Gabe was pleasantly surprised by the Norsemen’s marksmanship. Once they got over the shock of the noise and recoil, they were able to hit their targets close to half the time. They had good eyesight and hand-eye coordination, and no bad habits to unlearn. The two younger men were better shots than Sigurd, but even Sigurd hit his tree three shots out of ten.
“Good,” Gabe said, looking at the chewed-up birch poles. “Very good.” Each Norseman had fired twenty-four rounds, replacing their magazines twice, and burning through about a quarter of the lander’s ammo supply. They now each had a full magazine, and Gabe handed each of them two spares to tuck into their belts. Gabe would have liked to clean the guns before having to rely on them in combat, but he didn’t have time to do it himself or to show the Norsemen how to do it. He’d just have to figure the odds were against any of the guns jamming.
He left the men momentarily to retrieve the portable railgun from the rear of the lander. “Portable” was relative—the gun itself was a little bigger than the standard-issue IDL automatic rifle, but the battery pack weighed thirty kilograms and was the size of a large backpack. It had a handle and wheels, but the wheels were worthless in the snow. Gabe slung the rifle across his back and dragged the battery pack toward the Norsemen, who watched with interest.
“Railgun,” Gabe said, plugging the gun into the battery pack. He flipped a switch on the pack and it began to hum as the compulsator spun up. The compulsator, a basketball-sized unit that sat on top of the battery, acted like a capacitor, gathering energy from the battery and storing it so that it could be released as a high-power output. A thick, high-amperage cable connected the compulsator to the gun mechanism. After a few seconds, the compulsator beeped, indicating it was ready to power the railgun.
Gabe made sure the gun was set to single fire and then raised it to his shoulder. He aimed it at one of the posts and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed, and the top meter of the post exploded into splinters. The Norsemen gasped and then cheered. He repeated the experiment several more times, with similar results. He turned to see the Norsemen looking at him with awe. He could only imagine what they were thinking. As members of a militaristic culture, they could certainly appreciate such a weapon, but at the same time he wondered if they would consider it unsportsmanlike to cut one’s enemies down in such a way. With a weapon like this, anyone could be a great warrior. The men had taken to the pistols well, but the railgun was several times as powerful as the pistols—and they hadn’t seen it on full automatic.
The sun was now nearing the horizon, and he could sense that the men were on edge. Agnar and Brynjarr kept looking to the south, where they expected Harald’s men to appear. Sigurd seemed less concerned; he was convinced it would take Gunnar several more hours to get a sizeable force in place for an attack. In any case, it would be difficult for Harald’s men to sneak up on them: they could see for over a kilometer in every direction, and Sigurd’s men were felling logs in the woods to the east. From what Sigurd had told him, he understood that Harald’s men would have to cross a bridge southwest of them to get to the lander, so it was unlikely they’d be able to sneak a large contingent of fighters past Sigurd’s men. In the growing dark, though, the threat began to seem more real: he and Reyes were stranded on an alien planet with limited ammo, relying on allies they’d just met to hold off an attack by a force that could number in the hundreds. He could only hope Harald’s men didn’t have the wherewithal to conduct an extended siege: thanks to the copious snow, water wouldn’t be a problem for either side, but the food in the lander wouldn’t last more than a week.
Gabe heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Arnulf approaching. Arnulf stopped, shouted something to Sigurd, and then made a beckoning gesture.
Gabe met Sigurd’s eyes and nodded. “All right, everybody behind the barrier. Holster your guns.”
The men complied, making their way back to the lander. The men who had been working in the woods had returned and had begun to congregate near the hatch. Gabe slung the railgun over his back and dragged the battery pack across the snow and through a gap in the spike barrier. The ring was nearly complete; only one gap of about three meters remained near the lander’s tail. Gabe was setting the railgun down next to the lander when Slater’s voice crackled in his ear.
“Say again, Slater?” Gabe said, pressing his hand to his ear and walking toward the nose of the lander. Several men shot concerned glances in his direction.
“I said we made it to the village,” Slater replied. “Well, it’s an exaggeration to call it a village. More like a collection of houses scattered across a valley floor. But it seems safe enough.”
