“They were backin’ up as we rushed in, Jesse.” Frank hawked up some dust-laden spit and launched it into the grass. “It ain’t that fast, though. We gotta get in there if we’re gonna have a chance o’ savin’ it.”
Jesse shook his head. “They ain’t gonna touch the driller. They might have sharp words for those that were drivin’ it, but these blue-belly bastards’ll see it as their duty to get the driller back under its tarp where they fancy it belongs.” He pulled one of his pistols out and checked its charge. “But yeah, we gotta get back in there anyway. Afore Billy’s gone and done all the killin’ without us!”
Ahead of them, the cloud had continued to dissipate. However, many smaller clouds were now rising into the sky and expanding across the desert where the battle was raging the hottest, marking the death sites of vehicles or men. There were shapes staggering through the fading haze as well, so more than a few fighters had been knocked from their mounts. Jesse squinted into the settling dust, trying to judge from the flashing lines of blaster fire and the red-cored detonations of impacts where the best insertion point would be for his gang.
Jesse once again gunned the engine and raced back into the battle, heading for a point where one of Billy’s groups seemed to have gotten itself organized into a coherent attack on the Union right flank. Jesse hunkered down, squinting behind his red-tinted goggles into the rushing wind and the harsh dust, and aimed himself at that contact point.
The battle seemed to narrow itself down to two indistinct shapes leaping closer as he accelerated, and three of Billy’s Iron Horses rushed in from the right. Jesse knew that the Blackjack lacked the heavier weaponry of some of the ‘Horses, but he also knew what four blasters firing in unison could do, even to an armored transport, especially from behind. He lined up on the left-most target and pressed down on the firing handles. Streams of crimson fire lashed out, his Blackjack shuddering with the blasts. He watched the four streams crash into the rear of a Union Iron Horse. It exploded, the bolts coring the engine and detonated the fuel. Burning wreckage, roiling black smoke, and swirling dust flew in all directions as the driver was thrown roughly out into the desert, trailing a streamer of dust, arms and legs flapping without control. He hit the sand and rolled loosely to a stop, unmoving.
Jesse swung his head towards the other target, but it slewed away from its spectacularly deceased compatriot. Unfortunately for the luckless soldier, he veered right into the sights of Billy’s gang, who shattered it with two blasts from their mini cannons. The vehicle came apart, scattering its parts and the parts of its rider across a long streak of devastation carved into the desert surface. Jesse nodded to the two outlaws and swept around towards the center of the battle, looking for more targets.
There were wrecked Iron Horses scattered across the desert, smoke and dust rising into the sky on all sides. Jesse could tell the Union boys were getting pounded. He could not see more than ten of them still fighting. There were plenty of outlaws to finish this easily, between the two gangs.
Jesse looked around him, trying to find Billy to coordinate the last attack, when he realized that the men around him now were his own. He could see the Youngers, and Frank. He thought he saw a knot of men, most dismounted, fighting from behind disabled ‘Horses. Harding was there for sure, and Chase crouching beside him. Two men were prone, firing around the corners of their machines on their bellies, and he thought it was Bryce and Ty. A few others were still driving, either with the Youngers or on their own.
A quick count revealed that they were nearly evenly-matched with the Union, even now regrouping atop a low hill nearby. Jesse scanned the desert for Billy’s gang and found them exactly where his gut told him he should look: they were high tailing it back towards Diablo Canyon, pursuing the driller as it scuttled towards safety.
“You yellow dog!” Jesse screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling his dry throat tear with the strain. “You bastard, come back here!” Over the sounds of the battle and the roaring vehicles there was no way Billy could have heard him. Jesse knew it would not have mattered if he could. He watched the ‘Horses disappear towards the distant town, trailing rising plumes of dust into the sky as they chased the tiny scrambling shape of the driller.
