Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(95)
CHAPTER 14
////// On the Plain of Gaughala
Grik Africa
November 16, 1944
“What a foul, unnatural, bloody place!” Optio Meek observed, eyes squinting in the sharp light of the sun, rising over the mist-shrouded depths of the Teetgak forest. “I don’t fancy a stroll through there a’tall.”
“Careful, Optio,” Bekiaa said, blinking mild amusement. Their banter over survivable habitats never stopped. “It looks a lot like many lovely places my people live.” The Teetgak was extremely dense, practically a jungle, composed of tall, narrow trees resembling ships’ masts, knotted together with concentrated, vinelike limbs. These were clotted with broad, ferny leaves from near the ground to the very top, almost a hundred feet high. And the abrupt distinction between forest and plain reminded Bekiaa of many islands within the Malay Barrier.
“Aye, p’raps,” Meek conceded, “but that there’s prob’ly full o’ Grik. An’ it’s so bloody straight-like,” Meek continued, “like they done it a’purpose.”
Bekiaa briefly pondered that. He might be right, but her mind was mostly elsewhere. It had taken two whole days for First Army to advance the twenty-five kilometers to the edge of the forest. The snail’s pace was less the result of renewed caution than the sheer amount of baggage the army brought, much to be dispersed among the other armies when they gathered. Third Army had been less than a day’s march away and quickly moved within sight to the west. Second Army had to negotiate some treacherous ravines in order to rejoin, however, and not only did that cause serious delay, it clearly illustrated how impossible mutual support would’ve been in an emergency. Finally, all three armies had converged about where Kim intended, roughly a kilometer from the sharply, perhaps artificially, defined boundary of the ominous wood. Now, still distinctly separated by cohorts, legions, even armies, Kim’s entire force presented a formidable—if possibly fragile—front, more than four kilometers long. And at least Taal’s limited scouts had discovered that all the woodland roads and paths seemed to emerge somewhere before it.
Bekiaa had marched with the newly arrived 23rd Legion, trying—again—to pass her knowledge to the raw Republic troops. Most listened solemnly to the war wisdom she shared, but the colonel, Lok-Fon, a haughty, red-furred ’Cat from Augustus with near-black fur on her face that surrounded blue eyes, darker than Choon’s, appeared disinterested in her lectures. She seemed more concerned that her personal baggage wagons, groaning under a truly stunning quantity of expensive wine from Colonia, nestled among other luxuries, not be excessively jostled. Bekiaa made several attempts to engage the colonel, but despite her unusual status, she’d been rebuffed. Most annoying, the snub was accompanied by the utmost courtesy. Bekiaa doubted its sincerity, but had no grounds to complain. Instead, she focused her attention on Lok-Fon’s officers and noncoms, most of whom were anxious to learn how to stay alive.
“I’d wager it is artificial!” Courtney enthused, surveying the abnormally straight line of trees with his Imperial-made telescope. He’d quietly joined the 23rd shortly before dawn, as if drawn to Bekiaa by a sense of what lay ahead. Ever since the darkness faded, he’d been studying the swarms of lizardbirds swooping and surging above the distant treetops. Occasionally, they darted out, en masse, to scour away thousands of the butterflylike insects that hovered among the flowers. “It’s likely a boundary between regencies! Perhaps the inhabitants of the plain are devoted to hunting the great beasts upon it, while those in the forest engage in other pursuits?”
That seemed possible to Bekiaa, but she couldn’t summon much interest. She was far more anxious for the two brand-new Cantet biplanes to return from their flight over the forest. Choon had been right, and the first four aircraft of the Fliegertruppe had arrived at Fort Melhausen the day before. They were odd-looking things, she’d thought, when they roared swiftly overhead and vanished into the raucous clouds of lizardbirds and the haze rising from the damp ground beneath the trees. They were the first biplanes she’d seen, which made them appear awkward and complicated compared to Nancys or Fleashooters, but their coloration, a kind of jagged, checked pattern of earth tones, made sense if someone was looking for them from the air. And despite carrying two people, a pilot and an observer/gunner, with a machine gun on a swivel aft, they were fast. Their engines were liquid cooled, like Nancys, but apparently more powerful for their size. She was impressed. But they’d disappeared almost an hour before, and she couldn’t wait to find out what they might’ve discovered.
A human Repub officer named Bele, the legion’s senior cohort commander, or prefect, stamped up to join them and slapped his polished breastplate in salute. Bekiaa had noticed all the officers of the 23rd, and many other legions, wore their dress armor. It was light but strong, work-hardened bronze, and apparently didn’t hinder their movement. She actually approved. In open-field combat where concealment didn’t matter, any kind of protection might be useful. She even caught herself wishing for shields. More than once, her Marines had discovered they’d discarded theirs too soon. Inspired by Bele, she’d dressed in her best rhino-pig armor. She wondered briefly if it might single her—and all the officers—out as targets, but decided the risk was worth the possible morale boost to the untested troops.
If the Grik met them here.