Airship Nation (Darkworld Chronicles Book 2)

by Tom DeMarco

  There was an increasing number of military craft to manage, and an even more rapidly increasing merchant fleet. The merchant companies were free to woo the best naval officers away, as they often did. It seemed like the navy was on a treadmill to produce more and more trained personnel for its own needs and the needs of commerce. Immigration into Victoria, particularly from England and France, gave them a pool of candidates to choose from, only, the growth curve they were on now was too rapid to be manageable. Loren wished there could be a deliberate slow-down, but he knew that was impossible. With forty-three thousand square miles of Victoria to defend, they needed both a growing navy and an ever-enlarging economy.

  There was the swishing sound of a mid-sized pavilion passing outside of them, and turning in to dock at the port just forward of their own. Through the corner of his eye, Loren recognized the colors of Buxtehude’s personal flag on her stern as the vessel passed. That would be the Helenic. A moment later the Proctor strode aboard with an aide, passing the waiting line. He nodded to the aide, who gave Loren his sealed orders. There was a pleasant thrill of secrecy and intrigue, though Loren knew what the orders would say, as he had helped to draft them himself. The Proctor exchanged courtesies with Myer and Bentenyev. Then he turned to go.

  He leaned in toward Loren on his way out, looking rather amused. “I see there’s a surprise for you at the end of the line,” he said.

  The last person in the line was Claymore Layton. He was dressed in the old uniform he had last worn on the day of the Bahama Channel battle, a blue jumpsuit with “Clay” stitched over the breast and “Palomar” across the back. He was dragging a large duffel bag along the floor behind him. After all the others had been received, Claymore stepped across the entry way decking to present himself to Commander Myer. The latter looked over at Loren in some confusion. Loren decided nastily to ignore the look.

  “Um…Mr. Layton,” said Myer.

  “Hi.”

  “Well, this is a surprise.” Myer was trying to get Loren’s attention. Loren turned away to watch the Helenic’s departure.

  “Brought my own bedroll,” Claymore said, nodding toward the duffel. He reached out to take Myer’s hand and shook it enthusiastically, and then shook hands as well with Lt. Bentenyev. “Hi, Rita.” Then he turned back with a pleasant smile toward the commander.

  “Um…” Myer said, and then stopped.

  Finally, as though giving up on a retarded child, Clay spoke to Lt. Bentenyev: “You can tell him I won’t be any trouble at all.” He gestured with a thumb toward Myer. “He seems concerned.”

  Rita turned to Myer, immediately at her side. “Mr. Layton says he won’t be any trouble at all,” she dutifully repeated.

  “Well then, Lieutenant. You can show our guest to the starboard guest stateroom. I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She led Clay off toward the stairs. Myer pointed toward the duffel, still in its place in the entry, and an airman dragged it away after the retreating pair.

  The matter of navigation had been simplified by the discovery that some of the GPS satellites were still functional. It had taken a relatively trivial effort to rig receivers on the pavilions and to pipe the GPS signals into the onboard computers. Among the prizes that Loren had brought back from Marlowe, New Hampshire, was a diskette full of colored maps of the world at all different levels of detail. These had since been integrated into the navigation program. The large screen monitor in Ardent’s control room now displayed a detailed map of Northern Alabama, with the squadron’s current position overlaid upon it. As Loren watched, the three white spots representing Ardent, Superb and Dreadnought moved north northeast toward intersection with the Tennessee River. What was visible through the control room observation well was nothing more than a bank of thick cloud. When the first of the spots made contact with river, Myer’s voice spoke up, calling for the Ardent to come about and tack up the river to the east. Loren watched the other two pavilions tack neatly behind them. Then he headed back to his cabin to change into civilian garb.

  It had been the Proctor’s idea that all scouting parties on enemy or unknown soil should include women. So far, it appeared that the military, as it had evolved on the mainland, included no women at all, so the Proctor reasoned the presence of women in a Victorian scouting group might help to allay suspicions. There was nothing so unthreatening, he said, as a couple walking arm in arm. The landing party this morning would consist of Loren and Lt. Bentenyev and two midshipmen, one male and one female. They would all be dressed in worn jeans and work shirts.

  Loren joined the rest of the group around the railed observation port in the main saloon. For the last quarter hour or so, he could tell from the Ardent’s motion, they had been descending and killing speed. What he saw now through the port as they broke out of the clouds was a gray day with steady rain. He pulled a plastic poncho out of his bag and pulled it on over his head. They were coming down over a hilly forested area. The river was visible a mile the north. Within a few minutes, the Ardent had come to rest just above the bald crest of a hill. There was no sign about them of settled areas or of people. Loren headed back toward the lift.

  When he stepped onto the little lift platform, he saw that he was one of five persons there, not four. The fifth was Claymore. He was dressed in white tee shirt and khaki pants. Loren held his hand up, turning back to speak to the lift operator. He had no intention of bringing along a sightseer. But the lift motors were already humming and the platform was descending rapidly on its cables down from the bottom of the pavilion. On the way down, Claymore introduced himself to the two midshipmen. “Claymore,” he said, and they replied “Nancy,” and “Robert.” When the platform stopped, Clay was the first to hop to the ground. Loren shrugged and followed him.

