by Craig Zerf
Nathaniel took the proffered hand and shook. ‘Pleased to meet you, captain,’ he returned the greeting. ‘My name is Nathaniel.’
In the back of Nate’s mind another name echoed softly – Hogan.
‘Nathaniel Hogan,’ he continued. And another piece of the jigsaw that was making up his memories slotted into place.
‘So what brings you to Lostvega, Nathaniel?’
‘Actually, captain, I’m looking for work.’
The captain glanced at Nate’s battle axe. ‘You any good with that thing?’
Nate nodded. ‘Apparently,’ he answered, hoping that he was.
‘Well we’re always looking for more Shieldmen,’ said the captain. ‘We pay standard rate, two coppers a day plus a danger bonus if, or should I say when, we are attacked. You keen?’
Nate nodded.
‘Good, just show me your citizenship papers and we’ll sign you up for the trip.’
Nate shook his head. ‘Sorry, captain. No papers.’
The captain sighed. ‘Outlander, hey? Well, you know as well as I do, boy, you can’t be a Shieldman without citizenship. Tell you what, can you shovel coal?’
Nate nodded, secure that he could wield a shovel well enough to keep the captain happy.
‘Good, I’ll put you on the topdeck, you can feed the furnace that powers the Mallet gun. It’s hot and dangerous work but it pays the same as a Shieldman. Follow me and I’ll get you signed on.’
Nathaniel followed captain Richards up the ramp and through the cavernous interior. Up walkways and swinging gantries until they were at the top of the forty foot high structure where they entered the wheel room situated in the glass canopy.
The room was far larger than it looked from ground level, stretching some thirty foot by twenty foot. A bank of levers and wheels and dials dominated the front of the room, while a round table and chairs stood in the middle.
Through the floor to ceiling glass windows, Nathaniel could see at least another thirty Landships parked in the immediate vicinity, all being loaded with goods of trade.
The captain opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table together with a fountain pen.
‘Put your mark at the bottom,’ he instructed Nate.
As Nathaniel scratched his name across the bottom of the contract, the captain walked over to the front of the wheel room, detached a speaking tube from the control panel and whistled into it. After a few seconds a return whistle floated out of the tube and the captain shouted a commanded.
‘Send the Mallet gunner to the wheelhouse, I’ve got him a new stoker.’
Chapter 3
Nathaniel pulled his tinted goggles off and rubbed his eyes. The Gwendolyn steamed at the vanguard of the convoy of Landships. Heavy iron shod wheels crunched through the snow, shattering any rocks in their path and pushing aside fallen trees and random detritus that blocked the route.
They had been traveling for three days now, steaming at approximately twenty knots an hour, moving day and night. At night large magnesium burning searchlights were ignited, lighting up the surrounding landscape like a bleached black and white photograph.
The convoy of thirty two Landships stretched back for over two miles, traveling some two hundred feet apart. The smoke from their stacks formed a dark cloud that stained the sky like a storm cloud and the dust from the coal turned the snow into a graying old daguerreotype, coating nature’s virginal white clothing with a deep and oily coat of filth.
The days and nights were long and boring. His only job was to throw some coal into the mallet gun boiler every hour or so and to ensure that the boiler was kept topped up via a hand pump that he had to pump vigorously every couple of hours.
This ensured that there was a constant head of steam so that the mallet gun was always ready to bring into immediate action. It also meant that the stoker never got more than an hour’s sleep at a time.
The mallet gun, or MG as most of the crew referred to it, was a steam powered machine gun. Unlike the air powered rifles that Nate had seen, the MG used superheated, pressurized steam to power its projectiles. The ammunition itself consisted of fifty caliber lead balls that were fed into the firing chamber via a hopper affixed to the top of the MG. The hopper held over two thousand balls and was easily replenished by simply packing more in through the opening at the side of the hopper.
The MG gunner sat behind the weapon and controlled both its elevation and azimuth via a set of steam powered pedals. The open gun turret could revolve at a remarkable speed and the balls left the barrel at a rate of over three per second and had a lethal range of over two hundred yards.
