Steampunk'd

by Jean Rabe

  But Landry was expected. So after consulting an enormous pocketwatch, Hopkins rose and made his way over to the metal-strapped oak door. It was partway open. Three sharp raps produced the expected response. “Yes?”

  “Lieutenant Landry, sir.”

  “Show him in. And Hopkins . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Have one of the men collect my field chest. And tell him to make sure it gets loaded on the first wagon. The bugger will be sorry if he doesn’t.”

  “Sir!” And with that Hopkins left Landry to find his own way into the lion’s den.

  With his hat held in the crook of his left arm, Landry took three paces forward and came to attention. “Lieutenant Landry, reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Thanks to his family’s wealth, Wilson had been able to purchase a lieutenant’s commission. Since then he had risen to the ranks of Captain, Major, and Lieutenant Colonel largely on the basis of competency. Although the fact that his father was a general had been helpful as well.

  In keeping with Wilson’s background, Landry knew that he looked down on graduates of the Royal Military Academy at Woolrich as “not quite gentlemen.” Which meant that any fantasies that Landry might harbor regarding Sarah Wilson were just that. Fantasies.

  As if to reinforce that perception, Landry wasn’t invited to sit down in spite of the fact that two guest chairs were available. Wilson cleared his throat. His eyes were like chips of Kentucky coal. They stared out from under a pair of heavy brows. “The 17th will depart in two hours,” he began. “So I’ll keep this brief.”

  Having separated a sheet of paper out from all the others on his desktop, Wilson held it up for Landry to see. “Please explain why, having taken delivery on sixteen of the new Lawford steam cannons, you saw fit to send me this report? Which, if I’m not mistaken, recommends that we continue to use the nine pounders already in place. Weapons which you, a member of the Royal Engineers, know to be twenty years old.”

  Landry swallowed nervously. “We tested three of the Lawfords, sir. And the new guns fell well short of the performance parameters we had been told to expect. Even under optimal conditions the Lawfords weren’t able to propel standard shells beyond a distance of five hundred feet. A range which I think you’ll agree is inadequate. The problem may be in vaporizing water quickly enough to achieve the desired result. Whatever the reason, it’s my opinion that they are unreliable.”

  Landry watched with a growing sense of alarm as Wilson’s already choleric face took on the color of the bright red jacket he wore. “First you, a mere Lieutenant, have the temerity to tell me that all of the experts at the Lawford Arms factory are wrong.

  “Then, using your supernatural ability to read minds, you presume to know what I think! Well, here’s what I really think Lieutenant . . . I think your tests are flawed. And more than that, I think that when Captain Morris arrives to take command of the engineering company he will figure out where you went wrong and put it right. In the meantime, you will install the steam cannons and do so in a timely manner. Do I make myself clear?”

  Landry felt a nearly overwhelming mix of resentment, shame, and embarrassment. He knew his face was flushed, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  Near Fort Cumberland, Kentucky

  It was a fine evening and Lieutenant Landry was in a good mood as his horse carried him down the dirt road toward the town of Middlesboro. Major Monfort’s birthday party had been planned months earlier, long before Lieutenant Colonel Wilson and the 17th had left for Louisville, and Mrs. Monfort was determined to see it through, even if the guest list was a bit thin without the usual military contingent.

  But her husband’s militia officers would be present, as would the local gentry, all of whom were looking forward to the annual event. Because even though Monfort was the local magistrate, and therefore “the King’s man,” he was very popular and being invited to his birthday party was a sure sign of one’s social standing. Except for junior officers like Landry that is, who were invited as a matter of courtesy.

  But Landry was glad to be included regardless of the reason, because Sarah Wilson was almost certain to be there, and since her father was gone he might even have an opportunity to speak with her. Or, if he could muster the nerve to dance with her, although his skills in that arena were somewhat limited and he feared making a fool of himself.

