The Ghost Rebellion

by Pip Ballantine, Tee Morris

  Eliza’s forearm struck Sophia’s chest, pushing her against the Palace’s red sandstone. “Wellington needs our help as do the members of Her Majesty’s infantry and the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences. Performing a selfless, heroic act for these brave men and women could change their perception of you, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Eliza was able to read the flickers of emotion on the assassin’s face. Rage, comprehension, and then finally, chilly acceptance. They both knew the odds.

  However, when Eliza released Sophia she gave her a slight shove as a reminder of who was in charge. “Follow my lead,” Eliza said.

  The two women emerged from their corner, four pistols firing into the melee. Shadows were appearing from the palace’s surrounding archways. The rebels were fortified, for the time being.

  “Focus on visible infantry,” she called out to Sophia as they continued backward.

  “Contact Left,” Sophia called, turning one of her pistols on a target taking aim from a pavilion.

  “Go, run!” Eliza called to her, firing a final shot before sprinting the remaining feet to an open corridor of the palace.

  “Eliza!” a voice called out.

  From the opposite end of the hall, she could see O’Neil waving.

  “Keep firing,” she reminded Sophia before sprinting towards him.

  He and Director Smith had taken a position in an alcove connecting two corridors. Both seemed none the worse for wear, though O’Neil kept his rifle at his shoulder.

  “Now would be a good time for the appearance of your Queensbury Rules, Maulik,” Eliza said, checking her own pistols.

  “I dare not on account of Wellington in the fray,” the director said, patting the mounted Gatling cannon in his chair.

  Sophia ran up to join them, her pistols now dumping empty shells at her feet. “Eliza suggested a pincer movement,” she said while reloading.

  “Our intention as well,” O’Neil replied with a frown, motioning to the eight others with them, “but our numbers are rather thin. We have a unit of twelve attempting to hold that junction while we work our way around to the other side of the palace.”

  “What about that Mule’s Kick?” Eliza asked. “That could give us quite an advantage.”

  “Agent March!” Maulik called out.

  The young agent stepped forward, her blue eyes bright and her blonde hair loose around her face. From her expression, combat such as this was something new and she was enjoying it immensely. “Yes, sir?”

  “Agent Ellie March, this is Agent Braun. You two should get along swimmingly.”

  “Excellent shooting back there,” Eliza said. Her smile faltered as she saw the young agent armed with a standard Bulldog. The odd experimental Wellington had used on the African Sunset was dangling from March’s belt. “Why aren’t you using the Mule’s Kick?”

  “The charge,” she said, glancing down at it. “It takes a spell or three before she’s ready.”

  “Any way you can speed up the process, perchance?”

  March bit her lip, a sweet gesture in the midst of a firefight. “The clankertons did give us a basics in maintenance, but when it came to modifications, they were insistent about us not tinkering with its inner-workings.”

  “Well damn that,” Eliza said, removing the weapon from March’s belt. “At this point we need to get creative.”

  “O’Neil, I suggest you give Wellington cover fire,” Maulik said, wheeling over to the open junction of their corridor. “I will make sure we have no unwanted callers.”

  “You heard Director Smith,” O’Neil called out. “Find a window. Cover Books.”

  Eliza whacked the handle of the pistol against the floor until one of its wood panels popped off, revealing a wide array of wires, gears, and small orbs that pulsated in time with the slow, rhythmic ticking of its mechanics. Two she immediately identified as leading to power sources, based on the heat and light the orbs gave off.

  “Exactly what are we looking at?” Sophia demanded, peering into the Mule Kick’s inner workings.

  “Safety measures, power regulators,” March replied. The young girl knew her weapons. “Or more importantly things to insure you don’t go ‘boom’ when you pull the trigger.”

  “These bits and bobs are reasons I am not particularly happy with experimentals in the field,” Eliza said, following the wiring with her eyes. “They are supposed to make weapons like these work efficiently, but not to their potential.”

  “Are you tinkering with an experimental during a combat situation?” Sophia asked.

  “Oh bloody brilliant, this is!” March said excitedly.

