Another man carefully paced Kurokawa, trying to stay just slightly behind but close enough to hear any possible word that might pass his true commander’s lips. He was taller, slimmer, and unlike Kurokawa, who always wore the dark blue, increasingly elaborate uniform made by the finest Grik tailors, his was white, and still genuine Imperial Navy issue. The man’s name was Orochi Niwa, and he’d recently rocketed from the rank of a lieutenant of Amagi ’s small SNLF (Special Naval Landing Force) contingent to “General of Hunters” in the army of the Grik. Regardless of his new rank and the… army… he served, he was fully aware who-literally-owned his life. He had no illusions that Kurokawa liked him or even really trusted him; Kurokawa would sacrifice him without remorse if he perceived the slightest reason or advantage. The only purpose for his exalted status was that Kurokawa knew he himself couldn’t actually be everywhere at once, and he’d instituted far too many “projects” to personally oversee. Besides that, he also wanted-needed-a Japanese presence at the war councils of the Grik where tactics were discussed. Kurokawa attended those councils dedicated to grand strategy, and his input was now much appreciated, but he readily admitted he had no real knowledge of, or interest in, land warfare. Niwa did. Niwa had also made it abundantly clear that he was wholly aware of his “place.” Regardless of his Grik position, he still served Kurokawa, and through him, the Emperor.
“I suppose we should hurry.” Kurokawa seethed, picking up the pace. “Our ‘masters,’ ” he snorted, “will be waiting.” Niwa didn’t point out that the Grik High Command had probably been waiting for the better part of an hour. He didn’t say anything at all. Together, the two men strode more briskly among the yard workers, occasionally dodging groups fixated-almost like ants-upon their tasks. Finally, after they’d left the basin and the majority of the dust and stench behind, they joined a group relaxing under the shade of a crude wooden structure, taking their ease and enjoying elaborate bowls brimming with cool liquid. Niwa politely refused an offered bowl. He had no idea what was in it, but assumed it would be something vile and repulsive.
“You are late-as always,” growled General Esshk, standing to loom above them. Esshk was the most imposing Grik Niwa had ever seen; the mere sight of him always made Niwa cringe a little, at least inwardly. Esshk was First among Generals in the Army of the Grik, and he usually dressed the part. Bronze breastplate, greaves, and cuffs, along with a scarlet cape and kilt gave the vague impression of a Roman tribune. The tufted bronze helmet he held under his massive arm completed the ensemble. A smoky black crest rose slightly atop his head as he spoke.
“I have been inspecting the work,” Kurokawa said by means of explanation, not apology.
“How does it proceed?”
“Well enough on the… traditional vessels,” he replied. “Slower than I would like on the other.”
“What is lacking?”
Kurokawa shrugged. “Heavy equipment, cranes, pneumatic riveters, a steady supply of good iron instead of the useless cast plating you continue to force upon me. Qualified yard workers most of all.”
“The cast plating is what we can do. The same iron served well enough for cannons!”
“And it will shatter the first time a shot is fired against it!” Kurokawa stated, voice rising. “I have told you what is needed and how to make it, yet still you send me the same thing. Have you learned nothing?”
Esshk seethed. He knew Kurokawa was right. He was always right about such things. He’d even seen the plating shatter when a gun was tested against it. “The Celestial Mother grows impatient,” he temporized. “We stand on the brink of losing Regent Tsalka’s domain. We have withdrawn from contested lands as you suggested, despite the. .. difficulty… but Ceylon is important!”
“And I told you we would lose it before we could take it back,” Kurokawa replied, repeating an old argument.
“But that is precisely where much of your ‘steel’ is made!” Tsalka interjected, speaking up.
Kurokawa bowed to the Regent. “Indeed. So we must hold it long enough to produce and remove as much as possible before it falls. Complete the new foundries here, and it will be a lesser loss.”
“My own realm!” Tsalka almost wailed.
“This has been decided already,” Kurokawa flatly stated. “You will get it back. In the meantime, I must have true steel, not only for this project”-he waved at the basin-“but for others. There can be no ‘flying machines’ at all, for example, without steel.”
Esshk glanced at the newly appointed General Halik. Halik had been a mere “entertainment fighter,” basically a gladiator, for many seasons and had grown quite too old for that. That was precisely the reason he’d been “elevated” and tapped as a general. He seemed to have naturally developed an instinct for defensive fighting. It would still be a year or more before the first “defensive” forces were ready to deploy, and they’d be little more than hatchlings even then, but in this new kind of hunt, this “war,” much was being accomplished on the fly. Esshk was certain their enemies had many of the same issues to contend with, but most likely some were direct opposites. As prey, they needed to learn offensive tactics, while a whole new class of Grik that was capable of defense had to be grown.
In the meantime, Halik had sponsored the elevation of other warriors in whom he recognized certain traits, and hoped they would serve as a nucleus for his new cadre of junior officers. Esshk had a sinking feeling that war as his people knew it was changing forever. Perhaps their entire society would ultimately be unrecognizable, but he would accept that if it meant his very species might ultimately survive. Some didn’t yet recognize the threat and were not particularly supportive, but he’d gained the tentative support of the Celestial Mother, and that was all that mattered. He looked at Halik. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“In Ceylon?”
“Indeed.”
“I would have to go there and see for myself,” Halik said. His speech had improved amazingly over the last months. “A true ‘defense’ may not be possible, but spoiling attacks might slow the enemy advance. Grasp time.”
Tsalka was nodding, but Esshk was thoughtful. Halik represented much more to him than just another general. He might be their only hope.
“Very well. You will go there by the safest route. Do not allow yourself to be slain! That is a command! You still have much to do.” Esshk’s eyes turned to Niwa. “You have worked closely with General Halik. Perhaps you should accompany him. Together you will learn not only the… ‘tactics’ of the prey-” He caught himself. “I mean, the ‘enemy,’ but you may better learn how we might counter them during this… transitional period. General Niwa, you will learn about the Grik alongside the Grik. General Halik, you will learn more about the enemy from one who knows them better.”
“But General Esshk!” Kurokawa and Niwa protested at once. Niwa realized what he’d done and clamped his mouth shut. Kurokawa, on the other hand, continued. “You would deprive me of my own best counselor?”
Esshk peered at him. “I deprive myself of Halik, but then, I still have you. I have been given to understand you need no counsel.”
“Not at sea!” Kurokawa sputtered. “But I am no land general! I have never claimed to be. I do understand land strategy, and how it must be combined with that of the sea, but to fully appreciate that combination, I need my best land tactician.” Kurokawa paused and blinked, realizing Esshk had goaded him into admitting, for the first time, that he didn’t know everything. Damn him! Esshk might only now be learning the subtleties of modern war, but he had long been a chess master of debate and intrigue. Kurokawa had almost forgotten that. He had also forgotten, or finally learned, how important it was to have someone near him he could trust-somewhat-and even speak candidly with on occasion. Niwa, subservient and cowed as he was, was the closest thing to a “friend” Kurokawa had on this world. Now Esshk would deprive him of even that.