Those steam-turbine planes were disconcertingly quiet things. On the other hand the weight of their power plants precluded them from carrying either a heavy bomb load or a lot of fuel, so they were far from a decisive arm. They rustled across the sky with the dignity of dowagers, seldom getting much over 150 miles an hour, and their battles had the deliberation of a duel between sailing ships-of-the-line.
They wound down to the sunny Ohio (they called it the Okeeyo, both derived from the same Iroquois word) in the region where the airwains had reported the rebel army. A rebel airwain — a converted transport ship — came to look them over, and was shot down. From across the river came faintly the rebel yells and the clatter of pneumatics, firing at targets far out of range. Park guessed that discipline in Brahtz’s outfit was little if any better than in his own.
Now, if they wanted to, the stage was set for an interminable campaign of inaction. Either side could try to sneak its men across the river without being caught in the act by the other. Or it could adopt a defensive program, contenting itself with guarding all the likely crossings. That sort of warfare would have suited General Higgins fine, minimizing as it did the chance that most of his musical-comedy army would do a lightning advance to the rear as soon as they came under fire.
It would in fact have been sound tactics, if they could have counted on the rebels’ remaining on the south bank of the Okeeyo in that region, instead of marching east toward Guggenvik, and if the Dakotians were not likely to descend on their rear at any moment.
The Secretary of War had gone back to New Belfast, leaving Park the highest-ranking civilian with Higgins’ army. He had the good sense to keep out of sight as much as possible, taking into account the soldier’s traditional dislike of the interfering politician.
General Etheling, commanding the rebel army, got a message asking if he would hold a parley with a civilian envoy of General Higgins’ army. General Etheling, wearing a military blouse over a farmer’s overalls and boots, pulled his long mustache and said no, if Higgins wants to parley with me he can come himself. Back came the answer: This is a very high-ranking civilian; in fact he outranks Higgins himself. Would that island in the middle of the Okeeyo do? Etheling pulled his mustache some more and decided it would do.
So, next morning General Etheling, wearing the purely ornamental battle-ax that formed part of the Vinland officer’s dress uniform, presented himself off the island. As he climbed out of his rowboat, he saw his opposite number’s boat pull away from the far side of the little island. He advanced a way among the cottonwoods and yelled, “Haw!”
“Haw.” A stocky blond man appeared.
“You all alone, Thane?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered! You boys kin go along back; I’ll holler when I need you. Now, Thane, who be you?”
“I’m Bishop Ib Scoglund, General.”
“What? But ain’t you the wick who started the whole rumpus with all that silly talk about ricks for the Skrellings?”
The bishop sighed. “I did what I believed right in the sight of the Lord. But now a greater danger threatens us. The Dakotians are sweeping across our fair land like the hosts of Midian of old! Surely it were wise to sink our little bickerings in the face of this peril?”
“You say the lousy redskins is doing an invasion? Well, now, that’s the first I heered of that. What proof you got?”
Park produced an assortment of papers: dispatches, a copy of the Edgar Daily Tidings, et cetera.
The general was at last convinced. He said: “Well, I’ll be tarnally damned. Begging your pardon, Hallow; I forgot as how you were a preacher.”
“That’s all rick, my son. There are times when, even in a cleric like me, the baser passions rise, and it is all I can do to refrain from saying ‘damn’ myself.”
“Well, now, that’s rick handsome of you. But what does old Cottonhead Higgins want me to do? I got my orders, you know.”
“I know, my son. But don’t you see the Divine Will in these events? When we His children fall out and desecrate the soil of Vinland with our brothers’ blood, He chastises us with the scourge of invasion. Let us unite to hurl back the heathen before it is too late! General Higgins has a plan for joint doing all worked out. If you take it up, he will prove his good faith by letting you cross the Okeeyo unopposed.”
“What kind of plan is it? I never knew Cottonhead had enough brains to plan a barn dance, not to mention a campaign.”