  The Monfort house was a large two story structure, with a pleasantly curved drive and white columns out front. Every window was ablaze with light, and Landry could hear the faint strains of a waltz, and an occasional burst of laughter, as he brought his horse to a halt just behind a handsome looking carriage.

  A groom was there to take the reins, and Landry thanked him before following a well dressed couple up a wide set of stairs to the point where Mrs. Monfort was waiting to greet her guests. Her hair was piled high on her head, and she had a pretty if somewhat full face. Her beautiful high-waisted gown was from New York, if not all the way from London, and glittered in the lamplight.

  Warm greetings were exchanged with the couple, Mrs. Monfort laughed in response to some sort of joke, and then it was Landry’s turn. He removed his hat, took a step forward, and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Madam Monfort. My name is Lieutenant Landry. Thank you for inviting me to your husband’s birthday party.”

  “You are most welcome, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Monfort replied. “It’s nice to know that at least one of the King’s officers was left behind to protect us.”

  “I shall do my best,” Landry replied solemnly. “Although I believe it might be advisable for Major Monfort to guard his wife at all times.”

  Mrs. Monfort’s unrestrained laugh was a full throated affair reminiscent of her rural upbringing. “You are an impudent and thoroughly amusing young man. Fortunately, I have no daughter or I would fear for her safety. Henry will show you the way.”

  Landry bowed and followed a brightly liveried servant into the large, already crowded ballroom. It was painted white and at least a dozen well framed mirrors were being used to amplify the light from dozens of candles. As the Monfort’s richly clad major domo announced his name and rank Landry caught a glimpse of his own reflection.

  He had brown hair, what his mother referred to as “a serious face,” and a rail thin body. Too thin in his opinion, which was why he’d never been known for feats of strength as a boy, or been able to distinguish himself at sports within the highly competitive ranks of the military academy.

  Then he was in the crowd where he was greeted by the few people he knew, and introduced to dozens more, while he scanned the room for Sarah. Then he spotted her. She and a couple of other young women were standing in a corner talking to a young man who, judging by his clothing and languid demeanor, was something of a dandy.

  Landry felt an unreasonable flush of jealousy as a florid-faced farmer lectured him on the finer points of hog breeding. But then, as the young man was called away by a well dressed woman who might have been his mother, Landry saw his chance. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to the farmer. “But I have a message for Miss Wilson and it’s somewhat urgent. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later time.”

  It was a lie of course, but the farmer was willing to accept it, as Landry made his way over to where Sarah stood and bowed formally. “Miss Wilson. . . . This is a pleasure.”

  Sarah smiled as their eyes met. “Really, Lieutenant Landry? And why is that?”

  The young women to either side of her tittered. Landry felt the blood rush to his face as he struggled to find a suitable response, and might have been forced to retreat in disarray, had it not been for the voice that called his name. “Lieutenant Landry? I have an urgent message for you, sir.”

  Landry turned to find that the Monfort’s portly major domo was waiting for him. “There’s a soldier outside, sir,” the servant said. “A Corporal Lewis. He has a message for you.”

  Landry nodded. �
��Thank you. Please tell the corporal that I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Then, turning back to Sarah, he nodded formally. “It is always a pleasure to encounter a young woman who is both intelligent and charming. And, if you will permit me to say so, very beautiful. Please convey my best wishes to your mother. Good evening.”

  Eyes grew wider as the young women around Sarah looked at each other. But there was no laughter as the young man with the serious face left the muggy ballroom for the cooler air outside.

  Corporal Lewis was one of Landry’s men and came to attention as the officer appeared. He had the leathery face of a professional soldier. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Especially what with the party and all. But Sarn’t Major Crowley said to come fetch you. It seems a French land cruiser broke through our lines up north and is headed this way.”

  Landry frowned. “That’s bad news. Has the Captain been notified?”

  A middle-aged supply officer named Timothy Samms had been left in command of Fort Cumberland—which meant the situation was his responsibility. Lewis was clearly uncomfortable. His voice dropped an octave. “Captain Samms is indisposed at the moment, sir. If you take my meaning.”

