by Quincy Allen
Jake put his ocular into one of Lumpy’s saddlebags and slipped the goggles over his own eyes. “Those clever bastards,” he said quietly. His respect for the strategists of Roswell went up a few more notches. He kept his left eye closed, but through the lens covering his right eye, the smoke disappeared. Everything had a green tint to it, but he could see clearly.
Jake stepped out into the street once again. Dead bodies spread out in front of one building to his left. Quite a few of the corpses belonged to Cromwell’s jump-troopers and infantry, but most were the people of Roswell.
The greatest concentration of them lay piled in front of a doorway and hanging out the windows of one building, as if they had been protecting something.
Jake scanned the lifeless street for any potential threats and then, pulling the Officer’s Colt, started walking toward the entryway.
Picking his way through the bodies, Jake made it to the corner of the building and slid against the wall up to where a fair-haired woman dangled halfway out the window. Her body was riddled with bullets, and her blood mingled with that of the other bodies, soaking the boards beneath his feet.
“Oh god …” was all Jake could manage. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared at the carnage. He could barely breathe. He gripped the windowsill with his left hand to steady himself as a dizziness struck him.
More bodies lay inside, with several of Cromwell’s troops stacked in front of a doorway at the back of the main room. Through that doorway, Jake stared in horror at the bodies piled in a far corner.
It had been a school.
Jake’s metal hand tightened. He felt wood splintering beneath his grip. Slats of wood came free in his hand as he tore away at the windowsill.
A ring of Roswellian defenders surrounded a grisly pile of bodies in a corner of the back room. Their bodies had been torn to pieces, as if Cromwell’s troops simply emptied their weapons into them.… children’s bodies. There were white children, Indian children, black children, Asian children, ranging between six and their mid-teens.
All of them were dead.
Rage blossomed in Jake’s chest, a fire like molten steel, and he knew there would be only one place to quench it.
Ghiss placed his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That’s what they’re up against here, Jake. Cromwell doesn’t want their land. He’s not interested in conquest here … not victory. He wants to wipe them out … eradicate them … eradicate even the memory of them. For being pagans.”
Jake didn’t need to ask why. He knew Cromwell. The people of the Free Territories believed in freedom for all. They lived it with each passing second. And many didn’t pray to a Christian god, assuming they prayed at all.
Cromwell was the worst kind of zealot. He’d set up the Texas Republic as a theocracy, an oppressive one, and the thought of pagans living free was all Cromwell needed to slaughter these people any place he found them. Jake had no doubt that Cromwell considered them a threat to his way of life.
Cole stepped up to the window and looked in. “Jesus,” he gasped. He staggered back, almost tripping over one of Cromwell’s troopers. “Those filthy sons of whores.” He shut his eyes as tears flowed across his cheeks. He shook them away and stared down at the trooper’s lifeless eyes staring up at him.
“There are more of them in the back,” Ghiss said with disgust. “A lot more. It would seem Cromwell’s troops have little regard for the rules of decency in war.” There was something in Ghiss’ voice that Jake had never heard before— Hatred.
Skeeter started to dismount Lumpy, a curious and fearful look on her face.
“Stay where you are, Skeeter,” Jake ordered grimly.
She stopped mid-motion and then slowly settled back in the saddle, gulping once in fear at what could affect the men so severely.
“Filthy sons of whores,” Cole said again, the rage in Jake’s heart resounding in Cole’s voice. He slowly pulled his pistol and pointed it down.
They all heard the click of the hammer pulled back, and then a shot filled their ears. The trooper’s face blossomed red. Another shot went off … and another … and another. Cole emptied his pistol into the trooper’s face. Nobody stopped him. He slowly bent over and, laying the Thumper down, picked up the trooper’s chaingun. He pulled the drum out, hefting it to see how much ammo was left. He replaced the drum and slipped the weapon strap over his shoulder. He grabbed another chaingun and did the same. Then he retrieved the Thumper, looking grimly at Jake, and handed the long weapon to Skeeter.
