Clockwork Chaos

by C. J. Henderson

  Brian nodded. He took in a great lungful of air, but found it tainted with the smoke of the endless Great War; thirty-eight years and no end in sight. “We’ll all be dead in no time, Sergeant. That’s how these things work.” Brian patted Lemwill on the arm. “Thank you, sergeant for the concern though. Wish I could stop!” He forced a smile.

  Lemwill opened his mouth as if to say something, stammered and then nodded, though his expression was tight.

  A war that started in the time of his grandfather was unlikely to be merciful to any of them, no matter how brash or conversely cautious they were. Brian looked upon the fallen Kaiser-Guard. They were Germany’s elite, equipped and armored to the highest standards. His eyes strayed over his squad. They were shrouded in dust, but otherwise unharmed. “We are fortunate none of us are dead right now. Good work!”

  Lemwill walked over to one of the corpses and nudged it with his boot. The motor on the backpack grumbled and he racked his trench-gun, sneering. “Bad luck, blunderin’ into them, I still says, sir.”

  Brian pursed his lips and swept a hand across his brow, tipping his bowl-shaped helmet back. “I do not think so, Sergeant. We’re an hour from our rendezvous with the spy and finding a trio of them this close is hardly coincidence.”

  “Spy been found out, sir?” Private Mores asked. He rubbed his nose and peered around with narrowed eyes.

  “Might be a good reason to call it off, sir. If our spy—”

  “No.” Brian cut off any excuses they might have to return to their lines. He didn’t want his stomach rebelling, or his eyes pounding, or any other manner of pain that would wash over him at the thought of failure. He had his orders and he shared with his men only the basics; that they had to rendezvous with the spy in a hamlet just within Germany proper. He was not about to have crawled all the way into Germany, defeated three armored monstrosities with a pistol, only to turn back and suffer agony. He gaze the men a stern look and set his jaw. “King and Country.”

  They were silent. Sergeant Lemwill lowered his gaze. “Right you are, sir. King n’ Country.”

  The other men of the squad echoed him and bowed their heads in submission. It wasn’t too difficult to reassert control and remind them of their duty. They had accompanied him on plenty of missions that most soldiers would write-off as insane. What was one more? He had a career to think of and a nation to defend from the deprivations of the Central Powers. Still, he could sympathize with them in their desire to just go home.

  “You all right, sir?” Lemwill asked, raising a brow.

  Brian swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Sergeant.” He nodded more vigorously to convince himself. “Come on, the hamlet is this way.” He reloaded his pistol, snapping shut the chamber.

  The gray skies continued to dominate and the hamlet looked sinister in Brian’s eyes. Every building could house a sniper; every alleyway could be shielding a German guard. He kept close to the line of hedges leading up the cobbled road to the seemingly quiet town. He heard his men shuffling behind him, their equipment rattling, their bodies brushing the foliage. He waved his hand for them to quiet down.

  A small, flickering smile passed across Brian’s features. He whispered, “In the hamlet, Sergeant. You’ll know our man by the cane he uses to get around with.” He blinked. “He’s younger.”

  Keeping his voice soft Lemwill said, “Young man with a cane. Right, sir. Plan?”

  Brian examined the hamlet for a solid minute. His paranoia was telling him to be cautious, but as far as he could tell the town was undefended. He was about to order a general sweep of the area, when he saw a cherry-red glow in the window of a building overlooking the main road. Peering, Brian could just make out the muzzle of a machine-gun and the outline of a man smoking. He pointed and whispered, “Down the road, Sergeant. Top window, look for the glow.”

  The Sergeant sucked in a breath between his yellowed teeth. “I sees ‘im, sir. Where there’s one...” he trailed off.

  “There’s lots,” Private Lewis whispered from behind them.

  A machine-gun covered the road and in all likelihood there were additional guards. Brian mentally weighed their options. “Sergeant, you’re with me. I’ll need your trench-gun when we sneak in there.” He looked back at his men crouching in the hedges. “The rest of you, do not fire until you are positive we have been detected.”

  “Sir,” Private Corey said softly. “If you get captured, should we get back to our lines?”

