by G. R. Carter
That was bad for ARK ground-pounders who couldn’t seem to find anything in the tangled undergrowth. Trees that would one-day soar to the sky were still fighting their way up through the sharp brambles that grew several feet a year. Ribbons of asphalt roads still crisscrossed the landscape, but here the constant weather changes and humidity wrecked even that.
That left two efficient options for travel: water and sky. ARK’s vaunted brown water navy had been whipped in its first encounter with anything stronger than a few villagers in fishing boats. The task of imposing ARK’s will on the Mt. Horab troublemakers was now in the hands of the Sky Fleet.
Signs of life finally appeared. Metal barges lashed together looked like small red rectangles, anchored to a concrete pier jutting out into the brown water. The wind bore from the southwest today, a stroke of happy luck that meant reduced speed on the trip here but an easier run over target. No side winds to throw off the still improving skills of their bombardiers.
Just in front of him, mounted in the front of the gondola, was a large camera automatically taking a picture every few seconds to be pieced together later by ARK intelligence. Tulsa’s first run over the target would be solely for that purpose. Then he would return for a second pass, still taking pictures to gather any views missed the first time—but this pass would conclude with him dropping his entire payload of high explosives. Three sister ships holding in pattern just a mile away stood ready to follow Tulsa’s lead.
The squadron Romano commanded today had a mission simple in execution, but nearly incomprehensible in consequences. Romano’s skyships were to sink anything docked at Grand Tower, especially captured ARK ships, and level the entire complex to the ground. In all likelihood today’s actions would bring about open warfare with Mt. Horab, a thought Romano tried to push from his mind. His orders were his orders, and no Citizen of ARK questioned orders. At least there wouldn’t be any resistance. His squadron had trained over the Northern Caliphate, learning to dodge the occasional ground-fired RPG, and ARK Intelligence said the Buckles didn’t have any of those. Some part of him was relieved to be fighting civilized enemies. The thought of being shot down or having a mechanical failure in Caliphate territory was the specific reason he kept his sidearm with him to this day.
He settled his mind into the task, watching for ARK’s two captured ships. He scanned around the windows of the gondola, looking for any irregular camouflage, maybe something hidden under a tarp or along the shoreline ahead. He saw nothing, trying to think where the Buckles may have hidden the large and conspicuous boats. Intelligence told him that both ship’s crews had been killed and the Buckles had no way to operate the ships themselves. Could they have scuttled them? Perhaps, but it would have to have been in the main channel. Shallow water would allow him to see a ship’s outline from up here.
“Lieutenant Thomas, prepare the skyship for a live pass. We will be weapons free the next time through. Tell the bombardier we will focus on the barges tethered to the pier. Let the rest have a go at the base itself,” Romano commanded. “Then put us into a holding pattern above after the run. Give me all eyes on board to the windows. We need to find those the missing boats.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral,” the young woman replied. “Bringing her about in 3, 2, 1, mark.” She picked up a radio tube, “Bombardier, this is a live run. You are to target the barges tethered to the pier. Reply confirmed.” She held the tube up to her ear, then turned to Romano. “Target confirmed, Admiral.”
Romano nodded. He felt the big vessel shudder a little as she began to turn. The nose came up slightly, and he leaned into the pitch with experienced legs. The ship settled back in after a moment, and he felt the engines throttle down as the winds now at her tail pushed Tulsa a little faster. The exhilaration of a live target run never got old; even now he could feel his heart pounding with adrenaline. He did the countdown in his head, finally feeling the lurch as thousands of pounds of metal and explosives were loosed from Tulsa’s aluminum belly. The engines gunned, giving her altitude and speed. Just in case there were things that went boom on those barges, he wanted to get clear of the target. The crew bristled with excitement, anxious to see the fascinating sight.