  Eliza rather liked this girl.

  “It’s not like I’ve done it before,” Eliza assured them as she held a pair of fingers over one of the glowing orbs. Then, on moving to the other, “All right then, this one is the temperature regulator.”

  Sophia fixed a hard stare on her. “You do understand these sciences, yes?”

  “Hardly,” she said, pinching the small orb between her fingernails until it finally popped out of its housing, “but I know enough about modifying weapons to be dangerous. It’s all a matter—oh bugger all, these wires are small!” she swore.

  Sophia reached up and pulled out two hairpins from her head. “I do hope you are a fan of Far Eastern cuisine.”

  “I am from New Zealand, so I have run missions in China, Japan, and Korea,” Eliza replied, taking the two pins into her free hand and balancing them between her fingers. She tested the pinching action she could manage from them and nodded, “and I adore sushi.”

  The hairpins dug into the mess of wires, weaving their way through to the one Eliza needed. The red one. How she loved the colour red.

  “Right then,” she said, capturing it in her grasp. “Just give it a little tug,” and sparks flew from the array. “Now I just need to find—” and her hairpins trapped a green wire and pulled it free as well. She returned the fine pins back to Sophia and then, with her fingertips, Eliza twisted the frayed ends of each wire together. “This is what we call a Christmas Surprise. The green wire is usually tied in with the firing mechanism. In a sense, what I am doing—”

  “You are bypassing the temperature regulator,” Agent March spoke quickly, her cheeks seeming to glow as she added, “which was slowing down the energy build process. This Christmas Surprise has now cut the charging process to half the time. It could also increase the Kick’s output.” Eliza and Sophia stared at the young agent for a moment. Agent March giggled. “I really do love Science.”

  Once the connection was secure, Eliza flipped the Mule’s Kick over to look at the power gauge. It was quickly reaching a maximum charge.

  Eliza called out, “O’Neil, are you ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” he replied. He got in one more shot before calling out, “Move people. To the junction!”

  The mix of Ministry and military sprinted for the junction where Maulik waited, his gloved fingers tapping nervously against the triggers of his Queensbury Rules. Ahead of them, they could hear the rebels coming. “I do believe the Ghost Rebellion are on their way.”

  “Agent March,” Eliza said, releasing the safety on the Kick, “back to the front lines with you. Sophia, get behind me.”

  The assassin inclined her head. “I am using you as a shield?”

  Eliza gave her a wry grin. “Not today. Just brace me. There’s a reason it’s called the Mule’s Kick.” She then called out to the troops as Sophia took position behind her. “Hold your fire on my mark!” Eliza glanced at the Mule’s Kick and took in a deep breath. “Ready, Sophia?”

  “Ready,” she replied, her breath hot on Eliza’s neck.

  Eliza pulled the trigger, and waited. The seconds ticking by felt like those when facing Featherstone.

  The cries of the rebels echoed around them as the first of their numbers came out of the shadows.

  Then the handle began to vibrate.

  “Now!” she shouted, leaning forward.

  Sophia�
�s hands pressed against Eliza’s shoulders as the blast from the Mule’s Kick threatened to send her back into the junction. Instead she remained upright as the energy rippled along the walls, floor, and ceiling, knocking all the rebels in every direction. They were either given a good thrashing when thrown into their comrades or a quick death when thrown into the ceiling or wall.

  Military and Ministry charged into the falling dust of the experimental’s attack, leaving Sophia and Eliza behind. The Mule’s Kick weighed incredibly heavy in her hand, but had most assuredly proven its worth.

  “Well done,” Sophia said. “We are still alive. That is an accomplishment.”

  Eliza felt a reply on the tip of her tongue, but then her hand—or the object in her hand—began to vibrate. She looked down at the Mule’s Kick. It was powering up once again.

  “What is the matter?” Sophia asked.

  Eliza swallowed hard. “We might have a problem.”