“They’re treating you okay?”
“Yeah. Better than okay. I tried to walk part of the way, but they wouldn’t let me. They carried me and O’Brien the whole way. We’re staying in a longhouse with a farmer and his wife. The food is going to take some getting used to, but we’re comfortable enough.”
Reyes broke in: “How’s O’Brien?”
“About the same. Can’t get up without a struggle. He’s been taking meds to manage the pain.”
“Well, at least he’s no worse,” Reyes said.
“How are things there?” Slater asked.
“Oh, you know,” Gabe replied. “Just preparing for the big Viking battle.”
“We’re good, Slater,” Reyes said. “You guys should get some rest. We’ll connect again tomorrow morning.”
“Copy that. Slater out.”
Gabe turned and headed back toward the group near the hatch. About halfway between the spike barrier and the hatch, a lanky man with wispy blond hair and a sparse beard was working on building a fire. A stack of logs rested to one side, and he was striking a piece of metal against a flint rock, scattering sparks toward a pile of shredded birch bark. Gabe walked over to him, pulling a lighter from his pocket. He touched the man on the shoulder. When the man looked up, Gabe tapped a button with his thumb and a flame flickered to life at the top of the lighter. Several of those nearby gasped in awe. “Take it,” Gabe said, taking his hand off the button and holding the lighter in his palm.
The man took the lighter and, after turning it over a few times in his hand, gingerly pressed the button as Gabe had. When a flame sprung from it, he was so startled that he dropped it, and those standing around burst into laughter. He cursed at them, picked up the lighter and tried again. This time he slowly moved the flame toward the shreds of bark. The flame caught after a few seconds, and soon the pile of bark was ablaze. The man standing nearby mumbled their approval. The man held the lighter up to Gabe.
“Keep it,” Gabe said. “You’re our fireman from now on.” Gabe had another lighter, and the other spacemen each had one as well.
“Braggi,” the man said, getting to his feet and patting his chest.
“Gabe,” said Gabe, gesturing to himself. He pointed to Braggi. “Fire man.”
Braggi gave him a puzzled look.
Gabe pointed to the fire and said, “Fire.” Then he pointed to Braggi. “Man. Fireman.”
“Fireman,” Braggi said, grinning a mouthful of rotten teeth. He started placing logs on the fire.
Chapter Seventeen
It was evening by the time Gunnar and Leif reached the fortress at Svelvig. The fortress was a massive square building constructed of pine timbers at the top of a steep cliff. Surrounded by a low stone wall that enclosed the plateau at the top of the cliff, it overlooked a fjord that snaked inland from the sea. The fortress had been built as part of Harald’s campaign to secure Vestfold and the area north of the fjord mouth, called the Vingulmark. Lately it rarely housed more than thirty fighting men, but now that Vestfold had largely been pacified, Harald had been consolidating his troops there. It was rumored that Harald intended to put down any resistance in the valley to the north before continuing his campaign to conquer Hordaland and Rogaland in the southwest.
Gunnar wasn’t privy to the details of Harald’s plan, but his own mission gave credenc
e to the notion: his nominal goal was to inform the valley’s residents of Harald’s claims to their land, but he’d also been tasked with gathering data on the number of fighting men in each community and the disposition of the community leaders toward Harald. The reactions had been decidedly mixed: the valley’s denizens were fiercely independent, more so than the people of Hordaland and the other petty kingdoms, who had already accepted the rule of a monarch. But that independent streak would likely be their downfall: they were too scattered and disorganized to mount an effective defense. Gunnar was of the opinion that Harald should strike soon, making an example of Haavaldsrud. Given a strong show of force, the rest of the villages would fold, and Harald would be able to refocus his efforts in the southeast.
Gunnar and Leif were met outside the gate by a sentry, who announced their arrival to those inside. The great wooden gate swung open and they entered the yard. A guard greeted them and escorted them inside the great hall, where a ruddy bald man with a great paunch sat by the fireplace, holding a mug of ale. He beckoned for them to come inside, and the guard returned to his post. Gunnar saw that the fat man’s left leg was missing below the knee.
