by Aeryn Leigh
From The Ground Up
Amelia's shoes, kinda looked out of place amongst the rest of the kid's footwear. The floorboards felt cold through her socks, and she wriggled her toes. Clutching Message Bear to her chest, and stealing one last look at her mother waving to her from outside the front door, Amelia entered Fairholm's only Primary School. Or for that matter, school.
"You must be Amelia," said a voice. She turned and saw an elderly woman in black standing in the hallway. "Welcome, and please follow me."
"It would be easier if we had smaller engines," said Ella to Thorfinn and Rob, as they contemplated the prototype before them on its raised wooden trestles. The giant wood and iron Research building stood in what they'd come to call The Pit, a few hectares of flat land surrounded on three sides by undulating tree-covered hills, a few miles downstream from Fairholm.
The Pit felt like a small town, buildings, workshops, and factories clustered together, people left and right, but under military guard. Every person in the Republic that could fight, teach, work, or build came to The Pit for one reason or another.
In the great building, laid the remnants of both bombers, roughly grouped out. Engines sat together on the left wall, and everything else had taken days to unjumble from where the Vikings had unloaded their longship barges, sorting out the bits and pieces.
But that was months and months ago.
"It would be easier, yes," said Thorfinn. "A bigger worry is the shortage of aviation fuel."
"Probably going to be the least of our worries," said Rob.
The bare fuselage, made from timber-framed boxes, tapered down to the tail plane. A half-finished wing stuck out from either side. For the sheer hell of it, Ella had decided to move the dead Rolls-Royce V12 engine and place it under the fuselage's nose below on the ground, even though the engine was just too damn heavy to mount on the airframe.
"I flew one of these as a teenager, knew every bolt and screw," Ella said, looking at the rough schematic in her hands. It was her design, copied from her own leather-bound scrapbook, stuffed full of drawings and scribblings.
"We're trying to replicate a World War One Fokker monoplane from scratch," said Rob, "whilst simultaneously kick-starting or reverse-engineering industries of combustion engines, gasoline, metalworks, and armaments. Oh, and civil construction. Mick's teaching them concrete and," Rob getting remarkably animated, "hauling them out of the Dark Ages with medical know-how to boot!"
"You have anything better to do?" said Ella. She smiled.
"Apart from wishing it was my turn for a week off, I guess not," said Rob.
"It's do-able," said Thorfinn. "At least the other projects are coming along faster."
"They are," said Ella, looking at her watch. "Speaking of which, I must get over there." With a wave, she ran to the main door and left the two standing there.
"Oh, bye," said Thorf and Rob, alone amongst butchered mechanicals and drawing boards.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Good News, Bad News
On the hills behind the little town, a small area of woodland had been cleared of trees. In the clearing, sat a small wooden glider, it's long flat wings sitting atop what looked like a squashed wooden fish with a little seat as an afterthought. Metal wires ran through, above, and around the whole contraption, and it sat at the top of a thirty-foot long thin, concrete trench.
"You want your demonstration?" said Ella, arriving on horseback. She jumped down.
"Glad you could join us," said General Versetti, looking at her pocket-watch. The General, Council Members and officials stood to the left side of the aircraft. "This — thing — flies?"
"Like a bird," said Ella. "I built one at the age of fifteen at the gliding club. It should this time anyway. Already crashed the last three times on take-off. But the concrete guide trench should do the trick." She gave the glider a quick once-over, pulling on wires here and there, and satisfied, sat in the little seat.
She pulled on her flying helmet.
"Pull the bungee," she shouted. A little way down the hill, four Republican soldiers began pulling on the long, rubber cord attached to wooden stumps either side of the glade, pulling the apex of the cord up the hill towards the glider. They finished pulling the cord and gently placed it on the steel pole under the glider's nose.
"Thank you," she said. The soldiers joined the General's side.
"On my mark," she said. "Three, two... and maybe not." Two horses galloped up the hill.
