Purgatory's Shore (Artillerymen # 1)

by Taylor Anderson

De Russy reluctantly turned back to face Lewis and spoke in a tone of brittle dignity. “I have one final order to give. In light of my current . . . inadequacies, and Major Reed’s dangerous wound—Dr. Newlin fears he may lose his arm and faces a lengthy incapacity at best—and in view of your own amply demonstrated leadership qualities, I hereby order you to assume military command of this combined American force upon these strange and unknown shores.” Lewis was staggered. He’d had enough of “overall” command, just of those forces stranded with Mary Riggs. He’d expected to assume more authority in their current situation, over all the artillery at least, and was prepared for that. But he’d been looking forward to dumping the rest back in someone else’s lap. On the other hand, De Russy was right. Lewis admired his integrity, but he was clearly unready for something like this. Reed should be . . . But no, Dr. Newlin’s already evacuated him to the new fort. I didn’t realize he was hurt that bad—but I didn’t stop doing what needed to be done long enough to check on him either, he realized with a touch of shame.

Surprisingly, it was the British Samantha who supported Lewis by saying, “Americans aren’t any one tribe, they are a collection of them, of ‘states’ as diverse as yours, I suspect. They don’t all like each other either,” she added ironically, “but the ideals of America unite them for their common defense and prosperity in spite of their differences”—she actually chuckled—“and make them so irritating to their adversaries.”

“This is a different world,” he told the American soldiers, “but also the same in many ways.” He smiled. “It seems the Lord God was busier than we ever imagined, making many ‘Earths’ in his firmament, upon which to plant countless seeds.” He bowed at Varaa-Choon, the somewhat customary glower on his heavy visage now shining with an inner light. “To borrow an example the Ocelomeh warmaster gave Captain Cayce, imagine if you will a handful of musket balls, all similar at a glance, but each slightly different. Some will be bright, others a bit blue or wrinkled or frosty looking, depending on the heat of the metal that made them. Some will turn gray with age, or go chalky white with corrosion.

“Thank you, Reverend,” Lewis said with a slight smile for the portly preacher. He’d watched the change coming over the man, seen the dour, self-centered preacher growing in benevolence, piety, and purpose. He hoped Harkin was right, that they were here for a reason. It was some consolation for the men to cling to, at least. “Regardless of why or how, here we are. And coincidentally or not, we’ve been handed a worthy cause beyond our simple survival—and it’s a cause our survival depends on. There are monsters aplenty on this world; we’ve all seen them. And though they’re certainly ‘monsters’ of a smaller sort as well, I’m reliably assured the ‘Grik’ you fought are merely a ferocious, hostile tribe, not the ‘demons’ some of you think.” He grunted. “You’ve killed enough of them that I expect you’ll agree with that.

“Certainly.” De Russy had laboriously climbed on the ammunition chest atop a limber and now held his hands out. “Many . . . details about our alliance with the Uxmalos, Ocelomeh, and others, we hope, remain to be formalized. During our discussions with Alcalde Periz, he agreed to much in principle, but he’s only had the last few days to begin sorting it out with his people and the alcaldes of other cities. I’m confident all we tell you now—and more—will be part of the, um, ‘Treaty of Alliance’ we’ll agree to with our new friends.” He looked in the direction from which the question had come and smiled. “We’ll try to do something about ‘back pay,’ if we can. There were pay chests in the wrecks. But we’ll see to the welfare of the army first, and paper dollars are no use. People here can’t be expected to trade in them. Silver, gold, copper, even zinc and iron, have value, however, and I advise you to take care how you spend what coins you have until we know what they’re worth. But you’ll be paid,” he stressed, then paused. “Let me be clear. We are and will remain United States soldiers, not mercenaries. We’ll only have a different paymaster for a time. We’ll dress, act, and fight like Americans, and only for the overall ‘cause’ Reverend Harkin believes God chose us to pursue. We won’t get involved in petty disputes between the city-states of this region.” He gave Varaa a look, expecting his words to travel. “Nor will we make unreasonable demands in regards to pay. But Captain...

“But what’s a ’possum!” Varaa demanded, racing after him. “Is it a good thing?”

Do Lemurians look like possums?