The Amtrak Wars: Blood River

by Patrick Tilley

  Clearwater’s heart sank as she listened but Cadillac accepted the assignment with the confident air of a man for whom nothing is impossible. He chose to ignore her reproachful glances as they ran southwards but behind his purposeful ‘can-do’ demeanour he was silently castigating himself for his uncontrolled eloquence. And the phantom personality that dwelt within his brain was running around in mounting panic repeatedly asking the same unanswerable question: ‘What am I gonna DO!!?’

  Steve intercepted the column a mile north of the campsite and took Cadillac and Clearwater aside. ‘You had me worried. We were expecting you the day before yesterday.’

  ‘The journey took longer than we thought,’ said Cadillac.

  Steve’s eyes met Clearwater’s. Her face looked drawn. ‘You okay?’

  Cadillac cut in ahead of her. ‘She’s fine. What have you done about Kelso?’

  ‘He’s still with us but hold onto your hat. Jodi has come up with an interesting solution and I think it’s something you and I should talk over.’ He searched the sky. ‘Let’s get under cover …’

  Cadillac told their escort what was happening. The fur-clad braves followed them into the nearby stand of pines and settled down out of earshot.

  Steve cast his eyes over the Kojak Mutes then asked: ‘How d’you make out with their wordsmith?’

  Cadillac responded with a self-satisfied smile. ‘We’re here, aren’t we? I did a real number on him.’

  Clearwater’s expression didn’t change but her eyes conveyed a different story.

  ‘I bet … But something struck me while you were gone. How come you and Mr Snow didn’t know of this prophecy about the Chosen Ones? I thought you wordsmiths passed this kind of stuff around during your annual get-together at the trading post.’

  Cadillac did not attempt to hide his exasperation at what he perceived to be an attempt to undermine his new-found authority. ‘Brickman! Just leave the business of prophecy to those whose minds are trained to dwell on such things!’

  Clearwater, in an effort to keep the peace, said: ‘The Old One may have kept it secret to protect us. Ignorance of the terror and humiliation we were fated to endure in the Eastern Lands gave us the blind courage we needed. Foreknowledge of these things might have weakened our resolve.’

  ‘Nice try,’ said Steve, with an admiring nod. ‘But it doesn’t answer the question.’ He inclined his head in the direction of their seated escort. ‘If those guys were expecting us to drop in – as their wordsmith said we would – it means you were destined to survive the trip to Ne-Issan. So it doesn’t make any difference whether you knew what you were letting yourself in for or not.’

  ‘Can we get back to the real purpose of this conversation?’ snapped Cadillac. ‘We are not here to justify our actions but to hear his excuse for failing to deal with the problem of Kelso!’

  ‘I was coming to that. Those guys over there … are they in charge, or are you?’

  Cadillac glanced at the twelve Mutes then frowned. ‘How do you mean …?’

  ‘Jack me! It’s a simple enough question! Will they do what you tell ’em!’

  Cadillac looked at the Mutes again then studied Steve warily. ‘Just tell me what the plan is, Brickman. I can see you can’t wait to tell me.’

  ‘It’s brilliant. Those Skyhawks that have been flying overhead are –’

  ‘– from The Lady. I know. They have white wing tips. Only these are Mark Two’s – as opposed to the delta-winged models you and Jodi were flying last year in Wyoming. Before the M’Calls cut short your promising career.’

  ‘Correct …’ Steve didn’t let the interruption needle him. Cadillac was just trying to level the score. Some chance. But he would have to be watched. If he wasn’t slapped down soon he’d start believing he was running things. Meanwhile it was time for some soft soap. An easy smile. ‘When you break into a guy’s brain, you really clear out the shelves …’

  ‘Just thought I’d remind you – in case you were trying to put one over on me.’

  ‘On the contrary. This is a chance for you to look good in front of your new friends.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Jodi wants to try to get back on board The Lady – and she’s going to take Kelso with her.’

  ‘Very good. Flushing that sake out of your system has really sharpened you up.’

  ‘Okay. That gets rid of Kelso but how does it benefit us?’

