Battle For Atlantis

by Robert Doherty

  Mary Todd Lincoln was in the middle of the room, seated on a couch. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. She was in the midst of one of her migraines and although Lincoln had insisted she take to bed, she had refused.

  “As near as I can tell, reading general-speak,” Lincoln continued, “today was a stand-off with heavy casualties on both sides. The latest cable from Meade says he will hold his ground. Now if General Lee would oblige and attack him, tomorrow--this day, actually--might bring some conclusive result.”

  “What happens here,” Mary said, “what happens now, is not as important as the larger war, the larger battle.”

  “It matters to the men who will fight the battle,” Lincoln said. “Those who will die or be maimed for life.”

  Mary opened her eyes. “1 know. But. Not only will there be a greater !O~ achieved but this will change the tide of the war. Our war.”

  “Will it end it?”

  Mary Todd Lincoln closed her eyes once more. “No.”

  The emotion behind that single word hit Lincoln in the chest and remained there, a heavy weight. For the last two years the cry had been to have peace by Christmas. By his wife’s tone he knew now there would be no peace by this Christmas. The tide may change today but it would be a long time going out.

  EARTH TIMELINE--XIV

  Southern Africa, 21 January 1879

  Ahana packed her gear up while Shakan waited. There were campfires on the plain below Isandlwana, whether British or Zulu, she neither knew nor cared. Against the dark sky, there was a blackness on the top of Isandlwana.

  Ahana threw the backpack over her shoulder and nodded. Shakan led the way off the conical hill and toward the pass to the south of Isandlwana.

  As they reached the plain, a small war party of Zulus suddenly appeared out of a dong a, brandishing their spears, the metal covered with dried blood. One of them ran toward Ahana ready to strike.

  Shakan stepped between them and raised her hand. Surprisingly, the warrior came to a complete halt.

  “You will let us pass,” Shakan ordered.

  The warrior backed up, but one of his fellows did not. The second warrior cocked his arm back to throw his spear, when the leader of the party cut him down before he could let loose.

  The leader waved his spear, indicating they could go by.

  **********

  Having the bulk of Isandlwana between their location and where the battle had taken place meant that the small group of soldiers manning the missionary outpost had not heard any of the battle that had just been fought. Bromhead kept his men at work, improving the defensive position and also preparing some of the supplies to be loaded on the oxen wagons that were supposed to come from the main camp.

  Chard had gone over to the camp at Isandlwana in the morning to get further orders and returned about noon. He’d then gone back to work with a platoon of Bromhead’s infantry, improving the ford.

  At a quarter past three in the afternoon, they received the first indication that something was wrong as two riders appeared, pushing their mounts hard. Chard hurried · back to the station, arriving just as the riders did.

  Chard and Bromhead stood shoulder-to-shoulder just outside the mealie bag wall the men had built as the two riders pulled up. They were from the Natal National Police, locals, and both looked as wide-eyed as their mounts.

  “They’re gone,” one cried out.

  Chard glanced over his shoulder, noting that some of the men were edging closer to the wall, trying to hear what was happening.

  “Easy, man,” Chard said, as he stepped forward and took the man’s reins. “Who’s gone?”

  “All of them. Isandlwana. Every one of them. Dead.”

  “Chelmsford?” Bromhead asked, confused about who exactly the man was referring to.

  “No,” the man gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “Chelmsford took off with a column. Those he left behind. All of them. The Zulus wiped them out. There’s thousands dead.

  “Lower your voice,” Bromhead hissed, knowing it was already too late, that the word was spreading through their camp.

  “Where are the Zulus now?” Chard asked.

  The man gave a hysterical laugh. “Coming here. Right this way. Thousands and thousands of them. We saw them.” The man gestured vaguely to the northeast. “On the march. Coming fast.”

  “All right,” Chard said. “Take your mounts into the station--”

  “To hell with you,” the man jerked his reins, pulling the bridle out of the Chard’s hand. Before another word could be said both men were galloping away.

  “That was helpful,” Bromhead said.

  Chard turned and looked back the way the men had come. There was no sign of the Zulu, but as an engineer he knew this terrain could bide an entire army until it was just about on top of them.

  “We have quite a few sick and wounded,” Bromhead said.

  “And?” Chard asked as be used his binoculars to take a closer look, searching for a dust cloud, any sign.

  “We have some wagons,” Bromhead said. “We could evacuate to Helpmakaar across the border.”

  “We have some wagons,” Bromhead said. “We could evacuate to Helpmakaar across the border.”

  “We didn’t respect the border,” Chard noted, “what makes you think the Zulu will respect it?”

  “There will be more men at Helpmakaar to help defend.”

  “We’d never make it,” Chard said. “We’re better off here, with some walls, then out on the track. Let’s finish the defensive preparations.”

  There were a couple of things they had not done yet, since it would require damaging the buildings, but Chard saw no option now. Rifle loopholes were knocked in the walls of the buildings. He also directed the mealie bags and ration boxes that had been stacked to load onto wagons that apparently were never going to come, to instead be used to build up a final wall, a last outpost in front of the storehouse where they could retreat to if the outer wall was breached.

