Industry & Intrigue

by Ryan McCall

  “The second time was under the command of Colonel Fergus Craig in the Kalagee War. Nothing but a fucking pissing match between us, the Kordatians and the Silunders. And for what? A slimy swamp filled with fancy minerals and plants.” Steven was underselling the Kalagee swamp. It was a resource rich region, which was why it had been fought over so often.

  “Craig was hoping to ambush a Silunder troop that was rumored to be reinforced with the natives they were working with. It meant they outnumbered us by ten to one, but he dismissed the natives. Normally I would have too, but we didn’t know the Silunders had put guns in their hands. We found them alright. They were operating out of a large clearing in the southern part of the swamp. Craig ordered an attack. It went well at first, they weren’t expecting us. Then the Silunder officers gathered their wits together and directed their men and the natives at us.

  Four hundred of us trying to take on three and a half thousand, ha! I was lucky to escape with my life. If it hadn’t been for a merciful Silunder officer, the natives would’ve gutted me along with the others. Less than a hundred of us survived that fight, a third of which died from tropical infections before making it back to headquarters.”

  Ian sipped his beer, only to suddenly realize it was close to empty. Steven’s war stories had made a good distraction. He was deciding on refilling or calling it a night, when his aide, James, entered the tent. The man was panting slightly, as if he had run to get here.

  He saluted and spoke before either of the officers could salute back, “General, sir, there’s something you need to see.” There was concern in his voice. It must be serious, normally his aide was unflappable.

  “What is it?” asked Ian, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. He stood up, and walked over to the entrance, Steven following.

  James held up the tent flap for the both of them. “There’s something in the sky sir.” The man pointed upwards.

  Ian heard cries of excitement from other men as well. The news had spread around the camp. “Hand me a telescope, James.” His aide fetched one from the tent and passed into his hands.

  Ian held it up and moved it until he had a good view of the objects. There were around a dozen of them, large oblong shapes floating in the air and drifting towards the camp. By their direction it looked like they had come from the north.

  “They look like observation balloons, though there’s a slightly odd shape to them. Less spherical than any balloons I’ve seen.” He looked away from the objects and back at Steven and James. Steven’s brow was furrowed. “What is it Steven?”

  “Do they have any markings on them?” he asked.

  Ian shook his head. “It’s too dark and they’re too far away to tell.”

  “Sir, I would suggest you put the army on alert.” Steven’s face was a wall of serious.

  “You think it’s the Galrians?” asked Ian. “Even they wouldn’t be so bold as to cross the border before declaring war.”

  “Sir, may I?” asked Steven, holding his hand out. Ian put the telescope in his hands. He adjusted it slightly and looked towards the balloons which were much closer by now.

  “Fucking hells!” Steven’s reaction had him worried now.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Those dirigibles are lining up for a bombing run. We need to clear out of their path. Now.”

  “How do you know-”

  “General, please I’ve studied Galrian tactics carefully and I’d bet my left nut-sack they’re preparing to bomb us.”

  “But there’s been no declaration of war, they can’t…” Ian’s voice trailed off as the rest of the sentence died in his throat. Could the Galrians be as devious as to attack without offering a formal declaration of war? He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t going to sit by and risk his men’s lives to find out.

  “Fine. General McGregor, carry out an evacuation along the line of the balloons. Whether it helps or not. And get our long range snipers ready, I want to be able to hit the bastards back if they do bomb us,” he commanded.

  “Yes sir,” replied Steven and went off to carry out the order. Ian continued to watch the dirigibles. His dread increased as they drifted closer and closer. They were lined up directly to pass over his army.

  “James, is there any report from the scouts?” he asked his aide.

  “No sir, nothing.”

  “Hmm.” If the Galrians were going to carry out a sneak attack they’d use more than dirigibles. They’d be attacking with a mass of cavalry as well, followed up by cannon fire.

  “Uh, sir,” his aide continued. “By nothing, I mean there are no reports at all. None of the scouts reported back.”

  A cold chill ran through Ian. It was as bad as he imagined. “They were due back over twenty minutes ago weren’t they?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then you should have bloody well have come and told that then, not now,” he snarled and James recoiled at the outburst. “Fuck. James, find all the division commanders and tell them to prepare for battle. We have a fight on our hands.”

  Before his aide could run off there was a loud noise near the front of the camp. They both looked up to see a cloud of smoke and dust rising up. Several tents were on fire, a dirigible above the spot. They had started their bombing, like Steven had predicted.

  The crack of rifles could be heard as his soldiers fired back. It was pointless, only the longest range rifles would be able to reach that high, and the odds of them hitting were slim.

  James ran off to relay his orders and there were shouts from the other side of the camp. Ian could see men readying their weapons and running. He pulled up the telescope and looked.

  In the distance he could see it. A long line of a massive Galrian cavalry army was charging at his camp. His men were going to be slaughtered. He gritted his teeth in frustration and watched as they sped closer and closer towards the camp. He needed to oversee this personally.

  When he reached the south side of the camp, he found his officers had made a temporary command post. They all saluted when he arrived.