Romano watched with approval as the Keokuk started her run, straight as an arrow lined up with the island’s concrete fortress. The structures appeared half completed, soon to become a leveled mass of twisted rock and rebar. His attention diverted back to his own work, watching in grim satisfaction as the old riverboat sitting near the targeted barges burned to the waterline, a shattered mess from Tulsa’s fury.
A flash of silver streaked past the corner of his eye, towards the direction of Keokuk. He brought his eyes back, confused at what looked like tiny rips appearing in the skyship’s metal skin. Cancerous flames began to eat away its shape, rapidly spreading across the contours and exposing Keokuk’s frame. Confused shouts overcame the normally disciplined bridge crew, watching as ARK’s lambda symbol melted away and the ship broke into pieces in gravity’s grasp.
Hydrogen, Romano thought in terror. Originally designed to fly only with non-flammable helium, this squadron’s airships had been refitted to fly with the highly dangerous hydrogen—the payload of bombs and crew could be greatly increased with the flammable gas. No one besides the Red Hawk Republic and ARK had planes capable of shooting at the airships, and no one had anti-aircraft guns…
The silver streak now banked, giving Romano a good view of the unexpected guest. He kept his eyes on the plane, and away from the plummeting Keokuk sinking below his vision.
As calmly as he could muster, he began to issue orders. “Lieutenant get on the wireless and tell ARK command we are under air attack. Forces unknown. Keokuk is down and presumed lost. Give us full speed back to Kaskaskia Station, and signal the rest of the squadron to lose their payloads and follow with all haste.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral.”
“And tell the Gatling to let loose some rounds, especially if that plane comes close. I don’t care if the stupid thing is pointed earthbound, give this bugger something to think about before making a pass at us.”
As if on cue, the plane pulled up and gained altitude on the Tulsa. It was an ugly bird, with a large rectangular canopy, tall fuselage and stubby wings. The Raptors that the Red Hawks flew weren’t exactly things of beauty, but this one had none of the clumsy charm of the Republic planes. The only visible markings were on the upright tail. Romano grabbed his binoculars and finally got a close enough look; a pommel-up sword with two roses intertwined.
“Send another message, tell them we know who it is. We’re under attack by at least one plane out of Mt. Horab. I’ve confirmed the markings.”
He lost sight of the plane as it climbed over the top of Tulsa. Romano forced the bile down from the back of his throat. He felt like a sitting duck, no way to fight back against an opponent faster and better armed. He waited for the shudder and drop in altitude that would mean his airship was burning, too. He unconsciously reached down and touched his holster. No way would he burn to death on the way down, he’d make quick work of it before it came to that.
Instead the plane flashed past in front, nose tilted down towards the Topeka. The pilot must have figured Tulsa had done all the damage it could, so he was aiming for the ones he thought might still have full bomb bays. Smart pilot, not out for revenge, Romano thought. Well, not yet, probably saving us for last. The relief at not being the target turned to disgust as he watched white smoke pour from their tormentor’s silver wings. Streaks reached out, making tiny yellow flashes against the Topeka. The graceful airship tried to turn away, staggered and began to sink, disintegrating into burning pieces. Finally, it broke in half, crumpling like a leaf in the hands of an angry god. Romano watched the hellish descent, knowing that the dozen men and women on board would be dead in mere moments. That made twenty-four highly trained crew and two meticulously created airships, half his squadron, gone in sixty seconds.
The plane made another bank and buzzed over O
maha twice. Then it circled around the gondola of Tulsa’s remaining sister ship, letting the crew get a good look at the markings of their stalker. He’s decided we can’t shoot back. Now he’s torturing his prey before killing it, Romano thought. Tulsa’s engines were at full blast, but even so they would only do about eighty miles an hour on the run north. The Mt. Horab pilot could kill them all at any time he wanted, and he clearly wanted all of ARK to know it.
