They slept that night in an abandoned house at the edge of the village. The villagers were polite enough, though unimpressed by the Keelan visitors and with no idea who Yozef Kolsko was. Balwis was about to make the connection for them between Yozef and kerosene, soap, and kotex. Yozef dissuaded him with a shake of the head and a whisper, “It’s nice to be someplace where nobody knows my name.”
The next morning they headed south on the same road, then turned due west at midday on a track that hardly qualified as a road but provided the shortest distance and time to get back to Caernford. The carriage wasn’t built for the depth of the ruts and the uneven surface, and by the second hour they walked, horsemen and carriage passengers alike, more than they rode.
When the landscape changed and the road improved, they once again rode in the carriage, with Carnigan driving and Yozef and Balwis on top. Balwis had tied his horse to the rear of the carriage, so he could converse more easily. As they exited a stand of trees, they came upon a small herd of balmoths browsing a hundred yards away on the edge of a clearing.
“Good lord!” said Yozef, still uttering his surprise in English, then switching to Caedelli. “Look at the size of those things!”
The largest balmoth would look down on a basketball hoop ten feet off the ground and might even be able to defecate into the net. Yozef didn’t try to estimate an exact weight, except to think in elephant equivalents, maybe three units’ worth?
He had heard they were once more common but now were restricted to the foothills near the border of Keelan and Hewell provinces, probably because the area wasn’t heavily populated or on a commonly traveled route.
Although he had seen drawings and paintings of the huge herbivores, observing them live provided one more disorienting experience since he’d come to Anyar.
Yozef had had the usual young boy’s obsession with dinosaurs, but in his case, the interest extended to extinct mammals. The balmoth was either a direct descendent of the Paraceratheriums of Earth, extinct for 25 million years, or the product of amazing parallel evolution. To be the former would contradict his estimate that the animals, including the humans, and the plants had been transplanted to Anyar around five thousand years ago. Yet the similarity was so striking, he believed the balmoth’s ancestors had come from Earth. Had there been multiple transplantations over millions of years? He needed to look closer at what he had assumed were Anyarian species, to see whether they might possibly be long-ago descendants from Earth or truly products of a different evolutionary history. He already knew the biochemistries of Earth and Anyar were similar, but had this happened because they had the same origin or because of inherent biochemical limitations required to evolve life? One more mystery, as if he didn’t already have enough to solve.
They watched for twenty minutes until the animals slowly browsed into the forest. As the last one turned to look at the interlopers, Yozef faced the other men.
“Well, Carnigan, I think we’ve finally found a mount for you that wouldn’t suffer back problems.”
Balwis broke into a braying laugh, and the escorts who’d heard snickered until Carnigan scowled at them. He bestowed the same look on Yozef, who ignored it, confident that the big man’s look was far worse than his bite.
After two days of slow travel, they left the mountains behind and reached the river valley that ran through the heart of Keelan. They spent a night in the town of Amurth in northern Keelan, reveling in hot baths, food and ale, and individual beds at an inn.
One more day to reach Caernford. Yozef spent the day inside the carriage, talking to the others only at stops. It was a day of reflection. Of the conclave, of Flagorn eggs, of Watchers, of the balmoths. Of who he was.
He had felt dispirited after the conclave and had found no solace in Culich’s assertion that the meeting had gone well. Hours of reflection led him to wonder if part of his reaction had been ego. He had stood before the hetmen and the advisors, given what he believed was a speech that should have moved them more, and ended up wondering whether it had had any effect. What had he any reason to expect? Was he becoming too full of himself? The journey from naked stranger to wealthy entrepreneur, military advisor, and husband of a remarkable woman had been dizzying, no matter how he viewed it. The rumors of his being a Septarsh had at first annoyed, then dismayed him. But over time, had he begun to accept the adulation, even be pleased? If so, what was wrong with him? Part of him wanted to quash the rumors; another wondered whether he shouldn’t take advantage. Maybe the hetmen would have listened more if he’d played up the Septarsh aspect. Or maybe they would have scoffed and dismissed his words. What if . . . ?
By the time the first buildings of Caernford came into view, he knew three things. One, he felt glad to be home and to see Maera again. Two, whatever he’d thought he would achieve at Orosz City, he had done his best. And three, no matter his disappointment at the conclave, he still had more to do than he could possibly accomplish, and he had to give it his strongest effort.
CHAPTER 18: WEAPONS REDUX
Deciding on the Caernford move, making the move, writing what he could remember about military principles, and attending the conclave were more than enough for Yozef. All of these activities had to compete for his time with prodding his shops and workers for ideas and products to help against the Narthani. He had started working on some of the newer ideas even before Moreland City, and now they’d been moved to Caernford. With Pedr Kennrick helping with organization and supplies, Yozef revived several projects, including earlier ideas he had shelved for lack of workers or space or technical issues he hadn’t had time to address.
The next month consisted of a seemingly endless succession of meetings: preparations involving the entire clan, meetings with Yozef’s workers moving to Caernford from Abersford, meetings to orient new workers, meetings to start new projects, meetings to revise dormant projects, and, to his disgust, meetings with Maera and Denes to schedule meetings.
