Winds of Wrath

by Taylor Anderson

  Not only were they personal friends of the legendary “Captain Anson,” they’d achieved a degree of celebrity as the first representatives of its new allies to make contact with the NUS. And they still—technically—had ambassadorial status. That made them tolerated, even amusedly welcomed by some when they dropped in to hang out in General Cox’s headquarters from time to time. But they came from a different world—quite literally, in Fred’s case—and were accustomed to friendly (if not actually casual) association with such luminaries as High Admiral Jenks and General Shinya, commanding the Allied forces fighting this way from the Pass of Fire, as well as their political leaders—and Captain Reddy himself. They behaved themselves, and treated General Cox and his senior officers with due respect, but may have also acted a little more familiar than was customary for Nussie junior officers. Their hosts didn’t know what to think of that, and some probably resented them. Most simply dismissed them as a couple of kids, and no one took them very seriously.

  “I’m gettin’ tired of this,” Kari groused quietly aside to Fred as a plate heaped with locally procured scrambled eggs, a hard biscuit from a cask, and something tasting like salted rhino pig was set before her. They’d been admitted to a junior officer’s mess, a long hall once part of what had been the “palace” of El Palo’s absent alcalde. Heavy beams supported plastered walls, and a ceiling of baked ceramic tiles kept the predawn drizzle off. A young local girl, once a slave in this very house, served those at their end of a long, central table.

  “Not the accommodations, surely,” a burly artillery captain named Giles Meder objected, chewing briskly, brown muttonchops flowing with the motion of his working jaw in such a way that suddenly riveted Kari. “Or the fare,” he added lightly, raking in another mouthful.

  “No, that’s all swell,” Fred agreed. He liked the sometimes profanely pious Meder who commanded “C” Battery—six guns—in the 3rd NUS Artillery Regiment. The Nussies employed a lot of rifled guns, mostly 10 and 20 pdrs, but Meder’s smoothbore 12 pdrs were strikingly similar to those of the Allies Fred and Kari represented—which had been patterned after weapons derived from those first brought to this world by the Nussies. That fascinated Fred, particularly since all the refinements to the basic form they’d independently undergone left them virtually identical. That made sense, he supposed, since there was only so far a particular design could go. “I—me and Kari—just want back in the war. Back in the air,” he emphasized. Meder had already offered to let them carry charges for his guns.

  “I suppose that’s a very fine thing,” Meder allowed, “swooping about with a bird’s-eye view of a battlefield, but I prefer to keep my feet firmly planted on God’s good earth.”

  Fred started to point out they didn’t just “swoop about” and Meder might not like how vulnerable he’d be to air attack, but let it pass.

  Meder gestured at his food. “Eat. One way or another, I suspect you’ll need your strength today. The God-damned Doms have worked their way all around us, and can’t wait much longer to strike. The longer it takes them to destroy us, the closer your General Shinya comes.”

  Fred also refrained from reminding him that Shinya was still a long way off. Meder knew that as well as he did.

  A bugle sounded “officer’s call” in the darkness, its notes carrying through the open door. Meder, Fred, and Kari, and twenty other officers at the table, quickly wolfed down a couple more bites and chairs screeched and clattered on the stone floor as everyone rushed out into the clammy darkness. Caught in the middle of the hustling men, Fred and Kari were surrounded by the funk of stale perspiration permeating damp uniforms. It lasted only a moment since all the lieutenants quickly dispersed to their units. Only Meder and two other captains continued toward Cox’s headquarters in El Palo’s central temple.

  The temple wasn’t a pyramid here; the town was too small for such extravagance, but the square, two-story building boasted a tall, fat tower affording a fine view of the surrounding countryside. There’s never been a bell in that tower, like in a church back home, Fred remembered with a queasy feeling, only a big, bronze basin to collect the blood of human sacrifices. They’d found evidence that T-shaped crosses were erected there from time to time as well, so victims could be burned alive. There were no crosses now, and the basin had been thrown to the cobbled street below as another grim reminder of their purpose here.