“I couldn’t give you all the details; they’re in this paper. But I know they call for your army to put itself in the path of the invaders, and when you are engaged with them for our army to attack their left flank. If we lose, our brotherly quarrel will be one with Sodom and Gomorrah. If we win, it will be surely possible to settle our strife without further bloodshed. You will be a great man in the sight of the people and a good one in the sight of Heaven, General.”
“Well, I guess maybe as how you’re right. Give me the rest of the day to study these here plans…”
They shook hands; the general made a fumbling salute, and went over to his side of the island to call his boat. Thus, he did not see the bishop hastily don his mustache and spectacles.
When General Etheling’s rebels crossed the river next morning, they found no trace of Higgins’ force except for the usual camp litter. Following directions, they set out for Edgar.
General Higgins, goaded to hurry by Allister Park, sent his army rolling northward. People in dust-colored work clothes came out to hang over fences and stare at them.
Park asked one of these, a strapping youth with some Skrelling blood, if he had heard of the invasion.
“Sure,” said the man. “Reckon they won’t git this fur, though. So we ain’t worrying.” The young man laughed loudly at the suggestion of volunteering. “Me go off and git shot up so some other wick can sit on his rump and get rich? Not me, Thane! If the folks in Edgar gets scalped, it serves ’em right for not paying us mair for our stuff.”
As the army moved farther and farther toward Edgar, the expressions of the civilians grew more anxious. As they approached the Piankishaw (Wabash) River, they passed wains parked by the roads, piled with household goods.
However, when the army had passed, many of these reversed their direction and followed the army back north toward their homes. Park was tempted to tell some of these people what idiots they were, but that would hardly have been politic. The army had little enough self-confidence as it was.
Higgins’ army spread out along the south bank of the Piankishaw. All those in the front line had, by order, stained their hands and faces brown. The genuine Skrellings were kept well back.
Park took an observation post overlooking the main crossing of the river. He had just settled himself when there was a tremendous purring hum from the other side of the bridge. An enemy warwain appeared. Its ten tires screeched in unison as it stopped at the barrier on the road. Pneumatics began to pop on all sides. The forward turret swung back and forth, its gun clattering. Then a tremendous bang sent earth, bridge, and wain into the air. The wain settled into the water on its side, half out. Some men crawled out and swam for the far shore, bullets kicking up little splashes around their bobbing heads.
Up the river, Park could see a pontoon boat putting out from the north shore. It moved slowly by poling; passed out of sight. In a few minutes it reappeared, drifting downstream. It came slowly past Park and stopped against a ruined bridge abutment. Water gradually leaked through the bullet holes in the canvas, until only one corner was above water. A few arms and faces bobbed lazily just below the surface.
The firing gradually died down. Park could imagine the Dakotians scanning the position with their field glasses and planning their next move. If their reputation was not exaggerated, it would be something devastating.
He climbed down from his perch and trotted back to headquarters, where he found Rufus Callahan, sober for once.
Ten minutes later the two, preceded by an army pipe
r, exposed themselves at the east end of the bridge. Park carried a white flag, and the piper squealed “parley” on his instrument. Nobody shot at them, so they picked their way across the bridge, climbing along the twisted girders. Callahan got stuck.
“I’m scared of high places,” he said through his teeth, clinging to the ironwork.
Park took out his air pistol. “You’ll be worse scared of me,” he growled. The huge man was finally gotten under way again.
At the far end, a Skrelling soldier jumped out of the bushes, rifle ready. He crackled something at them in Dakotian. Callahan answered in the same language, and the man took them in tow.
As the road curved out of sight of the river, Park began to see dozens of warwains pulled up to the side of the road. Some had their turrets open, and red men sat in them, smoking or eating sandwiches. There were other vehicles, service cars of various kinds, and horse cavalry with lances and short rifles. They stopped by one warwain. Their escort snapped to a salute that must have jarred his bones. An officer climbed out. He wore the usual mustard-colored Dakotian uniform, topped off with the feathered war bonnet of the Sioux Indian. After more chattering, Park and Callahan were motioned in.
