by Aeryn Leigh
"Are you mad at me?" she said, softly. Griffin's face was inscrutable, his eyes focused on something far distant.
"No," he said. "Not at you. As much as I'd like to go in there and give them a good talking to, this is your own fight." He caught her incredulous expression. "There's a doctrine calling for meeting larger forces with an overwhelming, disproportionate asymmetric response."
She blinked.
"When the time is right, ya need to stand up for yourself. Starting now." He looked at her. "Well, stand up." Amelia stood. Both puppies stopped and regarded them.
"Amelia, consider yourself drafted, into the finest army wherever the hell here is. Me and the boys will train you how to defend yourself. We'll get your Mom involved, but we won't tell her exactly why. Well not all of it, okay?" She's liable to go do something crazy, with her temper. Not that I'm half tempted myself. So that explains the bruises on Amelia’s forearms. Shit.
"Okay," said Amelia, her spirits returning. "Can I fire Betty?" She bounced up and down clapping her hands together in glee making pow pow pow noises.
Ah hell, thought Gunnery Sergeant Huey, what have I done?
"We'll see," he said, shaking his head. Amelia leapt towards him, tried to throw her arms around his torso and failed, and gave him a huge hug. "Thank you, Griffin. See you after school!" And with that, and a hug of the German Shepherd puppies, tongues lolling, a more normal Amelia raced across the road and under the stone arch, up the stone steps, and into her life.
Griffin sat there for a little while, wondering the more things change, the more they remain the same.
Chapter Eighty-One
Triple It
The instrument gauges and switches had been pulled from the Boeing B-17, at least the main ones. On the tiny dash in front of her, three dials looked back at her: Speed, Altitude, and Fuel. And below them, a small row of metal toggles. She flicked the first switch up. Then the second.
She stuck her head over the side of the cockpit. "Engine's on," said Ella. "Starting." She flicked the third. Nothing. She returned the toggle to off, swore under her breath, and tried it again.
The Cyclone-Wright radial fired, sending grey-black smoke and exhaust right over her, the noise astounding the others watching fifty-yards away. The three-bladed propeller settled into a steady idle, as Ella stuck her thumb up out of the cockpit. The airframe shook and vibrated with the monster engine up front, lifted from the American bomber, and Ella worried how much the airframe could take before it shattered with stress.
Just a little longer girl, she said to herself, patting the control stick. The pure steel airframe being put together, an improved version of the plane she sat in, not a mashup of wood, iron and steel, like this prototype, was weeks away, months even.
Just hold together today, okay?
Ella put her thumb up the second time, and the wheel chocks were pulled away on their ropes. The aeroplane didn't have brakes. Or least brakes that worked. Thorfinn and Rob puzzled over it.
Never mind. It flew. The monoplane crept forward, Ella unable to see straight ahead over the massive engine, so she looked to her right and left as she ever so gently pushed the throttle lever forward.
Was it her imagination that the fuselage twisted as she did so? The aeroplane picked up speed, bouncing up and down on the concrete, and the rear tail-section lifted into the air. By now Ella's hands were full, wrestling the aircraft in a contest of will. But she nudged the throttle with a quick hand throw a tad more, and wiped the oil and grime from her goggles with the back of her glove, said a prayer to the Gods of Flight, and pulled back on the stick.
Merrion and the assembled group watched the collection of moving parts, metal and wood take off into the air.
"I'm still not sure if it's courage or foolhardiness," said Merrion. "Probably both."
"She's going over the Bay?" said Thorfinn. "Is that wise?"
Marietta exhaled, as Ella banked to the east and started climbing towards the Bay. "Oh, she's going much further than that."
The Pit looked so small from up here. The figures in front of the Main Hanger looked like the smallest ants, and wherever she looked on the island of Fairholm, more ants, scurrying along in their lives. The altimeter showed three thousand feet, and the aeroplane fought every input Ella gave. The city passed her by on the left, as she followed the river down to the Bay of Harmony. From her vantage point, she saw the river clogged with ship traffic, and at its end, the old sailing warship fully-laden with stone that would be scuttled at the river's mouth, to prevent enemy passage up the waterway.