"Always in a rush," said Griffin, dismounting.
"Yeah, Mummy," said Amelia, as Andrew helped the child down. "We have to see this. History." She bounced up and down.
"Ah," said Ella, with a half-grin. "Sorry, I forgot."
"Can we continue?" said Marietta. She tapped her foot.
"Right," said Ella. Her right hand wrapped around the bungee release pole once more. "Three, two, one." She pulled the lever.
With a twang the glider catapulted down the shallow concrete trench, guided in a straight line. The rubber cord broke free of the steel hook underneath the fuselage, and Ella Gruder, her heart singing as she screamed in joy, soared up into the warm, afternoon air.
This is who I am, she thought. This is who I am.
General Versetti watched the glider, and again saw the future of her world change before her.
Merrion re-read the report in front of him. He thanked the dispatch rider, who'd been waiting to see if her services were still required, and sent the woman on her way. He leaned back in his chair, and studied his office.
The report laid on top of the stack of paperwork on the desk. Merrion liked his office. He'd hate to see it go.
It was big enough for his needs, but not that big you walked for five minutes just to reach a desk. On the other hand, it wasn't that small that everything was jammed in on top of everything else. The oil paintings on the walls, souvenirs from his years scouting the lands, looked good on the walls. And his office's building lay right in the middle of Fairholm, a nice location to get to and from with ease.
He reached down, pulled open the top drawer, and retrieved a small battered tobacco tin. He opened the lid, and tipped out the four metal pellets Ella had missed back the first night they'd met. Merrion rolled them around his palm, his brows furrowed.
After a little while, he placed them back in the tin, closed the desk drawer, folded the report, and put it inside his breadth-pocket. He left the office. "Where is General Versetti?" he said to the guard standing outside.
The guard saluted. "Up the flight hill, I believe, Sir," he said.
"Right," said Merrion. "Carry on then." He mounted his stallion outside, and galloped towards the Pit. The horse's flanks glistened with sweat upon reaching the foothill behind the town. Movement caught his eye in the sky above, and he cupped one hand over his forehead to get a better look.
Ella. Flying. In a glider. Ha. What did she call them? Thermals. She flew in lazy circles, like an eagle searching for prey.
He spurred the stallion on, and soon reached the top of the hill.
"Ah, Merrion," said General Versetti, full of excitement. "Isn't it marvellous?"
"It is, General," said Merrion, "but I hope our friends have more marvellous things," he said, his hands patting the stallion's neck. He pulled out the report from his jacket. "The invasion has begun."
Chapter Seventy
War Room
An hour later, all the newcomers gathered in the Republic's new War Room, in the heart of The Pit. Above the rectangular wooden building, the highest structure in the town, a machine-gun taken from the Lancaster mounted on each corner.
But the War Room itself, occupied the base, dug into the earth, and the smell of freshly-dried concrete still permeated the air, as oil lanterns lit the space. In the sunken middle of the room, a large map covered the wooden table. Little coloured stone markers marked certain points of reference.
As well as the newcomers, the new Republic Council and the fresh senior military staff were in at
tendance, even Snorri, Magnus and Beowulf. Ella stood a little way off, talking to a senior officer.
"Should have made it bigger," said Mick. "There's gotta be one-hundred people in here."
"Next one then," said Lucius.
"Where the hell is the Old Man?" said Andrew. "Running off with Beowulf like that."
"Ssh," said Daniel. "They're about to start."
"Don't tell me to ssh," said Andrew, grinning, "Why —"
"You never can shut up," said Laurie, behind them. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. Mick and the others gave a huge cheer as they greeted Laurie, and to a lesser extent, King Hffylson.
"You're back!" said Andrew.
"If the newcomers could please be quiet, we may begin," said General Versetti. "Most of you are aware of the newcomers. From now on, Squadron Leader Laurie John is hereby given the new command title of Captain. Laurie will be co-ordinating our battle plans and defences, given his — unique experience in such matters. Trust him as you would trust me. I have complete faith in his abilities.”