It was crowded inside. Park burned the back of his hand against a steam pipe, and cut loose with a string of curses that brought admiring grins to the red-brown faces of the crew. Everything was covered with coal soot.
The engineer opened the throttle, and the reciprocating engine started to chug. Park could not see out. They stopped presently and got out and got into another warwain, a very large one.
Inside the big machine were a number of Dakotian officers in the red-white-and-black war bonnets. A fat one with a little silver war club hanging from his belt was introduced to Park and Callahan as General Tashunkanitko, governor of the Oglala and commander-in-chief of the present expedition.
“Well?” snapped this person in a high-pitched, metallic voice.
Callahan gave his sloppy salute — which at first glance looked alarmingly as though he were thumbing his nose — and said: “I’m representing the commander of the Skrelling Division-”
“The what?”
“The Skrelling Division. We’ve been ordered by the Althing to put down the uprising of the Diamonds in the southwest of Vinland. They have a big army, and are likely to win all Vinland if not stopped. We can’t stop them, and on the other hand we can’t let them take all the south while you take all the north of Vinland.
“My commander humbly suggests that it is hardly proper for two armies of men of the same race to fick each other while their joint foe takes over all Vinland, as Brahtz’s army will do unless we join against it.”
General Tashunkanitko crackled something to one of his men, who rattled back. The general said: “It was taled that your men looked like Skrellings, but we could not get close enough to be sure, and did not believe the tale. What do you offer?”
Callahan continued: “My commander will not try to push the Dakotians from the area west of the Piankishaw, if you will help him against the rebels.”
“Does that offer bind your thing?”
“Nay. But, as our army is the only real one at present under their command, they will have nay way of enforcing their objections. To prove our good faith we will, if you agree, let you cross the Piankishaw without fickting.” The general thought for some seconds. He said: “That offer ock to be put up to my government.”
“Nay time, sir. The rebels are moving north from the Okeeyo already. Anyway, if we make a truce aside from our thing, you should be willing to do the same. After we’ve overthrown the Brahtz army, I’m sure we can find some workable arrangement between our armies.”
Tashunkanitko thought again. “I will do it. Have you a plan worked out?”
“Yes, sir. Right here…”
When the Dakotians crossed the Piankishaw the next day, there was no sign of the large and supposedly redskin army that had held the passage against them.
Across the rolling Indiana plain came the rattle of pneumatic rifles and the crack of air- and mortar-bombs. General Higgins told Park: “We just got a message from General Etheling; says he’s hard pressed, and it’s about time we did our flank attack on the Dakotians. And this General Tush-Tash-General Mad-Horse wants to know why we haven’t attacked the flank of the rebels. Says he’s still pushing ’em back, but they outnumber him twa to ane and he’s had a lot of mechanical breakdowns. Says if we’ll hit them now they’ll run.”
“We don’t want to let either side win,” said Park. “Guess it’s time to start.”
With considerable confusion — though perhaps less than was to be expected — the Army of the New Belfast got under way. It was strung out on a five-mile front at right angles to the line of contact of the Dakotian and rebel armies. The right wing was the stronger, since it would meet stronger resistance from Tashunkanitko’s hardened professionals than from Etheling’s armed hayseeds.
Park squeezed into the observation turret of the headquarters wain beside Higgins. They went slowly so as not to outrun the infantry, lurching and canting as the huge rubber doughnut-shaped wheels pulled them over walls and fences. They crunched through one corner of a farmyard, and the countryside was at once inundated by fleeing pigs and chickens. Park had a glimpse of an overalled figure shaking a fist at the wain. He couldn’t help laughing; it was too bad about the farmer’s livestock, but there was something ultra-rural about the man’s indignation over a minor private woe when a battle was going on next door.
