by Eric Flint
He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t even see the bow for the rain. There was a creaking and a grinding, and Barta looked at the main mast in horror as it bent in the wind. Then it snapped and he prayed to Neptune that it broke in time.
It hadn’t.
In the bilge, two planks, already split from the strain of the mast, opened farther and the western Mediterranean Sea poured in. The Argos was fully loaded before the leak and it went down.
It took it almost an hour, plenty of time for the lifeboat to be lowered and the crew to get off. They even took Kallipos.
It was three days later when they reached the coast of what would someday be Spain.
CHAPTER 26
Attack
West Babylon, Radio Building
Late afternoon, November 28, 319 BCE
Susan Godlewski had the duty when the general announcement came in.
Philip Lípos, eldest surviving son of Antipater, has turned over command of the Macedonian army to Eumenes and will be taking a position as Assistant Consul to Queen Roxane. He has announced his support for the actions of queens Roxane and Eurydice in appointing Queen Thessalonike regent for the unborn child of Cassander who will be the king of Macedonia. Macedonia itself will become a state in the United Satrapies and States of the Empire.
Susan took the message from the printer, called one of the assistants, then printed another copy to be sent across the river. She hoped it ruined Antigonus’ day. Food was still getting through, but the blockade runners were as close to pirates as made little difference. They were charging a fortune to ship the food in. There had been two not-quite-epidemics in the last month. One was a typhus outbreak and the other was probably a variant of smallpox that was a bit less lethal than its cousin. Both outbreaks had crossed the river to hit both sides of Babylon and had struck the children and the hungry worse.
East Babylon
Evening, November 28, 319 BCE
Calix sat at the bench eating old bread and broth, wondering if coming to Babylon had been a good idea. He was working for Antigonus and that gave him some protection from the ship people, but old One-eye was a chancy master. Calix’s knowledge of chemistry, both from the Cabeiri and from the ship people, meant that he was now in partial charge of the gunpowder shop, which was not a very safe job. He finished his dinner and went to check on the slaves who were making the gunpowder.
He walked between the long tables with slaves at each job, one group moistening the charcoal, then, using mortars and pestles, grinding the chunks into a fine paste. The paste was then spread onto a drying table to form a brittle black sheet that was easy to turn into powder. The next room held large pots of water with potassium nitrate from dung heaps and middens added after the pots were brought to a boil. After that, it was boiled until the yellow crystals dissolved and then allowed to slowly cool. Then the water was drained off, leaving crystals that were considerably less yellow. Using a small tong, Calix lifted a shard. It wasn’t clear, but it was closer than the stuff they got from the bottom of dung heaps.
Then, he went to another room, where sulfur—brimstone—was being ground into yellow powder.
Finally, the mixing room, where all the ingredients and water were mixed to form a black paste that was dried, then carefully ground again into a coarse black powder.
The rooms, all of them, were filled with slaves in loincloths. Their bodies were coated in a patina of charcoal dust, sulfur and saltpeter.
He was in the middle of his rounds when the messenger reached him. He was to report to the palace immediately.
* * *
Calix bowed deeply, and Antigonus said to the top of his head, “Where is my gunpowder? Where are my rockets?”
Calix stood. “Coming, Majesty. We have to be careful or it will be this half of Babylon that explodes.”
“Be careful faster, you coward!” Antigonus roared. He shook a sheet of papyrus in the air. “That idiot Cassander is dead, and his fat toad of a brother has given his army to Eumenes. We are running out of time.”
Calix groveled. He was good at it. It was a necessary skill to a man in his position. And as he groveled, he made his plans to escape Babylon with the money he had skimmed from the gunpowder production.
Over the next two weeks, while news of Eumenes’ army traveling to the Aegean coast, then taking ship across the Med to the coast of Lydia reached them, Calix made his preparations.
East Babylon
After midnight, December 11, 319 BCE
Calix slipped out of his small room a little after midnight, taking all the silver he could manage and a bag of twenty gunpowder bombs with string fuses. They were, he thought, similar to the grenade that Dag Jakobsen had used to kill a Silver Shield two years ago. He made his way down to the docks.
The boatman was waiting. Calix reached into his pouch and handed him two of the reeded-edge silver coins made by the ship people.
The boatman looked at them carefully, lifting them close to his face and feeling the reeding with his fingertips, then grunted and nodded. He whispered, “Get in the bottom of the boat.”
“Don’t whisper,” Calix said quietly. “It attracts attention.”
“Get in the boat, you Greek ponce,” the boatman hissed.
Calix got in the boat.
“Lie down,” the boatman said quietly, and when Calix did, he tossed a reed rug over him. It stank of river water and piss. Calix waited, breathing shallowly, as more bags were loaded onto the boat.
Finally, they pushed off from the dock and floated gently downriver. Somewhere along the way, he fell asleep.
East Babylon
Midmorning, December 11, 319 BCE
It took time for the word to reach Antigonus One-eye. First, Calix’s direct boss noted that he wasn’t in his workroom at the gunpowder shop. Then it was discovered that he wasn’t in his room. A more thorough check showed that much of his clothing was gone. Then a sum of money that was supposed to be in the shop was found to be missing. And finally, around midmorning, it was clear to everyone that Calix was missing and Antigonus was informed.
