by Steve Rzasa
About half the militia were busy loading themselves and their weapons aboard a few dozen motorwagons, including larger trucks that fit up to 16 men. Several other motorwagons were not much bigger than Winch’s own, save that they were protected with sheets of armor. There was room for two men, a gunner and a reloader, to stand semi-shielded behind the single Keach gun mounted in the back. Eight of the vehicles towed howitzers on wheeled carriages. The guns’ long barrels reached skyward like tree trunks stripped bare of leaves and branches after a fire.
Winch parked his motorwagon just behind the column. He spotted a few reporters from the City Regulator. Gil would have a fit if he knew they’d beaten him here. He grabbed his camera and notebook. The first thing he did was get a photograph of the two militiamen mounted on branters, holding the flag of Perch aloft. The blue, red, and white flapped in the breeze, gold stars aglitter.
“Winchell!” Gil hollered from the front of the column. He was ready, camera in hand.
Winch frowned. Lysanne was there too. As were Mayor-General Keysor, Sheriff Tedrow, Miss Plank, and Cope. They were all gathered in a knot around Colonel Cuthbert. He stood holding the reins of a surly black-haired branter that pawed nervously at the dirt road. “Be right there!”
Lysanne hugged him. She gave him a curious look. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” Winch smiled. “Better than before.” It was no exaggeration.
She didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps I’ll wait until you feel like explaining more.”
“No need to wait.” And speaking of waiting…“Why are you still here?”
Lysanne arched an eyebrow rather imperiously.
“Poor choice of words.” Winch grinned. “I meant, I thought you were going with your parents and the children to Picksborough?”
“Mother is taking them there.” Lysanne gestured down the road. “She’s coming here to say good-bye first.”
“But you’re not going?”
“I have business with the mayor-general. Isn’t that right, Miss Plank?”
From whence Miss Plank materialized during their conversation, Winch hadn’t an idea. “Your wife has proven to be a valuable asset to our office,” she said serenely. “And adept at defending herself.”
“Defending herself? From whom?” Before, Winch was confused. Now he was thoroughly alarmed and a mite vexed.
“Not now, Winch. The children…”
Sure enough, Joan Brownrigg pulled up nearby in her motorwagon. McKinley and Wade leapt out as one. They hugged Winch so hard around his waist he thought circulation might suffer.
“Father, please come with us!” McKinley batted her eyelashes prettily at him.
“Leave the lad be!” Gil didn’t have his pipe with him, which could explain why he was cross. He brandished his camera like a weapon. “He’s got work to do. You’re on your way with the good colonel, and not a branter’s breath to waste.”
Wade eyed him suspiciously. “You’re right, Father,” he said in a whisper that was not nearly quiet enough. “He is a cranky fellow.”
Winch was mortified in the way only parents of small children could be.
Thankfully Gil guffawed instead of swiping at the back of his head with the camera. “It’s best to stay with the truth, young Master Sark.” He tousled Wade’s hair. “Winchell, say your good-byes and get up here. The good colonel’s giving us all an earful.”
Winch kissed both children and deposited them in the motorwagon after making liberal promises to play the games of their choosing upon his safe return.
Joan Brownrigg patted him on the cheek. “Be safe, Winch. We’ll remember you in prayer.”
Fremont, his eldest son, hadn’t said beans. Winch leaned over him. He stared out at the line of militiamen. “Father?”
“Yes, Fremont?”
The boy looked at him intensely. It was like looking into a mirror of himself as a child. Those same dark brown eyes watched his face. “I had a dream about a bad man. He was all in black. And he hurt people.”
Winch exchanged a startled glance with Lysanne.
“I think he knew you.” Fremont cocked his head to one side. “Did he?”
“He does. But he won’t hurt you. I promise you that.”
“I’m not worried, Father.” Fremont hugged him fiercely. As he did, he whispered into his ear. “But you have to stop him. The Allfather told me so.”
Winch could only stare wordlessly as the motorwagon wheeled around and followed a long procession of motorized vehicles, carts drawn by diprotodons, and people on branterback out of the city. The line descended the ridge road into the valley, like a dark snake inching down the cliffs, and continued north.