  ‘Jodi is going to swear, hand on heart, that she saw the three of us caught by a big posse of Mutes while we were on our way back from a hunting trip. She wasn’t spotted because she’d stayed under cover with Kelso but she had the ‘scope on us. We were cut down and stabbed repeatedly then our naked bodies were carried away slung on poles.’

  Cadillac and Clearwater exchanged loaded glances.

  Sensing there was something going on that he wasn’t part of, Steve tried to feel them out. ‘You’re probably wondering if Kelso can be relied upon to corroborate her story. It’s not a problem. Since you left we’ve been keeping him heavily sedated. He doesn’t know what day it is.’ He studied their faces but neither was giving anything away. ‘So it’s down to her. And since she was a trusted member of the crew for five years …’

  ‘They’ll believe her …’

  ‘Sure,’ continued Steve. ‘When the news gets back to Grand Central, they’ll tell Hartmann to pull out. You can take the credit and everyone’ll be able to go back to sleep again.’

  Cadillac mulled it over. Brickman had handed him the opportunity he’d been looking for. The plan began to crystallize in his mind. ‘Neat … I like it.’

  ‘Good. ‘Cos you’re going to have to sell it to those twelve guys over there. We don’t want ’em going apeshit when those planes come in for the pick-up.’

  ‘I’m not a total idiot, Brickman.’

  Steve rolled his tongue around a tart reply then decided to swallow it. There would be time enough to nail this grass-monkey to the wall.

  When Hartmann came on screen to announce that an eight-figure serial number had been sighted stamped in the snow one hundred and forty miles east of their present position, the news was greeted with a spontaneous cheer. Since the crew had been told they were searching for five Trackers, everyone was genuinely pleased they’d been found but the real excitement was generated by the prospect that their successful recovery would mean an early return home.

  Summoned to the saddle, Trail-Boss McDonnell recognized the serial tapped onto the screen by the RadCommTech who had received the message. Hartmann, who knew there were more to serials than met the eye, had it run through the computer.

  Sure enough, up it came: 2096-5341 KAZAN, JODI, R. MUSTERED ABOARD THE LADY FROM LOUISIANA, 5 APRIL 2984. PROMOTED FLT.SEC/LDR 1 MAY 2986. MIA/BELIEVED KILLED WHILE ATTEMPTING TO LAND ON DURING STORM NEAR NAVREF CASPAR, WYOMING, 12 JUNE 2989. FILEXTRANS ENDS

  Nobody who was on board at the time was likely to forget the 12th of June.

  Hartmann had known Jodi was out there since being ordered to change course at Trinidad but he was genuinely surprised to have been handed a positive ID and a precise location on a plate just when the search, after a promising start, had entered a needle-in-the-haystack phase. He turned to McDonnell. ‘That’s incredible …’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me at all, sir. That is one tough hombre.’ Coming from the lips of Big D, the term – applied regardless of the recipient’s gender – was the ultimate accolade. And one that was rarely bestowed.

  Hartmann turned to the execs and technicians on duty in the saddle. ‘Well, there it is, gentleman. Our first contact – and she belongs to The Lady.’

  Everybody within earshot gave an exultant yell and punched air. ‘YO!’

  Hartmann gave his Flight Exec the nod. ‘Initiate recovery procedures, Mr Baxter. I want Kazan back on board as soon as possible. And that includes anyone who’s with her. Keep me posted throughout. I want the full story as it develops.’

  ‘Yessir!’ Baxter saluted happily and went to
work.

  Hartmann took McDonnell aside. ‘I don’t want to be a killjoy, Buck, but as and when she’s brought in I’m relying on you to keep the reception strictly low key.’ He watched the broad grin fade from McDonnell’s face. ‘A lot can happen in seventeen months.’

  The Trail-Boss got the message. ‘I just can’t figure her as a cee-bee, sir. Kazan was a straight arrow. It’s partly my fault she went missing. As soon as the flood waters went down, one of her section – a guy called Brickman – came onto me. He wanted to take a search party down river. I turned him down flat. Told him we didn’t waste wingmen on bag-jobs!’ He grimaced ruefully. ‘I know that a short while later we were hit by a screaming mass of lumpshit but I felt bad about it then – and I feel even worse now.’