  Interlude

  Wherein the Ministry’s Finest Make a Noble Final Stand

  The Russian winter tore at Bruce’s hands and cheeks. Through the riding goggles, the light snow did not seem to be falling so much as it was rushing at him. It gave him the illusion that he was moving faster than he actually was, but much to Dmitri’s credit both he and Ryfka were making incredible time. The darkness and incoming weather, however, did very little to boost Bruce’s confidence.

  He pried his eyes away from the road to look down at the sidecar to his right. Bundled in blankets was Ryfka, and from the looks of how she was sitting, it was impossible to tell if she were conscious or even alive.

  Stop thinking that way, Bruce chided himself silently. If she were dead, she’d be flopping around like a damned fish on the pier. She’s still with you. Still in the game.

  He glanced down at the compass set within the dash of the bike. They were still on course. The road Dmitri had told them to follow was just as he said—a straight path to Łódź. Just follow the road, keep an eye on the compass, and stop for nothing. So far, the plan was working. Bruce had promised his mate Brandon a pint. He was determined to make good on that promise.

  A dull thud cut through the sound of wind and motorbike engine, and then a tree in front of them burst into flames, knocking branches, snow, and sheets of bark in front of him. Bruce swerved, feeling the bike threaten to spin out of control. Another thud, and then another. Patches of trees disappeared behind walls of dirt, smoke, and flame. He glanced down at Ryfka, who was straining to look behind them. She forced herself to turn an inch further and then she slumped back into the sidecar. Her hands worked free of the blankets and she signed just one word.

  Bear.

  Bruce had to hope they were close. If they could just get to Łódź, they could have a chance of evading Mama Bear and her Houseboys. Right now, on this road, they were a peach ripe for the picking.

  The trees suddenly disappeared, and up ahead they could make out the dim lights of a city, dark rooftops with smoke slipping out from chimneys, the spire of a church reaching high into the darkness. Bruce could also see the silhouettes of factories, all of them dark. The people of Łódź were either enjoying a nightly round at their favourite pub or settling in for a good night’s sleep.

  What a shame. The Bears thundering behind them were not going to be so considerate of the time.

  Another thud, and to their left snow, dirt, and flame exploded into every direction. The Bear’s arsenal was impressive, but their targeting systems needed work. Still, their motor-bicycle was far easier to narrow on, now free of the forest cover. Bruce fixed his gaze on the outskirts of the city. He could see the details of the factories emerging from the shadows. This close to the extraction, he was not going to give Mama Bear any opportunity to steal this great escape from him.

  A wall of fire rose from the road in front of him. Bruce turned the handlebars to the right, and then leaned left. The sidecar lifted up along with Ryfka shifting in her seat to provide a better balance. Bruce scrunched lower in his own seat as the fire attempted to snatch him off his bike, but it could not claim him or fail to throw his balance and concentration. The bike’s two wheels continued to grip the snowy road as they maneuvered around the shell’s impact. Ryfka bounced lightly in her sidecar as her wheel returned to the ground. Moments later, they were speeding down a snow-covered street surrounded on either side not by trees but by white stone buildings.

  Bruce checked the compass. Once in the city, he had to reach the town centre, and from what Brandon had told him in their trip to Germany, Łódź made for an exceptional extraction point as the main street—the one he was on—eventually led to a circle in the heart of the city. That was where Brandon would be, provided they were not too late.

  “Almost there,” he muttered to himself as the buildings disappeared by him in a blur.

  Łódź’s town circle open up before him, all its surrounding structures appearing as stone giants gathered round a central point. Bruce throttled back the motorcycle, bringing their ride to a halt at an obelisk set in the centre of the courtyard.

  Snow languidly fell around them. The quiet was unsettling. Bruce wriggled his fingers, a hint of warmth returning to his digits. His cheeks stung. Nothing a bit of salve and a good shot of whisky couldn’t cure. He looked up at the stone pillar looming over them, his eyes stopping at the illuminated clock near its top. 9:18. Had they missed the window?

  Bruce stepped out into the courtyard, casting his eyes everywhere. Nothing moved. All the windows were dark. They were alone here.

  Damn.