  Brian stifled a laugh. “No, Private. Should Sergeant Lemwill or myself end up in enemy hands, I’m leaving it up to you to personally risk your life and that of your squad in a daring rescue. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life in a work camp.”

  “Worry not, sir,” Lemwill said. “They’ll exchange officers. Not so sure ‘bout me though. So, you ‘eard the officer. Save my ass if it gets caught.”

  “Listen to your Sergeant,” Brian said with a grin.

  Brian smiled as they all nodded their agreement. They were good men and true, though he was unsure if they would be devoted enough to stick around if things went to hell. He tucked his pistol in his holster and crawled along the hedges toward the edge of the hamlet. He heard Sergeant Lemwill rustling behind him and the occasional heavy breath. The stalwart was an old soldier and experienced, but not quite up to the physical tasks Brian routinely subjected his men to.

  The pace was slow and steady as they passed under the shadow of white-brick homes with deep brown roofs, built in the sweeping Germanic style. When a breeze whistled, Brian crawled faster using the sound to cover his movement. Once they were past the first home, he stood.

  The hamlet was bisected by a single road. On either side were a collection of homes, any one of which could house the spy they were seeking. Brian had little to go on besides the description of a young man with a cane. Suddenly, a door to a small home opened. Before they could slink into the shadows, a young woman emerged. She smiled in a friendly manner. Her eyes widened as she must have realized the pair of soldiers she saw were not fellow countrymen. She froze.

  For his advanced age, Lemwill moved swiftly, bounding past Brian and swung the muzzle of his weapon up to her face.

  “Shhhhh,” Lemwill whispered. He raised a brow and when she trembled silently he said in broken German, “Sed gut, frauline. Shhhh.” He pushed her back into the house and Brian followed.

  The doorway led to a kitchen. Bread was cooking and a hallway led to a room from which Brian could hear men talking. He shut the door behind him and scooted past Sergeant Lemwill, who still kept the oversized muzzle of his weapon trained on the woman. For her part, she rubbed her hands in nervous patterns over her slim apron.

  Risking a look into the room, Brian was relieved to see not two men, but rather two boys. They were coloring a book together while sprawled out along the wooden floor. A small fire burned in the hearth and they chatted.

  Confidently, Brian strode into the room. “Sergeant, bring the woman if you please.” He drew his pistol, and in the international language that had served Lemwill so well, said, “Shhh.”

  Nosing her in with the trench-gun, Lemwill guided the woman into the house and pushed her onto the floor. She wrapped her arms about her children who whispered excitedly.

  “Speak English, my dear?” Brian said in his most soothing tones. She was having a bad enough day as it was and he didn’t want her hysterical.

  She knew enough to shake her head. Brian sighed and looked around the room. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up the iron fire-poker from a bin. He used it as a cane and walked up and down the room. “Sergeant, ask her if she’s seen a man like this.”

  Lemwill’s German was about as subtle as his thunderous weapon, but between his butchery of the language and Brian’s charades, the woman was able to nod. She releases her boys and crept to the window, which was partially shuttered, and pointed to a house across the street.

  “Figures it would be on that side,” Lemwill groaned. He lowered his weapon
and in that moment one of the children sprinted. The youth was spry and out the main door before the older man could even let out a, “Ah ‘ell”.

  Brian’s pistol snapped up and he trained it through the window on the child as he started to shout and point in their direction.

  Pull the trigger, his training said.

  Brian trembled. The pain was back in force and he fought against some horrendous, outside urge to just squeeze and end the threat.

  The boy’s mother wrapped her arms about his leg and started babbling. “It doesn’t matter,” Brian said through grit teeth. He felt his knees buckle. Lemwill stared at him, a frown passed across his features.

  Brian heard the voices of the guards. “It doesn’t matter!” he said in an effort to convince himself. The pain ceased and his strength returned. Whatever internal battle had occurred, was over.

  “Stay down!” Brian pushed the woman off his leg and let out an exhausted breath. Several men in iron-gray uniforms emerged from the house at the end of the road. Before they could make sense of the situation, Brian squeezed off two rounds. He had no idea if they hit, he was already moving for the kitchen, leaving the woman and her child behind cowering on the floor.

