Ulrik gave a nod. “Wise thinking, Nils.”
“Not only that,” the small historian said. “There is a very old road through the mountains. An army road. Soldiers used it when motorized vehicles were brand new. Centuries ago. They used the trail to move supplies and weapons through the peaks.” Nils was in his element speaking about history—even when he needed to shout over the roaring engines.
“Can these...” Val paused for the word Nils had used. “These motorcycles… Can they not follow us along this soldier road?”
“It would be difficult, but they would still be able to follow.”
“Then how is it a better route?” Ulrik asked, his irritation slipping through, even though Val knew it was directed at the threat and not at the smaller man. “I say we make a trap, here on the road. Stand our ground.”
“No, no,” Nils shouted. “I am talking about making a trap. The place I plan to take us will be best suited to our vehicles, with one way in, and if they follow us, we can ambush them from the perfect location.”
Val considered both approaches. She knew the Hangers were still in pursuit, and her men were in their territory. The motorcycle riders would know the roads. They would know the places where an ambush would work best. But maybe they will not know the areas ill-suited for their two-wheelers.
“Go ahead, Nils,” Val said. “Tell the others your plan, and then take the lead.”
Nils dipped his head in a serious nod, then sped up.
“How many follow us?” Val asked Ulrik. He looked unhappy with her decision.
“Too many for us to take them all. There were ten when they first attacked. That number has grown. Fifty is my best guess.”
Val’s head whipped around, but the view was obscured by the tight curving walls. She saw nothing but the plume of dust kicked up by their passage. When she looked back, Ulrik was scowling over his handlebars. His long blond beard and hair flowed behind him. His thick muscled chest had broken out in goose bumps from the chill in the mountain air.
“There are too many,” he said again. “Our capable fighters have been whittled to you, me and Morton. The others will be overwhelmed by multiple opponents.”
“If we make it to this army road that Nils speaks of...”
“That is a large ‘if.’”
“Then we set our trap. It is either that or we make our stand here with the axes, heading to Valhalla and allowing the rest of the world to die behind us. At least this way we might have time to prepare—and pick a better battleground than this twisty road.”
They fell silent, and Val felt the sting of Ulrik’s disapproval. This was the first time on their journey that they were truly at odds. But she knew she was right. Their mission had to come first, even though, like Ulrik—and probably the others—she would prefer to stand and fight these Hangers. But Halvard had not sent them across the world to die in the mountains at the hands of a strange foe. He had sent them to retrieve his precious genetic material. And they were so close now, if only they could make it to the point Nils had shown them on the map.
Just a little farther, she thought.
Then the road straightened, and she twisted the accelerator, catching up to the others alongside Ulrik. Nils had taken the lead, the plan conveyed. At the end of the long stretch, as they were about to head back into another tight curve, she turned her head back. The sight that greeted her through the red lenses of her goggles was enough to make her blood run cold.
Ulrik’s count had been low.
41
Kinsker had called the Hangers to a halt in the road. His lieutenants, Ruck and Faust, idled beside him, astride their hawgs, attentive to his plan.
“These flat-bikers are tough, but they don’t know the area. We’ll catch them before the Floating City. But I want an alternative.” Kinsker’s voice was rough, and he realized it had been a long time since he had needed to use it. The Hangers lived in a small town in the alps during summer, and they rode their massive Harley Davidson hawgs, with their ‘Ape Hanger’ style handlebars, around the mountains. There was a small oil refinery south of the mountains, which had supplied them with fuel to keep the bikes running. They rode the mountain passes, collecting whatever items the Gasmen asked for.
And they rode for the sheer joy of it.
The very few times when strangers veered into their sphere of influence, the Hangers took what they wanted. Food, fuel, water, bone and skin—and if there were women, they took them, too. Hell, Ruck had gotten a wife that way. Kinsker would have had her for himself, but he hadn’t been the Keystone then, and Ruck had found her first.