  Landry knew what Lewis was referring to. Everybody did. Samms was an alcoholic. Or something very close to one. And apparently on a binge. If he was incapacitated, that put Landry in charge.

  “Right then,” he responded. “See if you can round up my horse. In the meantime I’ll have a quick word with Major Monfort. If the land cruiser makes it this far south we’ll need help from the militia.”

  Lewis said, “Yes, sir,” and disappeared into the gloom. Landry reentered the house, went in search of Monfort, and having found the Major spent the better part of ten minutes with him. Landry came away with assurances that the local militia would be activated at first light, a process that would take at least a day since the company’s men were spread all over the surrounding countryside.

  There was some comfort in having Monfort’s support. But as Landry’s horse carried him back to the fort and the unaccustomed responsibilities that awaited him there, his thoughts were focused on the Lawford steam cannons, and how inadequate they would be against a French land cruiser. But to leave the existing nine pounders in place would be to ignore a direct order with predictably dire consequences.

  Landry found himself wishing that Colonel Wilson had never left, that Captain Samms was sober, or that he had taken his mother’s advice and entered the clergy. But as the lights of the fort appeared, and a dimly seen sentry offered a hoarse challenge, Landry was forced to face the truth—he was on his own.

  The meeting in Colonel Wilson’s office was a sober affair as Company Sergeant Major Crowley handed the recently received telegraph slip to Landry, who read the message aloud. “To all British forces: The French heavy cruiser Indomptable and her escorts crossed Ohio River sixteen June and are headed south. Repeated attempts to block the raiders have failed. Stop at all costs. Signed, General Benedict Arnold.”

  Landry looked up at the faces around him, all of which belonged to senior non-commissioned officers. The prospect of a southbound battle group was bad enough. But the Indomptable? That was an unmitigated disaster. Landry, like every other officer who had read about the behemoth in the Military Gazette, knew her to be the most powerful ship in North America. It was said that the British government had been working to produce three vessels of comparable size when Boston had been overrun and all of the partially completed cruisers had fallen into French hands.

  So the simple fact was that if the Indomptable was on the way to take and secure the Cumberland Gap, then there was nothing to stop them barring the miraculous appearance of Admiral Haines and his land fleet, which Landry knew was extremely unlikely to say the least. But an attempt had to be made, so like it or not he would install the steam cannons to either side of the gap and attempt to slow the Frenchies down. Work would begin right then—and continue day and night until completed.

  Such were Landry’s thoughts when the door banged open and a disheveled Captain Samms lurched into the room. He was a big man with ginger colored hair, a spray of freckles across his nose, and pouty lips. “Landry?” the officer demanded, and he waved a bottle. “There you are! Pretending to be a colonel. Damn your presumption, sir. I am in command here and you will answer to me.”

  So saying, Samms slammed the bottle down onto the desk with such force that the cork shot two feet into the air before falling to the floor. As Landry watched the stopper a wild idea entered his mind, took root, and immediately began to grow.

  Meanwhile Samms, who mistook the moment of silence as an act of insubordination, frowned sternly. “Speak, damn you! Or be arrested.”

  Company Sergeant Major Crowley was six-two and weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds. So when his pistol butt struck the back of Samms’ head, the blow packed plenty of authority. The supply officer went down as if pole axed. “Sorry, sir,” Crowley said with a straight face. “It appears that the Captain tripped and fell.”

  Landry smiled grimly. “So it would seem. Please detail a couple of men to carry Mr. Samms to his quarters. And have the medical orderly look at him. Once that effort is complete rouse every man we have. Engineers, clerks, and cooks. In short anyone who can swing a pick or handle a shovel. We have defenses to construct and damned little time in which to get the job done.”

  Crowley and the other noncoms came to attention. The word “Sir!” was said in unison. And with that the work began. The Indomptable might come. And she might win. But if the French wanted to pass through the Cumberland Gap they would pay a price.

