Warbound: Book Three of the Grimnoir Chronicles - eARC

  “What’s an Imperium platoon run at, Toru?” Lance asked.

  “It depends on its mission and its operational status. A fully reinforced Imperium weapons platoon would have a maximum of sixty-four men each.”

  “Japs run their units bigger than the AEF did. That’s . . . four hundred and forty-eight soldiers.”

  “I did not know Beasties could do multiplication,” Toru said flatly. “Keep in mind, these are troops recently brought from the front, so it is only because their unit has demonstrated considerable martial prowess, and many of them will have been summoned in order to receive high commendations. It is an incredible honor to serve as military escorts for a visit from the Chairman. They will all be experienced warriors.”

  “Oh good. So if any villages full of defenseless Chinamen show up needing to be massacred, they’ll be ready,” Lance said. Most of the room laughed. It helped break the tension.

  Toru scowled, but didn’t respond. Which was good, because Lady Origami was quietly standing in the back of the room, and Sullivan knew she was just itching for an excuse to make Toru spontaneously combust. “There are other complications as well. I know that there were two gakutensuko stationed at the palace, previously. They may be present.”

  “Mechanical men?” Diamond asked. His team had fought them at Mason Island.

  “Similar to those American . . . robots. But the gakutensuko are superior in virtually every way. Speed, durability, decision making . . .”

  “You once said their guns are smaller,” Sullivan pointed out.

  “Size is not everything,” Toru declared. Several of the American knights snickered, and this time Toru didn’t seem to have any clue why.

  “Those could be a problem, if we get in, but before that I see a few problems with our approach.” Diamond was leading one of the three assault elements. As a Mover, he didn’t even need to approach the map to move the baseball card which represented his group. Sullivan noticed it was a Ruth card. The Babe simply floated off the paper and down the blue line of the Whangpoo River. “This bridge into the section is wide open. How are we supposed to make it past this checkpoint without being seen?”

  “You don’t,” Sullivan answered. “Wait until I make my move, then hit it hard and push through. Hopefully they’ll all be focused on me, so it’ll buy you a minute.”

  Diamond let the baseball card float back down. “You’ll probably get killed during that minute.”

  “Eh.” Sullivan shrugged. “I ain’t planning on it.” He reached over and thumped the map. “Important thing is that both routes out of the neighborhood are cut off. We can’t let the Imposter get away.”

  There was the polite clearing of a throat. Sullivan looked up to see Dr. Wells shouldering his way through the assorted Grimnoir. The way the thin man so easily bumped aside the robust young men suggested he was using just a bit of his Power. “The Imposter will not try to escape. He knows it is vital that he act as the Chairman would during this attack. To do otherwise would invite suspicion.”

  “The Chairman would never flee from battle,” Toru agreed. “Never. In his own writings, he taught retreat is only acceptable when it is from a superior foe in order to save your forces for future conflict. For the Chairman to retreat would suggest that he had a superior foe. That is impossible.”

  “I reckon Faye would disagree with that,” Lance said. Their Beastie was really looking for trouble today, but it was probably because he was distracted with keeping a bird in the air on the look out for incoming trouble.

  “Regardless, he’s not really the Chairman,” Heinrich said. “So what the Chairman would do is irrelevant.”

  “Quite the contrary.” Wells smiled like the broken predator he was. “He is not the Chairman, which means that he will feel insecure and thus go out of his way to act in the manner which he perceives would be correct. You saw how quickly Toru decided that the Chairman would never flee. This is an immediate assumption shared by all of the Iron Guard. The Chairman, being himself, would have far more agency in his decision making. Dosan Saito does not. His deceptions have become his own trap. No, he’s not going anywhere.”

  Ian Wright wasn’t convinced. “Assuming he isn’t the real Chairman, because then he could just Travel right out of there whenever he felt like.”

  “Travel?” Lance cut the Summoner off. “Hell, that’s the least of our worries. If he’s still the real deal, you’d better hope he leaves. Otherwise we’re all dead as soon as we piss him off.”

