by John Mierau
There was no way around it: someone had told the pirates where to hit, and when.
“What’s happened, sir?” Burns asked.
Geary turned to another soldier carrying a clipboard, and took up review of the papers. “Twelve or fourteen men, ” he muttered, without raising his eyes. “Armed with Invader rifles, and something that jammed our ether sets.” He handed the clipboard back to the junior officer and traded quick salutes before the man hurried off.
“They fled towards France with four longboats, stocked with what they could take, and several prisoners.” He waved to the devastation. “Their own light Invader craft kept our defenses busy here, and guarded their escape. We haven’t heard from the French on the surface since.”
“Request permission to pursue, sir!” Burns practically bellowed.
Captain Geary smiled. “Good man. But I’ve already dispatched a team.” The smile clouded. “Seems the buggers blew the cavern behind them on their way out.”
Hobe hunched his shoulders and looked up nervously. “The water!”
Geary’s tremendous mustache bristled. “Hold your water, man. We’d all be dead if the walls had been breached.” He waved at the back of the man with the clipboard, now loading supplies on the longboat Marcus and the others had come in on. “My engineer and his gizmos assure me the tunnel is sound.”
“How did they know about the Mouse-hole?” Marcus asked.
Geary fixed him with a glare. “If you’re free to say. General,” he quickly added.
Gary harrumphed, but his glare disappeared. “Don’t know as they did. Pirates have been hitting every outpost they can. Getting more brazen every time, too.”
The whine of another purple-halo’d hover-ship dragged his attention back to the long-boat docks. He saw a full complement of soldiers in this boat, and sighed a little easier. Reinforcements had begun to arrive.
The pirates had made travel on the high seas a dangerous act, and now they were driving inland. Marcus felt a cold anger at the thought of human brigands, profiting from the Invaders and piling on the misery they caused. Still, there was more to the Folkestone attack than chance, he was positive.
“Why don’t somebody tell them there’s still Invaders up there?” Hobe said. “We got better things to do than fight ourselves, long as they’re tossing rocks down at us!”
Geary was throwing his glare at Hobe now, but Marcus quickly drew it back when he stepped close to the man and whispered, “Respectfully, Captain, we must expect they know about the Project-“
“Yes, dammit!” Geary waved a hand both in anger and to shut Marcus up. “We’ve begun our retreat.”
“You can’t do that!” Hobe squeaked. “You can’t just leave all this for them to capture!” Marcus knuckled Hobe in the ribs to shut him up. If the last months had taught him anything, it was to work around the military mind to get what you wanted. You never just called them out.
Geary caught the movement, and considered Marcus again. Marcus watched the light dawn on the captain’s face. “I do know you. Your the dark— the man who brought the first walker to Dr. Grace.”
Marcus ignored the barely swallowed insult and nodded. “I am, Captain, and I think we’d best speak with Colonel Barton.”
Geary looked away. “I’m responsible for the Mouse-hole now.”
Marcus read the meaning of his words in the Captain’s face. “Colonel Barton’s dead? How did he-“
“Chopping the head off a pirate, my dear! It was something to behold.”
Marcus knew the good Doctor’s voice, and was smiling before he turned. He was shocked to see look on the Doctor’s white face was not a smile.
“The wretch clenched his fingers around his weapon when Barton’s sword tickled his spine. Sliced the poor Colonel in two.” At just over six feet, the Doctor stood eye to eye with Marcus. He held one frilly cuff held before him, a monogrammed handkerchief pressed against the nose in the center of his long face. He wore his favorite black velvet smoking jacket, his hair slicked back and his face clean shaven, as was his custom. His eyebrows were plucked, trim and tidy, though dirt and tears showed, and his mouth looked strange without its immortal daring grin.
“Dr. Grace!” Marcus shook the Doctor’s hand firmly, and the man laughed, a bit hysterically.
There was a commotion down by the longboat docks. Someone of rank had arrived, Marcus surmised, watching a man point and bark, just out of ear-shot, atop the least damaged of the stair and scaffold assemblies, where the boat had set down.