  “Joining us again?” Meder asked, amused.

  “Sure. Why not?” Kari challenged. “We got no plane so we’re just observers here. You know a better place to waatch?”

  Meder looked up at golden streaks beginning to color purple clouds. “This will burn off soon, I think. A fine day to do God’s work and smite these soulless Doms,” he said cheerfully. “If you don’t want to join me with the guns, I can’t think of a better place for you.” A commotion was growing around them, more bugle calls sounded, and messengers galloped up and down the streets, horse hooves loud on the cobbles. Meder quickened his pace. “There’s something going on. Best we hurry.”

  General Hiram Cox was tall and thin, his form exaggerated by the high collar and narrow waist of his dark blue frock coat. Bright red hair and whiskers were striking against a complexion as dark as any Dom, but that wasn’t unusual on a world where every human population they knew of, the League excluded, was a result of generations of racial blending. A local servant wrapped a scarlet sash and buff sword belt around Cox’s waist even as he listened to a steady stream of messengers. Fred and Kari saw one of them was an exhausted-looking Captain Anson, who spared them an ironic smile before stepping before the general.

  “They have committed themselves,” he said, summarizing the previous tidbits. “They’re definitely moving into attack positions.”

  “Where?” Cox demanded, moving to a broad table with a large map laid out.

  Anson pointed. “Mostly to the south, though a strong force seems prepared to shift back to the Camino Militar and press us from the east. We must be prepared for assaults from both directions . . .” He hesitated. “Possibly more. There’s been no sign of their lancers, yet native scouts report they have a sizable contingent.”

  “Shock troops,” Fred said, not meaning to, but Anson nodded. “Exactly. Prepared to strike where we’re thinnest, at the worst possible time. I’d imagine that’ll be from the east as well—or west.”

  “Behind us?” Cox questioned. Even with their backs to the sea, they’d taken to considering the direction Shinya and his “Army of the Sisters” would come from as “behind” them. In more ways than one, that was correct. There’d be no retreat by ship, and except for a further five thousand or so that joined the initial landing force of fifty thousand men, there’d be no more Nussie troops. Several thousand locals had been recruited, anxious to throw off the age-old blood-rite tyranny of their masters, but they had to be trained, armed, and clad—all the more reason why supplies had to keep coming—and watched for spies, of course. Most would make good troops, with time, the bulk of their training consisting of total immersion in existing units where spies were usually quickly identified by fellow recruits. Suspects tended to simply vanish.

  But Shinya’s army represented the only professional, battle-tested reinforcements they could expect. Another Dom army, a scratch-built force under General Mayta, stood between them, but it was close to three hundred miles away at El Henal. It was in no position to advance, and could only hope to block Shinya. Fred and Kari’s assurance that Mayta would succeed in that on a “cold day in hell” was taken as gospel. Anson had met Shinya and corroborated their assessment. Still . . . “How could they have worked their way entirely around us without being detected?” Cox pressed.

  Anson wearily shrugged. “This is their land.” He glanced at Fred and Kari again. “One is tempted to consider the forest an impenetrable solid, but it’s not like that at all. Besides, there’s a web of interconnecting roads and paths beneath its canopy. We have limite
d mounted troops and can’t watch every trail.” He sighed. “Even if we did, they could still go ’round on horseback. Farther out, I daresay, than any local from here has ever ventured. Casual travel by the . . . lower classes between points in the Dominion isn’t encouraged,” he explained dryly, “nor is it safe. As you know, even our armed scouts suffer casualties to the forest predators.” He pressed his finger on the map south of town. “But whatever else they do, the bulk of their troops are massing here and we must deploy to meet them. Except for the direction of the attack, it’s all very straightforward. Too much so. I strongly recommend a respectable force be kept in the prepared breastworks facing east, and an equally formidable combined reserve be retained against all temptation to use it early, regardless of the apparent necessity or opportunity.”