  It was clear that word of what the rider had said had already spread throughout the camp. Men worked with a high degree of earnest, while many a worried eye was cast to the northeast. Chard sent out scouts to the nearby hills to give them some warning.

  Even as the scouts moved out, everyone noted a cloud of dust approaching rapidly along the track that led to Isandlwana. Bromhead ordered the men to stand-to, and they exchanged mealie bags for weapons.

  They were not needed as the incoming forces were recognized as cavalry as they got closer. Approximately one hundred men, militia, came galloping up, not even slowing as they raced by the camp, despite Chard’s attempts to get them to. Obviously, they knew what was coming and had no desire to hang around.

  “It’s your damn country!” Chard yelled at one of the officers as he tried to intercept him.

  “It’s your damn war,” the man yelled back as he lashed his horse.

  As quickly as they had approached, the cavalry was gone.

  “This is getting a bit awkward,” Bromhead observed. Chard silently agreed. The native contingent in the camp was restless, muttering among themselves. Muttering turned to panic when one of the outposts carne running down hill toward the station, crying out a warning.

  “Here they come! Black as hell and thick as grass!”

  That was all it took for the native contingent to bolt after the other who had already fled. Several of the British regulars, outraged, fired at the fleeing militia, killing a few.

  Chard saw no reason to make an issue of this fratricide. His command had just been more than halved in the space of a few minutes. As he shouted orders, realigning the defense to close the gaps just created, he sensed first, rather than heard, something in the distance. So, apparently, did everyone else, as the station came to a standstill.

  There was the slightest vibration in the ground. Then there was a noise. The nearest Chard could describe it was like a locomotive engine in the distance--a rhythmic pounding. It took him several moments before he realized
what he was feeling and hearing: the Zulu army on the march, coming this way.

  The right horn of the Zulu army came over the high ground to the northeast, more than four thousand strong. Their spears had not tasted blood at Isandlwana due to the roundabout march, and they were eager for the battle. Technically, Rorke’s Drift was not a target in Cetewayo’s plan, but the commander of the right horn felt he had enough flexibility in orders to swing this far out of the advance. The station was simply too tempting a target, obviously lightly defended. Also, it represented the missionaries who had corrupted many of the people.

  The Zulu force did not halt on the high ground but came straight on, deploying from column to wide front for the attack while on the move, an example of their superb training.

  There was no time for a plan, Chard knew as he watched the Zulu come on, nor was one needed. They had to hold in place. As soon as the front of the Zulu line was in range he gave the order to fire.

  The massed volleys did their job, smashing into the ranks of Zulu warriors, killing and wounding many. But the ranks behind leapt over their fallen comrades and kept coming.

  The odds were not good for the small outpost. There · were slightly over one hundred defenders while there were thousands of attackers. And some of the Zulu also had rifles, scavenged from the edges of the Isandlwana battlefield as they had passed by. As the main force charged. A cluster of Zulu riflemen fired down into the camp from a nearby hill. Their fire was terribly inaccurate, yet they did hit an unfortunate few British regulars.

  Volley after volley rang out from the British walls, yet the Zulu kept coming, useless shields held in front of their bodies, their shoulders hunched, in the way all men advanced against fire, as if moving into a fierce wind.

  “Independent fire,” Chard called out as the Zulu got within one hundred yards of the wall, allowing each man to fire at his own pace. He pulled his pistol out and checked the rounds, then cocked it. He drew his saber with his other hand and waited for the inevitable.

  **********

  Shakan and Ahana reached past the track that crested between Isandlwana and the next hill to the south. Ahana had her Valkyrie suit tied off to her waist now, pulling it along as she moved. They had been hearing the fire for a while and now they could see the cause. The missionary station was a small island of red surrounded by a surging black sea. As they watched, the sea hit the island.

  **********

  The defenders of Rorke’s Drift had two advantages that their comrades at Isandlwana had not had. First, they had tighter lines, allowing better volley fire. And second, they · were behind a wall. As each Zulu reached the wall, he had to lower his shield to try to climb over. As he did so, he left himself vulnerable to British steel. Bayonets glinted in the setting sun as British soldiers spitted Zulu warriors on their bayonets as they tried to climb into the compound.

  Still, numbers counted. Here and there, the outer wall was breached and Zulus poured into the compound. They were met with more volley fire as Bromhead rushed to and fro with a platoon that he would form up wherever there was breach. And when the volley fire wasn’t enough, the platoon would charge, shoulder to shoulder, bayonets in front, to push those Zulu still alive out of the breach and reseal the perimeter.

  The battle raged for what seemed like hours, days, to the participants, but in reality was little more than a half hour, before the Zulu finally managed to breach the outer wall in so many places that Bromhead’s platoon could not seal them all. Darkness was falling, but the battle was well lit by the burning hospital roof.

