plants with simplicity itself: horizontal-opposed, two-cylinder, Reed valve, four-stroke engines that weighed only about one hundred thirty pounds, even made of iron. Lower rpm meant higher torque and reliability-and no need for a reduction gear. Muriname believed the things developed close to forty or fifty horsepower, while burning only about three and a half gallons of precious gasoline-they’d only just started to receive in quantity from the north-per hour.
Unlike the enemy, as far as he knew, they had naturally occurring rubber (or something so much like it as to make no difference) within the territory under their control, and they’d solved most of the other issues of large-scale production in the face of a labor pool with less intelligence than young children. Many of the “mass production” techniques pioneered by Kurokawa in the shipyards had been well applied, but the precision required for weights and shapes was far more critical for flyng machines, and he’d noticed that, slowly, even his most unskilled laborers-those who survived-had begun to grasp more and more of what they were taught. Some were becoming quite competent, in fact, and a precious few could even comprehend how what they did related to other things.
The training aircrews were on an entirely different level; all were “Hij,” or “elevated” specimens that generally exhibited levels of intelligence on a par with young adult Japanese. They were enthusiastic learners, and though insular and as slavishly devoted to their “Celestial Mother” as many Japanese youths were to their emperor, they demonstrated a hungry curiosity. He was beginning to form some rather radical ideas about their “allies’” society, and though he still loathed the Grik in general, he no longer hated them individually. He supposed he even felt vaguely attached to some of the aircrews! Regardless of the terrible waste of time, training, and resources, deep down, much of the sudden anxiety he felt regarding his orders stemmed from the simple fact that he just didn’t want his students to die. He felt torn and confused.
Grik Ceylon
General Halik hissed and slashed at the map with his claws. “They are monsters!” he howled. “Each attack we send against them is savaged, and many turn prey!” He looked at Niwa. “Those who do are not destroyed, but they are so far gone, I fear they may never recover-or become useful for anything but fodder!”
“Give them time,” Niwa said. “You’ve seen it before.”
“But we don’t have time! I want victory! A victory, any victory, to show General Esshk that Ceylon can hold. Only that will gain us aid!”
“That was not our mission,” Niwa reminded him.
“It becomes mine,” Halik snapped. “If I were… accustomed to failure, I would not be alive. Only victory in the arena deserves life!”
“But this isn’t the arena, and we’ve accomplished the mission we were set-to engage and assess the enemy; learn how they fight and what they fight with. That was the greater mission. Saving Ceylon was never expected of us.”
“I expect it of myself, ” Halik replied in a quieter tone. “I cannot help it. Despite my ‘elevation,’ I’m not-cannot be-dispassionate.” He straightened. “Nor does it seem I have gained the wisdom General Esshk expected of me. I don’t have the troops being bred and trained for defense, but as you said, wise offense can counteract that. I know it is so! I just can’t… make it happen, and I chafe!”
“You still talk of attacking with your shield, as you did in the arena,” Niwa observed, “but you know that sometimes a shield is just a shield, a tool to deflect a blow. Even your lowliest Uul understand this.”
“Ha! You expect them to line up in the face of the enemy and deflect his lead spheres, arrows, cannon, bombs, with shields? They cannot stand that. They will attack, and nothing I can do will stop them!”
“And they are slaughtered.”
“Yes.”
Niwa sighed. He understood how Halik felt, and he felt for him. At some point, he’d finally stopped thinking of Halik as a creature, a Grik he somehow got along with. Maybe it was his isolation from his own kind, or perhaps it was the prestige of his position and his real power over the Grik of Ceylon. Maybe it was just the camaraderie of battle. Whatever the reason, he considered Halik a friend, and he couldn’t help it any more than Halik could prevent suffering under his own burden. Oddly, Niwa wasn’t even conflicted. He hated Kurokawa and had no real attachment to any of his “own” surviving people. Nor did he feel anything for the enemy other than a measure of admiration, even though he knew he had far more in common with them than any Grik. In spite of everything, they were the enemy. Halik, on the other hand, was honest, loyal, and brave. He was perhaps a true samurai in all the ways that mattered, and Niwa respected him for that.
“Then use your mind to shield them,” Niwa suggested. “You already laid the groundwork for our ‘surprise’; is it complete?”
“Not yet. Everything has happened so quickly, and the enemy moves like a machine! I never imagined anything like it. Now our front collapses to the south, and all we…” Halik stopped and stared at the map. “All we can do is take from one place and put it in another,” he said softly. “The enemy will see that-their thrice-cursed aircraft-but they cannot see what we do in the dark!”
“That’s true,” Niwa said. “They occasionally fly at night, but they can’t really see.”
“They’ll expect us to take from the highland front to reinforce the southern plains. The highlands are difficult country, and though they don’t know it, that was precisely why we amassed such power there, emplaced your ingenious devices! But they won’t come!” He paused. “Or will they?” Excitedly, Halik peered at the map. “They will watch us take forces from there to a place where they have made it necessary! The highland passes will appear to have been abandoned, while the plain grows more formidable! They will come where we want them, thinking it an empty road!” Halik snarled again, in triumph this time.