by Craig Zerf
‘So what do you want to do now, mister airship captain?’ Asked Nathaniel acerbically.
Ethan shrugged. ‘I have no plan. However, I need to do something. I know that I cannot make right what I have done but at least I can try.’
‘Even if you die doing so?’
Ethan nodded. ‘What is my life compared to the countless thousands that my family has ruined?’
‘True,’ growled Leon.
‘Enough,’ commanded Nathaniel. ‘We have stuff to do. Now that we know the truth, we cannot let it continue. And anyway, we’re all wanted men now. So, are you all in?’
There was a muted chorus of affirmation.
‘Good. Ethan, tell me, how many of your crew are loyal?’
‘Whenever we go on one of our chemical drops we sail with a skeleton crew of six, as opposed to the usual twenty seven souls. An engineer with two assistants, a helmsman come navigator, a single gunner and myself. The members of the skeleton crew are fanatically loyal to the Thomas family. They would do anything for me, as I would for them.’
‘Good,’ said Nathaniel. ‘That’s a start. How are you for supplies, ammunition, food?’
‘Fully stocked,’ affirmed Ethan. ‘We were going to go back with a full crew and passengers. We’ve enough supplies to last the current crew for months. If we had a full crew, then at least a few weeks.’
‘Well then, continued Nathaniel. ‘I reckon that we should up stakes and get the hell out of here before the Highmen get their act together and come for us. Do you concur?’
‘I concur,’ answered Ethan.
‘Make it so then, captain,’ said the marine. ‘Make it so.’
Chapter 25
Two hundred and fifty tons of steel and canvas and wood sailed majestically across the sky. Held aloft by the mere fact that hydrogen is marginally lighter than air. Ethan had plotted a course directly into the far reaches of the blight, looking to hide, as opposed to actually heading somewhere specific.
They had been sailing for just over half an hour and below them the shattered landscape reeled by like an endless scarred daguerreotype, developed in tones of sepia. A subtle blend of blood red, rust brown and the white of the ever-present snow. Colors of death. Of destruction. Ruin.
And on the horizon a single Landship surrounded by a group of mounted men trundled across the snow, the massive wheels leaving deep ruts behind them. Nathaniel raised his telescope and peered at the lone Landship, adjusting the focus to bring it into stark relief. The name stood out in white script against the rusted and pitted steel exterior.
Gwendolyn. Captain Tobias Richards.
The Forever Man smiled to himself. ‘Felicitous,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘What are the odds?’
‘I might be nudging things a little,’ echoed Fulcrum’s voice in the inner sanctums of Nathaniel’s mind.
‘You can do that?’ Enquired Nathaniel.
‘Sometimes,’ answered Fulcrum. ‘A little push here, a light pull there. Nothing major. After all, you are the lever, I am merely the point on which you pivot.’
‘So you reckon that I should talk to Tobias?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Fine then,’ affirmed Nathaniel as he turned to Ethan. ‘Captain,’ he called out. ‘Any chance of us changing course slightly so that we can intercept with that Landship over there?’
Ethan nodded and instructed the helmsman to change course.
‘ETA seven minutes,’ he affirmed. ‘Would you like us to go in low, drop a ladder?’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘I’d like a chat with the captain of the Landship. He’s an acquaintance. As long as it’s not too much hassle we might as well touch base with him.’
The massive airship heeled slightly as it changed course and pulled up over the Landship and its outriders. Ethan vented hydrogen and the dirigible sank lower. Nathaniel could see the concerned looks on the faces of the mallet gunner and the watchmen who stood on the topdeck of the Landship, peering up at the vast engine of war that floated above them. A veritable Sword of Damocles.
One of the engineers’ assistants loosed a long rope ladder from a hatch beneath the bridge, lowering it directly onto the topdeck of the Gwendolyn. Nathaniel leaned out of the hatch and called out to the watchmen below. ‘Ahoy! Please inform captain Tobias Richards that I seek his permission to come aboard. Our intentions are peaceful and we mean no harm.’
