Dirigibles.
“Stay here and keep the men from panicking,” he ordered Hutton. “I’ll reconnoiter.”
Before his general could object, Alonzo spurred his horse up the ramp. He rushed through the outlying buildings to where the ruined towers marked the edge of the excavation site. His bowels filled with ice water at the sight of six airships painted red and black bearing down out of the bright blue sky. One was bigger, a dire wolf ruling a pack of its lesser kin. Four huge propellers drove it forward. It had two gondolas instead of one. Alonzo’s heart sank. Clark’s personal vessel, the Bailey Mines. It carried Old World artillery.
Clouds of dust rose behind them. Enemy cavalry and footsloggers had come along for the ride. The airships would be there in minutes.
Even if he ordered his men to retreat immediately, an airship could outrun a horseman. He doubted they’d make it back to Fort Cochrane.
He closed his eyes. Goddamn it. This would be just like Fairmont, except Father’s trapped horsemen had charged the Obsidian Guard and broken the first rank before they fell. All Alonzo’s troopers could hope for was to die quickly.
He thought back nearly two decades, to the gardens of the Merrill citadel in Jacinto. He, John, and Catalina, when she could be pulled away from those spinning put-together toys she loved, would play there for hours. John was faster, but he’d keep going, his will driving him to catch his older brother. And Catalina did her best to catch them both. Those were innocent days then, before Ma sickened. Before Grendel’s shadow had fallen across their lives. Before John rode to his death at the hands of Grendel’s most monstrous slave, before he’d fled Fairmont to save part of the army, before Grendel had claimed Catalina for his bed.
His hand flew to his long braids, the ones he’d cut when he killed Clark and Grendel. He would never get the chance now.
He forced himself to focus. The dirigibles drew closer. The longer he waited, the more fear would spread. Panic was what killed armies.
He grit his teeth. If this ended the unspoiled Merrill line, he would make it a battle worthy of his family. A victory as many of their enemies as possible would not live to enjoy. That would not happen if the soldiers died like goddamn sheep.
He spurred his horse back toward the pit.
“This is the Merrill! Prepare to receive dirigibles!”
Race Against Time
Zeke had been right. Owen had peeked around the corner of the stairwell opposite the gangway and immediately leaped back. A repeater chattered. Three bullets passed through where he’d been.
Shit.
Zeke turned to the soldier with the grenades. “Give me a fucking smoke! Gollmar, light them up!”
Zeke struck a match and lit the smoke grenade. When the smoke hissed out, he tossed it around the corner. The repeater chattered. Bullets sliced through the smoke filling the space ahead. Zeke raised his manacled hand, keeping the men from rushing forward. He waited another moment, eyes narrow.
“GOLLMAR!” Zeke threw his hand down.
Owen eeled up the last stairs on his belly. Once in front of the gangway, he unleashed the repeater. The weapon kicked and bucked in his arms, but muscles straining, he kept on target. Men screamed. Bullets ricocheted off the metal above Owen.
The soldier with the grenade scrambled past Andrew into the smoke. The grenade clattered on the metal of the gangway and exploded. More screams. Owen’s repeater kept firing. “HERE WE GO!” Zeke shouted. Owen rose into a crouch, giving the sergeant room to crawl. “SHOOT AND SCOOT!”
The troopers surged. Will crouched by Owen, firing down the gangway. Someone fired back. A bullet ricocheted off the wall and slashed across his face. Will screamed. Teeth and cheekbone flashed. Andrew winced.
Several men had already disappeared into the smoke. Andrew followed on his hands and knees. He nearly tripped over a corpse wearing a brown Merrill uniform haloed in blood. There were three holes in the chest, but the face was still recognizable. Wyatt.
A Flesh-Eater moved in the smoke ahead. Andrew pressed himself down beside Wyatt’s corpse. Hot blood worked its way into the entire length of his sleeve. Bullets cracked over his head. The enemy soldier ahead fell backward out of sight.
Andrew pulled himself forward on his elbows, grip tight on his rifle. The wound in his arm burned with every move. More bullets cracked overhead. A repeater chattered. More screams.