Lysanne hugged him. “Winch, they’ll be all right. Come with me.”
• • •
Gil was not exaggerating. Colonel Cuthbert poked Cope in the chest no fewer than six times before Winch got within earshot of them.
“You had no authorization to open fire.” Cuthbert’s voice was steely despite an almost lyrical quality.
Cope rolled his eyes. “And I told you—twice—that their aeroplanes shot upon us first. Sir.” He snapped off the last word like a brittle twig off a tree. ’
“So you emptied Hinohama rockets into their column.” Cuthbert shook his head. “Consules mio. I had hoped to reason with them.”
“Reason? You’re mad. They’ve got an army out there, not a diplomatic envoy. “Cope waved an arm at the militia swarming about. “And is this how you talk them down? Looks mighty unfriendly.”
“It’s the only decent and honorable thing to do.” Cuthbert swung himself up onto his saddle with a vigor Winch found surprising for a man whose hair was as grey as the clouds boxing in the mountain peaks. Winch started scribbling notes. “Mayor-General, with your permission, I will take a company ahead and meet them head on.”
“Very good, Colonel.” Winch hadn’t realized ’til just then that Keysor and Sheriff Tedrow wore the same green militia jackets and broad-brimmed hats. A castle above two crossed rifles denoted Keysor’s rank, while Tedrow had pins depicting pine boughs, meaning he was a major in the militia. “The remainder of the men will remain under Major Tedrow.”
“Jonas, we’d be better off stationed at Proctor-Soong’s fuel depot on the Ridge Road.” Tedrow fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, apparently making sure they were properly fitted. His jacket fit snugly around his paunch. “Those motorwagons of theirs can’t make it all the way here without refueling, and even if they brought their own juice they’re guaranteed to try to seize the depot.”
“Huh. Nice plan, Major.” Cope shook his flight cap at Tedrow. “Make no mistake, those armored ’wagons they got won’t get them too far without extra fuel and water for the steam engine boilers. They looked like those ironclads I saw once at Megunticook Harbor. Only on wheels.”
“You and your pilots worry about the fighters.” Keysor’s eyes looked haunted to Winch, and his face gaunt. There was stubble along his chin, the first indicator Winch had ever seen that the man had forgone shaving. “We’ll worry about the motorwagons. And I wouldn’t expect much in the way of assistance from our League allies. I have word that the telegraph wires at Fort DeSmet have been cut.”
“What about Megunticook? Or Naxothrace?” Cuthbert sounded impatient.
Keysor shook his head. “I’ve heard naught but silence from them. Winch?”
“Yes, sir?” Winch noticed one of the militiamen steering a motorwagon his way.
“If you’re up to it, we’d like you to accompany us. We need some record of what Trestleway’s envoys do and say here.”
Winch exhaled. So. This was it. Lysanne appeared apprehensive. Not that he could blame her. He smiled his boldest smile and patted her hands. “Pray for me, love.”
“Always.” She put a hand to his beard and kissed him. “I don’t suppose I can persuade Winch to remain behind, can I?”
“Doubtful.” Winch slipped into the motorwagon’s seat.
“Yo
u’d best bring your carcass back intact, and with some decent photographs for a change.” Gil’s voice was gruff. If not for the sling Winch suspected the man might well seize him in a bear hug.
“I always do.” Winch turned to find Cope standing at the side of the motorwagon. He extended his hand. “This is for Perch, for Jesca, and for Oneyear.”
Cope nodded. He grinned and narrowed his eyes. “We’ll show Trestleway how kindly hill-boys take to trouble from the south.”
• • •
Lysanne couldn’t shake the gloom settling over her as she watched Winch depart in the armored motorwagon. Two hundred militia set off in their vehicles and on their branters, with Colonel Cuthbert and Mayor-General Keysor at the lead.
“It will take them two hours to reach the depot, even at speed.” Miss Plank’s voice was little above a whisper. “One can only surmise the leaders of Trestleway’s force have discerned the same importance of the Proctor-Soong hamlet. But if they have armored motorwagons of such a beastly nature, they cannot make more than 15 miles per hour.”