Men began to appear ahead; horsemen leaping fences and ditches, scattered scouts dodging from tree to fence, firing at unseen targets, then frantically working the pump-levers of their rifles to compress the air for the next shot. One of them was not a hundred yards away when he saw the advancing wains. He stared stupidly at them until the forward machine-gunner in the headquarters wain fired a burst that sent the gravel flying around the scout’s feet. The scout jumped straight up and came down running. Others ran when they saw the wains looming out of the dust. A few who didn’t see soon enough ran toward the advancing line with their hands up.
They met larger groups of redskins, crawling or running from right to left with faces set. Each time there would be one face the first to turn; then they would all turn. The group would lose its form and purpose, sublimating into its component human atoms. Some stood; some ran in almost any direction.
Then they were in a half-plowed field. The plow and the steam tractor stood deserted among the brown furrows. On the other side of the field crouched a hostile wain. Park felt the engine speed up as the two machines lumbered toward each other. Bullets pattered about his cupola. It gratified him to see the general wince when they struck on and around the glass.
The wains came straight at each other. Park gripped the handholds tight. The other wain stopped suddenly, backed swiftly, and tried to run in at them from the side. Their own jumped ahead with a roar. Its ram dug into the side of the other machine with a terrible crash. They backed away; Park could see lubricating oil running out of the wound in the other machine. It still crawled slowly. His own mechanical rhinoceros charged again. This time the other machine heaved up on its far wheels and fell over…
The fight went out of the Dakotians all of a sudden. They had made a terrific assault on twice their number; then had fought steadily for two days. Their wains were battered, their horses hungry, and their infantry exhausted from pumping up their rifles. And to have a horde of strangers roll up their flank, just when victory was in sight — no wonder General Tashunkanitko, and his officers, let a tear or two trickle when they were rounded up.
General Etheling’s rebels fared no better; rather worse, in fact. The Skrelling regiment ran wild among the rural Vinlanders, doing what they had wanted to do for generations — scalp the palefaces. Having somewhat hazy ideas about that ancestral ritual, they usually made the mistake of trying to take off the whole top of a man’s head instead of the neat little two-inch circle of scalp. When th
ey started in on the prisoners, they had to be restrained by a few bursts of machine-gun fire from one of Higgins’ wains.
The train back to New Belfast stopped at every crossroads so the people could come out and whoop. They cheered Allister Park well enough; they cheered Rufus Callahan; they yelled for Bishop Scoglund. The story had gone ahead, how Park and General Higgins had devised a scheme for the entrapment of both the rebel and Dakotian armies; how the brave bishop had talked Etheling into it; how Etheling had treacherously shot the brave bishop; how Callahan had swum the Okeeyo with Bishop Scoglund on his back… It was rumored that the city politician Allister Park had had something to do with these developments, but you never want to believe anything good of these politicians. Since he was Assistant Secretary of War, though, it was only polite to give him a cheer too…
Park did not think it would be prudent to show himself to the same audience both as Park and as the bishop, so they were all informed that his hallowship was recuperating.
As they rolled into New Belfast, Park experienced the let-down feeling that comes at such moments. What next? By now Noggle would have been rescued from Park’s knicks and returned to Edwy Borup’s hatch. That was bound to happen anyway, which was why Park hadn’t tried to use that method of getting Noggle into his power before. The whirling of the wheel of if was a delicate business, not to be interrupted by people with warrants, and he would have to see to it that somebody was left behind to force Noggle to stop the wheel when the right point had been reached.
It ought not to be difficult now, though. If he couldn’t use his present power and position to get hold of Noggle, he’d have enough after election — which would come off as scheduled after all. First he’d make Noggle stop poor old Kendrick’s wheel. Then he’d have Callahan or somebody stand over Noggle with a gun while he spun his, Park’s, wheel through another half turn. Then, maybe, Noggle would be allowed to halt his own carousel.
Down in The Bottomlands (and Other Places) Page 20