“Welcome, Gunnar Bjornson!” the man cried as they approached. “Forgive me for not getting up.” He gestured to his leg. “I am not as spry as I once was.”
“No forgiveness needed, Ragnar Ivarsson. Your conquests are known across the lands of the Norsemen. Even Odin himself gave an eye in exchange for wisdom.”
“I wish I’d managed such a bargain,” Ragnar said. “Please, sit. Alvar, get our guests some ale. Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” said Gunnar.
“Get them some meat and bread as well, Alvar. Are there only two of you? I expected a larger party.”
“Aye, sir,” said Gunnar. “We set out from Trondheim with a party of five men. Leif and I are all that’s left.”
“You were attacked by men from the valley?”
“They were not from the valley. Did you see the strange craft in the sky this morning?”
“I heard reports of an object in the sky,” Ragnar said. “And everyone heard the noise when it passed. You are saying it was a ship?”
“It crashed into the ground not far from here. We detoured to investigate it. I would not believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself, but it was a sky ship, made of metal. Leif can confirm this.”
Ragnar turned his face to Leif.
“It is as Gunnar says, sir,” Leif said. “I spoke to one of the men from the ship. He said he came from a faraway land, pursued by enemies.”
“He spoke our language?”
“He spoke something similar to the tongue of the Saxons. I was able to understand some of it. I told him that this was Harald’s—”
“He attacked us,” Gunnar said. “With a weapon unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He killed three of our party before we could strike a single blow.”
“But you did kill him?”
“If we had pressed our attack, we would have died as well,” Gunnar said. “Neither of us fears dying in battle, but if he’d killed us, we’d have been unable to report to you. The ship would likely fall into the hands of the residents of the valley.”
Ragnar regarded him dubiously. “What is your concern with this ship?”
“Sir?” Gunnar said.
“You were instructed to gather information about the communities in the valley, were you not? Why did you not stick to your task?”
Gunnar was momentarily speechless. Leif answered, “Sir, we thought the sky ship might be of strategic importance in the valley. The metal alone…”
“You don’t need to lecture me on the value of steel, boy,” Ragnar snapped. “I’ll send men to investigate this sky ship at the first opportunity. But enough of that. What is the disposition of the valley? Will they accept Harald as king?”
Gunnar struggled a moment to reframe his argument. He hadn’t expected Ragnar to be so blind to the importance of the foreigner’s ship. “They will need some convincing,” he said. “Haavaldsrud was hostile; it would make for a good example to the others. But respectfully, sir, our first priority must be seizing that ship.”
“I do not understand your obsession with this ‘sky ship,’ but in any case, our full force has not yet assembled. We are still awaiting sixty men from Sogn. It would be foolish to launch an assault now.”
“It is a matter of timing, sir. If the villagers ally themselves with the foreigners…”
“Ally? You said they attacked you, unprovoked. What makes you think they’ll make peace with the villagers?”
“I’m only saying we cannot dismiss the possibility. This ship promises unimaginable wealth for the residents of the valley. If they make a united stand with the foreigners against us, we may not be able to defeat them, even with your full force. And that will only embolden the rest of the valley to stand against us. Unless Harald wants to spend the next twenty years suppressing revolts in the valley, we must seize the sky ship now!”
“I am still a young man,” Leif said, “but having seen the craft with my own eyes, Gunnar is right. Harald could arm a thousand men with the metal from the sky ship’s hull. With that crash, the landscape of the valley has changed.”
Ragnar looked from Gunnar to Leif and nodded. “Perhaps I have grown a bit inflexible in my old age. As you say, things have changed, and that requires us to assess our situation anew. How many of these foreigners are there? Given these powerful weapons you spoke of, how many men would we need to defeat them?”
“We saw only one man,” Gunnar said. “But he killed three of us as if it was nothing. And I suspect there were more hiding inside the craft.”
“How many more? If they all have weapons like the—”
The guard, Alvar, interrupted. “I’m sorry, sir. There is someone else here to see you. A man and his family. He claims to have information for you.”
Ragnar scowled. “Who is this man?”
“He calls himself Jannik Ingolfson, sir. He is from Haavaldsrud.”
Ragnar glanced at Gunnar, who made no reply.