The plane broke off contact with Omaha and climbed back up to duplicate the same stunt with Tulsa. This time the Buckle plane throttled back and pulled up alongside the bridge windows. The pilot pulled off his goggles and hat then pointed right into the command window, as though calling out whoever was in charge. Romano could see every detail of the pilot’s face, softer in structure than he expected…it wasn’t a man, but a woman. Her hair was pulled up, but some loose strands flew around inside the breezy cockpit. She wore a leather flight jacket, chocolate brown except for a green and silver patch on the arm.
There was no doubt about the emotion on her face, a murderous glare making her seem much older than her smooth tan skin and light brown hair suggested. She looked straight through the windows at him, took two fingers and pointed them at eyes that radiated like blue neon, then swung her hand around and pointed the fingers at the Tulsa. I’m watching you, I can see you, Romano muttered to himself. That’s what she wants to tell me. Is she out of ammunition, or is she trying to prove a point? Anxiety turned to relief as the Buckle pilot put her hat and goggles back on, then pulled away and headed back south.
The airship engines continued to roar, but still Romano could hear someone behind him sob quietly. He didn’t hold it against them. He resisted the urge to spit on the floor, to clear the vomit that bubbled up in the back of his mouth. Just minutes ago, he thought he was the ruler of the skies. But a girl in a boxy old trainer plane with a couple of cannons mounted on the wings had destroyed years of building and training in the blink of an eye. What am I going to tell Premier Diamante?
Chapter Eleven
Just outside Columbia, MO
ARK Estate Tarabelle, Home of Admiral Elias Romano
Tony felt each bump of metal tracks reverberate through the wheels of his private train car. The rich leather chairs rivaled those in the posh offices of City Center. Between the beautiful wood trim and lush decorations, it was easy to forget he was on a train doing forty miles an hour, headed west to visit subjects of his expanding empire. He stared out the window, making note of the occasional pocket of civilization; ARK estates were plentiful close to the City, less so here. Citizens living in the city were each granted a land parcel along major railways and roadways, plus a yearly budget for improving the homestead. Those who wanted to improve their Citizen scores did more with it than others, and the further away from the bright white towers a piece was, the less likely someone would spend time working on it.
Estates closer to waypoints like Columbia were being developed faster. Skyships made daily stops at the nearest ones. Columbia was only about 120 miles away, making it far enough away to be out from under the mother city’s ever-watchful eye, but close enough to get back and forth easily. There were ten estates currently under construction here, joining with ten already completed in the years since the Reset.
Tony looked over the file for his first visit today. The folder was thick with information. The Romano family was one of the originals, Paula Romano being mayor of St. Louis the first day in the dark; the day the Diamante family took control of a city—which then became the capital of a new nation. Mayor Romano was quickly on board and had been instrumental in helping organize municipal employees to get work done efficiently. For her service she had been rewarded handsomely, as had each of her four children and multitude of grandchildren. She wasn’t family, but she was close.
Paula Romano had chosen to establish her domain close to the city, one of the first built and easily within sight of the brilliant white and silver skyscrapers. Wisely, she encouraged her children to move further away, giving them a chance to become influential as undeveloped areas grew over time. Her oldest son Elias had taken her advice, founding a huge estate near Columbia, just outside what had once been the flagship campus of the University of Missouri.
Just like all branches of the Romano family, Elias had a nearly perfect Citizen score. No suspicion of black market dealings, always met production quotas, not as much as a rumor of dissent from a disaffected servant. Along with above average intelligence test scores that went with being a professional airline pilot before the Reset, Nicole had selected him to command a skyship shortly after they were built and commissioned. The man had an aptitude for it, leading the squadron that had helped the Red Hawks snatch victory at the Battle of Shelbyville.
His reward was a post to the newly built state-of-the-art skyship squadron, not just Airlanders modified to carry a few Peacekeepers or scout for outlaws. The Tulsa class was the first batch of true attack craft—a decent bomb payload and a mounted Gatling on the gondola. The squadron had performed with great promise over the Northern Caliphate lines, helping scare the Dark Age Jijis and gaining invaluable experience. Which was exactly why Tony had felt confident in sending them against the Buckles when the time came for Mt. Horab to be taught a lesson. The thought made Tony disgusted. It was a lesson, all right.