“When?” Antigonus didn’t shout or grit his teeth, both clear danger signs.
“We don’t know, Lord Antigonus. Sometime during the night.”
Antigonus looked out his window at West Babylon. What if Calix was over there right now, warning them about his plans? What could they do? There had to be an answer to rockets.
Then he remembered something. It was something Calix told him about, in fact. They were called artillery duels. Each side would fire their rockets not at the enemy, but at the enemy’s rockets. And the one who aimed best would win. Calix could tell them the location of all his rockets, down to the house they were on. He would lose before he began.
Ever since Cassander got himself killed, Antigonus knew that he was running out of time. Now the hourglass was empty. It was attack now, ready or not, or fail entirely. “Ready the troops. We attack as soon as we can.”
The plan was long made. Rockets to soften the enemy and keep their heads down while his infantry was stiffened with cavalry crossed the Euphrates. The cavalry on the west side of the Euphrates would attack as soon as they saw the rockets. He used mirror codes to warn them it was coming today.
* * *
Karrel Agot was in an aid station near the river, giving home remedies to sick children. The placebo effect was doing as much good as the medicines, but Karrel would take what he could get. He heard a sound in the distance, like bottle rockets, but louder. He went to the door of the small building and looked up. There were rockets coming in. Falling into West Babylon. He saw one hit and shatter, splashing a liquid in a twenty-foot radius, then he smelled a smell like cooking. Another one came in closer, and exploded shortly before it hit the ground with a loud bang. Instinct honed by hundreds of war movies sent Karrel flat on his belly, but the people around him didn’t have that experience to call on. They didn’t know to duck and cover.
More explosions and shrapnel flyi
ng everywhere, ripping holes in the people on the streets. Then, as Karrel watched, a burning shard of something fell in the wetness that came from that first rocket and it began to burn. The fire spread quickly, consuming the alcohol and igniting the lard. The whole street was burning.
Karrel was crawling backward toward the door to the aid station when he saw a woman with her clothing afire run by him. She would die. He leapt up and ran, throwing his cloak around her to smother the fire.
It was then that another missile with shrapnel went off. Three chunks of bronze scrap tore through him, one in his left arm, one in his belly, and one in his right foot. The belly wound was probably fatal, Karrel realized as he found himself sitting next to the body of the woman who had been hit in the head by a piece of shrapnel. Her brains were all over him.
The missile that caused the belly wound had probably also shredded his intestines. If he didn’t bleed out, he would die in a week or so, of infection.
Slowly, with effort, he slid himself back to the wall and pulled his pistol out of his belt. He was in shock, thankfully. Thinking clearly, but not well. No point in thinking well, he thought. I’m dead, anyway.
* * *
He was still sitting there, pistol in his lap, when the first of Antigonus’ forces reached him. Sitting there, eyes open, but drying in the heat of the fires. The soldier saw the man and his clothing. He came over and looked closer. It was one of the ship people, he was almost sure. Then he saw the pistol. He’d heard about those, but never seen one until now. He looked around to be sure no one was looking, then took the pistol and went on.
In spite of the lack of preparedness, the rocket barrage did its job. By midafternoon Antigonus had three bridgeheads in West Babylon and was pouring troops into the battle.
But Attalus’ troops, fully aware of Antigonus’ reputation with captured enemies, were in no mood to yield. The fighting was bloody and the bloodier it got, the angrier Antigonus and his men got.
West Babylon, radio room
December 11, 319 BCE
Susan Godlewski was at the radio, reporting on the fighting. Antigonus wasn’t the only one with rockets. After the initial attack, Attalus used his, firing into East Babylon, concentrating on Antigonus’ palace. Antigonus wasn’t there, but his wife of twenty years was. She and two of his younger children burned in the fire.
Susan reported the fire, but not the deaths. She could see the fire, but didn’t know that Stratonice or the kids were caught in it. She probably wouldn’t have cared even if she had known. She had never met Antigonus’ wife and there were people she did know and care about dying all around her. Some burned to death, some were killed by shrapnel, but the majority were killed by hard men with sword and shield. She could see it out her window, and hear screams from elsewhere as well. Babylon was alight with fires.
It was 4:24 P.M. according to the clock in her computer when the fighting reached her part of the building. To keep the equipment safe, she shut down the system and pulled the double bar knife switch to disconnect the antenna and keep the equipment safe. Then she waited.
A few minutes later, a bunch of troops entered. By the nipples on the bronze breastplates, she figured they were Companion Cavalry who worked for Antigonus.
“I am Susan Godlewski of the Queen of the Sea. I have diplomatic immunity.” The words were Greek and actually translated into something closer to “ship people protection,” but immunity was how she thought of it.
The large, grizzled man in the lead took two steps across to her and hit her in the face. It wasn’t a slap, either. He used a closed fist and came close to breaking her jaw. “Fuck your ship people. The big ship is far away.”