  ‘You did what was right, Buck. Regret is a wasted emotion – especially now she’s been found and is apparently well enough to trample her serial number in the snow. I share your high regard for her but – much as I’d like to – we’re not going to be able to keep her to ourselves. In fact, it’s likely to be some considerable time before she’s re-instated. If at all. When those Assessors get to work …’

  ‘She’ll come through, sir. I’ll bet my badge on it. The crew-chief told me how she went over the side. If you ask me, she’d need more than just luck to get out of a jam like that. Wyoming to Illinois is a long way to travel without a wagon-train wrapped around you. Yessirr. I can’t wait to hear what she’s been up to.’ He threw Hartmann a knowing look. ‘Would I be right in thinking she’s linked with those two Skyriders we’ve been lookin’ for?’

  ‘I’m afraid we won’t know that until she comes aboard,’ said Hartmann. Apart from his deputy, Lt. Commander Cooper and Ryder, the Nav-Exec, no one else on board knew Kazan and Brickman were two of the five people The Lady had been sent out to recover. Kazan’s name was now out of the bag but Hartmann judged it prudent to avoid linking her with the downed aircraft for as long as possible.

  ‘’Cos there are people who say those Skyriders are often used by Feds.’

  Hartmann stiffened. Since his instructive shower with Colonel Marie Anderssen, he’d become convinced The Lady had been sent out to pick up the pieces of a covert operation that had gone wrong. But he wasn’t prepared to share his thoughts with anyone else. ‘No comment, Mr McDonnell. And a word of advice. I would suggest you avoid further speculation on that particular subject in public and in private.’

  McDonnell leapt to attention and gave Hartmann an impeccable salute. ‘Yesss-SURR!’

  Moore, the senior Field Commander approached with his deputy, Captain Virgil Clay as the Trail-Boss left the saddle.

  ‘What is it, Bob?’

  ‘Virgil has an idea he wants to run by you.’

  Clay explained. ‘I’ve got this gung-ho lieutenant from the Pueblo way-station who’s offered to take a detachment across the Mississippi – so we’ve got backup out there on the ground.’

  ‘Harmer …? Is he the guy with the broken nose and no …?

  ‘That’s him. He claims to have nineteen men prepared to go with him. They’ve all had winter combat experience.’

  ‘Does he know how far he’s got to travel? Kazan is a hundred and forty miles due east of here.’

  ‘He’s already solved that. We’ve got four Skyhawks fitted with skis. His plan is to fit two buddy frames – one each side of the fuselage.’

  Hartmann turned to Lt. Commander Moore. ‘Can they lift two passengers in full combat gear?’

  ‘They can if they strip out the multi-gun.’

  ‘Harmer’s checked all this with Baxter. If all four aircraft fly three sorties we can have twenty men on the ground in seven and a half hours. The round trip will take approximately three hours.’

  ‘That also means the first eight men will be on their own for three hours.’

  ‘He’s thought of that. The other ’hawks will have to fly top cover during the build up. In fact, they’ll need air cover during daylight hours the whole time they’re out there.’

  Hartmann didn’t look impressed. ‘Which means our entire air component is going to be tied up while this goon tries to grab himself some glory and another citation, and it’ll take seven and a half hours to fly ’em all back in.’ He shook his head. ‘It seems a very extravagant waste of airpower …’

  ‘On the other hand –’ began Moore.

  Hartmann cut in. ‘I know exactly what you’re going to say, Bob. I just think we should wait until we’ve got Kazan aboard. Let’s see how she fits into this assignment and just who else is out there.’

  ‘Okay. I can live with that …’

  Captain Clay looked disappointed. He’d been hoping to hitch a ride and grab a citation of his own. ‘So what shall I tell Lieutenant Harmer, sir?’

  ‘Give him a map to play with and tell him to prepare a list of the equipment he and his men will need. Have they got their own weapons?’

  ‘Only side-arms, sir.’

  ‘Arrange for them to be issued with the full ordinance load, Mr Clay. And tell Harmer he’s responsible for inspecting his team’s weapons and making sure everything is in perfect working order. I want them at combat-alert status twelve hours from now!’

