Unite and Conquer td-102 Read online

  "Jaguars. Investigate these buildings."

  They moved with alacrity. And why not-for they understood that loyal service meant that they needn't be eaten. Not that they would turn away from the prospect. But there were other ways to serve Coatlicue, their Mother.

  The Jaguars came back hauling trembling Zapotecs.

  "Release them, for these are my people."

  Going among them, Lujan blessed them with his hands upon their trembling heads, saying, "Welcome to your new life. For as long as you serve Our Mother, you will eat meat and live in splendor."

  Then, lifting his voice in joy and triumph, Lujan called, "Come out, my people. Join the ranks of the new lords of Oaxaca. Come, come, do not be afraid. The world has turned upside down, and you have happily landed on the correct side. Come, step forth."

  Slowly they came. Carefully. Zapotecs were in the majority, but a sprinkling of others showed their faces, as well. Mixtec, mostly. Lujan did not bless them. Mixtec invaders had usurped the old capital of Monte Alban, casting down the Zapotecs who had built it. That was many centuries ago, true, but in his heart Lujan decided these latter-day stragglers would not enjoy the best of the new Zapotec order. After all, someone had to take out the garbage.

  In the middle of this rumination, a priest emerged from Santo Domingo Church.

  He approached with a trembling certitude. His white cassock with the barbarian purple cross on its front swayed with each step. He walked behind a heavy gold crucifix, which he carried aloft before him.

  Lujan welcomed him. "Padre! Come. Approach."

  "I do not know from what hell you have emerged, Coatlicue, but in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I banish you. Viva Cristo Rey !"

  "You play your role well, Padre," Lujan called out. "You remind me of the padre who is in all the old monster movies. He comes full of faith and fear, just as you do. He is brave. He is true. Despite the awful power of El Enormo-or whatever the monster is called-he believes his faith will shield him from the demons from hell."

  "I banish you, creature of superstition."

  "Do you hear, my people? This padre calls us superstitious. Us! We who stand in the protecting shadow of Our Living Mother. You, priest. Where is your god? Have him appear."

  "His spirit is in us all. It permeates the air."

  "Look above you. The air is dark and roiled. Terrible powers are abroad. A dark new day has dawned. Your crosses of gold will be melted down and reshaped into braziers and idols. No more confessions. No more commandments. Coatlicue rules now."

  The priest stood still, his arm lifted as high as humanly possible. It shook and shook in his great, satisfying fear.

  "No," Lujan called. "Do not stop. Approach. Coatlicue will not eat you. For she has had her fill. Is that not right, Coatlicue?"

  Coatlicue said nothing. Her armored serpent heads separated and homed in on the priest, very much like the cobralike death-ray dealer in the movie called The War of the Worlds.

  The priest was speaking Latin now, his words coming faster and faster, the vowels and consonants blended together.

  "What is the matter, priest? Your white magic does not work. Coatlicue stands supreme, despite your useless prayers."

  When the priest ran out of prayers and strength, he dropped to his knees sobbing. Then his head tipped forward and struck the stone flags of the Zocalo. High Priest Rodrigo Lujan ordered his Eagles to seize him.

  They laid him at the feet of the unmoving and unmoved Coatlicue, and as an obsidian dagger was banded to Lujan, the Jaguar soldiers stripped apart the cassock to bare the heaving, helpless chest.

  The heart of the priest seemed to beat through his ribs and skin. It called to Rodrigo Lujan, asking, pleading, begging for release.

  And with swift, sure movements of the wickedly sharp black blade, Rodrigo Lujan released the pounding heart and held it up to the brownish sky, his blood-spattered face beaming.

  Coatlicue looked down through her armored eye slits and boomed, "No, thank you. I am full."

  Chapter 40

  The word came down from the north.

  "There is terrible news, Lord Kukulcan!"

  Alirio Antonio Arcila stood up in his jungle encampment. He had expected bad news. They were in Oaxaca State now. They had passed from Chiapas without challenge or incident. It was suspicious. Almost as if the army had let them pass this far. A trap was likely. And so he asked, "The army is massing now?"