  “Fair point . . . But whoever he is, he knows we’re in Shanghai, or at least he knows our Iron Guard is—”

  “I am not your Iron Guard,” Toru corrected.

  “Whatever you are, he knows you’re here because you’ve been murdering secret policemen in public all week! They’re going to be on high alert because of your personal blood feud, or whatever the hell it is you’ve got going on here.”

  “It is true,” Zhao said. “The Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu have stepped up their campaign against us. They are offering a huge amount of gold for information. This meeting was very difficult to arrange. They are watching everything now.”

  Ian pointed an accusatory finger at Toru. “You didn’t even attempt to hide your identity.”

  Wells seemed rather pleased with himself. “That was my idea.”

  “What?”

  Sullivan stepped in before too many of the knights got worked up. “Toru’s famous in the Imperium now. We’re using that to our advantage.”

  “My continued existence is a personal insult to the Imperium,” Toru stated without inflection. “Backing down from such an insult would be dishonorable. My presence ensures the Imposter’s visit will continue as planned. To do otherwise would be to lose face.”

  “Absolutely,” said Wells. “If it was only you Grimnoir, then Saito could easily make some excuse and avoid the city entirely. He’d simply leave us to be dealt with by his minions. Toru, however, is a slap in the face. He cannot be overlooked. His presence here practically demands a response from Saito. In reality, it is unlikely that anyone would question the Chairman changing his mind, yet Saito’s insecurities will not allow him to make the reasonable choice. He will take this risk and come to Shanghai. He will continue on his scheduled business, because Toru is present.”

  The Grimnoir were thinking about it. Sullivan could see the wheels turning. They were a crafty bunch. “It increases our exposure and makes us all more vulnerable. You know he’ll try to root us out before then, but this is the only way we can guarantee this son of a bitch shows his mug. He can’t back down.”

  There were some murmurs, but most of the Grimnoir seemed to like the idea. Maybe a frontal assault against a numerically superior foe made up of the most elite military in the world wasn’t totally bad. Which was good, because now came the part where Sullivan told them about the crazy part of his plan.

  After the meeting had broken up, most of the Grimnoir had skulked off back to their own hiding places to brief their men, while the others had found places to sleep amidst the wreckage of the hovel. Toru had gone back to his sacred work. He knelt among the armored bits in a room filled with peeling wallpaper and spreading water stains and concentrated on doing the impossible.

  There were only a few days left until his appointment with destiny. Toru knew he would more than likely die fulfilling the final commandments of his father, but he accepted, even embraced that fate. The discovery of the Nishimura armor was a great blessing, a sure sign that his father was still watching over his mission and providing the tools necessary for success.

  Working with his hands was a welcome distraction. He had been feeling ill at ease ever since his conversation with the newspaper man, Xiang. He had spoken of things which he had thought forgotten. Toru did not relish picking at scabs.

  The suit was in better shape than expected. It had obviously seen combat, most likely at the front. Judging from the dents left by large, low-velocity bullets and the claw marks of a bear, it had been used in Sib
eria. Cossacks were worthy adversaries, but nothing like it would be facing shortly. Would the great Cog Nishimura ever have imagined one of his magnificent works would be turned against the Imperium? Toru did not know the answer, so he merely went back to testing each individual kanji.

  The fit was tight. Ideally he would have time to adjust the armored chest piece. Normally the Iron Guard using such armor would have a few assistants to help him get into it, but he would not ask the Grimnoir for their help. To them, this was simply a device, a mix of machinery and magic. They would not understand the spiritual nature that came with preparation for war. They were simply incapable of understanding the connection between a true warrior and his tools.

  He’d already tested the lower pieces. It took nearly an hour to get his legs and pelvis fully encased in steel and laminate, and then tied into the torso pieces. It was especially difficult to attach the hoses on his back. The floor creaked as he lifted one armored boot, but it seemed like it would hold.

