by Craig Zerf
Leon had a massive slab of beef in his hand and ripped and chewed at it, meat gravy dribbling down his chin, his face split in a huge smile of pleasure. A small gaggle of Dreamlanders stood a few feet away and openly studied the lion man. Leon could tell that he was being scrutinized but he didn’t let that effect his enjoyment.
As well as the food there were jugs of fruit juice and small glass decanters of apple brandy, sweet and potent.
‘Those dudes are going to be seriously ill tomorrow,’ said Nathaniel. ‘After a lifetime of soya, their guts are going to rebel like a peasant uprising in the next few hours.’
‘I’m sure,’ agreed Ethan. ‘However, I guarantee that they shall think the momentary discomfort worth the pleasure that they are experiencing right now.’
‘And you, captain?’ Asked Nathaniel ‘Aren’t you going to partake?’
Ethan smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think that I shall.’ And he walked to the table, pulling up a chair next to Brett and helping himself to an apple.
Noah approached The Forever Man. He carried a thick sheaf of papers in his hands.
‘Eternal man,’ he greeted.
Nathaniel grimaced at the form of address. The Dreamlanders had picked it up from Leon, who, like Tobias, had started to address him thus.
‘Noah. How goes it?’
The Keeper held up the papers. ‘Improvements,’ he stated. ‘We have come up with twenty-seven ways to improve both the efficiency and capabilities of the Leviathan. These range from upgraded weaponry to more speed and even something very special that we shall need to discuss later. We can institute these improvements within six days. Well, five days and twenty two hours to be precise. We would like to start immediately.’
Nathaniel smiled at the small man’s enthusiasm. ‘Sounds great,’ he admitted. ‘However, I would like to speak to captain Thomas first.’
Noah looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘It’s his ship. I need to check that he wants it to be worked on.’
‘But who would turn down improvements?’ Asked Noah. ‘The chance to better something?’
‘Hey, change isn’t always for the better,’ countered Nathaniel.
‘This change is.’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Yep, I agree. But I still need to run it by the captain.’
‘Can’t you simply tell him to do it?’
‘Yes, I could.’
‘And he would obey?’ Continued Noah.
‘Most probably.’
‘So why don’t you do that and we can start straight away?’
‘Because. That’s why. Simply, because. Now hang five and wait. I won’t be long,’ he said as he walked towards the trestle tables to speak to Ethan.
So Noah stood and waited, not moving from the spot where he was standing. And, twenty minutes later Nathaniel came back.
‘Go for it,’ he said.
Noah nodded. ‘Well five days and twenty two hours.’
As it happens Noah was out by forty minutes. The improvements took the Dreamlanders five days, twenty one hours and twenty minutes. Exactly.
Riley Engineer showed Ethan, Brett, Leon, Torville and Nathaniel around the ship, pointing out the changes.
Some were small improvements, increased water flow to the fire-dampening systems that meant it would be much more difficult to set the airship ablaze. Smoother aileron control using steel cable instead of rope, resulting in increased maneuverability.
Others changes were huge. They had improved the cooling system attached to the mallet guns, as well as increasing both the pressure and the feed rate of the weapons. This, coupled with a larger hopper for ammunition, had almost doubled the rate of fire available from each weapon. A huge increase in firepower.
The Dreamlanders had also changed the reloading system for the steam harpoons and now it was automated. This meant that the main weapons could be operated efficiently by a single gunner. They could also fire at twice the rate of before.
Ethan was beyond impressed.
But the biggest surprise was yet to come. Riley beckoned to all to follow him and he led them from the Leviathan to a large hall that branched off the main cavern. Inside the hall, lit by a multitude of gas spotlights, were the two reconnaissance gliders from the airship. But there were many changes, the first one being – they had engines and propellers.