But it took a very skilled operator to get the full use of an MG. It was prone to jamming and it rapidly overheated. As well as that, if too much pressure was put on the mechanisms, the steam pipes were apt to overload and explode, literally scorching the gunner to death as the pressurized, superheated steam stripped the flesh from their bones.
The mallet gunner was a tall, lanky man. Large hands, long stringy hair and pale blue eyes that restlessly roved the landscape both day and night. His name was Brutus, and Nathaniel wondered if he ever actually slept.
As well as the gunner and the stoker, there were two watchmen who rotated shift and patrolled the topdeck, keeping a twenty-four hour lookout for ambushes and possible attack.
It was on the morning of the fourth day, as the convoy was traveling through a narrow pass in the mountains called Cutter’s Gap, that the forward watchman hollered out.
‘Untouchables. Three o’clock.’
Nate glanced up from his shoveling and saw them pouring down the side of the mountain, heading for the Gwendolyn. It became immediately apparent to Nathaniel that their plan was to concentrate their attack on the leading Landship in order to disable it, thereby trapping the rest of the convoy in the narrow pass.
Nate wasted no more time thinking as he manned the water pump and filled the boiler to its capacity, then he bent his back and shoveled coal like an automaton, building the fire to a roaring blaze and cranking the steam pressure to maximum.
At the same time, Brutus traversed his turret and opened fire.
‘Get some,’ he yelled as he poured a torrent of lead balls into the charging Untouchables.
Nate had never actually seen a mallet gun fire before and the sight was nothing short of spectacular. Clouds of superheated steam jetted out of the barrel and the chamber as the balls were propelled forward at a rate of over three hundred feet per second. At the same time, more steam billowed from the hydraulics that turned the turret, enveloping the topdeck in a cloud of boiling vapor.
The Landship that was steaming in their wake also opened up but, due to the topography, it had lagged behind and was now at the very limit of its MG gunner’s range.
Nate could hear pneumatic rifles firing from the rifle ports below decks and the entire Landship shook as the captain called for full steam ahead in an attempt to clear the killing zone as quickly as possible.
The mallet gun was exacting a terrible toll on the charging mutants but they were fast, very fast, and there were hundreds of them.
As they closed on the ship they started firing their own rifles and the noise of their lead balls striking the metal superstructure was like hail on a tin roof, such was its ferocity and volume.
Suddenly, the sound of the MG came to an abrupt halt.
‘They’re too close,’ shouted Brutus. ‘I can’t depress the turret enough to get a bead on them.’
Nathaniel’s ears picked up another sound. Metal on metal. But not the sharp ringing crack of lead shot. This was deeper. More solid.
‘Grappling magnets,’ screamed the forward watchman. ‘They’re coming up the sides. Ready for boarders.’
A shrill whistle could be heard from below as the midshipman blasted out his warning. Nate could hear him bellowing at the top of his voice. ‘Stand by to repel boarders. Stand by.’
Nate heard the dull metallic thuds of more a
nd more grappling magnets striking the hull and, when he rushed to the side of the topdeck to peer down, he could see hundreds of Untouchables scaling the steel sides.
Their grappling magnets were basically a large magnet attached to a rope with a hand operated winch. An Untouchable would hurl the magnet at the side of the Landship and, as soon as it was securely attached to the steel he would reel himself upwards. As he got to the magnet he would launch a second one, detach the first and repeat the process. When they got to an open port they would attempt to gain access. If the port wasn’t open then they would force it open with a steel pry bar.
It was slow and bloody work and many of them plummeted to their deaths as they either lost grip or were simply knocked down by gunshot or spears. But there were so many of them that, eventually a few made it into the ship. And once they were in, they could wreak havoc.
The average mutant was over seven foot tall, their skulls were often covered with large bony protuberances that stuck out like blunt horns and their musculature was massively overdeveloped. With bones as thick as oaken beams and tendons like steel hawsers they were formidable foes.