"How did it go?" said Daniel, under his breath in the sudden silence. The general looked at him. "Sorry."
"We know why we all are here, so I will make this quick." She took a deep breath. "At last, the Inquisition is making its move against us. We've known this was coming for eighteen months, if not longer. The outer colonies on the Perusian islands have fallen." Quiet murmurs rippled through the room.
She gestured towards the newcomers. "For those of you unaware, the Perusian islands remained the last free Nations that stood between us and the Inquisition mainland. They acted as a buffer, so to speak. Now, nothing stands between Inquisition territory and our Republic."
"Except for our fleet and the Vikings," said Admiral McIntosh, from the other side of the room. "We can still defeat them there." The admiral's clothes looked as old as his way of thought, reflected Andrew. Gold, red and blue. Seventeenth century uniform? Prussian?
"I admire your conviction," said Marietta. "Merrion?"
"Yes, General," said Merrion, joining her side. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that I am the bearer of more bad news. The Inquisition found a ship lost thirty-years ago, from the Other Earth, and has only it seems recently worked out how to operate it."
Andrew, Lucius, and the others leaned forward, their ears straining.
"Her Royal Majesty's Incorrigible. Or now renamed, Purity of God. It is something they call a 'dreadnought battleship.'"
Mick burst out laughing. "No worries, piece of cake."
“What?" said Marietta.
"He means it's no big deal," said Andrew, punching Mick in the arm.
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" said Naval Admiral McIntosh, as lost as most of the room's occupants.
"Because, my friend," said Laurie, "I had to see it for myself."
Chapter Seventy-One
Start Praying Now
"Let me give you an idea of what the Incorrigible, or Purity of God, represents." The captain had the room's utter attention, standing next to the map table. "The Furia is your flagship, yes? A Ship of The Line, what ninety, or one-hundred cannons? About two-hundred feet long, maybe three-odd thousand tons of displacement?"
The admiral and general both nodded. "Your fleet consists of two dozen sailing ships collected over the last centuries?"
"This dreadnought, is about five-hundred and sixty feet long. It weighs about twenty-thousand tons fully-laden." He had the grim satisfaction of watching half the room flinch just a little. "It doesn't need wind to sail. It's powered by coal-burning steam engines. And it gets better. You think the guns that came from our bombers are deadly. It has eight twelve-inch guns that fire eight-hundred pound explosive shells up to about ten miles."
He waited for that to sink in. His voice lowered, and the oil-lamps spluttered in the quiet. "Another twelve-odd four-inch guns plus gods-knows what else. And it's covered in armour that nothing we have can breach."
"What about the —" said James before Bear silenced him.
The lanky Australian straightened up. "Anyway, I've said my peace."
"Most he's said all year," Mick muttered.
"Thank you, Captain John," said General Marietta Versetti. "So, there you have it. Whatever Gods and deities you pray to, you better start now." And with that, the session ended as everyone started speaking at once.
"But," said Merrion, to the much smaller audience ten minutes later, "there's a few variables on our side. Hopefully the doom and gloom presentation, if it does get back to the Inquisition, gives them a misleading impression." King Hffylson, the general, the admiral and the newcomers stood around him. "The ship is over thirty years old. The artillery shells, by my understanding, do not last forever, let alone all the other things aged on the ship." He looked at Laurie who nodded. "Yet, if they've been stored correctly, may just work fine. As for the story of this dreadnought, it appears to have run aground after coming here, and the crew taken prisoner. It's taken the Inquisition this long to build a dry dock around the ship and repair it."
"Why would British seamen co-operate with the Inquisition?" said James, eyebrows raised.
"I imagine, dear James, that the options of either convert or die presented themselves. And before the die bit, a great deal of torture," said Merrion.