‘We fitted the gliders with pneumatic powered engines,’ explained Riley. ‘Similar to the ones on our carts that you have driven in. The only difference is that we upgraded the power and used only the lightest materials. Aluminum, bonded plywood and carbon graphite. As you can see,’ he pointed as he spoke. ‘There are two large compressed air vessels situated under the cockpit, plus one smaller emergency tank behind the back seat. We have taken out the third seat so it is now a two seater. Also, we have widened and shortened the wingspan and improved the shape slightly to aid both lift and maneuverability. The compressed air will give you around twenty five minutes of powered flight, the reserve tank another three. We recommend that you look on it as a powered glider, rather than a fully powered airplane. Use thermals and updrafts as much as possible and then apply power as and when needed. Finally,’ he pulled off a piece of tarpaulin that was covering the front of the cockpit. ‘We have installed an automatic rifle complete with a five hundred round hopper. This works off another air cylinder that we have installed under the weapon. It’s not nearly as powerful as a mallet gun but it does lay down a prodigious amount of lead. You pull the trigger and the rifle will continue to fire until the ammunition runs out. It’s pretty lethal up to one hundred yards or so.’
Nathaniel was impressed, but when he glanced at Brett he saw that she was even more so. In fact, she was staring at the fighter plane like a fat man stares at a plate of ribs. The marine smiled. He had seen that look before on the face of many a fly boy back in the day.
‘You like, Brett?’ He asked.
She turned to him, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen,’ she gasped. ‘When can I take one up?’
‘Soon,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I’d like to get moving, we’ve been here a week and I’m a little worried about might be happening at Lincoln Vale. I’d like to take a look, check up on their situation, if that’s okay with you captain?’
Ethan nodded. ‘Of course, my lord. Shall I call the crew to readiness?’
Nathaniel nodded and the captain set off immediately to carry out the marine’s request.
Four hours later the Lostvega Leviathan was airborne once again.
Chapter 33
Captain Tobias and Mayor Griffin stood together on the topdeck of the Landship Gwendolyn and watched the column approaching from the far distance. They had known of the forthcoming attack for over a day now as Tobias had placed outlying horseback scouts in lookout positions many miles from the town, specifically for such an occurrence.
The Highman armored column was a similar makeup to the one that had come those few weeks before to carry out The Scouring, accept for the fact that it was approximately twice the size. There were no Highmen visible to the naked eye, however, there was one battle wagon that stood out, three times larger than the others and Tobias assumed that would be the Highman flag-ship. Inside this would be the Highmen. Most probably three or four, protected from harm by over four inches of steel armor-plate.
The outriders, as usual, were all humans. Judas’s to the human race.
And now it was less than a mile from Lincoln Vale. Less than half an hour away.
Tobias raised his farlookers to his eyes and scanned the open ground in front of the column. ‘I reckon that they must almost be on top of Douglas and his men,’ he said. ‘I just hope that he doesn’t wait too long.’
‘He’s a solid man,’ responded Griffin. ‘He and his men will do exactly as they’ve been told.’
As the mayor spoke, Tobias saw the ground in front of the column erupt as a group of forty men on horseback seemed to literally explode out
of the earth. It had taken the Lincoln Vale residents an entire day to fashion the hidey-holes that had served to camouflage the men and their horses. Deep foxholes, covered with sheeting and then soil and then a light sprinkling of snow. And the result had been perfect, concealing the cavalry until they were almost under the column’s noses.
The cavalry split into two groups of twenty and galloped down the flanks of the column, firing at the outriders as they did so. Repeating pneumatic rifles and pistols pouring out shot at a combined rate of over fifty rounds a second.
About twelve human outriders were smashed from their horses and many more reeled under the impact of shot before they rallied enough to return fire. But by then, Douglas and his cavalry were already galloping back towards the town, their mission had been to disrupt and harass the enemy and then retreat and this they had done admirably.
Tobias had not said so but he had another reason to send Douglas against the attacking column. He wanted an early, easy victory, however small. Because he knew that the next few days would be hard. Harder than any of these cosseted town-dwellers had ever experienced before. And this victory would help to bolster their spirits in the days ahead. It would show that the enemy could be defeated. That they were not superhuman. They died just like everybody else.