A breeze began pushing the smoke away. Andrew’s throat clenched. He fired into the dissolving smoke before someone could spot him. Zeke stepped over him, firing into the gondola. Owen came behind. Andrew rose and followed the two into the narrow steel box.
“EVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!” Zeke roared. The trio rushed over several Merrill and Flesh-Eater bodies. Most of the surviving crew, Flesh-Eater and Obsidian Guard, obeyed. One man hesitated long enough for Will, blood still trickling from his wounded face and eyes alight with pain, to decorate the wall with his brains.
A Flesh-Eater leaped toward Zeke, knife in hand. Zeke had his rifle pointed toward the end of the gondola. Even if Zeke turned, the Flesh-Eater was too close for him to bring his rifle to bear…
Zeke solved that problem with a blow from the manacle. Blood and teeth flew. The Flesh-Eater sank to his knees. A solid kick to the chest put the Flesh-Eater on his back.
Meanwhile, Andrew spotted two legs in black trousers emerging from behind the steel supports holding up a gun. Blood slickened the floor around him. The guardsman was wounded. Wounded animals were the most dangerous. He stepped closer, rifle up. The man didn’t move. “Throw your repeater down,” Andrew ordered. “Put it down and I won’t kill you.”
The Obsidian Guard were Grendel’s best. That one could have obliterated the Merrill squad if he’d let them into the airship and bushwhacked them. He should shoot him first. Otherwise, he’d get up and kill them all.
Another step forward. The fallen man stayed put. Andrew’s arms started aching. Sweat dripped into his eyes, adding an unwelcome burning pain. He blinked the sweat away. His rifle grew heavy in his hands. He sighed.
Now or never.
He leaped around the gun. The guardsman lay on his back, blood pooling around him. Short blond hair clung close to his skull. Shallow breaths painted his lips and teeth red. He smiled as Andrew drew near. “Ho la Othinn.” His repeater snapped up.
Andrew leaped forward. His bayonet sank into the wounded man’s gut. The blow slammed the man’s head into the steel wall. His repeater clattered to the ground. Andrew tore the bayonet free. A length of intestine came with it.
Around him, the gondola grew quiet. Zeke rushed to a nearby open gunport, pushing the barrel aside to accommodate his size. He forced his head into the open air.
“This is Sergeant Ezekiel Thaxton! The dirigible is ours!”
The Merrill soldiers taking cover around the fort cheered. The cheering soon spread outside.
Andrew looked out the window over one of the guns. With the airship in friendly hands, the Merrill soldiers poured through the gates unimpeded. They rushed through the fort and up the ladders onto the parapets. Here and there gunfire popped. They soon ringed the barracks. Occasional shots rang out from the firing slits, but the men within weren’t shooting like before.
A Merrill officer rode up. He drew a white sash from his pocket and handed it to one soldier. Holding it above his head, the trooper approached the barracks. Nobody fired. Andrew held his breath. Would the Flesh-Eaters make this easy or hard?
The scarred wooden door slowly opened. A skinny Flesh-Eater officer clutching a bloody rag to his forehead stepped out. Andrew couldn’t hear him, but he looked tired, like he didn’t care anymore. Andrew leaned forward, eyes locked on the man. Someone like that might surrender!
The soldier returned to confer with the officer. The officer nodded. The soldier called back to the Flesh-Eater, who stepped back inside.
A moment later, unarmed Flesh-Eaters began filing out. Behind the dozen or so soldiers came several women. Some, the younger-looki
ng ones, looked around with wide eyes. Others, older and more beaten-down, didn’t look like they cared about anything. A couple had blonde hair, but none were as tall as Cassie or had the straw-colored shade he and Sarah shared. His heart sank.
Then Andrew’s hopes surged. Weeks in enemy captivity could have changed things. Maybe the goddamn cannibals dyed their hair. He headed for the gangway.
Zeke’s voice stopped him dead. “Sutter, where the hell you think you’re going?”
“They’re taking the women out of the barracks,” Andrew babbled. “My sister and my girl back home were taken by them. I have to —”
“You have to stay right where you’re at.” The force of Zeke’s words crushed Andrew’s will to disobey. Zeke frowned. “And now I’d like to know why the hell the dirigible crew didn’t join the fight.”