“A secondary plan?” Faust asked, holding a thick thong of human leather in his hand. He’d slid it out of the intricate holes in his face like a shoelace out of a boot, just seconds before. “Smooth. What are you thinking?”
“They’re heading for the Floating City. There’s nothing in the wastes from the last footie hill to the First Canal.” Kinsker ran a finger through his long beard, thinking.
“No chance they want to go to the Other Sea? Or the City Crumbles, Down South?” Ruck asked. He was younger than the other two men, and he always seemed to want to consider the unlikely possibilities. Instead of completely removing the lacing from his face, he had simply loosened his, and when he spoke, the leather over his mouth stretched the lacing holes.
Kinsker was sure, though. “If they wanted the Other Sea, they would have gone around the Alps—not through them.”
“And the Crumbles?” Faust prodded.
“Doubt it. You’ve been Down South. There’s nothing left to raid,” Kinsker stroked his chin, wondering what exactly the invading flat-bikers wanted. He’d never seen a hawg like theirs, low and squat, with four wheels instead of two. But as soon as he had spotted them near the lake, he had known he wanted the flat bikes, and he’d been glad of the mission for the German warlord Borss. But what he wanted most was the woman. She was stunning, with flowing blonde locks, a thin trim body and an attitude Kinsker had not seen before in a woman. She even seemed to be leading the flat-bikers. The Hangers had circled around and sped ahead, laying in wait for the woman and her group, but she and her men had been tougher than expected. Much tougher.
But he knew.
He knew where they were going. He just didn’t know why. “Ruck is gonna tail them.”
“I am?” Ruck asked. The younger man seemed surprised at the sudden grant of responsibility. Kinsker didn’t doubt it. It was a rare honor bestowed by the Keystone, one which he had never received before.
“Take forty hawgs. Follow them. Chase them tight. Hound them down. Pick them off at the edges, if you can. But don’t damage their flat-bikes.”
“Smooth. I can do that, Kinsker. I can do that.”
Kinsker rounded on the younger man. “And do not...under any situation...do not hurt the smooth woman. Pursuit is your primary goal. Drive them on toward the Floaters.”
“And what are we doing then, Kinsker?” Faust didn’t sound as if he liked the plan so far. He’s probably thinking about the woman, Kinsker thought. Faust was probably thinking what Kinsker knew—Ruck would try to take the woman if he could get her. A second wife would suit the younger man, and he would brag all the more.
“I will take the rest of the Hangers down the Lake Road at speedy-fast, and we’ll cut across toward the Floaters. We’ll hide and wait for these flat-bikers, intercept them before they reach the City, and then their hawgs will be ours.”
Faust looked like he was about to ask about himself, when Kinsker spoke again. “Faust, ride ahead of the ambush, toward the Floating City. I have no idea why these flat-bikers braved the mountains, but if they are heading to the Floaters, then they either need something the Floaters have, or they’re bringing the Floaters something they need. Verstehen?”
Faust got it and nodded. “Yeah, Keystone. I hear and perceive. Something important. Either the flat-bikers have it or the Floaters have it. Either way, we get it, and we can trade it to the Gasmen. Jui
ce for the Hangers—maybe for years. So you want me to sneak into the Floating City and try to find what they have?”
“Almost, Faust,” Kinsker said with a grin. “You verstehen only half. Ruck will have forty. I’ll keep nine with me for the ambush. You’ll take the rest of the Hangers with you.”
Faust’s blue eyes widened under the fringe of long dark blonde hair on his brow. His face said it all. He’d thought Ruck lucky to receive the responsibility Kinsker had given him to hunt down the flat-bikers. But a Keystone giving half of the Hangers over to a lieutenant was unheard of. Everyone knew the last time that had happened. A lieutenant named Kroll had nearly split the Hangers asunder, with internal fighting and killing. Only the strength of a man named Schlüssel—the Key—had been able to stop Kroll’s rebellion. And he had become the first Keystone. Kinsker was the fourth Keystone, and no one since had ever given lieutenants as much responsibility as Kinsker was handing out today.
