Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(64)
That was when he heard the deep, rumbling, droning sound, approaching from the east, and knew exactly what it was.
A spear of fire arced into the sky and popped, bright orange, over New Sofesshk. Another blinding streak followed the first, then another, as rockets lofted into the air to strike the enemy planes. Occasionally, one veered wildly, or began to tumble and tear itself apart in a smear of flame, but most now flew straight and true. He looked up as more orange flashes lit the sky, only now hearing the report of the first. Then, with mounting fury, he realized that not only had the enemy brought more than the one, then two planes, that came before—there must be at least four this time, probably more—but the rockets, improved as they’d been, and with better fuses and larger motors, were still utterly useless if their crews couldn’t see their targets!
Frustrated rocket crews, commanded never to let enemy planes fly over the city unchallenged again, would be setting fuses for random elevations, pointing their rockets where it sounded like the planes would be. Esshk had just seen how pointless that was, by how long it took the reports to reach him. The planes would be past where they sounded, by the time the rockets reached that point, and could be higher or lower in any event. Still, as more and more rockets flew, exploding in the sky and sending hundreds of copper balls in all directions, it seemed increasingly impossible they all would miss. Even if we fail to destroy a single plane, many might be hit and their crews terrified enough to flee. No, he realized bleakly. They are not like us. Like my warriors used to be. They have always had what my own army is just beginning to learn: this thing Kurokawa called courage. They will not flee.
Flashes erupted on the ground several miles away, marching through the dense warren of New Sofesshk one after another, sending roiling balls of flame into the sky. The sound was muffled, when it came to them, not like the cannon-blast detonations they expected, but more like the sound their own firebombs made. Another string of flashes lit the city, then another, each closer to the precious shipyards and warehouses on the other side of the river. There were five, all told, roughly confirming Esshk’s estimate of enemy numbers, and they seemed as evenly spaced as the burning boils a tag’k beetle left on the skin beneath the fur, squirting its acid with every step. But these “boils” were huge, and each surely consumed hundreds in their fire.
“It is actually rather beautiful, is it not?” the Chooser quietly said beside him.
“Yes,” Esshk replied absently. He was still furious, but knew what the Chooser meant. “As a general, I have always found war to be so. Particularly when fire is used. I confess I find it less beautiful when it is us and not the prey who burns beneath it.” They watched for a while, long after the rockets stopped firing and the drone of engines receded in the night, and their customary time for exercise had passed. They were surprised to see the flames begin to spread instead of burning themselves out, as expected.
“Lord First General!” came the cry of General Ign, as he hurried toward them and flung himself on the paving stones at their feet. Ign had helped build the New Army and was second general of all the Ghaarrichk’k. Essentially Esshk’s second in command, he was increasingly responsible for the day-to-day maintenance, training, and preparation of the entire Swarm. He alone could’ve approached without interference from the guards, and his use of Esshk’s military title instead of Regent Champion meant he’d come to address a military matter.
“Stand, Second General,” Esshk said.
Ign quickly rose. “Lord, the fires across the river are out of control. I have ordered that the ships close by the docks should pump water upon the warehouses that are threatened.”
“Very well. But how can the fire spread? New Sofesshk is mostly made of earth.”
“True, Lord, but the earth, the bricks—all are mixed with prairie grass. The flames are so hot that even they burn!”
Esshk narrowed his eyes. “It sounds as if you have taken appropriate steps. What else troubles you?”
“We can protect the waterfront, but with the prevailing wind, perhaps one part in ten of the city may burn.”
“Why is that my concern? Has much of the Swarm been harmed?” At the Chooser’s suggestion, they’d started quartering warriors in the city to make them easier to feed and shelter, and guard against unrest—of any sort.
“No, Lord. A few hundreds were killed in the bombing. Others may have been killed when rockets malfunctioned. But the Uul in the city . . . Many are turning prey with fear.”
“As I foretold,” the Chooser said.
Esshk glanced sharply at him. “And as I prepared against.” He looked back at Ign. “Go yourself, Second General. Control the fires, but, more important, control the Uul before the entire city turns prey. They are the workforce that supports the Final Swarm, after all.”
“And those that have already turned?”
Esshk waved dismissively. “Destroy them. The New Army has been trained to fight a different way, but the old ways still have value. This will give them experience”—he paused and regarded the Chooser—“as well as easing our Lord Chooser’s commissary concerns.”
“At once, Lord First General!” Ign replied, and raced off.
The Chooser gathered himself. “Indeed,” he said as ironically as he dared. “I feel much more confident about that now. But consider the damage done by just a few enemy planes.” He waved across the river where the flames were gathering strength, pulsing and soaring, and glared at the smoky haze above. They’d be lucky if only a tenth of the huge city burned that night.