  Cox leaned forward, studying the map and rubbing his chin. “Combined . . . I trust you mean infantry, artillery, and dragoons? Very well. Thanks to your efforts over the last days we’ve not been taken by surprise and are already prepared for much of what you advise.” He looked up. “Colonel Prine, see to the organization of Captain Anson’s reserve, if you please. Use the Fourth and Eleventh Infantry—they have no place in the line as yet—and Major Wolf’s dragoons.” He looked around and his eyes settled on Meder. The 3rd Artillery Regiment was near the southern defensive line, bolstering the incomplete breastworks, but Cox was enamored with the new rifled guns and considered smoothbores obsolete. “Colonel Hara,” he said to Meder’s commanding officer, “you’ll pull your guns and join the reserve. If you’re needed I expect the action will be close and your, ah, older weapons will still shine.”

  Hara visibly banished his flaring resentment and simply saluted before motioning to Meder and two other officers. “Of course, sir,” he said. “In that case we’d best be moving so other guns can assume our positions.” He glanced significantly at the brightening sky outside a nearby window, its heavy wooden shutters open. “Wouldn’t want the enemy to catch us in the middle of that.”

  “Indeed. Dismissed.”

  Anson wore a troubled frown and Cox was quick to notice. “Your company is exhausted, Captain,” Cox told him gently, misinterpreting Anson’s unease. “You’ll stay with me, your men nearby and ready to join the reserve at need.”

  Anson nodded distractedly.

  “Whaat do you waant us to do?” Kari asked.

  “Observe with the rest of us, from the tower overhead,” Cox replied dismissively. There was easily room for a dozen up there and part of his staff would join him. A pair of field telegraph operators were already clambering up the spiral stairs. “I’m sure it’ll be quite a show,” he added.

  * * *

  * * *

  The first threat to emerge from the distant tree line south of town stood on four legs, not two. Amid a rumble of crashing saplings at the edge of the wood, frightened mooing sounds, and the occasional hair-raising squeal, a number of gigantic sauropods seemed to almost slither into view. At first glance they looked and moved like momentous hovering snakes, long necks and tails weaving back and forth horizontal to the ground. Their coloration resembled copperheads, to Fred, and that added to the serpentine impression. Only a second glance was drawn to the massive pillar-like legs urgently churning beneath them. They seemed oblivious to the fact they’d been revealed, or to the different nature of their surroundings, and rampaged through the low standing crops of damp maize growing on the plain for eight hundred to one thousand yards around El Palo. Other creatures, large and small, joined them as they moved. Predator and prey ran together, heedless of one another. Whipping tides of birds and flying reptiles of all description flowed and fluttered above them all. No one in the tower spoke until Kari observed the obvious: “Somethin’s pushin’ ’em.”

  A thunderous roar announced the arrival of six huge bipedal predators like Fred and Kari had seen before. These were a different color: darker, like the herbivores, but otherwise identical and just as big. They kept themselves nearly horizontal as well, long tails whipping, shorter necks supporting great heads with steam-shovel jaws clearly designed to tear and engulf massive gobbets of flesh. They had no front legs or arms at all and their long back legs were almost as disproportionate as their heads. That made them look like giant, walking mouths, and that was essentially what they were.

  “My God,” Cox exclaimed. “I’d wager they’re fifty feet long, and stand eighteen high! I’ve never seen their like.”

  In fact he had. There were similar monsters in North America, but none were used this way. Each beast was restrained on either side by chains secured to several of the biggest breed of armabueys known to exist. All armabueys looked like giant armadillos with horny shells and long, spiky tails, and Doms used those of average size as draft animals and to pull their largest cannon. Still tiny in the distance, and in comparison to the beasts they controlled, these were actually too big for that and each was surrounded by a cluster of men dressed in bright red breechcloths. Dragon priests, Fred thought, struck by their dress. It’s warmer here than it was at Fort Defiance—and they probably like to stay agile.

