“Our torpedoes can take it out.”
“The turtle’s couldn’t.”
“Ours pack ten times the punch of a civilian submersible,” the exec replied with confidence and more than a little pride. “We can bum it to smithereens.”
“What about Amphib units standing guard in the tunnel?”
“Shock and heat will eliminate the closest.”
“And the rest?”
The Cinnabarian’s stoic face soured. “They’ll come swarming.”
“Let them,” said Aladdin grimly.
Christóbal put a cautious hand on the adventurer’s shoulder. “Be careful, capitán. You saw how formidable they are.”
The lessons from the Academy fight were not lost on Aladdin. “I have a small surprise for them as well, old friend. We won’t give them the opportunity to flood our ships.” He looked at the exec. “Signal the convoy. Have transports three and four position themselves alongside for action.”
The Cinnabarian seemed puzzled. “Three and four, sir?”
Aladdin smiled without humour. “Surface tactics, commander. Now hurry; I want everything in place before we launch.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The officer duly tapped out his coded message. A barely discernible light blinked from the rear deck, instructing the rest of the convoy. Slowly, like great whales, the third and fourth vessels drew up along either side of the flagship. “Close in,” said Aladdin when they were together. The canal entrance already loomed larger than life; the final seconds ticked away.
“Stationary!” called Aladdin.
The transports stopped. Christóbal shared a long look with his partner, both men managing a smile, wishing the other good fortune, as they always did before battle. But this time, the fight was to be one like they’d never experienced before.
“Three hundred meters from the canal,” came the exec’s voice.
Perfect torpedo distance, Aladdin knew, glad that he’d studied the Cinnabarian military manuals so carefully.
“Hold position and be prepared to launch.”
Beads of sweat dotted the exec’s upper lip as his gloved hand reached for the release lever. “Ready, sir.”
“Launch one and two.”
Hand pulled back on the levers, the exec replied “Aye, Aye,” and set the projectiles in motion. They whooshed from the ship and spit into the dark water, deadly, heat-seeking, cutting a narrow swath and leaving a whirling wake. Then, like huge humming knives, they struck.
The sea lit up like a sky full of Chinese rockets. Vibrations from the forceful blast caused the transport to shake. In a tumult of searing heat, the enemy nets began to tear and burn. “Signal three and four transports!” called Aladdin.
Front hatches opened, and into the quivering sea surged the first waves of Aladdin’s shock troops — the sea-horse cavalry.
The swift-racing cavalry charged forward toward the tunnel. Fallen Amphib guards floated around them like burning cinders, wailing and screaming soundlessly as they were consumed. From the deeper recesses of the canal, Aladdin could see the shapes of shaken but unhurt enemy swimmers, propelling their way forward on flat boards, weapons in hand. Swimming through the burning debris of nets and dying compatriots, they hurled deadly bolts from their harpoon guns at the approaching cavalry. Fearlessly, the sea horses rushed to meet them head-on. The fight was wild and furious.
A few of the cavalrymen staggered from their saddles, harpoons jammed in their bellies. Screens of bubbles drifted from their mouthpieces as they reeled backward and screamed. The first line pushed through the fire of the burning nets, and reached the lip of the canal’s tunnel. There they were met by a scrambling group of enemy archers letting loose a deadly rain of shafts. But the fighting horsemen held. Staggering and bloody, they maintained the lines as the second and third wave of shock troops reached the perimeter.
Aladdin cringed as he saw one officer fall in hand-to-hand combat with an overpowering adversary. The agile fish man came up from behind, blade in hand, and slashed the air-line leading to the Cinnabarian’s tank. Whipping out his humming knife, the officer tumbled from the saddle. The blade lashed through the water in slow-motion-like movements. The fish man caught the tip in his gut, but his webbed hand twisted the neck of the airless soldier, snapping his head. The Cinnabarian floated helplessly while the fish man imploded in awful agony, his body fried from within.