“Damn.” Jesse shook his head and looked back to the battle. The Union had regrouped and were swinging wide of the main battle zone with its columns of smoke and dust, its litter of shattered transports and human bodies. One of the Union riders suddenly toppled over from his saddle, his ‘Horse dropping out of formation and gliding to a halt. Looking over his shoulder Jesse felt a sudden surge of excitement and energy at the sight of Frank once again wielding Sophie. His brother gave him a quick nod and then aimed for his next victim.
“Okay, boys, this’ll be tough, but nothin’ we ain’t done afore!” Jesse gunned his machine towards the clump of dismounted men, gesturing for the Youngers and their group to join him. “They’re gonna come in on you all, cuz you ain’t got any way to skedaddle. We’ll swing back, like we’re runnin’ away, then we’ll hit ‘em in the side. Make sense?”
Harding looked up at the boss with a frown. “What keeps you from runnin’, leavin’ us to pay the bill?”
Jesse looked down at him. “I ain’t gonna leave no one behind. I’m gonna need all of ya’ll when we catch back up with that chiseling rat bastard, Bonney, ain’t I?”
Harding nodded and turned back towards the regrouping Union force. “Just our luck, eh? To run into a Forward Patrol like this?”Chase muttered.
“I ain’t sure this was luck, boys.” Jesse watched as the Union troops gunned their engines and began to accelerate towards the outlaws. “But we’ll have plenty of time to look into that later.” He turned his head to the other mounted men. “Let’s go!”
The ‘Horses and the Blackjack slewed around, throwing up dirt and rocks as they spun. They made a great showing of their sudden retreat, flying off towards the far off town. The men now on foot began to fire at the approaching soldiers, shouting defiant insults and obscene suggestions at the advancing men.
Coming around wide, Jesse saw the larger, bulkier shape that he had caught a glimpse of in the dust. It was coming up behind the Iron Horses leading the charge. It looked like an Iron Horse, but instead of an open saddle there was a massive armored box. Instead of a single linked weapon system riding high on the forward body, the thing seemed to sprout a terrifying number of barrels from out of its armored bulk, thrusting out from its iron flanks.
The Union formation spread out, leaving the beast in the center with a free line of fire to the men Jesse had left behind as bait. Crimson bolts began to crisscross the air between the outlaws and their charging attackers. Most of the outlaws’ fire was being absorbed the armored fairings of the Union ‘Horses, or glancing harmlessly off the daunting shape of the thing holding the center of their line. The Union fire was slapping into the downed ‘Horses, keeping the men cowering behind them, rendering their fire less effective.
Jesse saw the inevitable result before the first man at the impromptu barricade even went down. A series of images flashed before his mind. He saw the burning wreckage of Missouri City. He saw Billy the Kid standing tall and proud in the Arcadia. He saw a line of ragged Union cavalry with outdated equipment blocking the path of a small, wounded boy. Lastly, he saw the tiny garret above the Arcadia, a light spray of ruby droplets on the wall.
“No!” Jesse viciously wrenched at the accelerators, sending the Blackjack hurtling towards the impending disaster even though he knew he would be too late. He saw an errant Union bolt strike Chase in the leg. The poor kid, suffering pain beyond reason from the wound, leapt into the air in an effort to escape. Several bolts struck him in the chest and thigh, spinning him over and spraying blood into the sand. Bryce rose, fear getting the better of him in the last moments, and tried to run. A rocket caught him in the back, lifting him off his feet, and then detonated, spreading thin strips of the poor boy out over the sand. Harding pushed away from the burning wreck
age of his ‘Horse, taking potshots over its saddle, shouting defiance right up to the moment a glancing bolt struck him in the temple. His head spun around, his neck clearly snapping, as blood and grey matter foamed out of the wound, steaming as it hit the burning metal of his ‘Horse.
The last survivor of the little band rose up to face his death. But Ty was not looking at the onrushing horde, nor was his expression the least concerned. He turned to look directly at Jesse and his lips stretched into a wide, friendly smile. He waved once, gave a jaunty salute, and winked. Jesse knew it must have been a trick of the light that made the kid’s eye gleam that unnatural color, or it might have been the crimson bolt that was even then blasting through his head. The body took several more hits as it danced and staggered away from its cover, finally sinking slowly into the grass.