“I’m feeling smooth and sparkly with all the responsibility, Kinsker. I won’t let you down.” Faust paused a moment, as if a problem had only just begun creeping into his mind. “But how am I supposed to sneak fifty Hangers past the Floater guards?”
Kinsker erupted in laughter. He knew he had nothing to fear in allowing Ruck and Faust the chance to shine as field generals, leading their own teams of Hangers. Neither man had the brains to plan a revolt. “Don’t worry, Faust. I don’t want you to sneak them in.”
Ruck and Faust both looked confused now.
He stopped chuckling and turned back to Faust. “I don’t want you to sneak in with the Hangers, Faust. I want you to set their floating shithole ablaze. Burn it until it’s nothing more than charred timbers bobbing up and down on the waves. It’s time for flames.”
Kinsker had his own plan for the prize the Blonde Woman was seeking. The hell with Borss and what he wanted. Kinsker would have it all.
42
Val stepped off her ATV, her black leather boots crunching on the small pebbles and grit of the dirt covered pavement. Ahead of them stood a long pinkish-white wall of concrete slightly higher than Ulrik. Morten and Oskar had stayed at the entrance to the large parking area just before the wall, so they could peer down the road and alert the others when they spotted the Hangers approaching.
Emblazoned across the wall in huge embossed letters, stretching forty feet long, was a slogan in a foreign tongue:
STRADA DELLE 52 GALLERIE
“What does it mean, Nils?” There was some kind of mural artwork next to the name, but it had long faded with age, and Val could not make it out. The site was abandoned. She was less sure of the man’s plan now. This place felt like a dead end. There was an opening in the wall off to the side that was just large enough for one ATV, but there had been only the one road leading in and out.
“It is in the Old Italian language. This is our destination.” The historian look pleased with himself.
“Fifty-two?” Ulrik asked. “Fifty-two what?”
“I read about this location in one of Halvard’s many books,” Nils assured them. “It was originally called ‘The Road of the First Army.’ The Italians built a long road through the mountains, and it clings to the side of the rock like a goat. The Alps seem to have been little affected by the earthquakes of the Utslettelse. So I thought it would be intact.”
Val was less and less sure. “Tell me your plan, Nils. All of it.” She turned on the smaller man with her red-lensed goggles, and zipped up her black leather jacket, preparing for the battle that would come. The Hangers had followed them up the winding path to the beginning of this Army Road, and she expected their attack at any time. They were not far behind.
“The path is narrow,” Nils closed his eyes as he recalled the pages of the book he had seen, and the faded photos on those weathered pages. “The road is a trail, really, like the trails through the forest back in the North. At times so narrow that only one ATV will be able to pass. The ground is rocky and uneven. Or it was, anyway.” The thin man turned to them grinning, like he had a secret that he was finally able to tell them. If he had been ill earlier, he was feeling fine now, with a renewed purpose. “And there are tunnels. Fifty-two of them.”
Ulrik and Val knew what tunnels were—they had each seen a few in the North, and of course, they had raced through the broad tunnel at the end of the Øresund Bridge.
“Fifty-two?” Ulrik asked, his face a mask of pure disbelief. “Surely an exaggeration.”
Nils shook his head. “I’ve seen pictures of some of them. Some are short, just arches through the stone. But some are quite long.” He was grinning again.
The man’s plan crawled through Ulrik’s mind. “You mean to use your bricks from the castle. Collapse one of the long tunnels with the Hangers inside…then the far end, sealing them inside the mountain.” He looked pleased with the notion.
“What are these ‘bricks?’” Val asked.
Nils reached back and opened a satchel on the side of his ATV. Anders and Heinrich stepped over to see the pack’s contents—a few brick-sized packages wrapped in red, semi-transparent plastic wrap. “We found these at the castle, in the large storage room where the propane was. They make things explode.”
“Explode?” Val asked. She wasn’t familiar with the term.
“These are very old, but you mix one of these larger red bricks with a smaller green block. The material is like unfired clay. Then you insert a detonator. The effect is like a lightning strike ripping rock to pieces.”