Great tongues of fire whipped around the tunnel entrance. It was a clashing of weapons now as the cavalry fought in face-to-face combat with the defenders. The officer in command, crouched low in the saddle, lanced a fish man with his spear, and bolted his way through the enemy line. A dozen others followed on his heels. The stalwart enemy defence, taken by surprise, outnumbered now, fought desperately to retain its position. Harpoon guns ablaze, it fired a sickening barrage into the faces of the advancing foes. Sea horses toppled, Cinnabarian soldiers fell helplessly into the water, some of them grappling hand to hand with defenders. Others, ensnarled by the burning nets, were burned alive.
“Now!” cried Aladdin, watching the horror from his place beside the transport’s commander.
With lights blazing and rotors humming, the convoy of submersibles shot forward toward the tunnel. A dozen enemy swimmers, who valiantly sought to impede the advance, were caught and trapped by the spinning rotary blades. Blood spat out in every direction. Hacked to pieces, the dismembered defenders slowly floated away in the wake. Their corpses littered the sea.
The flagship transport rammed its way to the tunnel and reached the canal. More torpedoes were released, hitting any and all obstructions. A small submersible commandeered by the fish men took a direct hit and rolled over on its side. Immediately, swimmers scrambled to get out of the escape hatch and reach the safety of the water. But advance units of the cavalry were already flanking and outstripping the fast-moving transports. They bore down hard and unmercifully on the stricken defenders, slashing with lances and humming knives, turning the black tunnel into a bright caldron of death.
The flagship began its ascent and surfaced in the canal. Aladdin gave the signal and the hatches banged open. Hundreds of infantrymen clambered onto the canal banks and quickly dispensed with the few fish men trying feebly to maintain their positions in front of the tunnel’s air pocket. From the resting assault vessels, a cavalry on zebra-like ponies disembarked. The animals jumped onto the banks. Sword-wielding horsemen, low in their saddles, shouted Cinnabarian war cries.
“Take those locks!” shouted Aladdin, as he scrambled from the hatch and stood on top of the iron surface. Streams of infantrymen poured from the convoy, splashing now through the shallow canal water and scrambling up the slippery banks.
“Gas masks on!” Aladdin yelled, as he stripped himself of tank and goggles and put on his own breathing apparatus. The lesson learned aboard Shara’s turtle had not been forgotten. If the fish men hoped to stem the assault, they wouldn’t do it with poison gas this time. Then, with Christóbal beside him he leaped onto land.
The battle for the locks was swift and bloody. As the convoy submersibles slowly came into berth, the defending fish men, outnumbered and pushed back into the darkened locks, regrouped and held firm. The dank air reeked with the burning of flesh, as humming knives ripped into the enemy ranks. Human torches wailed and threw themselves into the canal, gasping, moaning, tottering, and falling to their knees. Harpoons went flying; a deadly rain of them whistled across the tunnel. Dozens of infantrymen staggered in the canal, knee-deep in water, as scores of their compatriots plunged into the froth beside them and continued to advance.
Aladdin dispatched a fish man with his blade and led a charge into the heart of the enemy. The high-pitched hum of the sailing harpoon was more than enough to warn him. He splashed onto the bloody and water-clogged bank as the shaft came down. The soldiers scattered, leaving one of their companions crying out on the ground, a spear through his wet suit and embedded in his spleen.
Aladdin scrambled to his feet, shoutin
g. “To the locks!” And the brave troop followed blindly, with coronets blaring and a standard-bearer holding high the royal flags of Cinnabar.
The defenders were pushed back again. One by one, the locks were regained in blood. Dozens of fallen fish men and Cinnabarian soldiers lay sprawled about and motionless, attesting to the hard-fought struggle. Then the advancing units stormed out of the darkness of the canals, through the sealed gates, and into the Outland. A cherry haze of approaching whitetime eased across the cavernous sky, outlining the barren and forsaken hills of this worthless terrain.
Christóbal nudged Aladdin and gestured to his right. Scores of the zebra-like ponies were tearing out of the locks, unimpeded. The last of the defending fish men had been routed from the locks. Entry to the Outland had once again been secured by the forces of Cinnabar. But for how long? Ahead of them an abundance of enemy replacements stood out starkly, far across the land.
Adjutants came running with fresh ponies. Both Aladdin and Christóbal mounted and eased themselves into the uncomfortable saddles.
