“What do you want me to do?” Mudro asked, waving his hand over the map as if he could make the entire city disappear. “I could deploy some decoys around the city. We could lure them out.”
“I don't want to lure them out,” Rommond said. “I want them to burn in the city. I want everyone there to see them burning. I want the people there to see their captors in flames. I want the entire city to know what Hell they have been living in.”
“What about the everyday folk?” Jacob wondered.
Rommond looked at him as if he were a new recruit. His eyes were stern. “Let me be frank. We are aiming at military installations, but there will be civilian casualties. That is unavoidable.”
“But won't that turn people against us?”
“Us?” Taberah asked with a smile. “So you've finally joined us?”
Jacob stuck out his tongue and cocked his head.
“Some will turn against us, sure,” Rommond replied, “but they have lived under the iron rule of the Regime for many years now, and I am sure they will appreciate their chance for liberty, even if it comes at a cost.”
“I lived there for years,” Jacob said. “Hell, all my life. It was a scum-filled city even before the Regime came. People have kind of gotten used to that. People just get on with things, get on with life.”
“Perhaps, but if we don't do something soon, there won't be much life left in humanity to get on with.”
“What if we fail? What if the people don't want to be saved?”
Rommond's eyes were grim. He slammed his hand down on the map, like an explosion from a tremendous bomb. “Then we will burn this city to the ground.”
* * *
With targets selected, plans were put in motion for the best attack route, and the lieutenants began preparations with Soasa and Alakovi for the deployment of bombs. Rommond returned to his quarters, but Taberah followed him before he had time to shut the door.
“Make this quick,” the general said.
“Why didn't you tell me about the bomb?”
Rommond gritted his teeth. “Close the door, and lower your voice.”
She closed the door, but she did not lower her voice. “Why didn't you tell me?” she asked again.
“If you were still in the Resistance, you might have known.”
“You told me about other things, other projects.”
“This was different,” he said, with a pause. He sat down at his desk, where an array of guns were scattered. It was rare to see his workspace so untidy. He began cleaning up.
“After all we've been through, you should have told me.”
Rommond looked up at her. “And why didn't you tell me about Domas? About Brogan?”
Taberah looked away. “I'm a good listener,” she said. “Sharing is another thing entirely.”
“Then maybe you will forgive me keeping my own secrets.”
“But this isn't your personal little secret, Rommond. This is about the bigger picture. I should be in that bigger picture.”
“I didn't tell you, because ... because I was ashamed.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I made it after Brooklyn died. He wouldn't have approved.”
“He's dead,” she said. “He can't disapprove now.”
“Oh, but he can. His remonstrations haunt me from beyond the grave.”
“You never were one to believe in ghosts.”
“No, but you were,” the general said. “Wasn't that what the Ghostchaser was all about?”
Taberah turned away. “You said we'd never call it that again.”
“The Silver Ghost then.”
“I don't want to discuss that.”
“So maybe the dead haunt us all.”
“There are few living left to haunt,” she said.
“And there might have been none at all if I had completed that bomb.”
“Why did you make it in the first place?”
Rommond's shoulders sagged. “To end this war.”
“At all costs?” she asked.
“At all costs.”
Taberah sat down. “How big would the blast have been?”
“I don't know for certain,” he said. “The aim was to destroy Ironhold in one go. The scientists and engineers did all the calculations.”
“Where are they now?”
“Most of them were annoyed when I cancelled the project.”
“Let me guess,” Taberah said. “They joined the Armageddon Brigade.”
“Yes.”
“Well maybe with that knowledge they can finally achieve their aim.”
“Let's hope not.”
Taberah adjusted in her seat. “Rommond, I know you may think even less of me if I say this, but I have to speak my mind.”
“You always have. It is one of the things I value about you.”
“Well,” she said, “that bomb isn't like you. Many innocent people would have died. Who knows what effect it would have had on our world. Why in God's name did you even contemplate it?”
The shadows gathered on Rommond's face, veiling his features. “The thought had crossed my mind,” he said, “that in order to save this world from Hell, I might have to become the Devil.”
“And what changed your mind?” she asked.
He sighed a terrible sigh. “I'm not so sure I have.”
10 – THE SMOG THAT SHIELDS
The Skyshaker sailed closer to the city of Blackout, and though it was nightfall, the city's fumes funnelled high above the buildings like a darker night. The desert sands, which were an enemy to any ground assault, posed no threat to the airship, but Rommond expected a fierce fight for the airways.
They approached the city, where they could make out the silhouette of the domes and spires, of the many chimneys and flumes, of the ramparts and rooftops. A dark, grimy haze, a mix of green and brown, grey and black, hung over the city streets, turning and churning slowly, like a grim broth stirred by some sorcerer in the sky.
In crusader mode, the steel walls and glass windows protected the crew from the toxic fumes, but everyone inside felt a little smothered anyway, like any visitor to Blackout would. The vapour rose in such thick plumes that it almost seemed alive, a creature made by a city's waste, by a city's long neglect, by its industrial greed.