  “Report.” His commanding voice was loud and strong.

  One of his officers said, “Sir, there appears to be several regiments of Galrian cavalry approaching our position. Our units are getting organized, but it’s taking time.”

  No fucking shit thought Ian. “These Galrian fuckers have caught us with our pants down and they mean to give us good buggering. But I don’t intend for them to enjoy it. Get as many of the second and third division as you can, to assemble on this side of the camp.” All of the dirigibles were above the camp and they were dropping bombs at an alarming rate.

  “Colonel Wilkins,” he said, addressing the officer.

  “Yes sir,” said the large man to his left. He had a big, black beard.

  “See to the command of the cannons. I know most of them are lined up for target practice, but there are a few situated on the perimeter. Get the crews to move their arses and drag them over here as fast as they can.” The officer nodded and went off to do his job.

  Ian watched as the cavalry came closer, it had to be at least two entire divisions. They would rip through his men and the camp if their charge wasn’t broken. Officers were yelling out orders to soldiers everywhere. They were out of uniform, but he didn’t give a damn about that, so long as they could shoot.

  There were enough men from the second and third division assembled now that they were forming a semblance of a solid line. His infantry were armed with the Huntington Repeater .909, one of the best rifles in the world. It could fire ten rounds in the space of twelve seconds, before needing to reload.

  With enough men, the damage that could be done from a unified firing line was devastating. Even enough to occasionally break cavalry charges if they had time, something which they didn’t have here.

  He looked back and upwards. The dirigibles had dropped most of their bombs and were veering away from the camp. They had hit several of the arms caches and started an inferno in the middle of the ca
mp that was proving difficult to put out.

  But aside from a direct hit on a barracks tent they had not caused casualties. He suspected that wasn’t the goal anyway. The dirigibles were a distraction while the Galrian ground army moved towards them. The bombings also served to draw men away from the defense of the camp.

  There was a tremendous sound and he turned back. His infantry were firing. It was solid line of fire and he saw horsemen at the front of the Galrian charge go down. But it wasn’t enough. The men were firing everything they had and disrupted the cavalry charge, but it only faltered. The horses were still incoming and the rifle fire began to lessen as the men had to stop and reload.

  “General Munro,” asked another of his officers. “What about the new gun?”

  He had forgotten that they had one of the new mechanized Fleming guns with them. It was an impressive gun, but they only had one and he doubted it would have made a difference here. It was all the way at the practice sector with the rest of the cannons.

  “It won’t help us,” he replied. He realized he couldn’t allow the Galrians to get their hands on it. It was brand-new design and letting an enemy force obtain a prototype weapon like that would be a huge blow.

  “Take some men and destroy it,” he bluntly stated.

  “How?” asked the officer.

  “I don’t care how!” he yelled. “Use dynamite if you have to. Just get it destroyed. We can’t allow the Galrians to get their hands on it.”

  Ignoring the man, he refocused his attention on the battle. To his right a cannon boomed, then three more. Colonel Wilkins had moved fast. He watched in satisfaction as each explosion tore apart dirt, horses and men.

  His soldiers had been able to decimate the frontlines, but it only accounted for roughly a quarter of the total cavalry charge. The Galrians would have the advantage in less than a minute. Already they were beginning to fire their own guns and hit back at his men. The smell of gunpowder was stifling and the pounding of the oncoming horses increased in volume.

  He pulled out his personal revolver and took aim. He refused to be cut down like an animal. He fired off one shot, hitting an officer. The man slipped off his horse, the reins dragging the animal down and they collapsed into a bloody pile. He kept firing until his gun was empty. The pounding of horse hooves thundered closer and closer. He felt a bullet whizz past his ear and he flinched.

  The Galrian charge hit his infantry like a hammer, breaking the line and flowing into the camp. Ian watched as they shot, cut and trampled his soldiers to pieces. And still they came, what seemed like an endless number of cavalry.

  One pounded towards him and he stood his ground. The green-uniformed horseman fired a revolver and the bullet took Ian in the shoulder. He maintained his stance. The horseman drew a sword as he charged and pulled it back for a vicious slash aimed directly at Ian. The fire in the camp reflected off the sword as it cut through his neck.

  Chapter 58

  The beautiful face and soft blonde hair of Queen Clara Vicinus chased Lawrence in his dreams. He could see himself kissing her, other times it was as if he was a voyeuristic observer outside of his own body, as she kissed him. Other times he would be chasing her, then she would be running away from him. If he caught up to her, he would rip off her clothes and kiss her all over, until she was moaning with pleasure.

  He was right in the middle of a dream exactly like that when he was roused awake by his head guard. He was not happy at being pulled out of it.

  “I’ve had a long day, Captain McLaren. The least you could do is let your emperor have a good night’s rest,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty, but there’s something going on,” replied Flint. “I needed to wake you. We must be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

  Lawrence roused himself as the captain’s words processed through his mind, penetrating the fog of sleep. He had never known Flint to ever speak as melodramatically as that, it must be serious. He rubbed his eyes and pulled off his bed covers. “What is it exactly captain?” he asked.

  “There’s something going on in the Galrian camp.”