Val leaned closer, peering at the plastic-wrapped bricks.
Nils continued, “These are a special kind of explosive from shortly before the cataclysms. They were used for construction—not for the army—but they will work for our purposes.” He pulled out a small metal rod four inches long, with a black numbered dial on the end. “This is the detonator. We can set it for half an hour. We stick this in the brick, and it will take down a good part of the mountain, the way a rock will shatter when you hit it with a large hammer.”
“And we will be farther down the road, out of the other end of the tunnel?” Val was starting to see the advantage of the exploding bricks.
“Yes,” Nils said. “We will be well clear of the blast area.”
“And how many of the bricks did you bring, Nils?” Ulrik asked.
“Seven.”
“Several chances to get it right,” she said. “Good. And where does this Tunnel Road lead us?”
“It goes deep into the mountains where we can either come back on an easier return road, to this very starting point, or we can go off road.”
“Wait,” Anders spoke up as he zipped up his leather jacket. Ulrik was the only member of their group still bare-chested. He did not appear to be bothered by the cooler air now. “What is to stop these Hangers from looping around on the easy road to the end of this tunnel trail and ambushing us there?”
A shadow crept across Nils’s face. “I was hoping they would follow us into the trail. They might never have been up here.”
Val considered. While it had been a long journey to reach this Tunnel Road, there was no evidence to suggest that the Hangers had no knowledge of it at all. And if they knew the place, they would know of the return road and likely follow Anders’s suggestion. But if they did not know the road...
“We will go on the Tunnel Road. And we will hang back a bit, waiting for them to come. We need to see if they all follow us, or if some of them split off.”
Nils started his engine and the others did the same, preparing to follow him toward the wall opening. Anders, without being told, turned back and raced across the lot to speak with Morten and Oskar, filling them in on the plan. The three of them waited behind, still watching for the first Hanger.
Val rolled up behind Nils as their ATVs crawled slowly onto a trailhead. The four-foot-wide path, covered in crushed rock, rose up sharply, winding through small trees and boulders. On the far side of the first archway was a man-made concrete tunnel. Val wondered if it was the fi
rst official tunnel. A gate blocked their path, but Nils did not slow. He rammed the edge of the rusted structure with his ATV. The barrier crumbled to dust and metal flakes.
Past the barrier on their right, crumbling, fang-like mountains, rose up. Their white and brown facades were imposing, but promised escape. Before they reached the trail’s first turn, Ulrik hollered. Val twisted her head around to see that Anders, Oskar and Morten had joined them on the trail, and the men were coming fast. Morten raised his finger, pointing up the trail. The message was clear.
The Hangers had taken the bait.
43
Ruck slowed his hawg as the Hangers roared into the parking lot. He had never been this deep in the mountains. Neither had his brethren. No one knew what the place was—or what the huge letters on the pink wall meant.
But he could see the trails in the dirt, where the flat-bikers had gone, passing through the hole in the wall. “They’re going dirt-riding, into the mountains.”
“Should we follow them, Ruck?” Klein was next in line, in the order of command. A small man, with freakishly large hands, he had been Ruck’s friend since childhood. Like Ruck, he only loosened his mouth lacing when he needed to speak. They had joined the Hangers on the same day. But since then, Ruck had realized a simple truth about Klein.
He was an idiot.
Much like what Ruck knew Kinsker thought of him. But Ruck had ambition. He had an eye for the big picture. He was just too smart to let Kinsker know that he could see his leader’s true intentions. He knew that Kinsker was accelerating his long-range plan to take down the Floaters and enslave the Gasmen. Ruck also knew that Kinsker wanted the woman. Who wouldn’t? Faust wanted her, too, but he didn’t have a chance.
“We follow,” Ruck told Klein. “Responsibility. You take the lead, Klein. Take it slow so you don’t road-rash, but stay nipping at their heels. Keystone wants us to push them—not capture them.”
Viking Tomorrow (The Berserker Saga Book 1) Page 18