  "Yes! No!"

  "Speak, faithful Kix."

  "The army is massing, yes. But that is not the terrible news, no."

  "What is it, then?"

  "Coatlicue walks the earth again."

  Antonio frowned under his ski mask. "What is this you say?"

  "The mother god of the rude Aztecs has returned to life. She walks, twenty or thirty feet tall, and hurls back the army like wooden toys."

  This time Antonio glowered under his ski mask. Was this indio baboso drunk on pulque? "Where do you hear this?" he demanded.

  "In the village of my people. It is all over the television. It has even preempted the telenovelas. "

  Antonio's masked mouth dropped open. This was serious if Television Azteca preempted the soap operas. They did not do that even for national catastrophes, of which this past day was the greatest since the conquistadors came ashore.

  "I must see this for myself."

  Going to a pack mule, he unearthed his chief intelligence-gathering device. A portable battery-powered TV.

  "Coatlicue is on Television Azteca," Kix panted. "That is Channel Cinco."

  The set took a moment to warm up, during which Antonio fiddled with the rabbit ears. The mountains were a problem, but if he pointed the antenna correctly most of the snow went away.

  On Television Azteca he saw the shifting images of destruction.

  "This is a monster movie!" he objected, derision in his voice.

  "No, this is real. Coatlicue walks."

  It was true, he saw after careful study. This was live coverage. The creature was the familiar one from the National Museum of Anthropology. It was easily thirty feet tall.

  The army had barricaded the road before it. The statue, somehow animate, stony yet flexible at the same time, crushed the armored vehicles under her remorseless golem tread.

  "See! She is invincible!"

  "Where is this coming from?" Antonio demanded.

  "Ciudad Oaxaca, Lord."

  "Oaxaca city means nothing to me. Let Coatlicue have all of Oaxaca State. It will be a buffer state for Chiapas."

  "No, no. Do you not see, Lord? If Coatlicue is back, can Tezcatlipoca and Huitzilopochtli be far behind? He is your mortal enemy."

  "Tezcatlipoca is the mortal enemy of Quetzalcoatl."

  "But you are Quetzalcoatl. The Aztecs call you this in their attempt to steal you from us. They cannot, for we have prior claim, but they have tried."

  "I do not care about this," Antonio said impatiently.

  "But the television says that all indios follow Coatlicue."

  "What is this?"

  "It is true. Aztec. Mixtec. Even some Maya."

  This, Antonio cared about. He came to his feet trembling. "That lumbering rock is usurping my revolution! "

  "You must wage counterrevolution."

  "Mexico City can wait. We're going to the city of Oaxaca."

  "These Aztecs will rue the day they stole our religions, our gods and our women!" Kix swore.

  Antonio assembled an advance unit of twenty men to go ahead of the main group.

  "This way we will travel faster," he told them. "I, of course shall lead."

  If anyone would have told Alirio Antonio Arcila only a day ago that he would willingly lead men in combat against a thirty-foot foe, he would have scoffed.

  He was not the first revolutionary to be seduced into madness by his own press.

  Chapter 41

  Dawn broke over the Lacandon jungle. The sky was clearing. A few stars still hung in the bluing sky.
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  "See that star?" said Assumpta, pointing.

  "That is no star," Chiun said. "That is Venus. A mere planet."

  "That star is the heart and soul of Kukulcan in whose name we fight."

  A moment later a shooting star fell.

  "And that," she said, "my ancestors believed to be a cigar thrown away by the old gods of the Maya."

  "Your gods smoke tobacco?" Chiun asked skeptically.

  "This is what was believed."

  "No wonder the women of your tribe carry boom sticks."

  Remo paused to look behind them.

  Winston Smith was bringing up the rear. He clinked and jingled with every step like an itinerant silverware salesman.

  "Anytime you want to ditch some of that gear, feel free," Remo called back.

  "No chance. These are my warrior's accoutrements."

  "You'll catch a bullet jingling like that."

  "The round hasn't been cast that will drop the Extinguisher."

  "Watch that-"

  "Oof!"

  "-tree root," finished Remo.

