Straits of Hell Read Free Page A

understanding of mercy spring forth, fully formed, within our infant hearts? I think not. I have come to believe that no being is born to mercy, but to know it and show it to others, one must first discover it. Perhaps the example must come as God once demonstrated it to Lot. Indeed, the Grand Alliance, which now includes the Union that sprang from a portion of it, has embraced that method a time or two. I would hope it is still possible that the lesson might come as my loving mother gently gifted it to me. But either way, if instruction truly is the key, it may be that one day we can teach it all across this new world of ours to any being capable of inspiration . . . unless, of course, perpetually assailed as we are by merciless foes, we ultimately forget all about mercy ourselves.
    Courtney Bradford,
The Worlds I’ve Wondered

University of New Glasgow Press,1956

CHAPTER 1
    ////// Zanzibar
Airfield #1
Near Menai Bay
    â€œI am . . . uncomfortable with this meeting, my lord,” General of the Sky Hideki Muriname cautiously admitted to Hisashi Kurokawa. The small, narrow-faced, balding officer had been
Amagi
’s last surviving pilot for her sole remaining Type 95 floatplane, and he’d since created an air fleet of dirigibles and helped train countless aircrews for their Grik allies. He’d also been responsible for creating an entirely different—secret—air force for Hisashi Kurokawa, and the stress of that might have contributed more to his baldness than anything else. He gauged the reaction of the brooding . . . madman who stood beside him (even Muriname no longer doubted Kurokawa was mad), who had become, for all intents and purposes, his emperor on this world. A furious grimace split Kurokawa’s round face, and Muriname instinctivelyprepared for one of his leader’s signature vitriolic rants. Instead, he watched with mounting relief as Kurokawa visibly controlled his rage and his expression changed to a rational frown. Lately, he’d been managing that more often than not. Muriname had to admit that his lord, mad or not, was a brilliant man—and an extraordinarily capable survivor. That their current situation was so much better than he could’ve dared hope just a few short months before—almost entirely due to Kurokawa’s obsessive, manic determination—was conclusive proof of that. And for better or worse, Muriname knew his own destiny was irrevocably linked to Hisashi Kurokawa’s.
    Muriname glanced back at the cloudy sky they’d been staring at all morning while Kurokawa contemplated a measured reply, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a brilliant white pocket handkerchief. He almost snorted at the sight of it. The Grik had never denied even the most frivolous requests by their Japanese benefactors during their association, and he’d used that openhandedness to amass far more than handkerchiefs on his “Sovereign Nest” of Zanzibar.
    â€œI confess that I am . . . less than enthusiastic myself, General of the Sky Muriname,” Kurokawa finally said, affecting a mild tone. He’d continued using Muriname’s Grik title, just as he had his own, “General of the Sea.” He’d gotten used to it, and rather enjoyed it now. He still considered himself “Regent of All India” as well, but reasserting that—and more—would have to wait.
    â€œWe don’t need these strangers!” Commander Riku, head of Ordnance, flared. “We have our own army and navy now”—he bowed to Muriname—“and our own air fleet as well. All better than anything the Americans and their ape-man lackeys—or even the Grik—can muster!”
    That was more than likely true, Kurokawa mused, but they’d believed that before. The 354 Japanese survivors of the battle cruiser
Amagi
now gathered on the island had supervised the construction of the Grik war machine from