  He placed his hand against the design on the suit’s shoulder and let his Power free. He could feel the energy collecting in his muscles, and he concentrated and guided it down into the spell. It flared briefly with magical light as the connection was formed. Another kanji was ready. Toru estimated the armor was functioning at about eighty percent effectiveness. He was certainly no Fixer, but he hoped that over the next few days he might be able to get that up to ninety.

  Though Toru had heard the stomping of huge boots against the damp wood a floor away, his visitor was polite enough to knock. “Come in, Sullivan.”

  The Heavy entered, looked over the armor which was spread out across the floor, and then took a seat on an overstuffed and slightly moldy chair. “You getting the hang of this thing?”

  “I was trained in its use many years ago, though I never had to privilege of using one in combat . . .” He realized that did not actually answer Sullivan’s question, and he had too much on his mind to be obtuse out of spite. “I am “getting the hang” of it.”

  “Will it be ready in time?”

  “It is ready now.” Toru slid his arm inside the steel sleeve, carefully guiding each finger into the gauntlet. He willed the gauntlet to curl into a fist. “It still requires some adjustment and fine tuning. I would like to test it more, but I believe it to be combat effective.”

  “You need a hand putting it together?” Sullivan reached down for the mempo.

  “No! Do not touch that.”

  Sullivan removed his hand. “Easy there.”

  The armor made a slight grinding noise as he willed the legs to work. The boards beneath his steel boots popped as he took a step over. Bending at the waist was difficult without all of the parts attached for balance, but Toru managed to scoop up the face mask. “You are not to touch it.”

  Sullivan seemed more curious than offended. “Why not?”

  “It is . . .” Toru sighed. “It is difficult to explain. This armor is meant only to be used by the greatest amongst my . . . amongst the Iron Guard. Bearing it is a sacred responsibility.”

  “Never knew you were the religious type, Toru.” Sullivan leaned back in the chair and produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat.

  “I do not subscribe to your superstitions, but I know what I believe. Just . . . just do not touch the armor again.”

  Sullivan lit the cigarette. “So it’s a worthiness thing?”

  Toru thought it over for a moment. In normal times, the Iron Guard would ritually prepare himself before donning the armor, cleansing both mind and body. “Yes.”

  “Fair enough . . . Did my brother have one of these?”

  “He had been promoted to First before his death, so yes. He would have been given one if he had lived.”

  “If that was considered worthy, then I suppose I wouldn’t want one anyway.” Sullivan shrugged. “I’ll be heading back to the Traveler soon with Barns and Lady Origami. Lance will be in charge here. Before that, though, I wanted to talk to you about the plan. You know what we’re facing better than anyone, but you were awfully quiet tonight.”

  “You ordered me earlier not to destroy the hope of your men.” Toru turned away and went back to tying in the arm to the shoulder piece. “You are willing to lie, dishonor yourself, and bring eternal shame to your name—”

  “I think Wells is right about the man. Whatever Saito’s real Power is, or whatever deal he’s got with the creature, I think this is the only hope we’ve got of exposing the Pathfinder. The only thing that matters is beating it.”

  “So you intend to expose deceit through deceit . . . Despite the dishonor inherent in this, your plan is bold. Provided your assumptions are correct, your Cog’s assumptions are correct, and your alienist is not a madman sending us to our doom in order to amuse himself, there is a small possibility of success . . .”

  “That ain’t so bad.”

  “Success is possible. Survival is not. We will surely die.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Sullivan took a long drag off of the cigarette. “Me and you, I figure we’re done for no matter what, but I was hoping to get as many of the others out alive as possible.”

  “That will be entirely dependent upon how well we die.”

  “If that’s what it takes, then I suppose that’s what it takes.”

  Sullivan did not have the true code of the warrior, but he did have a code nonetheless. It was a remarkable achievement for a man raised in a culture with no concept of true strength or honor to follow such a path. Toru looked down at the Nishimura face mask he had set on the floor. Even such a weapon had been carefully carved in the style of their ancestors. It was a perfect melding of art and death. Only a true warrior was worthy of wielding the sacred weapons of the Imperium, but if there had ever been anyone among the Chairman’s enemies who might have been worthy, it was Jake Sullivan.