  “Something going on?” Lawrence felt his annoyance return. “There’s always something going on there. Soldiers aren’t accustomed to sitting still and waiting for negotiations, they drink and gamble to pass the time. Would you care to be more specific?” As he looked at the man, he suddenly realized that the captain was wearing his armored vest. He was expecting trouble.

  “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty. I would explain it to you but I don’t have all the facts myself. I’ll fill you in on what I do know while you dress. Suffice it to say this isn’t about soldiers having too much to drink and getting over-excited.”

  Lawrence moved over to his closet and pulled out his clothes while Flint spoke, “As the captain of Your Imperial Majesty’s guard, I’ve made it my duty to know everything that is going in the town. Particularly with regards to the Galrian delegation.”

  Lawrence pulled on his suit trousers and lifted up a white shirt, with red markings.

  “I have had a man posing as a Galrian in their camp every night that they have been here,” said Flint.

  Lawrence had been about to pull on his shirt but he froze when he heard this. “Captain, that was a dangerous move to make. They are already suspicious of us. If your man had been discovered, it could have derailed the negotiations.”

  Flint took this in stride and replied in the same serious tone of voice, “My one and only duty is to protect you. I can best do that when I have as much information as possible.”

  Lawrence quickly pulled his shirt on. “Let me guess. Your man reported to you every night, but tonight he has failed to appear at the correct time.”

  “No, Your Imperial Majesty. He reported back to me only ten minutes ago.”

  “And what did he have to say for himself?” asked Lawrence.

  “Skalov is in the Galrian camp, meeting with the officers. All of the men are awake and none of them are drinking.”

  Lawrence paused. That did sound unusual. Every other night there had been incidents involving drunk soldiers, nothing more than minor fistfights.

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” countered Lawrence. “Skalov is ready to sign our agreement tomorrow. They’re preparing to leave as early as they can.” He relaxed as he looked at himself in the mirror. Flint was being over cautious.

  “There is something else, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Flint. “They are moving their carriages as we speak. They don’t have the engines on. They are pushing them by hand, slowly and quietly, so they aren’t noticed.”

  That was more troubling, but still not evidence of anything. “They could be reorganizing the camp.”

  “Nonetheless, Your Imperial Majesty, I would ask that you please put this on, until my men have investigated.” Flint held an armored vest out.

  He shrugged and took the vest. “Fine, I’ll play along. I’m glad the deal is done and Skalov is going to sign tomorrow. Lack of sleep won’t be as much of an issue if I don’t have to spend all day haggling. It’s no wonder he’s a rich man if he does business the same way he handles diplomacy.”

  Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. Flint opened it and one of his guardsmen entered. He was panting from exertion.

  “What is it sergeant?” asked Flint. His voice had a sense of panic to it.

  “The watchmen at the gates and towers are all dead,” replied the guard. “Their throats were slit, killed before they could make a noise.”

  Lawrence’s eyes widened, it was as serious as Flint feared. He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

  “The Galrians, sergeant. Did you see what they’re planning?” asked Flint.

  Before the man could answer there was a deafening boom and the walls of the room rumbled. Flint looked over at Lawrence. “That was cannon fire, Your Imperial Majesty. We need to get you out of here.” More booms sounded along with the lighter snaps of rifle fire.

/>   Lawrence went over to the window. The Galrians had shifted their carriages to the center of the town and the sides were facing the largest buildings. The sides had been opened up, cannons were packed closely together in all of them and firing. Galrian soldiers could be seen between the carriages, firing their rifles at the little resistance Rampart’s woefully outnumbered watch was putting up.

  “Your Imperial Majesty, please come away from the window!” shouted Flint in panic and pulled him back, albeit gently.

  “Madness, this is madness,” said Lawrence. “They didn’t even give us a formal declaration, they…”

  “No, Your Imperial Majesty. Not madness, war and ambition. I fear they have been doing nothing since they came here but play for time. This was always their intention. By now, I suspect the Galrian armies have crossed the border and attacking our own armies, who will not be prepared.”

  Lawrence clenched his fists. “I have to put a stop to this.”

  “Your Imperial Majesty, I have a duty to get you out of here. I cannot allow them to take you. They would not kill you, but you would become a valuable hostage. We cannot risk the train. If they haven’t seized it, they’ll have sabotaged the tracks. We’ll have to make for the stables and hope to the Creator they have left the horses alone.”

  The shock of the attack was beginning to wear off on him. “Right, of course captain,” he replied. “The stables. Yes, that is the best course of action. I am in your capable hands.”

  Flint opened the door and three other Imperial Guards entered the room, standing at attention. Flint addressed them. “Moments like these are why the Imperial Guard exists. These Galrian bastards have attacked us and they mean to seize our emperor. You are men of the Imperial Guard and you will do everything to ensure His Imperial Majesty is kept safe and secure.”

  “Yes sir,” they all replied in unison. They drew their revolvers. They were armed with the Typhon Jaguar, one of the most powerful handheld guns in the world. Lawrence had seen the size of the holes its ten millimeter diameter rounds could leave in a target.