Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(28)

And it wasn’t really a very good weapon. Its tactical applications were limited because it couldn’t work fast enough to decide a battle, and even the strategic value was questionable. One couldn’t easily occupy territory where it had been used, even if it killed anyone the thorns pierced relatively quickly. The thorns lying all over the ground or the plants sprouting from the enemy dead would be equally dangerous to friendly troops. It might deny territory to an enemy that knew about it, but then they could collect enough thorns to grow plants for their own use. The only practical value it seemed to have was as a revenge weapon and when the initial intent of their attack on Grik City had been a mere raid in force. Herring had probably meant to sow the thorns as they pulled out, killing Grik City and making capture unnecessary. Things hadn’t worked out that way and now, of course, they couldn’t turn it loose even if they abandoned the city back to the Grik, because it might spread all over the island, eventually threatening Maroons, Shee-Ree, and other “worthy prey” the Grik had allowed to live there for their amusement.

But Matt was relieved because, by using the term “kudzu bomb,” Silva confirmed, at the very least, he knew what it was, and therefore probably knew where it was. Unfortunately, his half answer wouldn’t cut it this time.

“Okay,” Matt allowed, “you don’t have physical possession. I can see that, unless you keep a handful of thorns in a snuff can in your pocket. But you’re obviously Herring’s perfect person and know where it is. The time’s come to spill it. Maybe literally.”

Silva’s eye went wide. “Really? Damn!”

“Indeed,” Courtney agreed with supreme reluctance. “Other than the four of us here”—he sent Lawrence a small, quick smile, knowing whatever Silva may have done with the thorns, Lawrence had almost certainly been in on it—“Bernie Sandison, and, apparently Ian Miles, Chairman Adar was the only one in theater to even know it exists. And Adar is in the hands of the enemy.” He shook his head. “Though I’m morally certain he’d die before revealing anything detrimental to our cause, he may not be allowed that choice. Therefore, at the same time we may face a ‘use it or lose it’ scenario, we may also have identified a pair of valid applications.” He frowned. “I do, of course, remain opposed to using the weapon for ecological reasons. But even I recognize the mitigating circumstances of the situation we’re in.”

“What applications do you have in mind?” Dennis asked, curious how Courtney—the same man who’d practically wept with fury when they scorched part of the giant, horrifying briar patch covering Tarakaan Island—could justify such a momentous change of heart.

“Only if we can’t neutralize the enemy by other means,” Courtney qualified insistently, “I can, perhaps, imagine a scenario for deploying the weapon at Zanzibar.” He sent another worried glance at Matt. “And should our expeditionary force meet insurmountable difficulty in the campaign for Sofesshk, and if we devise a way of dispersing the thorns widely enough, we may contrive a strategic use for the weapon.”

Matt and Silva both goggled at him. “We talked about Zanzibar, but now you’re proposing we turn it loose on the continent of Africa!” Matt said.

“Yes, damn it, I am,” Courtney snapped back. “It’s a tropical plant and shouldn’t thrive in the land of the Republic. Conversely, everything we know about Sofesshk indicates it’s the very hub of Grik civilization.” He took a long, shuddering breath, but his voice was firm when he resumed. “If it comes down to victory or defeat, the very survival of our civilization, our people, and all we hold dear, balanced against the ultimate triumph of the Grik—even if that means infesting a large percentage of a continent with that confounded weed . . .” He stopped and mopped his forehead, refusing to meet their gaze. “God help me, even I’m willing to make that trade, with the stakes so high.”

“It’s in the Cowflop,” Silva said quietly. “In the basement—the lower levels where I went lookin’ for that other poodledragon, like the one Isak killed with a heartburn pitch.” He grinned. “It’s in copper drums marked FISH MASH, or some such.” He shrugged. “Hid as rations for Grik prisoners—like we ever thought we’d need such a thing, an’ if it ain’t been found and served up to ’em already.”

“Very well,” Matt said, still watching Courtney and pondering what he’d said. Finally, he looked back at Silva and took a deep breath. “One last thing. Did you mean what you said to Gravois about what you’d do to him if, well . . .”

Dennis snorted. “Hell, Skipper, when did I ever not do somethin’ I said I would?” Everyone just stared at him, even Petey, and Dennis rolled his eye in exasperation. “I mean that I promised to.”

Matt canted his head slightly and nodded. “Good enough. Of course, I mean to do it myself someday. But if something . . . happens, and I can’t get it done, I’ll be counting on you to make that bastard pay.”





CHAPTER 3


////// Maa-ni-la

The Filpin Lands

October 23, 1944

Lord Meksnaak hurried down the long dock past the “pee-tee” factory, where motor torpedo boats were built, toward the inlet where the big Clippers flew in from all over the Alliance. His closest diplomatic advisor, a young ’Cat named Heraad-Naar, scurried to keep up. He was also accompanied by half a dozen guards in Saan-Kakja’s livery; black and yellow kilts with gleaming gold-washed breastplates, platterlike helmets similar to those the Alliance had settled on as standard, and the traditional short, stabbing blades at their sides. Meksnaak had been forced to accept the guard for his protection by Saan-Kakja’s direct order. One couldn’t be too careful these days, it seemed, and Meksnaak wasn’t just High Sky Priest of all the Filpin Lands anymore; he was acting governor of the Filpin “state” until Saan-Kakja returned. He rather hated that. Unlike Adar, he’d never been the High Sky Priest of multiple Homes—no one else had—but all the hundreds of islands constituting the Filpin Lands, large and small, were united as one Home, one “state,” and he had authority over the various provincial Sky Priests. That allowed him to wear the somewhat unusual title of lord. He looked like a shorter, slighter, younger version of Adar as well, with silver-gray fur beneath the purple cape flecked with silver stars.