Three thousand five hundred feet. Ella passed through a low-flying cloud, the mist blanking her senses, then re-appeared in clear blue skies. The plains rolled underneath, then the beach, divided by the river entrance.
What did Marietta say? Head to the northern bay's tip, line up to the third-last major island, and head in that direction as far as you safely can before you must return? If you see anything, get back quick. And try not to be seen.
Whatever it was that spooked Marietta, now gave Ella's stomach a good churn. It couldn't be the invasion fleet. They still had a few weeks according to Merrion's intelligence.
She flew out over the bay, and five minutes later, reached the bay's entrance. The jagged rocks, hundreds of yards high, glinted black and grey in the sunlight. There's the third island. She moved her right foot and depressed the rudder pedal, and the aeroplane turned towards the outcrop. But now her leg lit up in pain. Damn you. She looked at her wrist compass.
Thirty minutes later, she didn't know how much longer she could fly out over the ocean. The fuel gauge now showed completely full, and the altimeter showed five-hundred feet, which was, she guessed, about ten-thousand short, by the temperature of the air and the reflective sheen of the ocean's waves far below.
Worst of all, she couldn't move her right leg. The aeroplane wanted to bank to the left, so she held the stick to the right, just to maintain her heading. There was nothing but ocean.
Something glinted to her right. A minute later, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and took another look. She pulled out her binoculars, and gasped. There was nothing but ships.
She dropped the binoculars into her lap, and swung around back to Fairholm, her mind screaming Ficken, ficken, ficken, as her leg agreed with her.
An eternity later, the island of Fairholm came into view. The Bay, the city, and at last The Pit. The engine surged and stuttered, as she lost height, the plane all but unresponsive save for brutal inputs to the control surfaces. Her torso twisted in the chair, the pain in her leg now affecting her hip, so she sat up on her left buttock, and repeated her mantra over and over to herself.
Blessed be my Aircraft, blessed be my Motor, let me see my Daughter, Amen.
She eased the aircraft further down, and lined up the runway. The outer buildings of The Pit flashed by, the factories and workshops spewing their smoke into the air, and people outside pointed up at her.
Ella passed the airfields grass perimeter, and as many feet above the ground, flicked the fifth toggle. The engine died, and she kissed the ground rotated at her 10 o’clock, going sideways. Something broke behind her, yet the plane held together, and now momentum carried her down the tarmac, towards the main hanger, and the waiting crew.
They caught her when she'd slowed to a horse canter, throwing wooden blocks under the wheel, as the engine pinged as it cooled, smelling of burnt oil and fuel.
"Christ girl, you don't do things by half," Mick said, lifting her out of the cockpit. "Easy now, put her down there." Mick, helped by Rob laid Ella down on the canvas stretcher.
"Merrion," she said, "Merrion?"
"I'm here, what did you see?"
"A hundred miles, maybe more."
"Saw what?" he said, as they all listened, and expected the words they feared. She cleared her throat.
"The Inquisition fleet. And Merrion, you're wrong. Triple it."
Chapter Eighty-Two
Heil Blitzkrieg
Holy Inquisitor Grieg stood on the Purity's bridge, in front of the shy watchman.
"I don't bite," said Grieg. "Tell me again what you saw." The naval watchman looked at his feet. "Look at me."
The watchman met Grieg's gaze. "Um, well, it seemed to be a mechanical bird, Sir. It was so tiny, I barely noticed it. If I hadn't had been looking in that direction I dare say I'd have missed it. Sir."
"And which way did it go?"
"In the direction of Sin," said the man.
"Thank you," said Grieg. "You may return to the Brimstone." The watchman saluted and left for the doorway. "Oh, one last question — How old are you?"
The Brimstone's watchman stopped in the doorway. "Sixteen of Our Lord," he said. "Is there anything else, Sir?"