Susan was shocked, in pain, and terrified. She had a pistol in her belt. It was made on the Queen of the Sea, a six-shot cap-and-ball black powder pistol shooting a .45 caliber round with enough force to get through standard bronze armor. She knew that, but somehow, in the moment, she was unable to draw it.
She cowered in the corner next to the wooden file cabinet. Then he reached down, picked her up by the front of her shirt, and drew his fist back to hit her again. She lifted her arms to protect her face and he hit her in the stomach. She threw up all over him, and he threw her onto the floor, dizzy and dazed. One hand found her holster and, terrified, she drew the pistol and pointed it up at him.
* * *
Cyniscus saw the weapon. He’d heard about them, but never seen one. But the way she was holding it, the way her hand shook, he wasn’t very worried. Long years of experience with Alexander and then Antigonus had taught him well. In battle, don’t hesitate. Go for the attacker, hit them before they’re ready.
* * *
He wasn’t stopping. She jerked the trigger. There was a loud bang. He was still there. She jerked again and again and again. She kept pulling that trigger until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber and the room was full of smoke.
And still he was standing there. As the smoke cleared, she saw the blood. It was leaking out of two holes, one in his chest plate and the other in his arm. His face filled with rage and pain. Using his other arm he reached, picked her up, and threw her against the wall.
* * *
It was an eternity later when Antigonus One-eye arrived and brought the beating to a halt. Surprisingly, Susan’s only broken bone was her nose.
The beating stopped for a time as they spoke, and the Macedonian words passed by her without leaving any meaning behind.
* * *
“I told you to be careful of the ship people,” Antigonus said angrily, but not shouting. “This is the only one we have now. The other one died in the fighting.”
Cyniscus was a captain in his own right and the son of a noble Macedonian house. He was of the Companion Cavalry and an experienced commander in the field. “I was gentle. The bitch shot me. By rights she should be dead.” By now the pain was excruciating. Cyniscus’ left arm was broken and bleeding. His right chest, just above the gut, burned like fire and he knew enough about arrow wounds in the same place to know that his chances weren’t good.
Looking at him, Antigonus let it drop. “Have the healers bandage you up. We’ll talk about this later.”
* * *
Antigonus looked at the woman on the floor. This wasn’t how he wanted to do it, but then he looked out the window across the Euphrates to the burning palace. It was possible that his wife and children were still alive, but not very likely. Killed by devices brought by the ship people in a place where they should have been safe. He looked at that fire, and didn’t care about ship people protection. The man was dead anyway. So the death of the woman shouldn’t matter.
But if he were to do it, he should make a point. A point for the ship people, and a point for the other satraps so they would know that ship people weren’t gods to fear. They were just people who could be defeated and brought to heel like any others.
“Get her up.” He gestured, and two of the Companion Cavalry lifted the woman and held her up. Her head lolled, and she was bleeding from her nose and mouth. Apparently, aside from the broken nose, she had lost some teeth. Well, that wouldn’t matter, not for long.
He stepped forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and lifted her head. “Listen to me, woman. You’re going to do what I say, or I’m going to give you to Cyniscus and he will kill you slow.”
“Ship people protection,” she said.
At least that’s what he thought she said. Between the missing teeth and the fact that she was only semiconscious, it was hard to be sure. “I don’t care about ship people protection, woman. The ship cannot reach us here, and before I’m done the only protection the ship people will have is what I grant them. Now, you will turn on your radio and put me in touch with your Captain Floden.”
* * *
Susan Godlewski didn’t argue. By now she didn’t have any argument left in her. She couldn’t take another beating like that, much less torture. Besides, if she had any hope of surviving, it would be because Floden convinced t
his crazy asshole that he had to fear the ship people.
It took a while. She managed to restore the double bar knife switch to connect the antenna. Her eyes were blurry and her fingers didn’t want to do what she told them, but she got the password typed in and the system came up. The radio connection was established, and she called up the video conference protocol. She wanted Floden and the rest to see what they’d done to her. She got the radio tech. He took one look at her and put her through. A short time later, she had Lars Floden, Marie Easley, Dag Jakobsen and Roxane on screen in four squares.
That was when Antigonus One-eye pulled her away from the desk. He stood her up and spoke to them all. “You ship people are not gods that we should bow down to. You are sheep for the shearing. The only difference is the quality of the wool. That gives you a little extra value, but not so much.”
The hand that was holding her up now drove her to her knees. Her head drooped forward.
* * *
Lars Floden looked at the scene shot from the computer’s screen camera. Susan Godlewski was on her knees, head bowed, and Antigonus One-eye was standing over her with his famous one-eyed helmet shiny and bright. But there were bloodstains on his armor as he drew the cavalry kopis from his belt. Lars barely had time to take in the scene and no time at all to react.
“I am no coward to bow before you. You will accept your place and deliver up your wool or you will be butchered.”
Antigonus swung the kopis down, and in one mighty stroke took Susan’s head from her shoulders. Blood gushed. Antigonus flung the corpse onto the floor. Then he stepped to the desk and leaned forward so that his face was close to the screen, so close that Lars could see the scar tissue peeking out from the edge of his helmet.