by Aeryn Leigh
A Kingly Gift of Horsepower
"I said, keep them." Laurie stood with his arms folded, in front of The Pit's secondary dry dock, barring the Viking's passage. King Hffylson's sword tucked into his belt scabbard, his Smith & Wesson on the other hip. Half a dozen dry docks lined The Pit's waterway, all of them full of men, warships and swearing. Ships waited outside for their turn, in some cases, three ships deep, all of them battle damaged.
Skippy and one of her pups stood by him. Thor? "I know I said it was temporary, but I owe you something at least for the fort. After coming back from our recon mission, well, it's where they belong now. Hade's Express ain't flying anytime soon."
"It will be an honour," said Beowulf, holding up his hands. "An honour worthy of Odin."
"Good," Laurie said, grinning. "Now you bastard, show us Hellsbaene." He gave a grand theatrical sweep of his arms and let them through. Magnus and Snorri clapped Laurie on the back as they passed.
The longship had long been fixed from Laurie's gunfire, but the occasional leak still sprung up, like a recalcitrant schoolboy. Or schoolgirl, thought Laurie.
Yeah. A Bad Girl she was, and now, a very bad girl.
Hellsbaene rested on hardwood supports, and the last touches to the king's longship were being made.
They walked up the supporting gangway, and stepped down into the main deck.
"Bet they didn't see this in the history books," said Thorfinn, greeting them.
"Nah mate, bet they didn't," said Laurie. "Looks tremendous Thorfy. Nice work on the housings."
"Thanks," said Thorfinn. "It's been a bit tricky linking the throttle controls and getting the propeller shafts right, but got there in the end." He munched on a piece of bacon rind.
At the rear of the Viking Longship, a present from the bomber crew, sat a pair of the enormous Rolls-Royce V12 Merlin engines, half-enclosed in a simple, form-fitting sheet-metal housings, facing backwards. From each engine housing, turbochargers, then a giant air-intake snorkel rising three feet into the air, a de-facto tunnel ram bolted to the air intake. Long metal shafts exited the engines, through reinforced pre-burnt holes in the timber hull, to brand new steel propellers forged in The Pit's foundry.
"About two thousand six hundred horsepower, and that was before the turbos," said Laurie, "which to you doesn't mean anything, except that is a lot of horses, and enough torque to move a mountain — but goddamn she will fly."
"Up in the air?" said Snorri, touching the custom foot-long steel tubes redirecting some of the exhausts back into the turbines. The bases of the twenty-four steel pipes all had a burnt, oil-slick colour sheen to them.
"Ah we hope not," said Magnus, wiping a stray hair away with a grease-covered hand.
"Did Griffin talk to Lucius?" said Beowulf, running a hand over the port engine.
"He did," said Laurie. “Those two B-17 turbochargers and the four .50Cal's are yours now." He gestured to the waist-mounted, now side-mounted, heavy machine-guns on either side of the longship, under their waterproofed oilskins. And at the prow, the twin .50's from Damage Inc's nose.
"What did he say again? Oh, that's right, 'you're now loaded for bear.' Hate to be a bear."
Beowulf laughed. "Don't worry," he said, "I like bears. Even Thomas."
"The catch now is," said Laurie, "is that your boat is going to be rear-heavy, steer like a pig, and burn through that fuel like a moth in flame. And you really need to do something about the main mast. It's make one awful amount of drag. Detach it somehow?"
"It will be fine, Laurie John. What does your friend say?" said Beowulf. "No worries? We can handle her."
"Good, because I intend on being far away from the water as I can when the shit hits the fan." He jumped down from the longship, and whistled for Skippy. "It's almost lunch. I'm off to the Flight Hill if anyone asks. Enjoy, boys. Beowulf."
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Griffin Takes Stock
Gunnery Sergeant Griffin Huey and his new puppy Athena walked up the rear-most artificial hill, now covered in plants and bushes like the rest of the local flora, in the crisp morning air. He waved to the group of soldiers to his right, directing the latest waggon-loads of materials to the earthworks, trenches which bloomed like veins across a leaf, and murder holes still being constructed in the plains behind the twin beaches, separated by the river which wound all the way back to the interior of Fairholm.