  They headed down from the hilltop in a northerly direction, guided by a hand compass. The forest preserve was laced with wide walking paths, obviously intended for joggers and picnickers. They didn’t encounter a living soul in the preserve itself, but once they broke out onto paved road, there was a procession of foot traffic and wagons and carts pulled along by draft animals or by teams of people. The wagons, Loren noted, seemed to have been fashioned from the underbodies of automobiles. They had slatted wooden uppers, mostly filled with agricultural products and some with firewood.

  As they neared the town, they came upon uniformed soldiers resting by the side of the road. The soldiers were all armed, the lower ranks with long billy clubs like those that used to be carried by policemen, and the officers with swords and sabres. Most of the uniforms were pretty motley. Loren put his arm around Rita’s waist as they passed. Nancy and Robert were also arm in arm. Claymore, the last of their party, smiled and nodded to the soldiers.

  The town of Owens Springs was big enough so that people there did not expect to recognize everyone. The arrival of Ardent’s five scouts passed without notice. Loren and the others kept their eyes open to see what they could see. There were soldiers everywhere, obvious liberty parties from the adjacent base. The accents they could overhear were southern, very thick. Loren knew that his own would stand out instantly if he spoke, so he did not intend to. Nancy Sargent had been chosen for the scouting party because of her accent, and she would do the talking for them. Near the center of town they passed the active doorway of what seemed to be a grange or meeting hall, and Loren nodded toward it. Nancy separated herself and went inside. Claymore wandered up the street with Robert, looking into the windows of the stores. Loren sat down beside Rita on the porch of the grange. They were holding hands. He looked at her with what he hoped would look like a romantic expression, feeling more than a little foolish about it. That was OK, lovers often looked a little foolish. She was grinning back at him.

  Behind them on the porch, a group was gathered around a young man in muddy coveralls. “There’s always jobs to be had at the locks,” he was saying. “I’m not saying it’s easy. They really work you.” He held out his blistered h
ands for the others to see. “I worked the pumps until my hands were bloody. But they don’t hassle you much about papers. And they pay you off after each barge passes. My brother, he hitched a ride along with the crew of one of the barges. He is going all the way to the Mississippi. Maybe that’s what I’ll do next. There’s no future in these parts. It’s only a matter of time till you end up in the Army, anyway. The more doughboys wander off, the more they come by to the farms, collecting folks for their ‘draft,’ that’s what they call it. I aim to stay out.”

  Another young fellow picked up: “My cousin says they’re going to start putting tattoo marks on the back of your hand, once you get drafted. It’s national policy. And then when you get away they just pick you up in some other place, and you’re in again. He says the best thing to do is go up to Canada. They’ve got energy there, more than we have. And maybe their cars work there too, just like it used to be here, before.”

  When Nancy came out, they collected Clay and Robert and headed out of town, back in the direction they had arrived from. As they neared the edge of the forest preserve, Loren motioned them off the road into a thicket. From that position they could observe a section of the road between two bends without themselves being observed. There was less traffic along the road now in the heat of the day. The morning’s rain was rising up off the road in a heavy fog. What they were looking for was a single soldier, an officer. While they were waiting, they opened a packet of sandwiches put up for them by the steward. Before they were done eating, their quarry was in sight.

  “He’s got a sword,” Loren noted in a whisper, “He’s got the scabbard strapped across his back.”

  “Would it be better if he were unarmed?” Claymore asked. Loren looked back at him stupidly. Claymore stood up and sauntered out from the thicket and toward the approaching soldier. There was no one else in sight along the road. From their hiding place, they could hear Claymore’s voice.

  “Nice sword, Mister. How much?”

  “What?”

  “I’m a collector. I’ve got tons of money.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. They would eat me alive. Anyway, I’m a Major,” he said, importantly. “I’m not selling off any government issue gear. And certainly not my sword.”

  “Probably over-weighted anyway. Those fancy sabres have all the weight in the handle.”

  “Not this one. It’s a U.S. Marine sabre, the best.”

  “Those are the worst. All the weight in the handle.”

  The man started to walk around past Claymore, and then thought better of it and turned back. “What do you know about it anyway?”

  “I know an overweighted handle when I see one.” Claymore shrugged.

  “This is a U.S. Marine Captain’s sabre. It’s even got his name on it.” He reached over his shoulder to pull the blade from its scabbard. “Here look.”

  Clay leaned with apparent interest over the blade.

  “See. There’s his name.”

  Clay pointed just above the inscription. “See where the serial number is written there, that’s the balance point. That’s where it’s supposed to balance. Four fingers down from the hilt. But it won’t. It’s over-balanced.”

  “It is not.”

  “Well try it yourself. Here, put your finger out as a bridge and see if you can balance it.” He held his own finger out in example. “Take the end of the blade in your hand, and put it down across your finger right at the serial number. You’ll see.”

  The officer was obviously irritated. He turned the blade around so that the hilt was pointed toward Clay. He held his finger out as he had been told and laid the blade on it with the number exactly above the finger.

  “Now just let go. You’ll see which way it falls.”