  The snow crunched underfoot as he returned to the motorcycle. He knelt by the sidecar and pushed back the covers. How are you, Ryfka? His fingers felt stiff, but he knew signing would bring some life back to them.

  Exhausted, Ryfka signed. She looked better than she did on arriving at Dmitri’s farm, but it wasn’t as if she were ready for a night of dance, drink, and song. You did it.

  Bruce bit his bottom lip. In a manner of speaking, yeah.

  Ryfka stared at him for a moment, then reached out and touched his cheek. He suddenly became aware of how long it had been since he shaved.

  “I’m sorry, Ryfka,” he admitted, not bothering to sign. She would know what she said.

  The woman smiled, and shook her head. The smile faded as she looked over his shoulder.

  They are coming.

  Bruce tilted his head to one side, but a tightness welled in his throat as he heard a rhythmic thump-thump-thump coming from all sides. The first Bear appeared in the street just ahead of him. There were two others, one pounding up on the left with another coming in from the right. Perhaps the fourth one was outside of city limits, just in case Bruce pulled a magic trick out of his hat.

  Oh yeah, that’s right. He wasn’t wearing a hat.

  The Bears all hissed to a halt. Their Maxims were not trained on them, however. They just sat there. It was not as if they had cut off all exits, but Bruce would not have been able to get the bike up and running again before these beasties cut him and Ryfka down. Still, they were making no movement closer. They were watching him. Perhaps, assuring themselves it was all over and done with?

  The centre Bear hissed again, and emerging from it was the babushka. Mama Bear was still short, still squat, still a little old lady cut from stone harder than granite, only this time her head was covered not by a kerchief but a soft helmet, its ears flopping as she walked towards him. He would have laughed at her if he didn’t know what a monster she truly was.

  Bruce stood, but Ryfka gently took hold of his wrist. He looked down at her. Stay, she signed.

  Of course, he replied.

  Yeah, let that little terror come to them. Don’t make this easy for her.

  She came to a stop and looked him over from head to foot. “You are most impressive, Bruce,” she stated.

  “You too. Mate of mine told me you didn’t stop until the mission was done.”

  She looked at their bike, and nodded. “Dmitri was quite talen
ted.”

  You old bitch. “Good value, Dmitri. So was his wife.”

  The corner of Mama Bear’s mouth twitched at that.

  “Long way from home,” she said, pulling out from her coat a pistol. No mods. Just a simple, six-shooter pistol. Very practical. Very Russian. “To die so far from there. Must be heart-breaking.”

  Oh, so she wanted to gloat a bit? “You think I’m dyin’ tonight, Mama Bear?” Bruce gave a gruff laugh. “I’m not gonna give ya’ that sort of satisfaction. Besides, we’re not done with ya’ from where I stand.”

  “Bears surround you from three sides. You try to run, we shoot you in leg. We drag you back to girl. I shoot girl in head, then finish you.”

  “That’s what I want you to think,” Bruce said. “This was all part of my plan. I gotcha right where I want ya.”

  The rocket sailed from somewhere above him and struck Mama Bear’s tank. Its explosion made both of them jump along with the Bear itself. The machine then collapsed after returning to earth.

  “Crikey,” Bruce said. “I was bluffing.”

  Mama Bear turned her pistol on Bruce. However, the opportunity to end his merry chase disappeared in a flash. The darkness around them suddenly became nothing but brightness. Bruce was knocked back into the sidecar where Ryfka’s arm went around him. Once the grey and black spots faded from his view, he could just make out Mama Bear on the ground. She was merely dazed, but now unarmed. Her gun sizzled against the fresh snow on the ground. The sidearm appeared to be warped in some way. It was bowing at the centre from where whatever stuck it and sent them both flying.

  “Bruce!” a voice called from across the courtyard.

  He made the mistake of following the voice and the second flash blinded him again. He slipped against the sidecar, fighting back those damned black and grey spots on hearing the sound of crackling electricity and generators spinning down.

  Bruce’s vision had only just returned for him to catch sight of a small rocket sail across the town circle and strike hard into another Bear. The remaining tank had managed to lumber backward, catching only a glancing blow from the attack.