The one watchman nodded and left at a sprint to call the captain, whilst the two hundred and fifty ton Leviathan kept perfect pace with the still moving Landship in a demonstration of incredible flying skill.
A minute later Tobias appeared on the topdeck and stared up at Nathaniel.
‘Greetings, captain,’ hailed the marine.
Tobias laughed out loud. ‘Mister Hogan,’ he shouted. ‘You are full of surprises. Please, come aboard.’
Nathaniel scampered down the ladder, jumped onto the deck and grasped Captain Tobias firmly by the hand.
‘What brings you here, my friend?’ Asked Tobias.
‘Long story,’ answered Nathaniel as he signaled to Ethan who pulled the Leviathan up to a safer height of around five hundred feet.
‘So don’t tell me that you’re an airship captain now,’ joshed Tobias.
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Officially, I’m a Hammerman. Was inducted by Sanfrisco Chief Highman Alou. Even got me a couple of deputies.’
Tobias raised an eyebrow. ‘You have risen fast, my friend. That is unusual, especially for one who seems to come from a previously disadvantaged past. Come, let us to the captain’s cabin and you can regale me with your talks over a shot or two of vodka.’
The marine followed Tobias into the belly of the Landship. As he walked past the crew members, many called out to him, saluting him with the words, “Cutter’s Pass”. Nathaniel returned their salutes and offered the odd ribald comment or jest at the same time.
By the time that they reached the captain’s cabin the ship was abuzz with the news that the “Hero of Cutter’s Pass” was onboard. This fact was also already being supplemented with the rumor that the massive warship above them was owned and captained by the same hero and that he had arrived to confer special privilege on the Gwendolyn and its crew.
Tobias poured two glasses of his excellent vodka, handed one to Nathaniel and raised his glass in a toast. ‘You’ve changed, my friend,’ observed the taciturn captain.
‘Yes,’ admitted the marine.
‘And I don’t just mean the whole, Hammerman thing,’ continued Tobias. ‘I’ve been around for a while. Worked my way up from midshipman to captain, met my fair share of powerful men, leaders, Highmen, soldiers. But you,’ he took a sip of his vodka and squinted at the marine. ‘You have become something else.’ The captain gestured upwards with his glass. ‘That ship up there, the Leviathan. I know that ship. It’s sailed by the Thomas family. Has been for the last few hundred years. Current captain, Ethan Thomas. And I’ll tell you something for nothing, Ethan is harder than nails and he loves his ship more than life itself. Loves command even more. So how the hell did you persuade him to change his course and heave-to over me, simply because you felt like a catch-up?’
‘I asked politely,’ answered Nathaniel.
Tobias grunted. ‘You want to tell me what’s really going on?’
Nathaniel shook his head and spoke with a smile so as to soften his answer. ‘I don’t think so, captain. Not quite yet, at any rate. But you tell me, how are things with you?’
Tobias sighed. ‘Crappy.’
‘Why?’
‘Business is bad. Seems to be less trading done and more traveling. The mutants are becoming bolder. We’ve taken a couple of serious beatings of late. Now trade has dropped to such an extent that we are forced to travel out alone, with only a handful of outriders. And to make matters worse, the town that we were scheduled to go to, Lincoln Vale some fifty miles out, well…’ The captain shrugged.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘Late yesterday a convoy passed us. They were heading for Lincoln Vale.’
‘Oh,’ acknowledged the marine. ‘If they get there before you they’ll take your business.’
Tobias shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a trade convoy. Over a hundred soldiers. Four battle wagons, a Highman general and a bunch of inquisitors.’
‘You mean…?’
‘Yes,’ affirmed the captain. ‘It looks as though Lincoln Vale is set to undergo “The Scouring”. Over a thousand men, women and children will be decimated or cast out into the wilds to die. And then the town itself will be razed to the ground. What a bloody waste.’
‘Do you have a map?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘Naturally.’
‘Show me where this town is.’
Tobias rummaged around on his chart table, unrolled a map and stabbed his finger at it. ‘We are here. Lincoln Vale is there. Through Skeet Pass, next to the river.’