  ‘Yess-SIRR!’ Clay’s right hand flew up to the long peak of his yellow baseball cap. He spun on his heel and left the saddle at the double.

  Moore glanced shrewdly at his commander. ‘That should keep the lieutenant busy for a while.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Hartmann. ‘Those goddam Pioneers. Just because they didn’t make it onto a wagon-train they can’t resist trying to prove what eager-beavers they are.’ He dragged his fingers over the ends of his bushy white moustache – a sign he was mulling something over. ‘Do you think he could be a plant?’

  ‘Hard to tell,’ said Moore. ‘Why don’t you ask Mary-Ann?’

  ‘I might just do that. Meanwhile, keep the pressure on him, Bob. With a bit of luck, he might get overexcited and shoot himself in the foot.’

  Moore smiled. ‘I’d say that was unlikely. But it can always be arranged.’

  Hartmann’s question about the gung-ho lieutenant from Pueblo referred to the covert deployment of military personnel attached to the Department of Assessors. They performed the same duties as regular soldiers of varying rank and grade but their real task was to monitor the operational ‘zeal’ and competence of wagon-train commanders and their crews.

  Their presence aboard a wagon-train, or inside a way-station, usually only came to light when they appeared as witnesses for the prosecution at disciplinary tribunals. No one knew how widespread this unpleasant practice was but the knowledge that the testimony of these scum-bags had sent good men to the wall helped keep everybody on their toes.

  In certain aspects of their work, notably their assessment of a crew’s ‘attitude’ to the leadership and directives of the First Family, the active service evaluators – for that was their official title – resembled the political commissars attached to units of the Soviet Army – notably during the pre-Holocaust conflict known as World War Two.

  The commissars, however, were highly visible and could take issue with military commanders over the ‘correctness’ of tactical decisions. An ASE had the same power to wreck a man’s career; the trouble was, you couldn’t even see the tip of the iceberg. By the time you discovered it was there, you were usually already badly holed and sinking because, for serious code violations, no pleas of mitigation were allowed.

  To the Department, an evaluator serving with an operational unit was referred to as ‘an ace in the hole’. The time they stayed with a particular outfit could be a month or a year. An ASE could be a senior or junior officer, a technician, or a lowly dog-soldier manning a weapons barbette – or there might not be anyone from the Department on board at all. That was the strength and the beauty of the system; there was no need for a vast army of snoopers. Like so many of the controls exercised by the First Family, it operated on the classic principle known as ‘FUD’ – Fear, Uncertainty
and Doubt.

  Lieutenant Harmer might have proved to be a pain in the butt but one of his fellow-travellers from Pueblo, Deke Heywood turned out to be a real find. The VidCommTech-4 had an unsettling enthusiasm for cloud-filled skies, but as far as anyone knew it was not an arrestable offence – although it might be a certifiable disorder. Whatever the official verdict, the crew of The Lady regarded Deke’s addiction as a minor and forgiveable abberration when set alongside the fact that the guy was an electronic genius. Since coming aboard he had already debugged several systems and was now working his way through a list of equipment whose intermittent malfunctions had resisted the diagnostic skills of The Lady’s own repairmen.

  In anticipation of this first air-to-ground contact, Deke had also assembled two identical black boxes – one for each of the alternating four-plane patrols. When fitted to a Skyhawk it would enable someone on the ground below to be patched through to The Lady. All the wingmen had to do was drop a suitably-packed walkie-talkie and Hartmann would be able to talk directly to whoever was out there.

  As it happened, Steve’s party had two radios – one from each of the emergency survival packs fitted to the Skyhawks. As a result of which, Jodi came on the air and was put through to the man himself while some guys in the flight car were busily fitting a drag chute to the canister containing the walkie-talkie that Gus White was waiting impatiently to deliver.

  Gus, who had pictured himself coming over the rise like the legendary 5th Cavalry, was not well pleased.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Baxter. ‘You can go out and pick her up.’

  It was the patrol led by Stinson who had spotted her serial number and reported it to The Lady. Vickers, having made a landing, had swapped planes with a guy called Owens and it was he and the No. 4 – Marklin – who were now flying what had quickly been dubbed the ‘Skihawks’. Both men offered to go down and investigate but Stinson decided against it.