“We’ve regained all lower-level canals,” said a burly uniformed officer to his surface-world superiors. Like so many veterans of Cinnabar’s continual campaigns, his face was laced with scar tissue, which he wore more proudly than the shining medals on his breast.
“Good,” replied Aladdin. “What about counterattacks?”
The senior officer leaned over in the saddle and soothed the mane of his restless pony as he said, “Reserve transports should be able to hold the locks, at least for a while. Our job is to — ”
“I know, I know,” said Aladdin, cutting him off and staring gloomily into the silent hills, where the Outland sky was growing brighter. “Send troops from your left flank that way,” he added, pointing. “Cavalry first, infantry right behind. Position the archers across the heights over there.” Now he pointed vaguely to the right. “We don’t want to find our forces bisected by an enemy suicide charge.”
The scared soldier grinned knowingly. These were bold tactics, unlike the extreme caution employed by the War Room commanders at Supreme. The surface general was living up to his reputation. He saluted smartly, tugged at the reins, then turned, bellowing orders to his subordinates.
Aladdin’s army looked like a curious and ill-fitting bunch: Wet-suited infantrymen, glistening in wet rubber uniforms; stocky cavalrymen poised upon their zebra-like steeds; and dour archers with gas masks over their faces — all following commands unquestioningly as they raced for the hilltops to take up their dangerous positions. This was an army unlike any he had ever commanded, much less seen, before, but a bunch of stout lads who’d lived with death nearly every day of their careers. A better group he’d never known.
“Forward!” called Aladdin, raising his hand and lowering it. The haggard and weary troops, who had successfully stormed and won the canals, began to move toward newly assigned positions.
For the better part of the new dawn, Aladdin’s forces moved swiftly and unimpeded. The archers took up stronghold positions across the colourless heights; advance units of the fast-moving cavalry surged over the valleys and gullies, while the bulk of the infantry pushed along the middle ground. For a while, it seemed as though Aladdin’s army would push across the heart of the Outland without an encumbrance and would penetrate the centre of Tamerlane’s deployed forces with a fight hardly worthy of the name. But that wishful thinking did not last long.
As Aladdin, Christóbal and a handful of senior officers rode to the top of the highest hill to gain an overview of the territory ahead, an adjutant came riding hard and fast toward them.
Reining in sharply, saluting, the soldier said, “Enemy forces spotted on the march.” His pony whinnied as he pointed across the rugged terrain of the distant valley. “Down there.”
Aladdin squinted for a better view. In a faraway cloud of dust that rippled across the horizon, he saw the form and substance of the advancing army. It seemed huge — like a swarm of locusts covering a Field. Christóbal’s eyes were riveted onto the rocky terrain.
“How many coming at us, amigo?” asked Aladdin.
The big Spaniard growled, fidgeting in his saddle. “A thousand or more, capitán. And look — in the sky.”
Staring hard, Aladdin saw them — a great cloud of gliding predators — Tamerlane’s regimented and dreaded sky hunters. They were quickly bearing down on the heights and lowlands where Aladdin’s companies were deployed. The wizened old commander of the fish men had not fled or hastily pulled back his forces to the sea, as Aladdin had secretly hoped for. Rather, the Hellixian general was determined to halt the Cinnabarian advance, a decision that would surely prove costly to both sides.
“Shall I give the order to dig in?” asked the adjutant.
Slowly weighing the scales and contemplating how the battle might take shape, Aladdin shook his head. “We’ll press on,” he said, stiffening his lip. “Engage, first, if we can.” Again he was employing bold and unusual tactics; the Cinnabar officers flanking him were simultaneously impressed and anxious. Aladdin was gambling, they knew, hoping against hope that his force could, with a direct assault, smash and scatter the fish men with one fatal blow. He’d be a hero if he won — but if he’d misjudged and it was Cinnabar’s forces that found themselves scattered and broken, then Tamerlane would move unhindered across the Outland and attack the city itself. Even Christóbal was wary of the gambit.
“It’s our best chance,” said Aladdin as he swung his pony around to face the big Spaniard. “The city is already being hit from all water sides. We must at least secure this land bridge.”
Christóbal nodded, and the two friends clasped each other’s arms. “Take command of the heights, old friend,” said the adventurer. “Keep our archers trained on the valley...”