The Bay of Harmony lay before them about a mile away; five miles across at its widest point, before ending in tall, jagged rock faces, which lined either side of the bay's narrower entrance, of what used to be mountains. The Bay seemed quite crowded, as straggler refugee ships kept pouring in, supply longships from Odinsgate arrived, taking their place in docking queues, and the Republic Fleet readied itself in the waters both inside and outside the wide harbour.
"It's going to be a slaughterhouse," he said to the puppy. The dog paid no attention to his words, only the stick he still held in his hand.
"Okay then." He threw the stick. The puppy bolted, and returned with the wood, which she broke in half. Athena looked up at him, her tail wagging and she sat back on her haunches. "You broke it," he said. The puppy picked up a broken half. "Nope, no more. Come on girl," he said, then walked back down the slope with a dejected dog, to where the rear entrance of the Command Bunker led underneath.
Inside the concrete structure, Griffin returned salute as the military personnel welcomed his arrival.
"How go the preparations?" he said, walking past the men and women unpacking food and supplies in the centre of the room. He stood in front of the foot-high wide concrete slit, that overlooked the Bay, and the defences.
"Good," said Lieutenant Sheryl Ginger, Commander of Supplies. "We have enough provisions in each of the bunkers now to last half a moon, maybe more." She handed him her clipboard.
You come God-knows how far 'round the galaxy, and you still tick boxes off a checklist making inventory.
"And water?" he said, reading down the list.
"Double that," she said. "Merrion insisted on extra water."
Griffin nodded, then turned around and looked at the bay, wondering to himself. Even with the machine-guns from the bombers, now in overlapping fields-of-fire bunkers, the entire .50 calibre reserves taken from Damage Inc. spread between them, and the cannonball artillery, and the special projects Lucius, Laurie, Mick and Merrion had been working on, let alone everyone else, he still couldn't see them holding off twenty-thousand, let alone fifty-thousand Inquisition Marines, as General Versetti hypothesised.
No-one quite knew how big the Inquisition army was, apart from just 'big'. Merrion seemed to be the only person in recent times to have got close, and even he almost died getting back.
The puppy whined next to him. He reached down and patted her head, rubbing behind Athena’s left ear. His grief flared, images of his two baby girls back home. Glory. Ruth. And Ava, now alone in raising them. There'd have been a funeral by now, or at least a telegram saying his bomber went missing in action, sorry about your loss, all the best.
He'd spend the rest of his life thinking to himself about the family he'd left, even with new found family. He took a deep breath, straightened up, and got back to living in the now, and strangely happy to be still breathing. He stuffed his unlit cigar into the corner of his mouth.
He'd take it. Even as the embers of revenge glowed in the pit of his soul.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
A Nice Pot of Tea
Ella and Mick sat in the kitchen, and stared at the cooking fire, a pot of tea on the table between them.
"I still can't move my right leg," she said, "without it hurting like it's on fire."
"I can't spare you any more morphine," said Mick, "we're running out as it is. The locals have some kinda analgesic, a ground up leaf, but the shipment is late."
"Guess I will wait then," Ella said, jonesing for other manufactured drugs.
"The boys are pretty upset with Lucius. Griffin nearly took h
is head off last night when we found out what'd happened. Christ I'd hate to get on the wrong side of that guy. He could bend your spine in half."
Ella took a sip of black tea, the liquid warm down her dry, parched throat. "What's done is done, Mick. He's apologised, and he's lucky I didn't shoot him in the head. He's not the only one with anger issues."
"Yeah mate, I know. Before the Storm hit, when I first saw your fighter — your jet fighter — I thought I was going to die. Right there and then, before that storm."
She finished the rest of the tea, and re-filled their cups, her hand in tremors. She placed her hands back in her lap. "It was a red rage. Like those flames. Unquenchable. Sucking you down. Verdammt." Eyes met his.
"War is war. And as you say, what's done is done. You can thank the little tyke for that."
"Amelia?"