They carried rifles and side arms but the mutant weapon of choice was an outsized variant of the medieval mace or war club. Four foot of steel bar with a large spiked head on the end. It was a crude weapon that inflicted terrible injuries to whatever part of the human body it came into contact with.
Few mutants actually made it into the interior of the ship, as most were picked off as they scaled the sides. Each Untouchable that crawled in through a port was instantly set upon by three or four humans at once, slashing with swords and stabbing with spears before they could form any sort of beachhead.
The topdeck, however, was a different story. Unlike the gun ports, the area was fully open and thus easily accessible to the grappling magnets of the mutants.
Twenty plus magnets came arcing onto the roof followed closely by the Untouchable boarders who had thrown them.
They came swarming over the sides and onto the deck, looming over Nate and the other three humans.
Brutus depressed his MG and opened up at point blank range. The lead shot tore through the boarding mutants, hammering them off the topdeck to their deaths far below. As more of them clambered onto the deck Brutus kept sweeping the MG from side to side, pouring a storm of lead into them.
And then the steam pipes leading to the barrel overheated and exploded, tearing free from their fittings and lashing Brutus with scalding hot steam. He screamed and fell backwards off the firing seat as the flesh was flayed from his face and arms, falling off like molten plastic.
The MG gunner was dead before he hit the deck.
The two watchmen were battling valiantly against the gigantic mutants but it was a one sided affair and they were spending most of their energy in an attempt to dodge the battle clubs, leaving no room to counter attack.
Nathaniel pulled his axe from its scabbard.
As he did so a flash of memory detonated behind his eyes.
I am Marine Master Sergeant Nathaniel Hogan.
He took a step forward.
I am The Axe Man.
He hefted the axe to his shoulder.
None shall stand before me.
He charged forward.
‘Hooah!’ The axe danced in his hands, once again. It was no longer a mere weapon of wood and steel - instead it was destruction on gossamer wings. As swift as the light and as deadly as the shadow, it carved through the enemy while Nathaniel danced his ballet of death.
War clubs hissed through the air where Nathaniel was no longer. Sparks rang off the steel deck as the mutants struck out and missed.
More Untouchables came crawling onto the deck and the Marine hacked them to death, the speed of his movements so fast as to appear as a trick of the light. His strength so prodigious that mutant bodies were literally cloven in twain as he struck.
And Nathaniel weaved and flowed across the deck like the coming of the apocalypse until the deck ran thick with red, viscous blood.
Then it was over.
The lower decks had been cleared; the waves of attackers had been driven off.
And on the topdeck stood Marine Master Sergeant Nathaniel Hogan.
While all about him lay the twisted remains of almost thirty gigantic mutant corpses.
Chapter 4
Captain Tobias Richards pushed a full glass of clear spirit across the chart table towards Nathaniel.
‘Drink,’ he commanded as he raised a similar glass.
Nathaniel took his with a feeling of trepidation. He had tried soya spirits while on the trail with Jethro and his men and, to put it bluntly, it was like sucking a rag soaked in kerosene. However, when he took a sip he was pleasantly surprised.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s good.’
Tobias laughed. ‘Of course. Captain’s grog is always the best. Aged twenty years.’ He topped Nate’s glass up and then raised his once again. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To the hero of Cutter’s Pass.’
‘I’m no hero,’ retorted Nathaniel.
‘Rubbish,’ snapped Tobias. ‘Of course you are. And, as befits any heroic action, you need to be rewarded.’ He flicked a coin at Nathaniel who caught it one handed. A gold unit. More than a month’s salary.
Nate pocketed it with a grin. ‘Thanks.’
‘There’s more,’ assured the captain. ‘I am also promoting you to Shieldman. It’s the same basic pay as MG stoker but you get to travel indoors and sleep in a bunk.’
‘Thanks again,’ responded Nate. ‘But I thought that I couldn’t be a Shieldman unless I was a citizen.’