To Yozef’s thinking, too many meetings were of the “keeping in touch” variety: maintaining contact with individuals and groups. Those meetings he endured, chafing to move on to what he considered productive topics, particularly weapons development and logistical issues.
Napalm
Yozef gathered several workers from the Caernford petroleum distilling plant still under construction and the soap makers from the Caernford franchise already operating at the new industrial park. He stood beside a chalkboard covering the front wall of his temporary park office. Denes and Balwis hung out near the back wall, along with two men from the gunpowder plant.
“I have a new project that requires you to work together. While I will leave it up to the foremen to choose the team to carry out this project, let me emphasize that it is not a side project, but something that needs to be accomplished as quickly as possible. If more workers are needed or more resources, see me, and we’ll discuss how to proceed.
“This is to make a weapon to use against the Narthani. It’s called napalm, and you can think of it as a version of pouring burning oil on enemy troops. Most of you are familiar with stories of using hot oil to pour on an enemy trying to break into fortresses and, in some cases, setting the oil on fire.”
Yozef paused and looked around at his audience. Several men nodded, others shook their heads.
“If you haven’t heard of it, take my word it’s an effective way to discourage attackers. Napalm is a version of that tactic. You’ll get written notes about what I’ll describe, and those of you who can write have quill and paper to take your own notes.
“Napalm is composed of different components such as oils, acids, and kerosene. You’ll need to experiment with various ingredients. The objective is to produce a semi-solid, viscous material that can be ignited. In the simplest use, a container of napalm could rest on the ground or be thrown at the enemy by catapult. The container would also be designed with a small explosive device that will detonate at the right time. The detonation will ignite the napalm and spread it over a wide
area. You can imagine the effect of such a container exploding in or over a Narthani infantry block. Another ingredient to research is something that can be added to the mixture to make it sticky, so that when it lands on clothing or skin, it is difficult or even impossible to brush off or remove.”
Yozef paused for a moment. “Let’s be clear. The objective is to burn the enemy so badly that they die or are incapacitated.”
Several of the men looked disturbed. One man from the soap factory blurted, “This sounds like an abomination! Deliberately burning people! I don’t believe the Word would approve of this.”
“It is a terrible weapon,” Yozef agreed. “You and all the people are fighting for more than just your lives. You are fighting for the very existence of the Caedellium people.”
“I’m willing to fight and die if necessary to protect my family and clan,” another man spoke up, “but this sounds like something the Evil One would think of. What do the theophists think?”
Yozef sighed. “I have discussed this with the Abbot Walkot of St. Tomo’s and Abbot Beynom of St. Sidryn’s. They hate the very idea, as do I. But they reluctantly recognize the necessity of using every weapon at our disposal against the Narthani.”
Denes surprised Yozef when his voice rose over the general buzz. “Many of our men will see this as a dishonorable way to fight, even if it is against the Narthani.”
“I can understand that feeling,” said Yozef. “However, if we do not defeat the Narthani, you and any sons who fought them will likely be dead. Your other sons will be castrated and sent to Narthon as slaves and your women raped, killed, and many sent to Narthani brothels. What is the price of your honor? If you had to choose, which would it be . . . freedom from the Narthani or your feelings of honor?”
Several of the men who had previously seemed hesitant appeared to reluctantly see Yozef’s points. The first man who had spoken simply stood and walked out.
“And you, Balwis, how do you feel about this weapon?” asked Yozef.
“Personally, I hope every Narthani burns in hell for eternity, and if I can help them on their way, then I have no problem.”
Most of the other men vocally agreed. Thus ended the discussion on the ethics of burning the Narthani.
Denes, however, had another question. “Yozef, is this really more efficient than gunpowder? If the fuse system can be improved, we could throw containers of gunpowder to explode among the Narthani. We did something like this with the crossbow grenades at Moreland City. Why bother with this napalm?”
“Good question, Denes. I see four major advantages of the napalm. One is that the effect lasts longer than gunpowder, which explodes and is finished. Napalm burns for many seconds up to perhaps a minute, especially the larger glops. Second is that napalm can set other things on fire—grass, shrubs, and wagons, for example. We could also lay petrol or another oil on the battlefield and let the napalm ignite it. Third is that when napalm hits a man, he is at least initially still alive and will forget everything else in trying to put out the fire. Enemy formations will disintegrate with such men running or rolling around. Even the men not touched by the napalm will try to stay away from those hit or will try to help put out the fires, either way further breaking up the formation. And finally, the psychological effect of the napalm. Humans have an instinctive dread of burning, and the napalm will affect the morale of the enemy. Anything to increase the Narthani soldiers’ fear and erode the certainty of their invincibility will help us.”
Denes stroked his beard and nodded through Yozef’s points.
Satisfied that he now had both their attention and their commitment, Yozef continued with what little he knew about napalm.
“One formula I remember used one or two parts each of plant oil, naphthenic acid, and oleic acid. Those of you working with petroleum distillation are familiar with naphthenic acid. Other possible substitutes are olive oil, any other oil, and palmitic acids. When they’re mixed, you get a powder. This is then mixed with kerosene to form a slush.”