He closed the file as he felt the train decelerate. There was nothing else to be gleaned, no fault to find with Romano for the plan he had executed. In fact, the Admiral likely saved the two surviving skyships with quick thinking…though the man had chalked it up to lack of ammunition by the attacking plane. The plane, Tony thought. That’s what I have to get figured out. Where did the plane come from?
Mt. Horab should have been years away from affording anything like what his skyships faced above Grand Tower Island. There was something bothering him about it that he couldn’t place. Even if the Buckles could afford an attack craft, it took dozens of hours just for someone to learn to fly, and there just weren’t that many people left around these days who had any pre-Reset flight experience. Only a small handful of societies could afford to devote the time and resources to teaching people to fly, Mt. Horab wasn’t one of those societies.
The train finally stopped with a hiss and a final jolt as the brakes set. Tony stood and stretched his legs, looking down at the piles of paper cluttering up his desk. He thought for a moment about putting some in his briefcase, then thought better. This was a fact-finding trip. He needed to hear the words straight from Romano. Written reports from a well-meaning clerk who retyped what he thought the Premier wanted to know didn’t hold a candle to looking into a man’s eyes while he related an account.
A servant stepped into the car, quietly waiting to be acknowledged. Without a word, Tony grabbed his insulated overcoat, donned a matching fedora, and moved his way to the stairway. As he stepped out onto the station platform, cutting winds chilled his face. The warmth of the car left him, quickening his walk to the waiting personnel carrier. Four aides and a personal servant joined him. He was used to traveling in his armored limousine when he needed to leave the City Center, but that wasn’t an option here yet.
The vehicle sent to pick up Tony and his entourage began life as an armored truck, moving from bank to business and back with change and paper currency. Fewer were around as money became digital, but some survived to carry the valuables of the wealthy. This one received a new lease on life as the personal transport of Admiral Romano. It was nearly identical in structure to what ARK was now producing to use for the large-scale deployment of Peacekeepers in combat. Nicole designed them herself, feeling that that the Snapping Turtles of the Republic were too lightly armored, and the Razorbacks were too slow.
This vehicle had armored metal walls and bulletproof windows, virtually impenetrable by anything short of a rocket launcher. It bumped along the crumbling asphalt road, a comfortable ride sacrificed for the heavy suspension needed to carry the necessary weight. Tony couldn’t see them from
the passenger compartment, but he knew there would be at least one more truck in front of them and one behind, each carrying as many Peacekeepers as they could fit. Overhead two AirLander scouts worked a back-and-forth pattern over the road to spot for any signs of unauthorized human activity.
Out here on the frontier, there was no room for half measures. The odds of bandit attack were negligible, but that didn’t mean threats were impossible. No one wanted the Premier’s life to be in danger—including the Premier!
The convoy moved along at a steady rate, no sudden acceleration or swerving, finally stopping after about a thirty-minute ride. Tony waited for a knock on the door, the all-clear that Peacekeepers were in contact with Romano’s security forces. Outside light flooded the compartment with the opening door. Each adviser and then his servant stepped out, lining up on either side while Tony exited. He adjusted his coat, firmed down his fedora, gave a nod and then followed the group down a crushed rock path. Flanking him on each side were senior members of the Peacekeepers, most blood relation to the Diamante family in some form or fashion. In frontier situations such as this they no longer wore their all-black uniforms so common in the City. Here they had a gray, green and black multicam pattern covering their shirt and trousers—a series of small squares and rectangles spread in random combinations. They still retained their black beret, though in combat situations their heads were covered by the old U.S. Army ‘fritz’ style helmet, skinned in the same pattern as their clothes. The uniform was completed by calf-high lace-up boots manufactured in a factory near the heart of the City since all the pre-Reset ones had worn out.