Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(146)
“Were you really concerned for him?” Rizzo asked Muriname, almost casually, just as a bomb exploded near the dock, spraying them with muddy water. The thin, balding Japanese removed his spectacles and wiped them on his sleeve. “No,” he replied. “But I do think it’s a trap. After today, most of my people still alive will be those aboard Savoie, and they might fare better under Laborde than my Lord Kurokawa. As you must have seen, he is . . . not being realistic.” He took his own calming breath. “I fear none of us are, if we expect to survive.”
“But with Signora Reddy,” Rizzo said, “perhaps we will bargain for our lives?”
Muriname faced him with contempt. “You might,” he snapped. “I have other plans to save myself, and as many of my people as I can.” Straightening his tunic, he marched away to the north, past one of the smoke-wreathed antiaircraft batteries, and disappeared.
“As do I,” Maggiore Antonio Rizzo said quietly to no one. For the moment, he was alone, watching the chaos of a fleet in a panic it was struggling to control, gravitating into a ragged column headed for the North Channel. The two great ironclads and Savoie brought up the rear amid continued splashes, beneath a swarm of angry hornets.
? ? ?
Sandra and her companions had watched the entire exchange from just a few yards away in the warehouse wreckage. The temptation to spray them all with their Blitzerbugs was almost overwhelming. They might even get away with it, with all the explosions and chaos. Only when one of the Shee-Ree got through to her that Walker wasn’t waiting out there, offering herself for destruction, did Sandra’s growing, murderous tension ebb. Matt knows what he’s doing, she decided. Silva said so. Anything I do might screw everything up. Nancys were attacking furiously, but, with a few exceptions, seemed to be accomplishing little, all at great cost to themselves. Their bombs couldn’t penetrate the armor upgrades Kurokawa had obviously made, and had no more chance of badly damaging Savoie than Walker’s 4″-50 guns would have. There was an increasing likelihood the bombs would hit them, however, if they lingered this close to the dock, and, still watching Rizzo, it dawned on her that there might be something she could do after all. Another tank battery exploded, and she suspected it was Silva’s doing more than the bombs. She looked at Diania, wondering if she should risk her friend further—but they were in danger here. The Shee-Ree were still wearing Grik armor, their fur dyed. They might pass at a distance in the bedlam outside. “We have to get out of here,” she whispered urgently. “You’ll be our Grik guards. If anybody looks our way, treat us rough, see?”
“They caatch us!” one hissed back, blinking something Sandra hadn’t seen before. These were the first Shee-Ree she’d ever met and she didn’t know anything about them.
“We’ll be killed if we stay here,” she said simply. “We have to find Chief Silva and tell him where Kurokawa is. My guess? He’ll see us before we see him, and we won’t be in sight for long.”
All three Shee-Ree nodded solemnly. “You right at thaat,” one said. “See-vaa see ever-teen, wit’ ony one eye! We go!”
Sandra was surprised by the quick change of heart and wondered what Silva had done to make these strange ’Cats trust him so much. “Fine,” she said. “Just one last thing. See that man out there?” She pointed at the Italian major. “We need to catch him first.”
Together, they squirmed through the fallen, blackened timbers, smearing charcoal all over themselves, until they emerged behind the building. It was deserted there, with nothing but jungle beyond. Big wooden cranes and other repair facilities, still undamaged, stood beside the ruined structure, and they gathered behind a great, cold boiler. Two ’Cats immediately bolted. “Wait!” Sandra called after them. The one that remained held her back. “You say ‘caatch ’eem.’ They caatch ’eem,” he said reasonably. “Us stay here. See-vaa skin us, you lay-dees hurt. He make us into furry haats!” The ’Cat shook his head. “Not waana be haat!” Even as he explained, to Sandra’s amazement, Maggiore Rizzo appeared around the boiler, pushed by the muzzles of two Blitzerbugs. Diania whipped out a bayonet and crouched, even as Rizzo’s perplexed expression turned to one of relief at the sight of them.
“Dear Signora Reddy! Signorina Diania!” he exclaimed over the sound of an explosion uncomfortably close to where they’d been hiding. “I’m so glad to see you both safe!”
“Why? So you can bargain for your life?” Sandra demanded harshly.
“Of course not! As always, I merely suggest reasons to others not to harm you.” He gestured around. “A most exciting day, and somewhat perilous, I admit. But I have my own plan to remove myself. I need not, nor would I ever, endanger you to that purpose.”
“Sure,” Sandra snorted. “So, you’re about to run? Not so fast.”
Rizzo spread his hands at his sides. “This is not my war, Signora, and I do not want to die.”
“It is your war!” Sandra growled. “You and that bastard Gravois helped make it what it’s become.” She nodded at the ’Cats behind him, and one roughly snatched his hands together while another bound them behind his back. “You’re my prisoner now, Maggiore, and you’re going to sing like a canary about your damned League when this is over. For now, if you make a peep”—she nodded at Diania—“I’ll let her gut you.”