“So…our fellows have the advantage of speed.” Lysanne wondered why Tedrow and his company were milling around.
“Only if Trestleway does not split its forces.” Miss Plank frowned. “We need more time.”
“I suspect we’d have it if Sheriff—er, Major Tedrow would take the branter by the tail.”
“He will. Soon.” Miss Plank clasped her hands behind her back. “His is meant to be a support role. He cannot very well haul howitzers up to skirmish with Trestleway if a running fight develops. He is waiting for more of the volunteers gathering at the city park to make their way here. These men and those accompanying Cuthbert are just the trained militia.”
“And you?”
Miss Plank made a sour face. “Mayor-General Keysor has other work for me. Though I should be by his side.”
“What other work does he—?”
Miss Plank held up her hand, no doubt to silence her.
Tedrow drove up in a motorwagon. Rather, his fellow deputies-turned-militia chauffeured him. “And why, pray tell, are you ladies still hanging about?”
“I was about to inquire that myself.” Miss Plank turned her piercing gaze on Lysanne. For not the first time she thanked Ifan this dangerous woman was on her side. “You let your family go off without you.”
“Not all of them.” Lysanne smiled at her own foresight. “The mayor-general did not agree with my suggestions, so I implemented them without his approval.” She waved over their shoulder.
A shout answered her. Tedrow choked in surprise at the sight of a hundred and fifty men packed into several trucks driving their way, honking horns at the traffic headed out of town. Her father, Hobarth Brownrigg, hung out the passenger side of the lead truck.
“What in the blue skies is this?” Tedrow twisted about in the seat of his motorwagon.
“This, Sheriff, be the Picksborough Volunteer Snipers.” Hobarth grinned, his beard puffed out over the collar of his brown work coat. All the men wore similar coats. “Perch needs help, and we aim to please.” He hefted his Torino rifle out into the air. Some of the Picksborough bunch hooted and hollered their enthusiasm.
“Perch needs help?” Miss Plank arched an eyebrow at Lysanne. “And your father at the lead of unannounced volunteers. How fortuitous.”
“Fortuitous indeed.” Lysanne smiled broadly.
• • •
The ride down to Proctor-Soong’s was a quick but rough one. The branters kept up a good pace with the motorwagons and trucks. But the road, despite being well-used, still bore the marks of spring runoff. Winch had his rucksack at his feet. The pistol he’d taken off the Peace Branch officer back in Trestleway was in there, as were his notepad and pencil. He held on tight to his camera as the militia man with him steered deftly around gaping potholes and rocks the side of small children. The slightly less than two hours were rough on his backside.
No one greeted them at the collection of eight homes that was Proctor-Soong’s fuel depot. They straddled either side of the Ridge Road, four of the houses clinging to the grassy slope than banked down several hundred feet to the valley floor. The others were nestled among the thick forest to the left of the road. The depot itself was a massive brick and stone building that rivaled the Consuls’ temple in Perch for size, except it was half-buried in a swath of the mountainside that had been stripped of trees.
Cuthbert held up a hand to halt their headlong rush, which at thirty miles per hour along a narrow, winding mountain road felt as dangerous as being in Cope’s aeroplane. Winch strained to hear anything beyond the chugging motorwagons’ steam engines and the occasional bleat of the branters. It was a toss-up which smelled worse. He straightened his glasses.
Cuthbert rode back a bit to where Keysor waited on his mount. “They’re near,” Winch heard him say. “Perhaps five, six miles ahead, mas o menos.”
“Very good.” Keysor sounded grim. “The sooner the better.”
The column rolled through the fuel depot. Winch turned about to get a photograph. Tough going in a motorwagon bouncing along the dirt road and spraying steam clouds. As he steadied himself, he began counting back along the column…and stopped. That was strange. “Corporal?”
“Yessir?” The driver kept his eyes on the road.
“Where’s the rest of the men? I thought we had a fair sight more branters behind us at the outset.” In fact, most of the mounted men had vanished.