Marcus observed a cut just below the Doctor’s hairline. The pocket of his velvet smoking jacket was torn almost completely free, and his hand was trembling in Marcus’s.
“He died defending me,“ Doctor Grace said distantly, and held onto Marcus’s hand. His eyes were watery. “To think, the silly old fart hated us Mandrakes!” he sniffed.
Captain Geary coughed, his face beet red. Even in the new world the Invasion ushered in, it wasn’t every day a homosexual came right out and announced himself, especially before men such as Geary. Still Marcus gave the Captain points for good behavior when he stepped closer to the Doctor with no outward signs of disgust. “Sir, you can’t be out in the open. Your understanding of the Invader’s technology is key to-“
Dr. Grace sniffed again, then waved the lieutenant colonel’s hand away. “Yes, yes, of course you want to hide me away—“
“Doctor,” Marcus said quietly, and his friend’s voice trailed off. “The attack may not be over. Let’s not waste the Colonel’s sacrifice, seeing you hurt or captured now.”
Dr. Grace’s eyes went wide and he gasped, theatrically and loudly. He couldn’t help himself, Marcus knew. It was who he was and, histrionics and all, Marcus was very fond of the eccentric Doctor of Science. “Are those blighters still lurking?” He turned on his wing-tipped, black patent leather heels and ran up the stairs from the longboat dry-dock to the wide boardwalk that formed the floor of Midway outpost.
Marcus turned back to the lieutenant colonel. “I’d like to see the Doctor packed up, then I’d like to help with the evacuation. I helped catalog a lot of the machines, I know what’s most valuable-“
“The only place you’re going, sir,” came a nasally voice. “Is the stockade!”
Marcus turned, very slowly. Another man stood behind Captain Geary, who now stood at ramrod straight attention, his face a blank slate. Two soldiers stood further back, their weapons drawn, but pointed to the ground. The newcomer, a thin, black-haired man with a carefully shaped vandyke beard, was obviously the senior rank present. His chest full of ribbons and spotless parade uniform were clear evidence of that.
Captain Geary saluted. “Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie, these men are no trespassers, they were reporting-“
“Sure of that, are you?” barked the Lieutenant-Colonel. “You can be sure this American had no ties to the pirates, can you?” The officer stalked past the Captain and glared into Marcus’s face. “This man is in the books as a profiteer, what’s to say he didn’t sell us out to the Pirates, too?”
Marcus stared slightly down into the pinched nose and dark green eyes of the Lieutenant-Colonel. Merrie’s lip curled in a look of disgust. “Why shouldn’t I shoot you right now, darkie?” he whispered, in close. Marcus’s blood froze.
“You. Will. Not!”
Merrie didn’t break his hateful gaze as he addressed the stricken voice of Dr. Grace. “Yes, I was informed of your friendship with the Captain, Dr. Grace. That does not mitigate the fact your ‘friend’ purloined valuable government property in time of war. I hate profiteers, Riggs,” Merrie almost smiled, then. “I’d be within my rights to hang him right now.”
Hobe leaped forward when Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie uttered the word ‘hang’. Marcus tried to fix him with an angry glare, to make him stop, without making some sudden movement that might see Merrie carry through on his threat of execution right on the spot. He gave a silent prayer of thanks that Lieutenant Burns was there to restrain his friend.
Not that Hobe appreciated having his arms locked behind his back, but Marcus ignored his explosive burst of profanity and gave Burns a brief nod.
Burns returned the nod, grim-faced.
Marcus stayed frozen in place, but his eyes looked past Merrie’s furious gaze. Half a dozen soldiers had appeared, drawing a bead on him with both human and Invader artillery. Captain Geary was red-faced. “Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie, these men were reporting in!”
“We are at war, Captain!” Merrie barked. “And this man was caught leaving Folkestone with an Invader weapon aboard his ship, isn’t that right, Burns!”
“Yes, sir,” Burns croaked. Hobe growled and struggled against Lieutenant Burns’ hold.
Just stop struggling, you idiot! Marcus willed his friend.
“Stolen weapon, my arse!”
Merrie blinked, and finally broke his cruel stare, searching for the Doctor. “Excuse me?”