"No, the pet rock. Of course, Amelia. Her and those bloody animals have been the glue keeping this whole cluster-fuck together. We've lost family and girlfriends, all of us, yet the kid's an anchor for us. Happy, carefree, Amelia. Christ, she hugs anyone." He chugged the cup down in one gulp.
"She hasn't been that way the last few weeks, ever since starting school."
"You noticed, huh."
Ella shifted her weight in the chair, her butt was hurting from the one position. "She doesn't want to talk to me about it."
"With your temper, no bloody wonder. I'll get Griffin to have a yak with her. Now, let me take a look at that torso. Don't give me that face. Doctor's orders. Wow. Goddamn that's a lot of purple."
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Ella’s Gee Bee
Ella kissed Amelia on the forehead. "You can tell me all about it later, okay?" The remains of breakfast laid before them, a real treat today, of eggs, sausages, and toasted hunks of bread.
"Okay," Amelia said, slumping in her wooden chair. "It's just that I never get to tell you anything in the mornings."
"I promise I'll make it up to you when this is over. There's so much to do Amelia. Give the puppies and Zia a hug from me?" said Ella, from the doorway. "Love you."
"Love you too," whispered Amelia, to the empty wooden frame.
Ella hurried down the hall limping, picking up Helena in her case by the side dresser and opened the front door. She nodded to the guard on duty, went around to the stables, and mounted her new horse. She patted Beth, a white and brown mare on the side of her neck, then made her way through The Pit's manic streets, towards the new airfield.
The clouds dangled in the sky here and there, but still good enough visibility for flight, she decided, waiting for an accident to clear. A heavy six-wheeled cart had broken an axle in the busy main thoroughfare, spilling its load of woollen bales every which way. A team of Clydesdale's pulled the waggon off the road, then Ella proceeded to the airfield.
"Guten Morgen, ah, hmm," she said, stopping at the main gate. Three soldiers stood guard, their building made out of the new concrete, and she observed, a manned Lancaster machine gun in the tower above it. She couldn't remember the guard’s names.
"Good Morning, Miss Gruder," said Corporal Higgins, who never forgot one. "Lovely day for it."
"I hope so," said Ella, "and that we get a few more." She smiled, and rode onto the airfield, towards the main hanger.
Not bad, she thought, given we've only had seven months. But we need more time.
The main hanger door opened as she approached. Robert and Thorfinn waved to her, as they and half-a-dozen helpers pulled the great doors wide, the hinges creaking as the two slabs of metal and wood rolled back on their metal guides.
Ella dismounted at the side, where the horses were tethered, and secured Beth to the post. Her right leg twitched under full weight, but she once again thanked those little pills.
"Good Morning Rob and Thorf," she said, as she rounded the corner. "Ready to do this?"
"Morning," they said in unison.
"We're ready," said Thorf. "Are you? How's your leg?"
"It's fine. Right, let's bring her out. Rob?"
Rob gave a signal, and Ella, Thorfinn and Rob then rolled the aeroplane out, with the six junior mechanics’ help.
The other aeroplane prototype, her pet project, sat on the edge of the new concrete runway, and now Ella began her inspection. It resembled a short, squat cigar, no wider than the fat engine itself, with the rear half rolled between two strong palms, tapered down to the end, with the cockpit at the rear, at the base of the vertical tail fin.
It was, in effect, a copy of the Gee Bee high-performance racing aircraft Ella had seen, and once even flown, in the 1930’s. Stuffing the most ludicrously powerful radial into the smallest metal airframe possible was a brave choice, and as far as Ella was aware, not a single airframe remained, all twenty-odd Bee Gee examples lost in crashes, often lethal.
Which was why, given the opportunity to use a 1,200 horsepower, turbosupercharged Wright-Cyclone radial from the B17-E, fully functioning and battle-proven, Ella had barely given it a second thought. She rubbed her hands together.
Stubby wings jotted out each side. "Did the rudder cable snap yesterday, or did the bracket come loose?"
"The bracket," said Robert. "It was only the second flight yesterday. I did tell you to take it easy. Nothing over half-throttle."
Ella ducked under the single wing, her hands running across the fabric covered half-metal, half-wooden tubular frame.