Ghiss spoke up. “The gateway we’ve been heading toward is about twenty blocks away.” He nodded in the direction of the battle they’d been approaching. “It looks as if Cromwell’s troops have a defensive position supported with armor, although the zeppelins have moved eastward to engage the Dragun.” There was something odd in Ghiss’ voice; disgust to be sure, but there was something else that troubled Jake. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It almost sounded like betrayal.
“Think we can get through,” Jake asked, worried about the mention of assault units.
“It looks like a difficult endeavor at best, Mister Lasater, but I’d say we have little choice in the matter.”
“Let’s go,” Cole growled as he began reloading his Colt.
Chapter Eighteen
Gatekeepers
“There are good men and bad men. And then there are those who are just plain evil.”
~ Captain Jane Wilson
They stood just inside an alley. The body of a Republic jump-trooper, his chest riddled with bullets, lay not far away. Beyond him lay a twenty-foot wide channel of water, and beyond that the city walls rose above them. The gateway stood to the left several blocks, but the shooting near the gate had dropped off to silence. There was still plenty of air combat, the sound of it echoed off the city walls, and the perimeter cannons to the south had been firing non-stop.
Jake peeked around the corner, drawing his head back quickly but long enough to see four gun barrels appear from behind a barricade. The barricade was a hastily piled ring of vehicles, some still burning, and an assortment of wooden furniture. The ring encircled the front of a warehouse of some kind, and Jake could hear a fair amount of movement as well as the moaning and screaming of casualties from within. He stepped out from the alley with his hands in the air, keeping them as far as possible from his pistols.
“Don’t shoot,” he said as he started walking forward. “We’re on your side.” Several more barrels appeared between gaps in the barricade. “There’s three more behind me.”
A young, dark-haired man in a long coat and the standard Roswellian goggles stepped out from a gap in the wreckage. He held a lever-action rifle in his hands, and a long pistol was strapped to his hip. The rifle wasn’t pointed at Jake, but it wasn’t pointed away from him either. The man shifted a long cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, a calculating look on his face. Finally, he nodded, but he was wary.
Jake turned his head back toward the alley. “Come on out.”
The rest of his group stepped slowly into the street, their arms raised, and moved forward slowly.
The dark-haired man’s eyes brightened, and a smile crossed his lips as he lowered the rifle.
“Junkie!” he almost yelled. He quickly lowered his voice. “We thought y’all might be dead. The goddamn Republicans hold several of the key gateways in the city, and they’re shooting everyone on sight. They’re trying to bring in ground troops moving up from the south. If they get in, we’re finished.” He looked at Jake and the rest. “They told us to keep an eye out for you. Is this everyone headed for Celtica?”
“Yep,” Cole replied with a smile. “It’s good to see you, Brewer.”
“It’s good to be seen, my friend.” Brewer cradled the rifle in his arms, the barrels poking out through the barricade. “Come on in.” He turned his back on the group and disappeared through a narrow gap in the wreckage.
Jake realized Lumpy would never be able to get his horns through, so he pu
lled Skeeter down, tied Lumpy off, and followed everyone in.
A dozen Roswellian defenders leaned against the barricade, most of them facing up the street toward the gateway. A table had been set up inside the barricade with a few battered old chairs around it. Several plates of unfinished food sat forgotten on the table. Through the open sliding door of the warehouse, Jake could see more people inside. There were stockpiles of supplies and a makeshift hospital was overflowing with injured defenders.
Brewer stopped and turned. “Stay here. I have to report in and let them know you made it.”
Jake stepped up to the far side of the barricade and peered through a small gap, examining the defensive position of Cromwell’s forces.
An open area two or three blocks wide surrounded the gate, giving Cromwell’s troops a ring of cobbled stone pavement as a buffer. There were burning vehicles on the outer edge of the Republic barricade as well as a downed assault unit on the south side. A number of wagons had been turned on their sides to provide additional cover for the invaders.