The cavalry galloped towards the drawbridge, the horses stumbling slightly through fatigue as they ran as fast as they could to escape the chasing battle wagons. But one wagon had pulled ahead of the rest and was right on their heels, its mallet gun firing at a prodigious rate, buffeting the riders from side to side as the lead rounds got closer and closer to their target.
‘Come on,’ shouted Tobias. ‘Move it. Move it or die.’
***
Highman Colonel Barclon Withrew stood at the head of the chart table. On his left and right were his two lieutenants, Highman Ritton Welth and Highman Parton Brig. The colonel had been placed in charge of the battle column that had been put together in the citadel of Sanfrisco and charged with traveling poste haste to the town of Lincoln Vale. There had been rumors that the town had not only denied access to the team that had been sent to Scour it but, it had also actually fought back and destroyed the said column. At first the rumors were both scoffed at and ignored. But, after a week when the column had not returned, scouts had been sent out to verify the story.
The report back had been nigh on unbelievable. The scouts could find no sign of the column. Nothing at all. Not a horse, a rider. Not even the tiniest piece of wreckage. But they did bring back more fuel for the fires of conjecture.
And the upshot of it was, the town of Lincoln Vale had, somehow, utterly destroyed the battle column that had been sent to Scour them.
The Highmen reacted instantly; firstly they had the scouts who had brought the news executed to prevent the swell of rumor. Secondly, anyone heard or even suspected of entertaining the story of Lincoln Vale’s uprising was brought in for detention and, thirdly, a massive battle column was dispatched to the town to check out the rumor and to exact retribution.
And that singular honor had fallen to none other than Highman Colonel Barclon Withrew. Like all of the Highmen on earth, he had been here since the Highlight had occurred and the Highmen had arrived in this plane of existence. However, he had been a relatively young being and even now was only nine hundred years old, a mere stripling, especially since he had already achieved the rank of colonel.
And now was the time for him to prove that his rapid rise was due to more than simple family connections.
If Barclon was honest with himself, a trait that he did not actually possess, he would have conceded that the mission was a simple job of destruction. Overwhelming force of trained soldiers with heavy duty weapons and armor, against a peaceful town with no militia and little or no weaponry.
He would have admitted that.
And he would have been wrong.
The Lincoln Vale ambush had taken him and his lieutenants by total surprise.
And Highman Colonel Barclon Withrew was learning that hundreds of years of totalitarian control and relative peace do not actually prepare one for the unbelievable violence and brutality that is war. The screams of the dying horses, the cries of men in mortal agony, the insane hammering of the mallet guns, the whistle of hyper-heated steam and the blood. So much blood.
‘Fire back,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Do something, why isn’t anybody doing something?’
His two lieutenants attempted to calm their intrepid leader down but only succeeded in drawing his anger.
‘We are retaliating, sir,’ informed Ritton Welth. ‘The mallet guns are firing at full rate.’
‘And the outriders are fighting back, sir,’ added Parton Brig.
‘Well then why aren’t the enemy dying?’ He screamed back at them. ‘Why are my men dying and their men aren’t? What the hell is going on?’
A volley of shot ricocheted off the sides of the armor near to Barclon Withrew’s head and he threw himself to the floor. ‘We’ve been hit,’ he squealed. ‘We’re under fire. We’re all going to die.’
‘The shot cannot defeat the armor, sir. We are completely safe,’ reassured Parton Brig.
Colonel Withrew stood up hesitantly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely, sir. Four inches of strengthened steel plate. Nothing could penetrate it.’
The colonel stood straighter. ‘Good. Good. Well then, get the bugler to sound the charge. Let’s have at these miscreants.’
Brig whistled into the speaking tube, calling up the topdeck. There was an answering whistle. ‘Sound the charge.’
Seconds later the strident call of the bugle sang out over the sounds of the battle and the entire column increased forward speed, thundering after the withdrawing Lincoln Vale cavalry, boilers gushing steam and weapons belching lead.