"No," said Grieg, amused. He turned to Captain McDonnell. "Captain, what is our estimate for arriving at Fairholm?”
"At current cruising speed, a little over one full day. The wind is favouring us. Sir."
Grieg stopped, and considered the fleet. So much of it is powered by sail, he thought. If only we could tow them faster. As much as I'd like to charge into the Bay with the Purity and open fire, without sufficient shielding, the battleship couldn't fend off a hundred or two ships simultaneously trying to board her. Although, and he smiled, it would be a glorious battle.
No, he decided, the plan remains the same.
He nodded to the captain, and made his way outside and stood on the railing. So, they have discovered the joy of flight? Wonderful. We have some surprises for you too. 'Mechanical birds'. Ha.
But could she have lived, made her way to this world also? Not according to the Priesthood. Only one ship ever came through at a time. One. The man he'd tortured seemed quite insistent on that point, on his dagger. So then, it wasn't her. Well, it doesn't matter. By this time tomorrow, I'm going to show them what real war looks like.
Heil Blitzkrieg.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Family
"This might be the last night we have together," said Ella, at their house back at The Pit. "Amelia suggested it." Amelia sat on the rug in front of the roaring fire, her right hand bandaged, in the middle of the main hall, surrounded by puppies and their mother, and one Zia, huddled right next to the flames.
On opposite sides of the hall, mounted at equal height, the nose art of Hade's Express and Damage Inc. reflected flames off polished aluminium and steel.
"It may well be," said Griffin, sitting at the nearby table, cleaning Betty, all stripped down and laid out on the table. The whole table.
On the opposite table, sat the rest of the crew from the two bombers. Mick sat next to Abe, helping him with his writing, as Mick reviewed the medical reports from his students, their homework from his 1921 medical textbook now copied and studied all over Fairholm, the new razor’s edge of medical technology.
Lucius, Laurie, and Andrew all cleaned their own pistols, Laurie's sword on his hip rubbed against the wood as he rubbed his weapon.
Bear and Thorfinn however had pulled chairs over to the fire pit, and joined James and Rob in re-assembling the little prototype rotary engine from the box of parts, the engine they used to teach mechanical principles in class. It stood on a small metal stand.
"Pass me the five eighths wrench Bear," said James, as he held the bolt in his mouth. "Ta." He wedged the wrench in his armpit and threaded the bolt into the engine cover.
"You're getting good at fixing things," Rob said.
"Long way from the office, mate," said James. "A long way."
Snorri entered the room, followed by Magnus. They carried a large tuna-fish on a spit, gutted and cleaned, a melting wad of butter inside it, by the yellow globules falling on the floor between the stitches, and placed it over the fire.
"We brought something to feast," said Snorri.
"Did you drip fat all the way down the hallway?" said Amelia.
"The dogs will get it," said Laurie. "That's if they ever wake up." The puddle of dogs barely moved even when the Vikings entered.
"I took them on three big laps of the town," said Amelia. "But I had some help."
"Don't look at me," said Griffin, wiping his hands with a rag. "Was on the range all day." Laurie looked at Ella, as Snorri began carving the meat and handing it around.
"Well I sure as hell didn't walk them," said Ella, gesturing to her leg stuck out on the stool in front of her. "So, who helped you Amelia? Thanks." She munched on the tuna spare rib.
"Merrion," said Amelia. "He got one of the guards to help and so we walked them all! We even stopped for sweets."
"Merrion huh," said Ella. "Figures." She picked up her schematics with her spare hand, and thumbed through her scrap-book with the other.
"He told me that me and all the other children would be safe tomorrow," said Amelia. "We’re going on a big adventure camp."
"Well I knew that at least," said Ella, looking up at Griffin who nodded. "Sounds like fun."
"He sure can ask a lot of questions though. My voice got sore by the end."
"Oh, he certainly can," said Ella, again trying to get comfortable. She studied the aircraft designs. "Another month and we should be able to fly the Mark II's."