Jake could just make out movement behind the enemy barricade, and a number of gun barrels stuck out here and there. The top of an assault unit was visible above the barricade, but it—like all of Cromwell’s forces—were blind beyond about fifteen or twenty feet because of the smoke. The smoke had played a huge factor in containing Cromwell’s troops … had probably saved the city from being completely overrun and everyone wiped out.
The assault unit stood only about ten feet off the ground. That meant its legs were folded up in a parked position, the belly of the machine resting on the ground. Jake hoped it stayed that way.
The massive gateway doors beyond were wedged open, and the enemy barricade blocked most of the passage through. He could see a small gap just this side of the enemy position, and a plan came to him in an instant. He had everything he needed.
That’s where they’ll go, he thought, while I do the dirty work.
Jake figured trying to sneak by would probably get them all killed. All it would take is one small sound and every Republican gun would open up as he and his people tried to sneak through the gap. But if the Republicans were too busy defending themselves, they’d never hear a few scrapes and scratches sneaking by.
He figured he was the one who got them into the mess, so he should be the one to get them out. He turned back to his people with a grim look on his face.
“Cole, I have an idea about how to get us through the barricade. I’d like to borrow that blade you got, if you don’t mind.”
Without hesitation, Cole reversed his grip and held it out to Jake. Jake pulled the Peacekeeper out of his left holster and stuck it in his belt so he could draw it quickly with his right hand.
“Have you used a sword before, Mr. Lasater?” Ghiss asked cautiously.
Jake grinned. “Cavalry,” he replied confidently “Remember?” He grabbed the sword in his left hand and swung it a few times to feel the weight. “How strong is this blade?”
“Consider it unbreakable, Jake,” Cole said. “Requiem told me years ago that it was a gift from a Lord of Atheon … for services rendered, he said. I’ve even seen it go through metal armor without slowing down, and you saw what it did to the chain. I’ll want that back, though. It should go to Shadowcat.”
“If I don’t get it back to you, it’s because I’m dead … in which case feel free to kill me again.”
Cole merely smiled.
Jake continued, “If Brewer is willing, we’ll use the Roswell folks as a distraction. Cole, when I say so, I want you to hit that barricade with the Thumper … use Crowd Control … and then lay down suppressing fire with one of the chainguns. Once I’m inside the barricade, y’all can get down into that channel, out of sight and out of mind. Cole can lead you all through the gap to Pandora Celtica. I’ll hit ’em hard and be right behind you.”
“I wanna go with you, Jake.” Cole implored. “These are my people. It’s like the war all over again … like when I was a kid and men like Cromwell hanged us just for being there.” He tightened his jaw. “You know what I’m talking about.” Cole reached for the bandana around his neck and ran a finger underneath it. The scar of a rope burn was briefly visible, but he quickly covered it up again.
Cole had told Jake about the scar when they’d first met. Men down in Texas, before it was a Republic, didn’t fancy Cole courting a white business girl. There was a ruckus, but the sheriff, a northerner, broke it up. The men caught up with Cole the next day just outside of town. They’d strung Cole up, but the knot on the saddle came free. He dropped down in the middle of the lynch mob and managed to grab one of their pistols. He killed two of the men who’d figured Cole didn’t have the guts to pull a trigger. He had the three remaining men strip down to their skivvies and sent them on their way. Jake still thought Cole should have burned them all down.
“I know, Cole. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Cromwell’s men have to pay for what they done here,” Cole said.
Jake reached out his hand and squeezed Cole’s shoulder gently. “They sure as hell do, but we can’t let Szilágyi … or that bastard Cromwell … get their hands on Corina and the Book of Ebliss. Just imagine what they would do with it. I have a better chance against those troops in there than you do. Besides, I need you to keep an eye on Skeeter.”
Cole understood what Jake was saying … understood there was a good chance Jake wouldn’t make it back out. If things went badly, Skeeter would be on her own.