‘Sir,’ warned lieutenant Brig ‘I advise caution. There seems to be some sort of large ditch a few hundred yards in front of us.’
‘Well let’s get them before they reach it,’ answered colonel Withrew as he grabbed the speaking tube. ‘Faster,’ he yelled. ‘Full steam ahead everybody.’
The bugler increased his cadence, tonguing the notes frantically, blaring out the order to increase speed to full. The smaller battle wagons started to pull ahead of the main flagship wagon, bouncing and juddering as they shoveled coal into their boilers and kept their steam taps fully open.
One wagon in particular, the Black Knight, was way ahead of the rest, by virtue of the fact that it had been in the vanguard to start with and it was fast approaching the back markers of the cavalry.
Colonel Withrew peered through the viewing slit in the front of the bridge and urged the Black Knight on.
‘Go,’ he screamed. ‘Catch them. Kill them.’
The cavalry thundered across the bridge that spanned the deep ditch and the battle wagon steamed along right behind them.
And then the bridge disappeared as it was pulled back by a team of men using ropes and pulleys. The Black Knight careened over the edge of the moat and smashed into the wall on the opposite side. One hundred tons of steel traveling at over thirty miles an hour struck the bank and simply exploded in a gush of steam and flame and shrapnel.
Lieutenant Brig snatched at the speaking tube and began yelling. ‘Sound the halt. Halt. Halt. Halt.’
The bugler repeated the three staccato notes over and over and the battle column ground to a shuddering halt, mere yards from the lip of the dry moat.
Colonel Withrew screamed out his frustration. ‘Fire,’ he shouted. ‘Every weapon, open up on that town. Destroy it.’
His command was relayed via the bugler and all of the mallet guns fired towards the wall of Lincoln Vale. But, as The Forever Man had planned, they were just out of range. After a minute of frantic and ineffectual fire, the guns stuttered to a gradual halt.
‘It’s no good, sir,’ noted lieutenant Welth. ‘They are out of range.’
‘Well stoke the boilers up,’ said Withrew.
‘More pressure. I will have those walls leveled.’
‘But, sir,’ countered the lieutenant. ‘All boilers are already in the red zone. Any more pressure and they might blow. And I would hate to see any harm come to you, sir.’
The colonel blanched at the thought of harm coming to himself. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Quite so. I cannot risk myself. It would be selfish to deny the column its leader. So, what do you suggest, Lieutenant?’
‘Send some outriders back to the citadel, sir. Call for some field artillery. Four mobile steam harpoons and we could reduce the city at our leisure. We could have them here by late tomorrow.’
Highman colonel Barclon Withrew nodded his approval. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is what I shall do. Go, lieutenant. Get me three of our fastest and send them to obtain some field artillery. Immediately if not sooner.’
Lieutenant Welth saluted and left the bridge to carry out his officer’s command.
And so the countdown to the final hours of Lincoln Vale started.
Chapter 34
The field artillery wagons were magnificent. Around a third of the size of a full sized battle wagon, a mere twenty five tons, and a crew of ten, each unit was basically a heavily armored, mobile steel box with a steam harpoon mounted on top. It sported two boilers, a primary one for locomotion and a second dedicated boiler for propelling the steam harpoon.
They had made good time and by noon, two days after the outriders had left, four of them were trundling into place. Colonel Withrew mounted a horse and trotted to the lead harpoon wagon, identifiable by a red ‘leader’ flag flying from its topdeck. The human captain let the side ramp down and stepped out to greet the colonel.
‘Sir,’ he called out as he saluted. ‘We have come at full steam to assist.’
‘Good,’ returned colonel Withrew. ‘Well, let us waste no more time, captain. You see the target. I want you and your men firing within the next ten minutes.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ argued the captain. ‘But our secondary boiler has been banked for travel. We need at least an hour before we can work up a sufficient head of steam for the harpoons.’