"But it's a battleship," said Ella. "Couldn't they have just fought them off?"
"Yes," Marietta said, "they might. And for how long? They ran aground in a remote area. It's a story for another time. Let us concentrate on what we do know."
"Which is," said Merrion, "only slightly more." He grinned at the General.
"Those men serving aboard," said Andrew, "would be at least thirty years older by now. The captain and the senior staff would have to be in their seventies or eighties. So, who's commanding it?"
"Another mystery," said Laurie. "Just like this world map. Look at it. Only one-third of it explored? You're telling me, after all this time, no one knows what's on the other two continents?"
Ella saw Merrion move a fraction, then once again stand motionless. No one else seemed to notice it.
"No," said General Versetti. "We don't. Every known exploration ship either sent by their commanders or by their own volition has never returned. No survivors. My predecessor put a halt on explorations. Likewise, for you, Beowulf?"
"Likewise," said the Viking king. "My father forbade further voyages when I was only a young child."
Admiral McIntosh coughed into his hand.
"Yes, Admiral. What's the status of the Fleet?" said General Versetti.
"Forty-five first-rates, eighty-three third-rates, and a few more stragglers coming in as refugees."
"What's a first or third rate?" whispered Abe to Lucius standing next to him.
"A sailing warship," said Lucius. "Like the Furia."
"And us," said King Beowulf Hffylson. "My kingdom stands with yours."
"How many long ships can you spare?" said Admiral McIntosh.
"One hundred twelve," said the Viking. "Not including Hellsbaene."
"So, that's a lot of ships," said Mick.
"And the Inquisition easily surpasses that, even without their new toy," said Merrion.
"I thought this was the feel-good part of the briefing?" said Mick.
"It is," said General Versetti. "We have at most three weeks before we are at siege." She pointed at the map. The city of Fairholm occupied the bulbous tip of the peninsula, the string of islands below like a pearl necklace extending to the now Inquisition-controlled mainland. "Cliffs surround us. The islands provide too much cover for our skirmishing parties, which even if we did spend precious resources fortifying, they could easily leapfrog past." Marietta paused. "Or so we hope. Which leaves one logical point of entry for land forces."
She stuck her dagger into the map. "The Bay of Harmony."
Chapter Seventy-Two
Guns And Angels
Ella listened to the birds and their evening songs outside the bathroom window, and fel
t even more miserable despite herself. She laid back in the ceramic bathtub, full of glorious warm water, and scrubbed the oil and dirt off her skin with the bar of soap.
Here I am in a brand-new world of opportunity and I've been relegated back to a glorified teacher in a gilt cage.
I want to help more. The others are at least making solid plans and strategies to fight the Inquisition. And I miss Piers, she realised. About now he'd be telling her that she was full of shit and that she was making a contribution.
Living her dream. Work on making the prototype little Fokker-inspired aeroplane made progress every day, getting closer to the first test-flight. Not to mention the other project.
She sighed and listened to the birds, and then heard Amelia's high-pitched voice join the throng. Griffin must be back with the child and the puppies. Griffin. She still felt an outsider with the bomber crews, even six months later.
How do I repay the debt I owe them for protecting Amelia, keeping her safe from harm? Let alone apologising for attacking them. They seemed to get on fine with the Vikings, but then again, all those who did attack them that day were dead, plus God-knows how many Laurie killed.
And Amelia thinks Griffin is the best thing since, well, Victoria. And Griffin missed his own kids terribly. Maybe that's why he's become a big brother. I hate my life.
Her lower abdomen contracted. Ah, she realised. That explains the low mood. She stood up and got out of the bath, dried herself, dragged on a pair of pants and a tunic, and went to find a clean cloth.
"You've been a bit quiet the last few weeks. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Ella cleaned off the day's play detritus off the rough blanket of Amelia's bed, whilst her daughter changed into her pyjamas.
No response. On Amelia's forearms, a line of fresh bruises bloomed.