  North of the Cumberland Gap

  It was nighttime, and despite of the fact that the Indomptable and her sole surviving escort were at rest, Admiral Gaudet felt as if the land cruiser was still in motion. He was standing in front of the brightly lit plot table located just aft of the command bridge staring at a map of Kentucky as a plate of untouched food cooled on top of New England. He, the ship, and the ship’s company had been underway for six days, and during that time they had survived a half dozen encounters with British forces. That included an attack by three steam powered dirigibles which disabled all but one of the Indomptable’s escorts and inflicted damage on the cruiser as well.

  Now the French force was still fifteen miles short of its goal. And truth be told, they would be lucky to reach the Cumberland Gap, since the Indomptable was nearly out of coal. But, Gaudet told himself, if we can reach the gap and hold it for a week all will be well. The area is rich in coal and the supply train is already on its way south from Ohio. “All I have to do is take Fort Cumberland and hold it.”

  The last was said out loud and caused the navigation officer to look up from his log book. “Sir?”

  “Nothing,” Gaudet replied, as he lifted the plate of cold food off the table. “Nothing at all.”

  Landry was asleep when the French arrived. For days he, his men, and a small army of civilians had labored around the clock to strengthen the gap’s defenses. And now, as Company Sergeant Major Crowley shook Landry awake, the officer discovered that he was laying on the ground with a quilt over him—not a wool army blanket but a beautiful coverlet made from scraps of cloth all sewn together to make a beautiful pattern. “Where did this come from?” Landry wondered as he sat up.

  Crowley had an enormous mustache. It twitched as if a smile might be hidden beneath it somewhere. “Miss Wilson, sir.”

  The morning air was cool, but Landry felt unexpectedly warm as Crowley took charge of the quilt, and began to fold it. While Landry lay sprawled in the dirt Sarah had come to visit the troops. Presumably with her mother as part of the effort to keep everyone fed.

  But any further thoughts in that direction were forestalled as Crowley placed the neatly folded quilt on top of a crate. “The French are coming, sir.” The words were said without inflection, as if such attacks were a routine part of each day.

  Landry stood. He was in need of a shave, his uniform was filth
y, and his boots were muddy. Hardly the way an officer was supposed to look. But there was nothing he could do about it. “How long?”

  “Half an hour, sir. Forty-five minutes at most.”

  “I will make the rounds and return here,” Landry announced. “And Sergeant . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Please pass the word. No matter what happens, our troops have done a remarkable job. I want them to know that.”

  Crowley watched the engineering officer walk away. He’ll do, the noncom thought to himself. Yes, he will. If he survives.

  The new defenses were layered on old, which meant that while Landry had obeyed Colonel Wilson’s order to install the steam cannons, the nine pounders remained right where they had been, positioned to fire on the road where it passed between two rocky hillsides. It was a passageway that the French land cruiser would be forced to negotiate since it was far too large to circumvent the pass as cavalry or foot soldiers might.

  An early morning mist cloaked the hillsides as Landry went from gun to gun. He paused every now and then to have a word with an anxious militiaman or to ensure that the stops that would prevent opposing batteries from firing on each other were firmly in place. Then it was on to visit the concealed boilers from which steam would flow to the steam cannons via a carefully laid system of pipes.

  Finally, satisfied that all of his forces were ready, Landry returned to the rocky ledge where a venerable nine pounder and its crew of nervous farm boys waited to do battle with the land cruiser Indomptable. One of them mouthed a prayer as a whistle shrieked.

  Landry knew that the device wasn’t mounted on a destroyer but on the massive warship herself. Because if one of the Indomptable’s escorts were to be destroyed in the narrow passageway, the larger ship wouldn’t be able to pass through.

  There was a momentary wink of light as the Indomptable’s five-inch guns spoke, followed by twin explosions as the opposite embankment took two hits. “Hold your fire!” Landry bellowed through his speaking trumpet.