  "Be patient with him," Assumpta said. "He suffers from the turistas. "

  Chiun waited for Winston to catch up. He fell in beside him, hands tucked into the sleeves of his kimono.

  "You are a disgrace to your bloodline."

  "Get stuffed, Wong."

  A fingernail drifted out instructively. It seemed only to tap the spine, but the results were noisy.

  "Ooowww!"

  "Apologize to your grand uncle," Chiun chided.

  "You're not my grand uncle."

  "I am ashamed to admit it, but it is true. I am a distant relative of your father."

  Winston Smith's eyes fell on Remo walking ahead. He dropped his voice. "Hey, what's his name anyway?"

  "That is classified," said Chiun, quickening his pace.

  The day was in full cry now. The jungle birds were awake. As they marched along, a red macaw watched them with detached curiosity, its scarlet head swiveling like a feathered tracking device. Remo carried Chiun's recovered trunk on one shoulder.

  "No, I'm serious. What do I call him?"

  "Ask him."

  Smith caught up with Remo.

  "You know, we've never been really introduced."

  "Tough."

  "I told you this was my second mission. You never asked me what the first was."

  "Ask me if I care," said Remo.

  "I did Mahout Feroze Anin, the warlord of Stomique."

  Hearing this, Chiun hurried up to join them. "Did you get paid?"

  "No, it was a freebie."

  "Pah! You are hopeless."

  "Look, I had to establish my rep."

  "You establish your reputation by the amount of gold received. Do you know nothing about the art you practice?"

  "I'm a warrior. I fight. Payment is optional. Besides, my reputation is the greatest one a man could have. Just mention the dreaded name Extinguisher and see the bad guys go white."

  "You look a little pale yourself," Remo said.

  Smith looked momentarily weird. "Oh, shit. Excuse me a second."

  "Hold up," said Remo impatiently. "The dreaded Extinguisher has to take another bathroom break."

  "He is very brave to march on weak bowels," Assumpta said.

  "How long you known him?" asked Remo.

  "Only since last night. Did you know they publish his manly exploits in books?"

  "Do tell," said Remo. Chiun yawned.

  "It is true. He has told me they have sold forty million copies all around the world."

  Chiun's hazel eyes exploded. "Is this true, Remo? Forty millions of copies?"

  "That's what that book I found along the trail said."

  Chiun's eyes narrowed.

  When Winston Smith returned from his assignation with a ceiba tree, all eyes were upon him.

  "Do you receive royalties?" Chiun demanded.

  "On what?"

  "Your foolish adventures."

  "No."

  "Idiot."

  They continued on.

  "You guys will learn to respect me for what I do," Smith said plaintively.

  "We respect those we respect for their skills and their gold," Chiun said. "You have neither."

  "Some day I'm going to have a book published about my actual adventures, then I'll retire on my royalties."

  "Don't count on living that long," said Remo.

  "I've been writing it all along. Check out my rucksack."

  Dropping back, Remo did. He pulled out a black school notebook. On the cover was the stenciled outline of a fire extinguisher spitting bullets through its nozzle.

  Remo opened it.

  "Looks like a diary."

  "It's my war journal."

  "You write everything down?"

  "Sure!"

  "What if you're captured?"

  "I get captured all the freaking time. Nothing bad ever happens."

  Remo tossed the notebook into the jungle.

  "Hey! You can't do that! That's private property."

  "Rule number one-don't write anything down. If you're captured, they'll hang you with your own words."

  "The rope hasn't been woven that-"

  "You're a menace to yourself," said Remo, noticing something drop from a frayed popcorn pocket of Smith's black uniform. He picked it up.

  It was tiny plastic fire extinguisher.

  "What's this thing?"

  "Icons. I wax a kill, I leave it in his hand. Sometimes in his mouth. Strikes fear like crazy into the guys who find him."

  Seeing another one drop onto the trail, Remo said, "You might as well leave a trail of bread crumbs behind for the enemy to follow."

  "Listen, you just don't understand my profession."

  "Tell it to the Marines, squid."

  "Jarhead."

  "You are all related?" asked Assumpta.