The Skyshaker drifted slowly, hugging the clouds for cover, dimming or dousing its lamps and lights, mimicking as much as possible the silent run of the Lifemaker. Yet sound was not the real enemy in Blackout; it was sight, and so the crew did everything they could to stick to shadows, to pull the veil of night across them like a blanket, and so hide from the city's many watchful eyes.
Sentries were posted in wooden towers a mile in either direction of Blackout, but Cantro easily avoided these, rising as high as he could in crusader mode, which forced the gondola to dock with the balloon. The city itself had numerous large spyglasses posted on its walls, almost large enough, and with high enough magnification, to see what vessels might sail between the stars. But these too were vulnerable to cloud and night, and the city's own noxious gloom.
The atmosphere aboard the airship was tense. This was the first time in years that the Resistance was truly on the offensive, and Rommond knew well that when it came to breaching a castle, the defender always had the upper hand. Though much preparation had been made over the prior two weeks, everyone knew that they were facing almost insurmountable odds.
The Skyshaker began its slow, steady descent from the clouds. Though it could fly high, it needed to fight low, low enough to see its targets clearly, or risk bombing everything and everyone down below. With many people already buying into the Regime's propaganda, the last thing the Resistance needed to do was burn Blackout's citizens alive.
The faint colours of hot air balloons were now visible in the distance, mimicking in their crowded numbers the sprawling cityscape below. Though the smog still disguised them, it was clear that they were numerous, and Rommond's intel from the ground suggested they were even more plenti
ful than his own lieutenants believed. The battle for Blackout might instead by a war of the heavens.
The city bustled like normal, sending up a clamour to match the clouds. Lights pierced through the gloom, and the Treasury continued to prosper on land, and anywhere else it sunk its golden claws.
“The Treasury taxes these airways,” Taberah pointed out.
“Well don't look at me,” Jacob said. “I'm skint.”
“I've got plenty,” Rommond said, as he span the barrel of his revolver.
“The direct approach?”
“None better.”
An elaborate hot air balloon, richly adorned, and bearing the golden seal of the Treasury, two interlocking stars, one upright and one reversed, appeared from the smog above the city. In the basket was a guard, who guided the balloon until it almost crashed into the Skyshaker. He banged his fist, with its many golden rings, on one of the airship's windows. Cantro opened it with the flick of a lever.
“Have you got clearance?” the guard bellowed, as the wind tried to steal his voice.
“I'm here to meet an old friend,” Rommond said, stepping up to the window.
“That doesn't answer my question,” the guard replied. “Do you have clearance?”
“Let me find my papers.”
“If you don't have clearance, I'll have to alert the Grand Treasurer. Taxes are double then.”
“Here it is,” Rommond said, taking out his gun.
Before the guard had time to respond, the general fired, and the man collapsed inside the basket, and the balloon began to drift of its own accord.
“Reel that in,” Rommond ordered. “We don't want the Grand Treasurer looking for his taxes just yet.”
“With a war going on,” Jacob commented, “you'd imagine taxes would be the least of anyone's worry.”
“The Treasury are old dogs,” Rommond said. “They're fairly predictable.”
Grappling hooks were fired across to the Treasury balloon, which was pulled in close to the Skyshaker, filled with additional helium, and then let ascend swiftly into the sky. All the while the airship continued its own gentle drift, as Rommond's lieutenants tried to see through the fog to the military targets mentioned first on the bombing list.
“Eh, Rommond,” Taberah said, pointing a finger at a series of giant guns perched on the rooftops just ahead. Their barrels were bigger than the cannons on board the Skyshaker, but these were mechanised, operating via a series of cogs and levers. They swivelled into place, aiming straight at the airship.
Just as Rommond was about to shout an order to turn around, or to abandon ship, the guns fired in unison, but they did not fire bullets or rockets or cannonballs. They fired a thick, dark smoke, which filled the sky swiftly until Cantro could not see where he was steering, and the crew could make out little of the city below.
“Well, that's a new trick,” Jacob said.
Taberah moved from window to window. “We can't see a thing.”
“That is quite a gamble,” Rommond said. “What if I didn't care what my bombs hit?”
“But you do, right?” Jacob asked.
“I do, yes.”
“Then I guess that's what makes them the Treasury. They gamble to win.”
“We'll play their game then,” Rommond said. “Let's play an ace.”
“What's that?” Jacob wondered.
Rommond smiled. “You.”
11 – DROP
“You were born in Blackout, right?” Rommond asked.
“Born, bred, worked, and wept there,” Jacob replied. “Why do I get the impression I'll die there too?”
“Your mission is simple,” Rommond said, handing him a Regime uniform. “Perhaps too simple for a smuggler of your calibre.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “So he says before sending him to his doom. What is it then? What's the mission?”
“You've got to turn those smog guns off.”
“Oh, is that all?” Jacob asked derisively.
“They'll likely be guarded.”
“So I just need to dig my way through a thousand guards. Got a shovel?”
“There are rebels down there,” Rommond revealed. “People just waiting for the opportunity to take back over the city. The Guild of Brick and Mortar is where you'll find them. They will help.”
“And how will I know who is who?”
Rommond paused. “Whistler will go with you.”
“I will?” Whistler said, with a hint of glee.