  “We’ve seen critters like ’em,” Kari declared. “Call ’em ‘Super-duper lizaards.’ An’ they pulled the same stunt on us.” Fred and Kari had been busy elsewhere at the time but they’d heard about it. “They weren’t thaat big a deal, just scaary as hell, is all.”

  “They are that,” Cox agreed, noting the more urgent preparations in the unfinished breastworks three hundred yards away. Some outlying structures had been incorporated into the defense and fatigue parties were heaping stones and timbers in front of the line. There were almost twenty-five thousand troops down there, their numbers thicker in the middle, and national and regimental flags hung limp and sodden at regular intervals. There was considerable confusion behind the left flank of the rough crescent-like position as the 3rd Artillery scrambled to pull out and make room for a couple of batteries of 10 pdr rifles. Mounted couriers dashed back and forth and loud shouting could be heard. “No doubt their primary purpose is intimidation: to break our resolve before their assault,” Cox surmised, then grunted, glancing at Fred and Kari. “I thought you said the Doms still enjoyed their penchant for pre-battle chats.”

  “They did with us,” Kari confirmed, “but maybe they figger they did all the taalkin’ with Nussies they needed to a hunnerd years ago.”

  Anson stifled a chuckle and Cox glared at him. “Be that as it may, perhaps we can reverse the effect they intend their monsters to make.” He turned to the telegraphers. “Inform Major Alai he has some interesting targets for his twenty pounders.”

  “General—” Anson began, but Cox waved him to silence. Anson colored and brusquely raised his telescope to study the approaching beasts—and the forest beyond. “The enemy’s unlimbering their guns at the edge of the forest, close on the heels of the monsters, and their infantry’s beginning to form,” he said in a “by the way” manner. It was obvious he thought the terrifying beasts were more a distraction than a genuine threat. And not only did the Nussie artillerymen have to deal with the monsters in any event, those at ground level couldn’t see what the enemy was doing over the long mound of chest-high maize. “Should’ve cleared it away,” Kari heard Anson mutter. “But just because our men can’t see the enemy, doesn’t mean they’re safe.” The NUS Army might be inexperienced but its artillerymen were well-trained at laying fire under the direction of observers.

  Cox wasn’t an idiot and he seized on Anson’s hint. “The rest of our artillery in the southern line will commence firing at their predetermined ranges and fuse settings.”

  Each section of guns had been assigned a specific sector of the tree line, the range carefully surveyed. The idea was that adjustments would be made from the tower.

  The first battery of six 20 pdrs was almost directly in front of them and all the guns roared together. A single enormous cloud of gray-white smoke billowed out toward the field and th
e concussion of the report slapped Fred and Kari in the face. Fred caught himself wishing for the earphones in his lost plane and Kari belatedly covered her ears. Another battery barked together, twenty-pound shells shrieking downrange with an urgent ripping sound.

  The Nussie’s rifled guns were probably as accurate as any modern artillery piece would be if it had to be rolled back into battery and re-aimed between each shot. And within their range limitations, of course. But they couldn’t be traversed, elevated and aimed through the shot, like Walker’s 4″-50s, for example, so it was far more difficult for them to hit a moving target. Particularly when multiple guns relied on a single command to fire. Thus it was that at barely seven hundred yards, only one of the first dozen shots scored a hit on a “super-duper lizard.”

  The result was impressive to be sure, the heavy shell striking low in the abdomen and penetrating a couple of feet before the fuse exploded the bursting charge. The beast’s intestines spewed out in a gout of smoke and the shattered ribs and head flipped back against the monster’s rump as the whole thing collapsed in a lifeless heap. The surrounding armabueys, oblivious and undeterred, began dragging the flopping corpse. And the advancing wall of sauropods and other things weren’t oblivious to the loud eruptions in front of them, quickly veering to angle away to the east and west. The battery fire resulted in that one advantage, at least, but Cox was outraged.