‘You can’t,’ agreed Captain Tobias. ‘However, as captain of a Landship I have plenipotentiary powers when we are in the Badlands. As such, in exceptional circumstances, I can bestow citizenship. I would say that this qualifies.’ He slid a thick card across the chart table. ‘That is your proof of citizenship. Don’t lose it or there will be hell to pay. Well done and thanks again, Citizen Hogan.’
Nathaniel stood and saluted. ‘Thank you, captain. I am honored.’
Tobias smiled. ‘Now off with you. Find midshipman Harris, he will show you your quarters and issue you with one of the ship’s rifles. I’ve also instructed him to issue you with battle gear to replace those rags of yours, can’t have our hero looking like a street urchin.’
Nathaniel saluted again, turned on his heel and left the control room.
***
Citizen Hogan sat at the mess table dressed in his newly issued Shieldman battle gear. Black leather trousers, dark gray cotton shirt, a long leather dustcoat and a pair of stout black leather boots that came to below his knees.
He had just finished eating a bowl of boiled soy protein and had done so without enjoyment. Due to the lack of arable land caused by the chem-wars, almost all agriculture and food growth took place indoors in hydroponic tanks, enclosed growth systems that force-grew plants for consumption. Ninety nine percent of hydroponic agriculture was dedicated to soya. This was because the soya bean was high in protein and nutrients as well as being uniquely versatile. Soy milk, soy flour, tofu, soy protein, alcohol and oil.
On the whole, people simply ate a porridge of boiled soy protein, as it was the cheapest food available.
It was the marine’s second week on the Landship Gwendolyn and the boredom was mind numbing. As a Shieldman, every day simply consisted of standing at a rifle port and keeping a watch over the landscape as they trundled by. Human towns and villages were few and far between. In fact they had only come across four in the last two weeks. When they did, the captain would bring the convoy to a halt, the Shieldmen would set up a perimeter and then the townsfolk would come out from behind their fortified walls and trade.
Nathaniel never saw any luxuries being bought or sold. On the whole, the human townsfolk would trade tiny quantities of minerals and semiprecious stones, or they would trade the skins of a desert dwelling animal called a Grazer. A four legged antelope about the size of
a small pony.
Looking for an alternative to boring soy protein, Nathaniel asked about getting hold of Grazer meat, but the townsfolk simply laughed as if he was joking. He later found out that Grazer flesh was bitter, unpalatable and slightly poisonous due to their diet of scrub that grew in the Blight.
Aside from the occupied towns that the convoy came across, Nathaniel also noted the ruins of at least two other settlements. The walls had been razed to the ground and little was left of the dwellings that had been within. He assumed that these had fallen prey to the hordes of Untouchables that terrorized the Badlands.
During the third week he saw his first airship. It cruised overhead, flying in the opposite direction to them at a height of around three thousand feet. Nate guessed that the airship itself must have been in excess of one thousand feet long and was traveling at a rate of at least seventy knots, or eighty miles an hour.
As he watched it cruise majestically past, he saw a body come tumbling from the ships gondola. Before he could react, the Shieldman in the rifle port next to him chuckled.
‘Stowaway,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to mess with those flyboys. Mean SOB’s, all of them.’
Nate made a mental note to remember not to get on the wrong side of any airship crew members or, at very least not to attempt to cadge a ride.
They arrived at the citadel of Sanfrisco at the end of the third week. It was situated on a hilly spit overlooking the Sanfrisco Bay and the walls were even higher than those of the citadel of Lostvega.
The entire area was covered in a cloud of yellow-gray smog that got thicker the closer they got to the citadel. Directly outside the walls, visibility was down to a mere fifty yards, as the smoke from the multitude of coal boilers combined with the rolling sea mist to create a pea-soup fog, the likes of which had not been seen since seventeenth century London.
Before the exit ramp was lowered, the crew formed up in the center of the ship’s warehouse section and the captain thanked them for their service on the trip. As was custom he asked for a show of hands as to who was staying for the return leg. Everyone except for Nathaniel raised their hand. The captain nodded and dismissed the crew.