Dr. Grace leaped off the stairs, holding his smoking jacket open like a cape. The Lieutenant-Colonel stumbled back, to avoid contact with the man. Marcus watched even greater revulsion creep onto the man’s face than the racism reserved for him.
“That cannon was a gift from me, for his outstanding service! And if you should ever want another ounce of my outstanding service, you will rinse all this punishment nonsense out of your mouth, right bloody now!”
Merrie stared at the bellowing Doctor, momentarily at a loss for words.
Someone, somewhere began ringing an alarm bell. Shouts covered other shouts.
“Lieutenant-Colonel!” Marcus watched a ruddy-faced man with his hair drawn back in a tail, wearing Lieutenant’s stripes jump down off the stairs. “They’re coming back down!”
Merrie jerked straight, eyes growing wide. Marcus thought it was fear at first, but when the man smiled he knew it was something even worse. Marcus had met his type before: rich members of the upper classes, aching to prove themselves in battle.
Lieutenant-Colonel Merrie was excited.
“Lieutenant Jonas, see to the defenses here!”
The ruddy-faced Lieutenant at his right hand nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He barked orders to the gathered men as Merrie turned on Captain Geary. “How many civilians are still down below?”
“Just a few, sir, and none that worked on the Project but Dr. Grace. He didn’t care to attend the conference in town.”
“No time for a fancy dinner hobnobbing with politicians.” Doctor Grace shuddered. His face quickly grew animated, however, and he clapped his hands together. “Right then, Marcus, Hobe and I will pillage my lab for whatever their strong backs can carry.”
Merrie fixed Marcus with one last ugly stare. “Very well, Doctor,” he said. “Your ‘friend’ can carry your bags for you.” With that he started up the stairs.
Marcus watched the man go, taking note to be very careful around the Mouse-hole’s new military commander.
“Guess what you can carry!” Doctor Grace taunted Merrie under his breath. “Oh, why couldn’t you have been up in the town with the other dullards!” Then he pointed a long, manicured finger at Marcus. “Did you get to fire it?”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Burns,” Marcus’ called, glaring at Hobe to stop him from provoking Burns, who released him with a pat on his shoulder. “I”m sorry what?” Marcus asked the Doctor, struggling to make sense of the quickly departing crowd of officers that only moments ago had trained their weapons on him.
“The cannon! How did she work?”
Marcus grinned. That was the Doctor he knew: a child at heart. “Sliced a flyer in half. Come Doctor, we must get your things!”
There was a rumble and a bright light from far down the tunnel. The Doctor yelped in fright. Captain Geary and Lieutenant Jonas continued shouting orders to the assembled soldiers. The very next moment , the cavern was alight with weapons fire. The Captain’s head jerked up towards the board walk, and a moment later bodily threw himself against the Doctor, pushing him and Marcus back into the beams beneath the stairs.
Then the man was falling backwards, and Marcus stared through the head-sized hole in his chest to see Lieutenant Burns grab the rifle from one of Merrie's falling guards and fire wildly at someone atop the stairs.
Marcus felt a rumble through his feet, his chest. He felt himself scream his fear, but couldn’t hear his own voice.
An explosion, so very close.
Not just a mole in their ranks, Marcus thought numbly, watching Captain Geary tumble to the floor like a limp sack of potatoes. He felt the heat at his side as Burns fire above his head, and looked up in time to see a man in a filthy shirt fall off off the stairs above, his body engulfed in flame.
Someone grabbed him under the arm and hauled him to his feet. Marcus looked up to see Hobe. He was saying something. The words were lost but Marcus knew his engineer well enough to guess it was a profane laden speech urging him to flee.
Hobe led him to a small door beneath the stairs. Lieutenant Burns was close behind, one arm draped protectively over a white-faced Dr Grace’s shoulder. In the dim light beneath the boardwalk, they made their way over the uneven rock of the cavern floor. Light flared down from flaming planks above.
Marcus’s hearing returned to him, and he tapped Hobe to release him. The anguished screams all around him almost made him wish the roaring in his ears hadn’t abated.
He’d hoped never to hear these sounds again. And truly believed he never again would from men fighting men. Not after the Invaders came. What a stupid people we are.