  "Distantly," Chiun said. "The blood is very diluted."

  "And what is your name, old one?"

  "I am called Chiun. More than that I will not say."

  "You are maya?"

  "Pah!"

  "There is a word in our language. Chuen. "

  Chiun looked interested. "Yes?"

  "It means monkey."

  "Pah," said the Master of Sinanju.

  "You ask me-" Winston Smith laughed "-you looked kinda like a chuen when you were up in that tree."

  That was enough for Remo and Chiun. They decided right then and there that Winston Smith needed an emergency bath. Smith was apprised of their decision when they picked him up bodily and tossed him into a scummy jungle pond, rucksack and all.

  When he emerged, Smith stood trembling and dripping while he bestowed several colorful but uncomplimentary new titles upon their persons.

  The Master of Sinanju decided he wasn't as thoroughly clean as they thought and took it upon himself to wash Smith's Mouth out with a bar of Lava soap taken from the rucksack.

  After that, Winston Smith became a much more agreeable traveling companion.

  Chapter 42

  En route to Oaxaca, Comandante Efrain Zaragoza encountered a sight that filled his patriotic soul with rage and fear.

  Refugees. Mexican refugees. They were a mix of city chilangos like him and rural mestizos.

  "The monster!" they cried, weeping. "He has taken Oaxaca."

  "Then the monster is doomed to die," Zaragoza returned.

  The refugees dribbled down in colectivos, mopeds and taxis. The thin trickle became a river and soon a flood. The road became impassable.

  Zaragoza rode in the turret of a light armored vehicle. It ran on six huge tires like an APC but sported a formidable 25 mm Bushmaster autocannon. It was very nimble.

  "Leave the road to the refugees. Take to the ground," he radioed to the column at his back.

  The column left the road and moved on.

  The ground was open, growing increasingly hilly, then mountainous. But they would make it. They would retake Oaxaca and end the madness that
had been unleashed on a perfectly civilized nation.

  Farther along they encountered the straggling remains of Montezuma Barracks.

  They limped down in blistered Humvees and APCs.

  Linking up with his counterpart, Zaragoza demanded, "Why do you flee?"

  From out of his turret the commander of Montezuma Barracks lifted a portable television set. It was on, and on the screen was the incredible sight of the demon Coatlicue herself, surrounded by circle upon circle of indio warriors and adherents.

  "We were outnumbered," the commander said.

  "You have modern guns. I see only sticks in the indios' hands."

  "I am not speaking of the accursed indios. La Ponderosa herself outnumbers us in her sheer enormidad. She crushes tanks under her stone tread. She smites helicopters from the very sky, after first shrugging off their rockets. There was no stopping her."

  "I have orders to vanquish her."

  "Prepare to be vanquished. Adios. "

  The APC's engine roared anew. It lurched forward.

  "Where do you go?" Zaragoza demanded.

  "Chiapas. Perhaps Yucatan. It may be safe in Yucatan."

  "This is desertion, Commander."

  "The capital is a shambles, and Oaxaca is ruled by demons and indios. There is nothing to desert unless a miracle also springs out of the wounded earth."

  As he watched the armored column with its demoralized crewmen rumble south to the relative safety of guerrilla-held Chiapas, Comandante Zaragoza gave fleeting thought to joining the parade of survivors.

  But he was a soldier true and loyal to his nation, and he had visions of making general one day.

  "Onward! " he cried. "We drive on Oaxaca. "

  The column moved on, trembling because the aftershocks continued at irregular intervals.

  It seemed as if the whole world had gone mad with fear and panic. It was no wonder that the old gods walked again.

  Chapter 43

  In a village whose name Remo couldn't begin to pronounce, they were told in no uncertain terms that Subcomandante Verapaz was marching on the city of Oaxaca.

  "What's in Oaxaca?" asked Remo after Assumpta had translated the words for them.

  Assumpta answered the question in Spanish. "La Monstruosa."

  "What monster?" Chiun asked sharply.

  "The monster that has escaped the capital. It is being said the upheaval has opened a pit and unleashed her from the fires below."

  "Her?" said Remo.

  "Si. The monster is female."