“So I can tell the humans from the demons,” Jacob said, “but what about the evil humans from the good ones, or the good demons from the evil ones?”
“I'll let you wrestle with that,” Rommond replied. “But Jacob, as far as I'm concerned, all of those demons down there are evil.”
“I'll go too,” Soasa said. “You'll need someone to blow up those guns.”
“Fair enough.”
Taberah stepped forward. “I think I should go as well.”
“No,” Rommond said. “No more. The more we send, the more likely we'll be caught.”
“I'm starting to feel like an invalid,” Taberah griped. “You do know I was faking birth back then?”
“If you want to be useful, Tabs, send down the Ghost.”
“I will,” she said. “I'll lead the mission.”
“No, you won't,” Rommond said. “Are you trying to kill that baby of yours?”
Her hand instinctively clutched her belly. She appeared annoyed and embarrassed that it did. Perhaps in her eyes she thought it would be better to clutch a gun instead.
“After everything I did to get the Silver Ghost, I think I deserve to drive it.”
“After everything you did?”
“I'm not forgetting you or Brooklyn's part in it.”
“It seems you are.”
“Nothing will make me forget those days, Rommond. Nothing.”
The silence that followed was broken by Rommond's lieutenants, who argued over the best way to deploy the Silver Ghost. Some wanted to land the Skyshaker, but Rommond opposed this, as it would almost certainly alert the guards in the many outposts.
“What about a drop?” Taberah asked.
“Not here. We're too close to the city. The smog doesn't make them completely blind.” Rommond turned to Cantro. “Pull us back to drop distance. And bring us higher. When we leave this smog, we need to be out of eyeshot.”
Cantro turned the Skyshaker around and flew it back, not the way they had come, which Rommond assumed was now being watched, but thirty degrees off from this.
“That's far enough,” the general said.
Jacob and his smuggling team clambered aboard the Silver Ghost. Before Soasa closed the door, Taberah grabbed her by the collar. “Bring this back safely,” she said. “The Hopebreaker is Rommond's baby. This is mine.”
Whistler looked to the floor, and Jacob could not help but think: What about the one inside you?
“I'll only blow up the enemy,” Soasa quipped, before slamming the door shut.
The warwagon seemed different than it was before. With only three people inside, it felt very odd. There were no gaslights lit, no candles burning. It almost felt abandoned, unloved.
They got dressed quickly, donning their new disguises. It felt odd to wear the uniforms of their enemy. They only hoped it would not somehow change them.
“How do I look?” Jacob asked Soasa.
“Like a demon.”
“A pretty demon though, right?”
“Just a demon.”
“This uniform's too big for me,” Whistler protested. The sleeves covered most of his hands, and the trousers gathered at his shoes, which shined with a gleam typical of the Regime's most orderly forces. It made a marked contrast to the boy's usual frayed and tattered attire.
“You'll grow into it,” Jacob said.
“How long is this mission going to be?” Whistler shrieked.
“Relax kid, we'll be in and out in a jiffy.”
“Will they really be
lieve I'm a soldier?” the boy wondered.
Jacob wondered it as well.
“I wouldn't worry about that,” Soasa said. “Any of their children born here through human parents are, at most, sixteen years old. They're trained young. This is why the war needs to be won soon, or today's children become tomorrow's reinforcements.”
“Okay,” Jacob said. “Let's get this show on the road. I'll drive.” He tried to find the driver's seat, but every door seemed to open into a bedroom.
“Did you not hear what Taberah asked?” Soasa said. “She wanted it back in one piece.”
“Fair enough,” Jacob said, reminded of his flight from Blackout in the steamtruck. “I'll break something else then.”
“There's plenty of smog guns in Blackout to break.”
“What will I do?” Whistler asked.
Jacob smiled at him. “Sit tight, kid.”
“Umm, is that all?”
Jacob sat down and placed his boots upon a table, and folded his arms behind his head. “Until we get to Blackout, that's all I'll be doing.”
But he was wrong.
A hatch beneath the Skyshaker opened with a clang, and the wind swept into the cargo bay like an invasion. Soasa climbed a ladder in the centre of the vehicle, which led into a one-person cockpit, with a small raised roof, from which she could peer over the silver hull of the warwagon. She put it into gear and revved the engines. It was only at that moment that Jacob asked the question in his mind: How do we get down to the ground?
The Silver Ghost rolled forward, down a ramp, picking up speed as it went. The chimneys spat out soot like disgruntled smokers. Then the warwagon slipped through the hole and began to plummet towards the ground.
Inside, Jacob and Whistler clung to their seats, while Soasa clung to the wheel. Jacob peered out of the window, but all he saw was the night sky whisk by. The stars seemed like streaking comets as the Silver Ghost hurtled towards the earth like a meteor of its own.
“I hope you know what you're doing, Soasa,” Jacob called up to her, his voice jittering as the vehicle continued its swift descent. He was partly glad the Skyshaker was up so high; the longer the fall, the longer Soasa had to work her magic. Another part of him had a different thought: the longer the fall, the harder the landing. He doubted they would survive that drop at all.
Skyshaker: A Steampunk Dystopian Adventure (The Great Iron War, Book 3) Page 6