Jesse shook his head in disbelief. He desperately scanned the area for survivors. He could hear the Youngers and the last remaining mounted members of the gang behind him. Off in the distance behind the burning wrecks that marked his men’s last stand, however, he found who he was looking for. Frank was crouched down behind his ‘Horse taking careful, measured shots at the incoming Union forces. Every time he fired, a vehicle would fall out of formation, either damaged or abandoned by its dead driver. Jesse was not the only person on the field to notice Frank’s effectiveness, and the giant monster ‘Horse slewed towards him, all of its weapons roaring back into life.
The heavy weaponry chewed the ground up ahead of Frank’s position and then tore, like invisible buzz saws, into the ‘Horse. Dust, grass, and metal, RJ-1027 fuel and fabric scattered up into the air. Jesse saw his brother, arms thrown wide, sail back away from the detonating vehicle, a look of vague dismay on his face before he disappeared down into the growing explosion.
Jesse’s eyes went wide for a moment, and then a furious, tight, pressure filled his mind, pushing at his eyes and roaring in his ears. Without conscious thought, the Blackjack swerved around and headed straight for the heavy, armored shape that had blasted his brother. The lighter weaponry of his new vehicle rained down upon the beast, but the shots glanced off like a burning fan in all directions. He was doing no damage that he could see. The pressure built even greater and Jesse pulled one of his hyper-velocity pistols, firing bolt after hopeless bolt as the range closed. Then the monster opened up with its weapons again.
Jesse did not know where the enemy shots caught up with him. He felt himself launched into the air, flying through the dust and the grit. He knew he had been thrown from his vehicle in a violent rush of fire, smoke, and swirling sand. He heard a terrific crash behind him, the wrenching of metal and the screams of components bent past their best tolerances, all over-powered by the hammering thunder of the Union weapons and their ceaseless detonations.
Jesse hit the ground hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop against a hard clump of desert grass. He could not breath, he could not hear a thing, and his mind was lost in a buzzing daze of blurred images and dull, distant pain. A curtain of red washed over his vision and then everything went black. The bright world snapped back into focus again for a moment, but when he tried to raise his head, the red leaked back in, the black followed, and his head fell back into the gritty sand.
When light leaked back into his world, the roar of RJ-1027 engines was still heavy in the air, bolts of crimson force still crashed back and forth in the distance. His vision faded in and out, and each time he tried to move, there was a crushing moment of intense pain and then nothingness.
Words, screamed over engine-noise, seemed to echo in his ears from a far way off. He thought he heard a deep, voice screaming “Grab one!” There were detonations, screams, more shouting, this time in words that would not make sense in his shaken mind.
As even these noises faded into the far distance, Jesse could think of nothing but the look on his brother’s face and he fell back into the flames.
Chapter 14
The rasping sensation of sand blown across his face recalled Jesse to the waking world. It was a slow journey, with pain a constant companion and confusion hovering overhead. He felt the sand, and the scratch of the grit, first on his face, hot and stretched by the beating sun. Then he felt it in his throat, as each attempt to swallow drove jagged shards of glass across the sensitive flesh. Each of his legs made the same slow progression as his body: dull, distant ache to furious, vague itching, to pulsing, shocking pain. As the pain retreated to a manageable, steady throbbing, he felt his legs move, slowly drawing up, the heels of his boots digging furrows into the sand.
He knew a short jolt of terror when he realized he could not sense his arms. However,,he soon began to register the odd self/alien impulses that more than a decade of familiarization had taught him to expect from the artificial limbs. He focused on one hand and then the other, clenching them into tight fists. Feedback pads dragged across dirt and grass as fingers flexed with growing strength. Finally, his gummed, sensitive eyes peeled open, the sunlight stabbing right though to his brain. He muttered in pain, bringing further agony to his torn throat. With the combination of pain and surprise, he lurched over onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Each one scratched further at his tormented gullet.