“I’m sure the good colonel’s got it all figured.” The corporal offered no more enlightenment.
The first signs of Trestleway’s approaching forces came when a pair of teratorns took flight from the forest ahead. Their black wings beat at the air, sending a breeze down upon Winch and the others. The massive birds cast huge shadows as they soared away.
Now Winch could hear the rumble. It was the steady tread of wheels and quick clop of hooves. Engines churned. He could see the steam drifting up over the trees, like a cloud was en route to meet them.
The Perch forces rounded a sharp bend and came face to face with him.
Captain Crittenden Beam rode unprotected atop one of the heavily armored motorwagons Winch had photographed in Trestleway’s South Rail Yards. Those beasts trailed steam behind them in long white clouds. His motorwagon and another led a column of men that stretched down the Ridge Road for a quarter mile—covered trucks, armored vehicles, men on branters, men in open motorwagons, men everywhere, every one of them armed.
Beam stood and stomped a boot atop the armored wagon. “All units, halt!”
The word got passed down by shouts and honking horns.
Cuthbert raised his hand and yelled back at the Perch column to do likewise. At his signal, three of the Perch motorwagons raced ahead and turned across the road. Their crews aimed the mounted Keach guns at the Trestleway interlopers.
Metal ground on metal as the turrets on the armored wagons did likewise.
Winch swallowed. His hand moved seemingly of its own accord, taking notes even as Winch calculated his odds of not getting shot. They didn’t seem favorable. He paused to take a photograph.
Beam jumped down off the motorwagon. He brushed dust from his black coat and trousers. “Gentlemen! What a pleasant welcome. We heard there were troubles in Perch. Riots and such. We’ve come to lend our aid if we can, and restore stability.”
“You would well know of our troubles.” Keysor’s branter groaned and he reined the nervous creature back under control. “We’re here to give you choice, Captain. Turn your men and your vehicles around, right this moment, and there’ll be no blood spilled this day. Let whatever grievances we have with each other be recompensed in civilized fashion.”
Winch nodded. They needed to remain calm. Allfather, give wisdom to our leaders and restrain our enemies.
Beam’s casual smile widened. He laughed. It was a harsh sound that grated Winch’s nerves and echoed along the ridge. “We’re a bit beyond that, I think. No, I have a duty to fulfill.
The anarchists and terrorists who have overthrown Perch’s rightful government must be brought to heel. Trestleway is here to restore peace to your fair city.”
“No one will believe it, Señor.” Cuthbert sidled up to Keysor. He gestured with his rifle. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves right around and go for a nice drive back whence you came?”
“Is this dog one of yours, Keysor?” Beam shook his head. “He’s no more effective a colonel than that brainless woman you sent was as a spy.”
Keysor growled something Winch couldn’t hear. He drew a pistol.
Cuthbert brought his rifle barrel down atop Keysor’s gun and forced it aside. “Is this why you are here?” Cuthbert had the same tone of voice Winch recalled his father using when he was disappointed in his and Cope’s behavior. “Really, they must be lacking in recruits to dredge up someone of your dishonorable character.”
Beam shrugged. “Honor matters not. There’s only power, Colonel, of which I have plenty.”
“This is your last warning.” Keysor’s voice shook. “Leave now, and you won’t die.”
Beam stared right at him. “It’s really too bad you were the one behind these attacks fostered by Tirodani insurgents in Perch the other day. That’s why I had to kill your anarchists who opened fire on us when we rode up this dirt lane bearing a flag of truce, and take you into custody to turn over to the rightful leaders of Perch.”
Winch kept writing, but the words made no sense. Was Beam delusional? He glanced up and found Beam glaring right at him.
“So. I see you’ve done well for yourself, Mister Sark.” His words were colder than the mountain wind gusting through the pines.
Fear flooded Winch. But it didn’t still his tongue. “You cost me the lives of two friends.” He dismounted from the motorwagon. The men behind him waited tensely at their guns. “I will not forget.”
“I wouldn’t have it elsewise.” Beam rapped with a fist on the metal hood of the nearest motorwagon. “Prepare arms!”