  The major let loose his grip on the blade and it toppled away from him, weighed down by the handle and hilt.

  Claymore caught it as it fell toward him. “See? I told you. Overbalanced. You’ve been captured, by the way.”

  Clay was holding the sabre with its point resting lightly on the front of the major’s chest. The officer put his hands up slowly. Loren and the others stepped out of the thicket with air guns and cattle prods in their hands. They walked the man far enough into the woods so that he wouldn’t be heard if he shouted. Nancy brought along what was left of the lunch. Loren nodded toward Robert to begin the interrogation:

  “You’re going to tell us everything we want to know. If you don’t tell us, we’re going to hurt you. Maybe we’re going to hurt you a lot.” He showed a cruel smile. The young midshipman had been on the Ardent for the past year, and Loren knew him to be rather a gentle young man. But he was also a bit of a ham. It was a convincing performance.

  “Try the prod on him, Bobby,” Rita said. She was sitting down to finish her sandwich. “I love to see them flinch. Let him have it right in the crotch.”

  “Don’t. I’ll tell you whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

  “Too bad,” she said. “Less fun for us.”

  “I’ll tell you. What do you want to know? Just ask me.”

  “What’s going on in the arsenal?”

  “They’re getting armaments ready to go out on barges.”

  “What kind of armaments?”

  “Napalm. And there is gas too, nerve gas.”

  “What use is the napalm? Can they make it explode? How do they deliver it?”

  “They have these long electric tracks that the bomb runs along. You can shoot it off a long way. When the bomb hits, it burns. There is a test range inside the arsenal, and I’ve seen them shoot a mile or more and make a big orange flame on the target. The tracks are being disassembled and put onto barges. Along with the other stuff. That’s all I know.”

  “Where are the barges going?”

  “Down river. But I don’t know where. Who are you guys?”

  “What do you hear about what they’re going to do with the weapons.”

  “Nothing. Or rumors, only. They say there are steam ships fitting out in New Orleans. I don’t know if it’s true. Navy ships with steam engines. Maybe they’re going to set up the tracks on the decks of the ships. And shoot them off at the Cubans. To go to war with Castro. What do I know?”

  “Why Castro?”

  “Because he controls the ray gun that stops everything from running, cars and guns and all that. He is the enemy. That’s what they say. I don’t know.”

  “Where are the electric tracks? Where inside the arsenal?”

  “On the test range. That’s were some of them are, the ones they’re fixing up. The test range is the whole western part of the station, up along Rideout Road, near the boundary between Redstone and the old NASA station. The rest are down at the docks, waiting to be loaded. Are you going to let me go?”

  “Where is the napalm and the gas?”

  “It’s all been taken down to the docks at Wheeler Naval Weapons Center. It’s in the long green warehouses. There are guards all around them.”

  “Has any of it been shipped out yet on barges?”

  “I don’t think so. The barges are already there, waiting. But they’re still empty. They say the steamships aren’t ready yet. So they’re keeping the stuff here. That’s what I hear. But pretty soon. Hey, can I go?”

  Robert looked over at Loren, who nodded. “Take off your clothes,” Robert said. They had decided to bring back a current uniform to be copied in case they wanted a uniformed scouting part at some future date. They also figured the man would be of less danger to them without his clothes. The officer began to undo his shirt. Robert questioned him as he undressed about military identification papers. He stowed the man’s wallet along with his shirt and pants in one of the back packs. “Take off the rest too,” he said. The man looked shyly at the two women who were watching interestedly.

  Finally he stood stark naked in front of them, covering himself with his hands. Rita was grinning again. They packed everything into their packs. Rita stepped up toward the man with a pair of handcuffs in her hand. S
he pulled his wrists together and snapped on the cuffs. The man seemed more upset about not being able to cover his nakedness than anything else. When she pinched his bottom lightly, he colored even more. She pulled a long cable lock out of her pack, passed the end around a tree and in through the cuffs before locking it.

  “It has a combination lock on it,” she said to the naked man. “There are only three numbers, so it shouldn’t take you more than an hour or two to try all the possibilities.” She held out the key to the cuffs for him to see, and then dropped it in plain sight on the forest floor, a dozen feet out of his reach.

  As they made their way back down to the road, Rita said, just loud enough for the man to hear, “He was kind of cute.”

  During the scouting party’s absence, Commander Myer had launched a large drone flyer from its storage position on Ardent’s stern deck. The drone was manipulated by radio signals emitted from the master computer in Ardent’s control room. Myer made a point of putting Midshipman Daniele Surceuil in charge of the drone; he referred to it as her first independent command. She stood over the computer console and her assigned operator, giving orders that caused her unmanned pavilion to circle higher and higher above the arsenal. By the time Loren and his party had returned, the drone was more than two miles above them.

  Midshipman Surceuil was just deploying the lens array as Loren stepped into the control room, showered and in uniform. He watched over her shoulder. The monitor before her had a televised image from the drone. The camera appeared to be mounted on the bow of the pavilion, showing its deck. The entire deck was covered with wide cylindrical tubes pointed upward and to the sides, giving it the look of a porcupine’s back.