The dark recess beneath the boardwalk widened, and foul odor filled the air. “Oh, dreadful!” Dr. Grace moaned. Marcus sympathized. The stench of a hundred men’s excretions assaulted his nostrils. But they were alive, and quite possibly in the last place the pirates might search for them.
More explosions sounded from above. Bars of orange light flashed between the planks of the boardwalk then winked out, temporarily blinding them. “Keep moving!” Marcus took the lead, leading the group along a narrow stretch of rock walkway with ropes and poles to either side, and deeper moats of waste to either side.
His feet splashed through patches of offal the consistency of thick mud. His stomach rolled. He ignored it, and ran faster.
The foul pools grew ankle-deep, and Marcus dug through happier memories to keep his stomach’s urging to vent itself at bay.
His feet continued to splash forward, while the rest of him took refuge in thoughts of a crisp summer Dartmouth morning. A family sailing trip to the Narrows. A morning at anchor, with Marcus dozing at the aft of the small ship, his feet propped on the gunwales. The sun churning diamonds around Robert and Samantha’s swimming forms.
He heard their laughter, remembered his own. The comfort of the memory twisted, hurting his heart. I’ll make it home, he promised himself. I’ll find you! He promised his family.
The pools of effluent emptied out, and their feet echoed again on bare rock. The sounds of the battle above faded. They were past the fighting now.
Past the fighting.
He skidded to a stop, turning to face the group, and brace Hobe who almost bowled him over.
“Marcus,” Hobe panted. “Not a good time to stop, we got to get out-“
“Get out where!” Marcus shouted over him, then lowered his voice to a hiss once everyone was silent. “Don’t you remember? Captain Geary-“ God take his soul, Marcus thought, “told us the Pirates collapsed the tunnel between Midway and the French side!”
“Gods garters,” Dr Grace squeaked, “you mean we have to go back through that war zone?”
Marcus thought about turning around. He didn’t fancy their chances if they did. He saw the same grim realization on Hobe and Lieutenant Burns’ faces.
He shook his head. “No, we-“
The thought hit him like a pail of cold water. He reached out and grabbed Burns’ collar. “The Captain said they were leaving. Everyone was leaving, yes?”
Confused, the soldier nodded.
“Then so
are we,” Marcus decided, setting his course.
“Oh, no!” Hobe shouted. “No Marcus, we’re not getting on-“
“Oh stiffen your britches, Mister Martin!” Dr. Grace said melodically, and slapped the man lightly on the cheek.
Burns stared from Hobe to the Doctor. “Would one of you please tell me what exactly—!”
Another explosion, closer to them now, sent a gout of flame and shattered planks into the dung pits, which steamed and hissed.
“Run now,” Burns roared, “talk later!”
#
Marcus tracked pipes bracketed below the stairs, and to the heavy wooden poles that supported the offices and living quarters above. He imagined the layout of the living quarters above and followed the pipes until the majority disappeared into the ceiling. Above, Midway was a tightly built nest of roofed offices and living spaces which framed the boardwalks like a maze. It was twice as confusing to place their location in Midway from below.
“Officer’s loo,” Dr. Grace stage-whispered. Marcus rolled his eyes. The Doctor couldn’t do a thing quietly. Marcus paid the banter no heed, and remained intent on tracking the sparse remaining pipes.
“See?” The Doctor pointed to another small cluster of pipes. “Those lead to the officer’s showers.”
“How can you be sure—“ Hobe stopped talking and stared at the Doctor.
“Exactly,” preened the Doctor.
“Have you never met a girl you liked?” Hobe asked. There was no maliciousness in his voice, and no disgust. Just honest, hard-headed failure to grasp the Doctor’s sexual preference.
Marcus shushed them with a savage wave of his hand. Both men subsided.
Hobe came forward, silently tracing pipes as they disappeared into the shadows. As one, both men stretched their arms forward, pointing fingers at the same pipe.
“That way,” they shouted over each other, and traded grins.
“Let’s go, gentlemen,” Burns urged.
Doctor Grace appeared behind the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “You’re not eager for a tour of the showers, then?”