  My father was a wise man to choose his champion so well.

  “We fought once, Sullivan, and we were unable to decide which of us was the stronger. I have vowed to finish that fight. I am unable to take back that vow . . . However, the idea that we will die together now, fighting against my brothers and restoring my father’s stolen honor . . . It makes me glad that we will be unable to finish our duel.” Toru gave Sullivan a small bow of respect. “Let them speak of our deaths with reverence for generations to come.”

  The two of them stayed there in silence for a time, Toru putting on his armor, and Sullivan thinking about the fate of his volunteers with a heavy heart.

  Major Matsuoka of the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu used his binoculars to scan down the docks. There were no lights visible in the abandoned apartment building indicated by the informant. The patrol boat rocked from a strong wave, and Matsuoka had to lower the binoculars, as the added movement made him a little nauseous. It would not look good to get motion sick in front of his distinguished visitor. “Are you certain this is their hideout?”

  The translator conveyed the question to the worthless Grimnoir traitor. They’d said his name was Pang, and that he was supposedly a Brute. He rambled on for far too long with his answer.

  “He says this is the place. Toru is here as well as several foreign Grimnoir. He says that Toru insulted him, and that he is a terrible person, and that is why Pang is willing to give him to us. He says that their leader is very young, and he is tired of being bossed around by a kid.”

  Of course. It had nothing to do with the staggering amounts of gold promised for information. Those who would betray a trust were always the same, and when caught would inevitably try to justify themselves by saying that they’d been somehow wronged, and were thus justified in their actions. Matsuoka had been a police officer for a very long time and had dealt with many such men. “I do not care what his reasons are. His information was reliable last time.” He turned toward the slight figure standing to his side, dressed entirely in dark, unassuming colors. “Does this please you, Shadow Guard?”

  The terrifying little man simply nodded. He had been introduced
as Hayate, a very senior, very experienced warrior, whose reputation for effectiveness preceded him. Hayate’s Shadow Guard would be the ones to handle Toru.

  “Radio the other units. Summon all of the men and surround the sites. No closer than a block. Avoid being spotted at all costs. If anyone comes or goes, tail them discreetly. Use disembodied spirits if available. I would rather lose one than alert the majority.” He checked his watch. Raids always worked the best in the still hours before dawn. “We strike in one hour. We will hit all of the safe houses simultaneously. Standard procedures. Kill any who resist. If possible, take captives for interrogation.”

  The message was relayed. The operation was in motion.

  Pang spoke in Mandarin, asking again for his traitor’s blood money. Matsuoka spoke some of the language, but would not lower himself to talking to a dishonorable informant. He snapped his fingers, and two of his men came forward carrying a wooden chest. They placed it in front of Pang, who greedily knelt down and opened the lid. The gold bars had been neatly stacked in straw. Pang’s fat face split into a wide smile.

  “It is too bad,” the Shadow Guard said. “They are normally so loyal. It is rare that a Grimnoir would break his oath.”

  “True,” Matsuoka agreed.

  “Nearly as rare as an Imperium warrior breaking his. Not completely unheard of, I am afraid . . . Oh, foolish Toru. What shame you have brought. Were you aware I knew him, Major Matsuoka?”

  “No, Shadow Guard. I was unaware.”

  “We served together during the offensive in Manchuko, and then again during the Thai insurgency. Despite his poor judgment, he is one of the finest combatants I have ever seen. He deserves to be felled by an equal. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, Shadow Guard,” the major agreed. He had no intentions of stealing the Shadow Guard’s glory. Matsuoka was a policeman. Hayate was a legendary killer of men, a ruthless magical assassin who came in the darkness, like a ghost from nightmares, leaving no trace of his passage, other than the corpses. Matsuoka was certainly not an idiot. “My troops are merely here to facilitate your needs against the Grimnoir.”