  Back the way they had come Brian ran. He heard Lemwill’s boots pounding on the floor behind him. Once outside, Brian started moving towards the main street.

  “Not that way, sir!” Lemwill said, “It’s suicide! They’ve seen us!”

  The mission hadn’t been accomplished yet. Brian’s duty to his nation was not done. He heard a desperate whispering plea in his mind. Part of him urged him to run and give up the fool’s errand, but something profound crushed his reservations. He didn’t even feel like he was commanding his own voice as he shouted, “God save England!”

  “Who’ll save us, sir!” Lemwill said, panting as he followed.

  A figure in gray stepped out from a gap between two houses. Brian ducked and fired his pistol. The weapon kicked and the enemy solider staggered back, clutching his stomach. Lemwill rushed past him and delivered a kick to the stricken man, sending him sprawling. The sergeant spat once and glared at Brian. “Come on, sir, let’s save the King’s bloody spy.”

  Weapons fire echoed from the other end of the hamlet. Brian smiled. His men were at least attempting to follow their orders. His heart filled with national pride. No, not filled. It was put there.

  “The boys won’t sit by for this one!” Again, Brian felt as if the words weren’t entirely his own.

  He smiled and ran through the alleyway the enemy soldier had emerged from. He paused and saw the house with the machine-gun. The barrel blazed as it sprayed fire towards Brian’s squad. A pistol shot to silence the gunner would be difficult and Lemwill’s trench-gun would was well out of range.

  The sergeant pressed himself against the wall of the alley and glanced either way.

  “The lads have their attention, but not for long, sir. We need t’ do this fast n’ melt away.” Lemwill wheezed deeply.

  Nodding, Brian did the only sensible thing. He ran across the road. He sprinted and kept his eyes focused on the house the woman had nervously pointed to. He heard an alarmed cry to his right from above. The machine-gunner had seen him. Fear started to rise, but training forced it away. Legs pumping, Brian sped across the cobbled street. Puffs of smoke and bouncing rounds traced after him. The wooden door to the house was closed, but he had no other options. Brian lowered his head and brought his shoulder up. He hit the door like a train off the tracks and pain burst through him. The door fell backward off the hinges and he landed atop it as if it were a sled. Instinctively he drew in his feet and a flurry of bullets showered the area outside the doorway.

  A thin figure peered over an upturned couch. He stood slowly, using a cane to support himself. His eyes looked Brian over and he said in smoothly spoken English, “My cover can hardly stay intact with you mucking about in the open. You better have a good reason for being here.”

  A sigh of relief whistled through Brian’s teeth. He rose to his feet. The mission wasn’t over, yet. Nodding, Brian walked towards the man. “Yes. The country no longer has need of your services.” He shot him in the face.

  Lemwill waited for Leftenant Willox to emerge from the house. Soon as he saw the lanky frame of his officer he leaned around the alleyway entrance and fired his trench-gun. The pellets peppered the building in a wide spray. He highly doubted the machine gunner would be killed, but that wasn’t Lemwill’s objective. He shouted across the street, “Run, sir!”

  The officer sprinted, making it to the safety of the alley before the gunners bullets chewed up the brickwork. Lemwill grabbed the panting man and hauled him firmly into the protective shelter between the houses. “You find our spy?”

  “I did. I’m afraid he is dead,” Willox said. He turned a ghastly shade of white and braced himself against the wall. His eyes widened and he shuddered. “Oh, God.”

  Lemwill steadied him. He often became sick and dizzied after one of his ‘moments’. The men all knew what was wrong with him; everyone knew it except the Leftenant. For a moment, Lemwill wanted to tell him then and there while under fire. Tell him that he was cursed, that some spell from the Prime Minister’s agents had his mind twisted up in knots. He had no proof, none of the squad did, but the tales of soldiers were not to be discounted. Magic was afoot, of the worst variety, he was sure of it. There were tales told of spells that countered a man’s wishes and filled them with the desires of others. They were all certain that was what afflicted poor Leftenant Willox. Only the mad, or possessed, would behave as he did, and Lemwill did not think Willox mad.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” the Leftenant whimpered. “I shouldn’t be here.” His eyes fixed upon Lemwill’s.