Nathaniel knocked back the remainder of his vodka and headed for the door. ‘I’m sorry, Tobias,’ he said as he left. ‘I must go. I am sure that we will meet again.’
Captain Tobias stared in bemusement as the marine strode from the room, his expression one of set determination.
Chapter 26
The Highman battle convoy crested the hill and looked down on the town of Lincoln Vale. Like most towns situated in the badlands, it was compact and laid out behind four stout wooden walls that rose ten feet high. A guard tower graced each corner and the main gates were also flanked by two more towers.
Highman general, Lars Gallow surveyed the town through his farlookers. ‘Nothing fancy,’ he said to the human colonel who stood next to him on the topdeck of one of the Landship battlewagons. ‘If they do not open the gates we simply blow them open using the Mallet guns. We go in, question and then carry out the sentence.’
‘They will not resist,’ countered the colonel. ‘They never do. Once they see us they simply acknowledge their fate. Their guilt causes their acceptance.’
‘Well said, colonel,’ agreed Lars. ‘Let us proceed.’
The colonel nodded to the bugler who stood to attention on a small platform next to the mallet gunner and the young man raised the bugle to his lips and sounded the advance. Three short blasts followed by a single long one.
With the Highman’s battle wagon in the van, the convoy trundled forward. Four battle wagons and one hundred and twenty mounted men. Ready to bring ultimate harm to the unsuspecting town of Lincoln Vale.
And then suddenly the column was advancing in the shade. Highman Lars looked up to see that the sun had been blotted out by the vast form of a fully armed war airship some two hundred feet above them, approaching from the rear. He brought his farlookers up and scanned for the dirigible’s name.
Lostvega Leviathan. The premier battleship amongst all of the Highmen fleets.
‘Pray tell me, colonel,’ said Lars. ‘What are they doing here? We did not ask for backup. Especially not from such a source. To use the Leviathan for a mere “Scouring” is the very definition of overkill.’
‘Not sure, your Highness,’ responded the colonel. ‘Perhaps they were simply in the area and have decided to observe and assist.’
The general and the colonel continued to stare up at the huge airship. As they did so, the two steam harpoons situated at either end of the ship, turned their barrels towards the battle wagon next to the one that Lars was riding.
‘What in the gods names are they doing,’ whispered the Highman. The very sight of the steam harpoons filled him with dread. The weapons were designed to deal out massive damage to armored structures, city walls and fortified positions. They were powered by a superheated, high-pressure boiler that propelled a ten foot long solid steel harpoon, weighing in at over three hundred pounds and traveling at a velocity of over one thousand two hundred feet per second. To put this into perspective, if the harpoon struck a battle wagon it would impart enough kinetic energy to destroy the Landship and, most likely, kill everyone on board.
And two of them were pointing at one of his battle wagons.
There was a sound of rolling thunder and the two harpoon guns erupted in a welter of fire and steam. The harpoons leapt from the barrels and screamed towards the luckless battle wagon, striking it with a force equal to fifty pounds of TNT and literally ripping it open like a tin can.
At the same time, four of the Mallet guns on the airship’s port side opened up, pouring a torrent of lead into the massed ranks of horsemen. Red mist covered the land and the screams of dead and dying men and horses echoed across the vale as thousands of steam driven balls of lead found their mark.
Then the steam harpoons moved again, their barrels once more loaded with three hundred pounds of steel death. Steam gouted, fire flew and another battle wagon disintegrated.
‘Fire back,’ screamed Highman Lars, his face a mask of terror and disbelief.
The mallet gunner elevated his weapon and started to return fire, traversing the gun from left to right. But his defiance simply caused attention to be focused on him and all four of the airship’s mallet guns fired back, punching him from his seat and throwing him over the side of the battle wagon.