Cole swallowed hard. It was an impossible decision for him, but he finally nodded and hefted the Thumper. “You owe me one, Jake,” he said seriously.
“I owe you a hell of a lot more than that, amigo.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Mister Lasater, I intend to join you. I may be a mercenary, and I’ve killed plenty of men in my time for little more than money.” Ghiss turned to Cole. “I know what you think of me, Mister McJunkins, but the killing of children … I don’t care whose children they are … simply offends me.”
He pulled one of his pistols, and with his other hand pulled a cable out from inside a small port on his abdomen. He attached the end of the cable into a fitting set into the grip of the pistol. He repeated it with the other pistol, leveling his gaze at Jake. “Men capable of this sort of thing are not entitled to share the same air as civilized people.” He then looked at Lumpy and back at Jake. “Can that animal carry both of us?”
Jake looked at Lumpy and realized what Ghiss had in mind. He got an evil grin on his face. “I believe he can, Ghiss.”
“Then let us do unto them as they have done unto so many innocents today. We shall exact from them a reckoning the likes of which they never dreamed possible.”
Brewer stepped out through the warehouse door. “Y’all mean to get through to Pandora Celtica, right?”
“We have to get through,” Cole said. “And quickly.” He searched Brewer’s face for a glimmer of hope. “Do you think we can?”
Brewer shook his head. “They pretty much own the gateway. We’ve got them bracketed on three sides, but Cromwell’s men have us outnumbered at this gate. Most of our people are at the center of the city defending the power and water works … and what’s left of the shield tower. I still can’t figure how they sabotaged it.” He looked toward the gateway and frowned. “They’ll cut down anyone who tries to get through. The only thing we’ve got going for us right now is that they can’t see shit, but they open up on any sound they hear, and they’re armed for bear.”
“How are you and your people set up?” Jake asked.
Brewer motioned to a small boy standing inside the door. “Gimme that map, Billy.” The boy disappeared inside for a second and reappeared with a rolled up map in his hands. He handed it to Brewer and stepped out of the way. Brewer scooted the plates out of the way and laid the map down on the table. Everyone gathered around as he pointed to a section of the city.
“We’re here. We have around twenty defenders here, here, and here.”
His finger pointed to three crosses around the enemy position, each about three blocks from the enemy barricade. “We’ve got another position on the outside of the gate, but they’re pretty much occupied with keeping a small force of Cromwell’s troops from coming in through the outer gate. That one is wedged open with one of their assault units, but Cromwell’s main force is still concentrated on the south side of the city, and our chopper corps has been hitting them hard.” Brewer shook his head. “I’ve been planning an attack, but I was waiting for reinforcements before laying into this group. Their barricade is solid and pretty heavily defended.”
“Yeah,” Jake said, “I noticed that. But it’s not impossible.” He pointed to the center Roswell position. “Can you get all of your people over to the south side?” He eyed Brewer critically. “And I mean all of them.”
“Sure we can. Why would we want to? We have them bracketed here.” Brewer’s tone and posture were defensive, clearly questioning Jake’s judgment.
“I know you do. But think about it. Those men aren’t going to squirt out the sides if you attack them. They’re here until Cromwell’s cavalry—and assault units—arrive, and their only objective has to be holding the gate.” Jake eyed Brewer. “Cromwell’s committed himself. Either he takes the city or he writes these bastards off. And the gates are the key. You said it yourself. He has a large ground force south of the city and heading this way.”
Brewer nodded, giving Jake an appraising eye. “That’s what I’ve been told. And their air support has beaten the hell out of the Dragun. She’s still holding her own, but so long as she has to defend herself, she can’t tear into the ground forces. She’d make quick work of them otherwise. A bunch of our other ships went down in the first pass, taken from above. We have a contingency plan, but they’re holding off on that for some reason.” Brewer chewed on the end of his cigar as he thought about what Jake was saying. He took a long pull on the cigar and blew the smoke up into the air. Finally, he relaxed. “What did you have in mind?”