He reached out and grabbed a short, dark-haired Flesh-Eater technician by the collar. “This thing’s a death machine. Why didn’t you send it out?” The technician did not respond. Zeke shook him. “Answer the goddamn question!”
The man’s jaw worked. “We were finishing up an engine when the shells started falling,” he finally admitted.
“What’s left to be done? Can this thing fly?”
The thought of possessing the dirigible brought a grin to Andrew’s face. He looked up and down the rows of guns lining the gondola. With something like this they could scourge whole Flesh-Eater columns! They could even smash forts!
“Just a little bit more!” the technician babbled.
Zeke grinned.“Magnificent. Simmons, come with me. Let’s get this bastard flying.”
Zeke dragged the technician toward a ladder in the middle of the gondola. Holding a cloth over his disfigured face, Will followed. Will forced the technician to follow Zeke up before ascending himself.
Shouting erupted below the dirigible. Andrew stuck his head out. A trooper rushed from the barracks with a sheaf of papers in hand. He showed it to the officer. The man immediately yelled for troopers and pointed to the mooring tower.
The soldiers on the ground surged inside. Soon they rushed onto the dirigible itself. Hardy was among them. Andrew and his squad rose to salute.
“At ease,” Hardy said. “Flesh-Eater command just said to mount up as many as possible and send them west. Ride the horses to death if they have to.” Everyone winced. “They’ve got the Merrill pinned down with dirigibles along with a lot of our boys. Jasper Clark himself is there aboard the Bailey Mines. Our airship the Asherton’s too far away. That leaves us.”
Andrew’s eyes widened. Jasper Clark. The lord of the Flesh-Eaters. The man he failed to kill in Carroll Town. The evil mind behind the army that destroyed all he loved now attacked the Merrill!
Hardy’s attention fell on Andrew. “Who’s in charge here?”
Andrew’s mouth worked for a moment. “Sergeant Thaxton, sir. He took one of the enemy up there” — he pointed to the ladder — “to do some work on the engine. He said that’s why it didn’t join the main fight.”
Hardy nodded. “Get him.”
Andrew scurried up the ladder into the cavernous balloon interior. He climbed onto a long metal walkway rolling like a tongue through the airship. Metal struts rose like ribs around him. “Sergeant!” His words echoed.
“Sutter?” Zeke replied. Andrew followed the sound to a doorway in the side of the balloon. At the end of the walkway were Zeke, Will, and the captive technician. A shrapnel-riddled corpse had been pushed to the side.
“The L-T sent me. The Merrill’s in trouble.” Zeke shot upright, using a combination of swear words Andrew had never heard before. Andrew’s mind whirled. “He wants us to go help.”
“Simmons, get him finished on that engine-double quick. If he tries anything kill him.” Zeke eyed the technician. “He’s good with machinery, so he’ll know if you’re up to something. Take a look at his face. He’s in no fucking mood.”
The technician quickly nodded.
Zeke’s steps boomed down the walkway. Andrew followed him through the hatch. “What are your orders, sir?” Zeke asked Hardy.
Hardy smiled. “We’re going to leave a skeleton crew here and head west as fast as possible. Relieve the Merrill and use this here dirigible to kick some cannibal ass.”
Muttering echoed behind Andrew. Zeke turned away from the lieutenant. “Silence in the ranks!”
Hardy looked at Zeke. “He” — gesturing toward Andrew — “said something’s wrong with the ship’s engine. Can it fly?”
“One of my boys is working on it with a technician. They were finishing up when we dropped in.” Hardy raised an eyebrow. “Simmons has an eye on him,” Zeke continued. “If the prisoner’s treacherous, he’ll fix him good and proper.”
Hardy nodded and turned to Andrew. “Check on the status of the engine.”
Andrew had barely touched the ladder when the technician started climbing down, Will close behind.
“Can it fly?” Hardy asked.
Will poked the technician with an elbow. Slowly the technician nodded.
“Excellent news.” Hardy turned to Zeke. “The major will command the ground troops. The dirigible’s mine. We’ll swap out as many enemy personnel as possible and pair the pilot and technicians we can’t replace with troopers to keep them honest. Our platoon will man the guns and the fire extinguishers.”
Grins broke out among the soldiers. Andrew joined them. They’d all run from airships. Now it was time to turn the tables.