Lucius pulled back the slide on his cleaned and assembled gun. "A month hey."
"Easy," said Mick. "Right boys?"
Andrew and Laurie laughed. "Yeah nothing to it," said Laurie. "Is there a reason we're all here?"
"Okay, okay," said Amelia, "jeez you're impatient." She stood up, stepped over the collection of limbs and tails, and disappeared out of the room, her footfalls like elephants charging down a timber bridge. There followed a short silence, then heavy footsteps coming all the way back from the other end of the building. She re-appeared holding a wicker box.
"These are for each of you, for good luck. I made them myself. Well, Rob helped me drill the holes, and Magnus helped too in the forge. It's how I cut my hand. My nanny Victoria told me about this, but she's no longer here." She reached into the box, and walked up to Griffin. "Bend your head down Griffin."
She reached up and placed the necklace over his head. "I collected some of the empty brass shell casings that were in both your bombers," she said, "and melted them down into one pot." She went over to Mick, and placed another necklace over his head, and proceeded to give one to every person in the room. Laurie held the leather-strip in one hand, as he held the brass teardrop up. There was a love heart scratched into the smooth surface.
"You're my family now," Amelia said, putting the last one over her mother's head. "Family sticks together. Kin. Even when it's bad. Right?"
"Right," said every one of them.
Chapter Eighty-Four
On the Origin of Species
"Beowulf, I strongly recommend you pull your fleet out of the Bay." Admiral McIntosh ran his wrinkled hand through what remained of his hair. "Unless dear boy, you want to be trapped? Your ships are no match. Leave it to the professionals."
"Admiral," said General Versetti, massaging the sides of her temples, "we are going around in circles. Until we know what the enemy fleet does, it hardly makes a difference whether the Viking fleet remains at the mouth of the Bay or outside it. We stick to the agreed plan."
The atmosphere in the War Room mirrored the darkness outside the thick bunker walls. Only Beowulf, McIntosh and Marietta sat around the great map table. The wolf-hound snored under a nearby amphitheatre bench.
"I don't recall hearing the great exploits of you, Admiral McIntosh, save for the shiny buttons you wear like a strutting peacock," said King Hffylson, watching the admiral's cheeks redden. "We are here because of the truce between my father and General Versetti, and for the chance of such a mighty battle this world has not yet seen. Only a fool would discount us."
"Barbarians against seasoned military?" said McIntosh. "Poppycock."
"Admiral McIntosh. King Hffylson. Enough." General Versetti stood up. "You will work as a team, or by God, I will clang both of your heads togethe
r. Do I make myself clear?" The two men muttered under the respective breaths, but nodded. "Good. I suggest we all go get a few hours of sleep, because it might just be the last chance we get."
She left the War Room, and made her way up the two flights of steps to the fresh night air. What was it with men and the need for phallus waving?
It must serve some evolutionary trait.
Thus, from the war of nature, from famine and death, the most exalted object which we are capable of conceiving, namely, the production of the higher animals, directly follows.
She was halfway through Darwin's On the Origin of Species, for the sixth or seventh time. Marietta could recall chunks of it by rote. Merrion never said how he found it. Books that came through from the Old Earth were as valuable as the minds that came with it. And lucky for her, she had quite a respectable little library, every book copied down, word by word, and placed in the vault.
It was the copies she read, and loaned out, to be copied again, as more people read them, but the originals — well every once in a while, she made her way to the secret vault, and caressed the printed records of Life.
The Inquisition burnt every book they came across, or so it was said. They knew about Darwin's book. She had a tough time imagining how such a powerful society could destroy such works of power, of thought, love and imagination, of facts, and some of wonder.
And now that day feared for over two centuries had arrived. The Inquisition had come for them.
And her library.
General Versetti made her way to her office, still alive with people, and fell asleep at her desk mid-way through her reports, hearing a status update from Merrion, her face buried amongst paperwork and myriad abacuses.