Highman Lars ran from the topdeck, seeking the dubious shelter of the steel-armored wagon below. But it was to no avail as, once again, the harpoons fired and the Highman’s Landship was torn asunder. The last thing that the Highman general saw, was the looming presence of the vast Lostvega Leviathan as it slowly sank towards him like a monstrous angel of death, its mallet guns still spouting fire and its harpoons bearing down on the final surviving battle wagon.
And then all went dark.
Chapter 27
Nathaniel jumped from the ladder, followed closely by Leon, Brett and Torville, the chief engineer for the Leviathan. Above them the said airship hung motionless, Ethan keeping it in situ via tiny adjustments of the throttle and ailerons, handling the two hundred and fifty ton ship as if it were a docile horse.
Opposite them the town gates opened and ten men walked out. They were all heavily armed with both pneumatic rifles and pistols. At the head of the group walked a man of medium height and stature, his only discerning features being his large handlebar moustache and the highly polished steel chain that hung about his neck.
Nathaniel assumed that he was the mayor and walked towards him, hand held out in greeting.
The man shook his hand and confirmed the marine’s conclusion. ‘Greetings, strangers. Name’s Carlton Griffin. Mayor of Lincoln Vale.’
‘Nathaniel Hogan. This is Brett, Leon and Torville. Please, mayor,’ continued Nathaniel. ‘Be at ease. We mean you no harm and we come in peace.’
The mayor glanced pointedly at the wreckage of the battle wagons and the windrows of fallen men and horses in the near distance. ‘Did you say the same thing to them?’
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘They were here to carry out “The Scouring” on your town. We decided to stop them. And now we need to talk about what happens next.’
Mayor Griffin stared at Nathaniel for a while as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what he had just been told. Finally he reacted. ‘I don’t understand. Who are you? And I mean no offence by asking this but, are you a mental case or something? I mean, we appreciate the stay of execution but we all know what happens next. There is no way that the Highmen will let this pass. They will send more troops and battle wagons. Perhaps even airships. Whatever – we’re all dead. It just hasn’t happened yet. You too, stranger. Dead.’
The marine smiled. ‘So then, you agree, we have nothing left to lose?’
The mayor stared for a while and then a slow grin touched his lips. ‘If you put it that way, yes, I suppose so. Nothing left to lose. Follow me, stranger, let’s partake of some vodka and talk.’
The mayor led Nathaniel to his abode. A simple two story wooden structure with one open large room on the ground and stairs leading to a set of bedrooms.
Two of the men from the group accompanied t
he mayor into the house and Nathaniel, Brett, Leon and Torville also crowded in. After drinks had been poured and offered, Nathaniel proceeded to tell mayor Griffin of the events leading up to the current moment.
He told of Agent Orange, the Highmen’s conspiracy, his meeting Ethan, the attempt on his life, coming across Captain Tobias and being told of the forthcoming “Scouring”. And finally his intervention.
He made no mention of his immortality or of his past. He knew that there is a limit to the amount of new and earth shattering information that someone can absorb and process in one sitting.
‘Well I don’t mean to be negative,’ observed Griffin. ‘But it sure seems like you boys have chosen a one-way path to early extinction. I concede that the Leviathan is a warship of note, but if that’s all you got, then when the Highmen send the entire fleet against you it’s gonna be a simple calculation to make. One, however strong, cannot beat the many.’
Nathaniel shrugged. ‘I once heard someone say - All evil people will ultimately be destroyed. They will fall in the darkness. Their power will not help them win. Likewise, even a good man cannot win by strength of arm alone.’
‘Pretty deep,’ said Griffin. ‘Who said it?’
‘A man that went by the name of Fulcrum. Very wise. Very old. Frustratingly obscure at times.’
‘So what does it mean?’
Nathaniel laughed. ‘To be honest, I’m not totally sure. But I’ve always taken it to mean – fight the good fight and hope for the best.’
‘It’s as good a motto as any,’ admitted the mayor. ‘So what’s your next step?’
‘Firstly, we amp up the defenses around Lincoln Vale. Dry moats, tank traps, choke points and so on.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ interrupted the mayor. ‘But I get the gist of what you’re saying. We fortify the town.’