The sharp stink of spent gunpowder was overpowering, but it didn’t entirely mask the metallic scent of spilled blood. Alonzo watched the smoke-shrouded dirigibles floating over the excavation site through a broken window and brooded over just how they’d gotten into this pickle.
His good, loyal men had met the dirigibles as they approached the excavation site. Pillars of smoke rose from where the Old World gun felled two airships. One went straight down. The other carved a furrow into the stony ground, leaving a trail of small fires. Alonzo whooped with the others, hoping they just might live through this.
Then the Bailey Mines pulped the priceless gun. The remaining dirigibles’ Sawyer guns swept the front of the excavation site, shredding men or forcing them into cover. Clark’s heavy guns then smashed their refuges. Those who survived that fled into the storms of Sawyer fire.
He and his guards had scrambled into the telegraph office, stepping over the bound corpse of the captured Flesh-Eater colonel. They’d barely avoided a burst that shredded a trooper behind them.
Now the dirigibles floated overhead. Their gondolas and balloons bore scars from the surviving balloon-poppers, but none were damaged enough. The snarling Sawyers tore through the hot, smoky air. Occasionally a bigger gun sounded, either one of the heavies on the smaller dirigibles or one of the monsters on the Bailey Mines.
Alonzo scowled. By dusk, the Merrill army would be dead. And he would have nobody to blame but himself.
Had he ordered the Old World weapons destroyed — they had the artillery and explosives for the task — they might have been able to flee before the dirigibles arrived. But he’d gotten ambitious. He’d hoped to arm the entire Merrill host with Old World kit make them the equal of the Obsidian Guard.
Had he succeeded, they could have sent the Flesh-Eaters scrambling for their lairs in the hills. Hell, if the rumors were true about slave gangs building railroads in the west, arming those men would have shaken Grendel on his throne in Norridge!
But he had failed. Now he and his men were trapped beneath the guns of four airships. If the enemy didn’t simply level every building and then stamp on the fleeing men like boys killing bugs, they could keep the Merrills pinned until Flesh-Eater ground troops arrived. The thousands who’d followed him to their doom would be lucky if they died in some last stand rather than being crucified or offered to the Howling God.
His own death, even if it meant the bloodline stretching back to Charles Merrill and the days after the Fall would only survive in the spawn Grendel
forced on his sister, would be a fair payment for his foolishness. But the skeletal regiments who’d followed him to his doom didn’t deserve that.
The dry country rolled away beneath the dirigible as its propellers drove it toward the excavation site. Below lay a rail line running beside the black traces of an Old World road.
Alongside these roads stood wooden pillars. Nailed to the pillars were men. Some wore ordinary clothes or, more rarely, brown Merrill uniforms, but others had been crucified naked. Vultures and pterodactyls gnawed on the faces of those hopefully already dead.
Andrew’s stomach roiled. Maybe survivors of Carroll Town ended up on poles if they made too much trouble for the Flesh-Eaters. Although the dead below were all men, the image of Cassie and Sarah dying by inches rose unwanted into his mind.
“This the first time you’ve seen this?” Will asked. Though his wound had been bandaged, pain crossed his face with every word. Andrew nodded. Will looked down at the bodies. “Maybe some’re still alive. Our boys on the ground will cut them down. Sickness’ll take most, but there’re men in this army who’ve came down off the posts.”
Andrew continued looking out the window. Behind and below, the Second Pendleton pursued the airship. Individual horsemen periodically broke off from the main body to swing by the crucified men. Several gathered around one. Andrew looked for Alyssa. No luck. “Hopefully they’ll get that done quickly,” he muttered. “We might need them.”
“Leave no man behind, either for the cross or the barbecue grill.” The soldiers below were pulling a man down. “Good Lord willing, we’ll catch some Flesh-Eater honcho and put him up in that one’s place.”
Andrew didn’t mind that at all.
An Awkward Gathering…
Grendel and his commanders gathered on the iron balcony overlooking the great rail yard in the heart of Norridge. Most of them at least. Clark had wished to return to his domains, citing the risk of increased Merrill activity after the harvest. He claimed his presence was more needed now that ten regiments were hundreds of miles away.
Battle for the Wastelands Page 26