  The Sergeant frowned. “The nation needs you, sir. We need t’ get back now.”

  Leftenant Willox’s eyes glassed over. He stood tall and shrugged off Lemwill’s hand. “Quite right, Sergeant. Come on then, we cannot leave our boys waiting and it is a long walk back to France.” He winked. “King and Country, Sergeant.”

  He clutched his trench-gun and watched the officer jog toward the sound of gunfire. “King n’ Country, sir.”

  The Last Yong-Shi

  Matt Dinniman

  Brace for impact,” the captain called. To our port, a flak explosion rocked Wine into Blood, and I held my breath as our wooden gondola swayed. I looked up at the cables that attached us to the massive balloon. We still looked intact. Behind me, the boiler hissed and groaned. Its door glowed red.

  The Zmey’s Breath, flying just below and aft, wasn’t as lucky. Several holes peppered the reinforced balloon, and it began its quick plunge into the burning city below as I looked on in horror. The crew of seven abandoned ship, their dark parachutes opening up like giant targets into the crackling air.

  “Another brick,” the captain said.

  “Are you crazy?” I yelled down to him.

  To my left and right, both gunners turned the cranks on their autoguns, which meant we had gliders coming at us from both directions. The clack-clack-clack of the tailgunner’s double-barrel shook the floor of the airship. The distinctive smell of gunpowder filled the gondola.

  “I said another goddamned brick, and that’s a goddamned order, Boris.”

  I indicated the red-hot boiler, even though he couldn’t see it from his position below, dangling in the clockworks. “If I add another brick, it’s going to explode.”

  In training, they taught us the boiler was the heart of the bomber. I always liked that description, and I saw myself, as engineer, as the surgeon in charge of keeping the heart strong. A strong heart equaled a strong ship. Too much exertion, and the heart would break.

  “If we don’t speed up, we’ll be shredded. Now do it, goddamnit.”

  I cursed, picked up a xin rock from the dwindling supply, and shoved it into the hopper, locking it closed. I pulled my goggles over my eyes. The boiler groaned ominously, but the fans quickened.

  �
��It’s in,” I yelled. I closed my eyes, and I prayed.

  “Why must you attack?” Zelena asked me the night before. “You haven’t even talked with the Queen, to see if she will surrender.”

  That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t want to start a long conversation with her about her queen’s barbaric response to our envoy. I tried to sleep, but the drunken singing of my fellow aviators kept me awake. The normally somber tent city pulsed with song and dance, on this, our last night. Many of us would die come morning, and we all knew it. We knew what we faced.

  I kissed her forehead. “We attack because we’ve been ordered to attack,” I said.

  “You will death,” she said.

  I gently corrected her. She’d come a long way in nine months, but she still had issues with certain words in Gremlic. “It’s ‘You will die.’ Or, ‘you will find death.’”

  “You will find death. And I don’t want a lesson tonight.”

  “If I die, it will be okay,” I said. “My family will be rewarded. It’s an honor to die for the Tsar.”

  “And what about me?” she asked, reverting to her native Hellenic.

  I’d gotten to where I could understand her language, but speaking it still proved difficult.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said in Gremlic. I touched my hand to her belly. “No matter what happens, our baby will be free.”

  She looked dubious. A whole generation of propaganda could do that. I’d seen the posters as we first marched into Kozani, of imperial soldiers dangling babies over snarling dogs. All babies born under the Gremlic flag were born free. It was one of our oldest laws. Citizen, slave, felon, or crag. All babies were born free.

  She lifted the chain attached to her ankle, shaking it at me. “How can I be fine when I live as a slave? How can I be fine when I know that every soldier I see is responsible for murdering my family?”

  “Zelena,” I said. “Please. They will hear.”

  She went on, ignoring me. “You say our baby will be free? You have told me slaves aren’t allowed to raise their own children, unless their master says they may. If you die, I will plunge a knife into my heart. I’d rather my son die than be raised by strangers.”