The bear of a man squinted one eye. “And you, capitán?”
“I move with the cavalry”
A coronet blared. All eyes returned to the field below. The fish men, spurred on by their surprise defeat at the locks, were coming on fast and furiously.
“To your positions,” said Aladdin. As the officers gave their terse commands, the Cinnabarians rushed for last-minute advantage. The mass of infantrymen, flanked by the pony cavalry, followed the curve of the hills, down into the valley.
Aladdin mustered his men around him. He rubbed his hand over the crystal cell of the princess, which now dangled like an amulet from his neck. The enemy troops were advancing ever closer and the sky was growing dark with flocks of deadly sky hunters. He drew his humming knife and clenched his teeth. Glancing back at the hill, he saw the mounted Christóbal directing the lines of strongly positioned archers.
“Now!” cried the adventurer.
The blare of the Cinnabarian battle call vibrated shrilly over the barren hills. A dozen waves of cavalry surged forward, scissoring down the hillsides at a gallop. Then the archers let loose a terrible volley. Their targets, the leading troops of Tamerlane’s fearless Amphibs, took the initial shock; a score crumpled to the earth, bleeding. Cavalry and infantry pressed toward the Hellixian front lines; sky hunters dived from above; humming knives flashed; the battle was joined.
Imploding predators and Amphibs screamed everywhere. Balls of fire cast a deathly pall and stench across the valley. As the fish men charged, undaunted, they broke through the Cinnabarian infantry line with spears and harpoon guns blazing, cutting down Cinnabarians left and right.
The stink of savage death reeked. Soothing his frightened pony, wielding his humming knife high, Aladdin led his troops into the thick of the din, where burning flesh and fearful cries made mockery of both sides’ claim to civilisation. This was warfare at its worst; more than cruel, it was insidious.
The ranks of Amphibs, untried and untested in ground battle, disintegrated beneath the awesome weight of Cinnabarian firepower. Their only protection from the heat-seeking shafts was the fire from their burning compatriots in front of them. The white-hot shafts of screaming humming knives penetrated
totally, often pinning unscathed combatants to their dying neighbours.
The Amphib line would have broken completely were it not for the savage support from the air it received. Hundreds of fierce, clawed predators swooped down and tore into the Cinnabar cavalry. Eyes were gouged out, horsemen fell wailing from their mounts, often as not singeing themselves with their own humming knives and meeting a fiery death. Havoc reigned. The Cinnabarian assault broke through the valley, packing hundreds of the enemy into ever-denser areas. The Amphibs were being squeezed on all sides now. It didn’t matter that the lines of Cinnabarians themselves had taken a terrible toll.
Hooves splashed through pools of blood and flaming corpses. Aladdin, his face blackened by soot and smoke, rallied his men and attacked the last strong position of the enemy. The spit of harpoons cut down riders and ponies alike, on all sides. Aladdin’s pony reared in panic as a flying humming knife sliced into an enemy soldier directly before them. Aladdin winced and gasped as he saw the Amphib’s face contort, his flesh turn colours, and his body slowly writhe and burst into flame.
The archers, still under Christóbal’s expert direction, were re-forming and beginning to move down from the heights. Wings flapping, a band of predators came clawing at them. Many archers staggered and fell; others tore at the deadly birds, shafting them through the necks and bellies, sending them plummeting to the earth.
It was hard to see anything through the fire and smoke. Billowing waves of heat sickened Aladdin as he sought to regain order among his surviving troops. The Amphib formation was shattered. Through the haze and din he saw his fighting units engage the scattered pockets of resistance along the edge of the valley, splinter them into useless wedges, and pick them off one and two at a time. No mercy here, no wounded, no prisoners. Just the living and the dead.
One agile Amphib, his scaly form singed by the flames around him, broke free and speared down two attacking Cinnabarians. He charged for the lance-wielding cavalrymen with blind bravery. A lance entered his right eye-socket, lodged into his brain, and protruded from the cracked back of his skull. The sight of this ghastly death, worse even than the pain inflicted by the heat of a humming knife, made Aladdin rush to the scene and, using his own surface blade, quickly put the suffering fish man out of his pain.
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 103