  Most of the patients had already been evacuated from the hospital to the storage building by that time. But some men were still in there as the roof burned and Zulus began to surround the building. Chard realized the outer wall was lost and ordered a withdrawal to the final outpost 17, near the storage building, unfortunately abandoning the hospital in the process and the men trapped inside.

  The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that the rooms of the hospital did not have inner connections, only opening to outside doors. As the Zulus broke into the end room, the British inside were forced to use a pickax to cut through the internal walls to create an opening to the next room in order to retreat, dragging their wounded with them.

  Those who fought the rear guard action in this room-by-room retreat were overwhelmed and hacked to death as Zulu swarmed over them. A handful of men managed to make it to the other end of the building in this manner and then dashed across the open ground to the final outpost.

  Shakan and Ahana were making their way closer to the besieged station. In Ahana’s hands was her muonic detector and as they closed the distance, the reading got stronger.

  Shakan put out a hand and halted Ahana. The Zulu woman pointed. About three miles from the station, a column of British soldiers was approaching. Even as they watched, though. the column came to halt, seeing the glow of the fire ahead and hearing the firing.

  Ahana noticed that the amulet that Shakan wore around her neck was beginning to emit a faint glow. Shakan noticed it too and wrapped her hand tight around the crystal.

  **********

  On the roof of the storehouse, Chard also saw the column. He· d climbed up there in a brief lull in the battle. As the Zulu pulled back to prepare another assault. Thankfully he was the only one who could see the column, because as he watched, it turned and headed back the way it had come, obviously assuming either everyone at the station was dead or that they could do little to help.

  Chard watched the last of the soldiers disappear in the moonlight with a heavy heart. The Zulu had smashed the entire outer wall and were just on the other side, preparing another attack.

  He had no doubt they would come again and again until they wiped out every living soul.

  **********

  Ahana and Shakan reached the rear of the Zulu force assaulting Rorke’s Drift. Lifting her crystal amulet high, Shakan cried out for the warriors to let them pass. As they · made their way forward the glow from the crystal grew brighter and the muonic reading on Ahana’s instrument was beginning to spike.

  Abana’s instruments gave her some idea of the amount of power that was flowing through the Isandlwana Gate. She knew this was the latest tap by the Shadow to draw power to itself.

  She just didn’t see how she could do anything about it. If anything, this battle at Rorke’s Drift was adding more power.

  EARTH TIMELINE--III

  New York City, July 2078

  Colonel Chamberlain had the MH-90s deployed along the Palisades, using the craft as temporary lodging for his battalion. He’d sent out patrols, both on the ground and in the air. Not that he expected trouble, but one thing that had always concerned him was that the Final Assault didn’t necessarily mean it would be his forces attacking the Shadow--it could also mean the Shadow attacking this timeline for the last time and completely wiping it out.

  Shortly after the patrols had gone out, he received an alert that an aircraft was inbound. Chamberlain suited up and went outside to await its arrival. It was a cargo plane and it landed along the remains of a highway that had once run along the top of the Palisades. Chamberlain remembered driving on the same road while a cadet at West Point, beading south, away from the academy on leave, happy to be free for a short while, and later driving north back to school, usually on dark Sunday evenings, anticipating another week. At the time, his major concern had been passing his classes and making it to graduation.

  So much had been lost.

  The cargo plane landed and came to a halt. The back ramp came down and Chamberlain was surprised to see the Oracles on board. The High Priestess walked off, black robe tight around her body and a black veil covering her face. Captain Eddings, in full combat gear, was at her side.

  Chamberlain switched to tactical frequency to talk to Eddings so the Oracles wouldn’t hear. “What the hell are they doing? Those robes aren’t exactly the best shields and they’re breathing unfiltered air.”

  “1 told t
he High Priestess that,” Eddings said.

  Chamberlain dropped to one knee as the High Priestess halted in front of him. To his shock, the old woman pulled back her veil, exposing her face and eyes to the sun’s rays.

  “It is good to feel the sun after so many years hiding from it,” the High Priestess said.

  “Ma’ am.” Chamberlain got to his feet. “I highly recommend that--”

  “That I go back to hiding?” the High Priestess cut him off. “I know the effect the sun is having on me. And the air. But it doesn’t matter now. Because the end, what I have lived for all my life, is coming now. Beyond that does not matter. All that counts is that we Oracles do our duty.”

  She turned from Chamberlain and looked out toward what had once been New York City. “They are coming.”

  “Who?” Chamberlain asked. “The Shadow?”

  “No. The orcas. They come.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EARTH TIME LINE--I

  They knew he was here because he was what they were, Dane realized. The Shadow had no bodies, only their consciousness, their essence, just as that was all he had here. They could sense each other and they could sense the intrusion into their lair of one like them, even though he was not visible on the real plane.

  He didn’t have much more time to ponder this.

  A dozen Valkyries floated into view, coming from the ramp he had just followed here. They had their long spears in their hands and two of them also had some sort of green tablet about a foot long by six inches wide in their off-weapon hand. Dane wondered what that was and then got the answer right away as the two lifted the tablets up in front of their faces and peered through them. All twelve Valkyries immediately vectored in on his location.