"And I appreciate Rob, I really do. You're doing an excellent job." She beamed at him. "How's the throttle linkage?"
"Good," said Thorfinn, his bum sticking out of the cockpit as he learnt in and checked the throttle lever once more. "The forged copy from the B-17's throttle assembly is holding well."
"Excellent. Today I'm going to be taking her out over the Bay, so I'll need as much fuel pumped in as we can."
Thorfinn rose one eyebrow. "Did Marietta approve this?"
"Of course she did," said Ella, rolling her eyes. "It's what my job here is, remember? Test pilot. Doing circuits of The Pit is fun, but we need longer flight times."
"Do we now?" said General Versetti, Commander of the Republic, Merrion by her side, enjoying the moment.
I don't know how she sneaks up like that, Ella thought, trying to think of a good reply, her heart pounding in guilt and shock caught lying in the act. "It's what I would do if I was you,” shot back Ella, throwing out a classic.
General Versetti threw her shoulders back and laughed. After a moment, she composed herself. "Nice try. Lucky for you, I do."
Chapter Eighty
The More Things Change
"What's up, Amelia?"
Amelia inspected the ground they walked on, as the dirt and gravel crunched beneath their feet, on the way to school. The air smelt fresh, wholesome — somebody was baking bread nearby. "Nothing," she said under breath.
Griffin looked down at her, over his slung M3. Which considering his height, was a long way down. "Ha. Can't fool me. Out with it." Fang and Athena loped besides them, dashing from one interesting smell to another, as they passed traffic of horses and carts on the southern-most corner of the Pit. The Republic's school and its next door University was the centre of learning, and knowledge being what it is, meant security all the way, every day for its citizens. Kill minds, you kill civilisation.
Amelia breathed in, then let it rush out in a torrent. "I tried talking to her this morning, but she always leaves in a rush. She asks me things, and when I'm ready to answers, she runs off to work. I hate her."
Oh boy, thought Griffin. Like being back at the range with a brand-new recruit and a head pent up like an unexploded fire-cracker. Or live grenade sans pin. Easy now. "And why's that? She loves you like nothing else girl."
"It's just, I don't know, okay!"
And now, thanks to the quick chat with Mick this morning, we at last reach the tricky part of live ordnance. "You haven't been yourself the last few weeks, ever since school started." He stopped, and waited for her to pause. Griffin bent down, and looked at h
er. "Want a shoulder ride to school?"
Her eyes lit up. "Please!"
"Okay then. One, two, three, yup there we go. Fang! Athena! Go!”
They continued their way down the building lined road, and Amelia began to sing. She sang for a few minutes, then halted. "Griffin, can I ask you something?"
"Sure thing, baby girl."
"When is it okay to hit someone?"
Griffin's eyebrow raised, but the child couldn't see it. He pulled out the stub of his cigar, and stuck it in his mouth. And waited. She continued.
"I know it's okay to hit someone back when they hit you first, but that only works when they're the same size as you, or smaller. There's a pair of twins at school, teenagers, a brother and sister. Orphans. They're way bigger and meaner than I am."
"And they bully you?"
"Yes. They bully everyone. But not when the teachers are around. Mark told on them, and at lunch they stuck him head-first down the latrine, dangling him by the feet, and threatened to drop him. They almost did when his shoe came loose."
"Did they now."
"Yes. And they pick on me for being so happy. And for smiling. And for having my mother be, well her. I told them about Helena on the first day of school to the whole class when I had to do introductions. I was so happy to be with kids again, it all came out in a blurt. It's all my fault."
"And they hurt you?"
Silence.
"Amelia?"
"Yes." The voice came out small.
"Right."
The road straightened out and dead-ended, showing the entrance of the pair of schools, it's wide, Roman archway, and crest of arms over it. Griffin was no good with Latin. Greek, sure. His arms reached up, and lifted the child down to the ground. He gestured to the wooden park bench off to the side of the gate, as kids, teenagers, and adults walked by on their way in. Amelia followed, and sat down, dejected. Fang put his head on her lap, as yet again, Athena chased her tail, taking after her brother.