Yozef went on to describe the components and where local sources might be found.
“Depending on the form of the weapon, the final napalm might need to be thicker. This is something you’ll have to work out. Try to find something to make it thicker and stickier, while still allowing ignition, which you will also have to work out. For example, we might want to use napalm containers placed on the ground to be exploded and ignited on command as Narthani troops come near. We will also need an ignition system for when we catapult containers at the Narthani to either go off on contact or after a specified time. The last possibility might be the most difficult, but you can imagine the effect of a large container of napalm showering flames on a Narthani infantry or cavalry charge.”
Yozef called to the front a portly middle-aged man who had been sitting on one side of the room.
“Raywin will be in charge of the project. He has shown an admirably devious mind in coming up with novel solutions to technical problems and has worked on improving our petrol distillation equipment and procedures. He will coordinate and, I’m sure, come up with some good ideas, but this will require a group effort with all your skills and experiences. To give you some added incentives to work hard, you should assume that if napalm is going to be useful against the Narthani, you need to have it ready in no more than three months.”
Yozef ignored the groans, the objections, and the rolling of eyes. “You men were chosen both for your known abilities and your readiness to try new approaches. Where I came from, it was commonly said that men such as yourselves will always say the task assigned is impossible in the time allowed . . . only to get it done in half the time.”
This brought some grins and a few laughs.
“However, we’ll be satisfied if you succeed within three months.”
Foundry
The new foundry in Caernford was under construction before Yozef moved from Abersford. Progress accelerated with the decision to move and ratcheted up several more notches after the conclave.
Most encouraging was progress with casting cannon barrels. Razil Gurbuz, a Narthani artilleryman, had been taken prisoner at the Battle of Moreland City. Although a career soldier, he descended from a relatively recently conquered people, and he claimed no loyalty to the Narthon Empire. Whatever his allegiance, he freely shared his knowledge of cannon casting. While Yozef had attended the conclave in Orosz City, Maera sent the cryptic semaphore message that Yawnfol Nyfork, foreman of the Abersford foundry, had reported successful casting of a 6-pounder barrel.
Before the conclave, Yozef had hoped the latest trip to Abersford would be the last one for a while, but he needed to see the successful cannon for himself. To his consternation, two sixdays passed since the conclave before Yozef could free two days to get to Abersford to see the new cannon. When the time window finally appeared, Yozef, Balwis, Carnigan, and Denes were off to Abersford in a carriage. Even Balwis deigned to forego traveling by horse, though his reason was that his horse needed a rest, and he hadn’t found a suitable second mount.
They arrived in Abersford an hour before sunset. Yawnfol had been alerted to their arrival and had arranged a demonstration a mile north of Abersford at an open field backed by a forty-foot rock outcropping—their test range for anything needing to be far enough from Abersford to avoid blowing up or immolating unsuspecting citizens and buildings—a precaution justified by more mishaps than Yozef was comfortable with.
“Yozef!” exclaimed Yawnfol, running up to the carriage. It stopped thirty yards behind two cannon carriages and a two-foot by two-foot block of wood six feet long. The cannons Yozef recognized as 6-pounders, but as gratified as he felt by their existence, it was the block that caught his attention. It sat on the ground, lengthwise downrange, and fastened by metal bands to the block was a larger-diameter cannon barrel.
Yawnfol saw where Yozef’s attention landed. “Yes, yes! A 12-pounder, Yozef! It just finished cooling yesterday, and we rushed to get it on a test block. We wante
d to surprise you.”
“So you haven’t test-fired yet?”
“No,” said Yawnfol. “I thought you might want to see the first test-firings.”
“Yeah,” said Carnigan, “and be the first to get blown up, if the barrel splits like all the others we saw tested.”
Yawnfol’s offended expression was comical or would have been, if Carnigan’s comment hadn’t had a kernel of truth to it.
“I’m sure we’ll be safe enough behind the barriers,” said Yozef, placating the young foreman and indicating the six-foot earthen berm fifty yards from the cannon’s positions. “Go ahead, Yawnfol, give us the show.”
“I’ll let Razil fire them off,” said Yawnfol. “None of this would be possible without him.”
“Works for me,” muttered Balwis. “If anything goes wrong, it’s one less Narthani.”
Yozef shushed him. “Remember, he’s our Narthani for now. Think of how many of them you might get a chance to kill if these cannon work.”
Given a positive image to dwell on, Balwis appeared almost cheerful—for him.
Carnigan took the carriage another hundred yards away and tied the horses to a tree. The other three travelers, Yawnfol, and the rest of the foundry workers moved behind the berm, leaving the grizzled Narthani artilleryman to do the honors.
Whatever his ultimate loyalties, Yozef had to grant that Razil appeared confident. Or perhaps indifferent. He stood next to the rightmost 6-pounder, holding a two-foot-long, quarter-inch-thick rod of wood from an Anyar tree known for slow burning. Yozef could see the end glowing red and giving off tendrils of smoke. The “firing rod” was the device used to fire the swivel barrels. The rod, once an end was lit, would smolder for hours without extinguishing under any but the hardest rain.
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 24