“Make sure he is unarmed and send him in. We’ll see what this Jannik Ingolfson has to say.”
*****
Gabe turned to face the men. Arnulf, Sigurd, Agnar and Brynjarr stood nearby, and the other men, having finished their tasks, began to assemble around the fire. There was just one more thing to do. “Wait here,” he said to his three gunman. They nodded assent and he went into the lander, rummaging around until he found a pencil and paper. He drew a quick sketch and then went back outside. The sun had dipped below the horizon, but there was enough light for his three gunmen to get a good look at the drawing. Gabe tapped the drawing and then pointed to the top of the lander.
The men looked confused at first, but then Brynjarr seemed to piece it together. He spoke rapidly, tracing his fingers along the lines of the drawing and then pointing at the pile of stripped sapling trunks at the front of the lander. After a moment, the others seemed to get it as well. Sigurd nodded and went to enlist two more men for the task.
“What is it?” Reyes asked, coming out of the hatch.
“A hunting blind,” Gabe said. “Well, more accurately, it’s a casemate. A place for our guys to shoot from.”
“On top of the lander.”
“Best visibility. It’s only temporary.”
Reyes shrugged. “Clearing some twigs from the lander is hardly the biggest barrier to getting it airborne right now. Do what you have to do.”
Gabe nodded. He turned to give the men instructions, but they had already started. The design was simple: four low walls of interlocked logs that the men could take cover behind while shooting over (or through). The structure would be rectangular to accommodate the lander’s oblong design. It would have no door; they’d have to climb over a wall to get in or out. Insulation panels or shields hung on the outside walls would provide protection from arrows and thrown spears. Gabe debated building a ramp or ladder to make it easier to get t
o the top of the lander, but ultimately decided against it. Anything they built could be used against them. If it was difficult for their own people to get up and down, it would be even harder for Harald’s men to do it under fire.
The gloom of twilight lasted a long time in the high latitude of Norway, but the sky grew dark before the project was completed. Gabe fabricated a torch by dousing a rag in cleaning solvent and wrapping it around the end of one of the birch poles. He stood with it on top of the lander for another hour, shivering with cold as he supervised the completion of the casemate. When the men finally finished, they slid down the side of the lander and Gabe lashed the torch to one of the corners of the casemate. He was sure it could be seen for miles, but that was partly the point: to let Harald’s men know they weren’t afraid.
Gabe slid down the side of the lander, coming down with a thud on the packed-down snow. Most of the men were standing around the fire. A few sat on logs or storage crates that Reyes had pulled out of the lander. Gabe’s stomach growled as he saw that they were eating dried food that they had carried in their packs. Someone had even produced a small keg of beer, and they were passing a horn around, each drinking a full draught in turn. They joked and laughed loudly.
Gabe was about to go into the lander to get his own dinner when Sigurd stepped in front of him, putting his hand on his chest. Gabe stared at him, but Sigurd simply pointed toward the top of the lander. “Fire,” he said. Then he pointed toward the darkness beyond the spike barrier.
Gabe sighed and nodded. He’d meant to put a man on this task, but he’d had too much to do to stop and explain it to someone, and then he’d forgotten. He went into the lander and grabbed the container of solvent and a cloth blanket, which he tore into strips. He brought these outside, where he found Sigurd standing next to Braggi, who was holding several birch poles.
“Fire man,” Sigurd said, patting Braggi on the back.
Gabe smiled and nodded. He set the container at Braggi’s feet and handed him the pile of rags. Sigurd spoke instructions to Braggi, pointing toward the poles that had served as targets earlier. Braggi nodded and then walked off into the darkness. Gabe went into the lander and grabbed a bag of water and two of the prepackaged IDL dinners from their food supply, then joined Sigurd and the rest of the men around the fire. He offered some of his meal to Agnar, who stood on his left, but the young Norseman made a face at the strangely textured vegetable protein wafers. He and the others had been eating bread, nuts and various dried meats from their packs. It didn’t look very appetizing, but then, neither did the IDL meals.
The Dream of the Iron Dragon: An Alternate History Viking Epic (Saga of the Iron Dragon Book 1) Page 17