Coherent thought came back much more slowly. He could make no sense of his situation. He could see, through squinted eyes shaded by one mechanical hand that he was in the high desert. He was surrounded by desiccated soil and clumped up scrub grass. There were shattered wrecks all around, some still leaking black smoke up into the sky. Bodies lay amongst the wreckage, men in the mismatched clothing of the outlaws mixed with the forever-damned blue uniform of the Union Army. He stumbled over to a couple of the bodies. As was true in most modern gunfights, there was not much left to help with identification.
He found several bodies lying amidst what looked like a hasty defensive position made out of battered Iron Horses. He could not tell who the men had been, their features blasted or burnt. He recognized Harding’s ‘Horse among the machines, though, and knew that one of the bodies must have belonged to that tough old dog.
The thought brought his head sharply up. As last moments of the battle came flashing back, his neck wrenched around to look for his brother’s final position. He saw the wreckage, far more devastated than any of the others, on a low rise. With a rising groan he stumbled towards the smoking ruin. That big monster of a Union ‘Horse had unleashed an avalanche of fire on this vehicle, and there was almost nothing left but its twisted frame. The blasted remains of its bodywork, the equipment, and his brother’s belongings were scattered all around, covered in a liberal coating of dust, ash, and ragged grass.
Jesse staggered up the slight slope, stumbling to his hands and knees more than once. Each time he slipped and fell his entire body was wracked with agony, but still he drove himself upwards. The wreckage was still smoking, sending several different trails of black soot spiraling up into the sky. The grass all around was charred and churned, a devastation for yards in all directions. Jesse dragged himself around the ruins of the ‘Horse, collapsing to his knees on the other side. There were tattered strips of his brother’s duster and the crumpled remains of his hat, but that was all. There were two deep trenches, parallel, through the blackened sand, marking where a person had been dragged from the area of burnt waste. Of his actual brother, however, there was no sign.
Jesse swayed to his feet once again, looking all around. Nothing moved on the battlefield, aside from the smoke, as far as he could see. A quick check of the remaining bodies assured him that none of the Youngers had fallen, but that was all he could tell. Maybe they had dragged Frank to safety? Or maybe the Union had gotten him… or maybe Frank was dead, and whoever it was had just taken the body. Jesse lowered himself to the ground again, weeping in enraged impotence.
When the moment had passed, Jesse stood up unsteadily and retraced his path through the ruin to the overturned wreckage of the Blackjack. The vehicle had definitely seen better days. Most of the protruding
details and equipment had been blasted away. The shiny paint had all been blasted off, and many of the intricatespokes within each wheel were torn, twisted, or simply gone. But clearly the barrage that had descended upon him had not struck directly, but rather torn up the desert all around, tossing his vehicle and himself into the dust like toys.
With grunting, heaving effort, Jesse pushed the heavy beast upright once more. It rocked unsteadily, shedding dust in dry, whispering showers that spread out as they hit the ground. Jesse checked the telltales, looking to see if there was any way the engine could be brought back to life. Most of the power cells had ruptured, but the actual engine itself seemed to be in good enough shape to operate. He looked around again at the wreckage. If he could not find spare parts on this prairie, he would be in big trouble.
He sighed, pushed himself back up to his feet, and stumbled towards the most intact wreck.
*****
As the Blackjack stuttered its way back into town, Jesse tried to ignore the looks of the townsfolk of Diablo Canyon who had come out onto the street to watch him drive past. He kept his back as straight as he could despite the pain. He had found some un-ruptured canteens among the dead, enough that he was not dying of thirst, and he had found a little jerky, but he had been in no danger of developing a hunger for the tough meat, surrounded by the dead and the inevitable vultures who had circled down to feast.
There had been no sign of the Youngers or any of his other survivors. There had been nothing to show if Billy had returned, or if the battle had ended with everyone running in a different direction. He had looked at his reflection in one of the ‘Horses’ side mirrors, and knew that if he had seen that blood- and dust-stained visage tumbled into the dirt, he would have assumed the person was a goner as well. So he had been left, by friend and foe alike, for dead.
The Jessie James Archives Page 29