by Aeryn Leigh
Which one was Griffin's? Ah, that one. He ducked his head and made his way down the short row of concrete steps. Next to Griffin and Sarah, on each side, five soldiers fired their primitive rifles in support. He squeezed next to Griffin, his feet tinkling on the pile, dropped the ammo box, and passed the water to the nearest soldier, who grunted in thanks.
He lifted his binoculars. Their bunker shuddered with near-hits, as cannonballs skipped up the plain like stones being flung across a lake.
Griffin glanced over his shoulder, then fired off another short burst. He stopped. "What is it, Laurie?"
"The blue smoke, from the landing barges. Did you see it?"
"Kinda," he said. Betty pinged as the short-barrel jacket cooled. "Been busy."
"It's exhaust smoke."
"Exhaust smoke?" said Sarah, handing out fresh ammunition to the rest. "Like on your mechanical birds of flight?"
"Yeah," said Laurie. He leaned closer, refocusing the binoculars. "Well we'll know in a sec."
The first support craft made it to the beach, and the front barrier fell down onto the sand, forming a ramp. A large, metal war-machine trundled down, like an upturned ship's hull, covered in porcupines, belching great clouds of blue smoke. The tank drove off the barge, through the sea of red-soaked sand and corpses, and started clanking up the beach. Along the beachhead, the support barges landed.
"Bugger me," said Laurie. "It just gets better and better."
Chapter Ninety-Two
No Battle Plan
Ella heard the squadron take off, one by one this time, from inside the hanger. She dangled out of the Gee Bee’s cockpit, bare-foot, from where she'd pulled the step-ladder over, and finished tying her left boot to the rudder with metal wire, pliers in hand.
The rumbling background of war echoed in the cavernous space.
"This is where irresistible force meets immovable object," said a voice in the doorway. Andrew. "A terminal case Rob, I'm afraid."
"Just stubborn," yelled back Ella. "Got me this far." She stuck her head back up. "Ah, Rob. Did you manage to see what broke when I landed yesterday?"
"Sure. Like I had nothing else to do," said Rob. Ella stared at him and blinked. "So, was that a yes?"
Rob sighed. "Yeah, the secondary spar cracked. I patched it best I could. The bomber engine is way too big and torque-driven for the airframe. It's twisting like a wet towel. No telling how long it will hold."
"I'm going to take a look. My Muse is singing to me. Since you're here, give me hand pushing this beast out, will you?"
The two men both shared the thought that no way could Ella push anything, let alone herself, with the bad leg. Rob whistled, and soon his support crew and mechanics had the aircraft on the runway.
"I'll deny all knowledge if anyone asks me," said Andrew.
"You're a champion of men," said Ella, smiling. "Now give me a lift up?"
She managed to get herself into the cockpit, and her left foot into the boot. She tied the laces tight, the control stick poking into her belly as she leant forwards in the cramped space.
"Helena?" Andrew first passed the long wooden case up, and she lifted it up over the lip and snuggled it down between her rickety seat and the fuselage's skin. She reached back up, and took hold of the hunting rifle. She placed the butt end on the floor, it's barrel resting besides her leather-helmeted head as it stuck out.
"Thanks. Now get out of the way."
On the Purity, the steel decks slick with blood, Beowulf commanded his group to stop. All the simple areas had fallen to the Viking onslaught, but now the fighting grew desperate and hard like the emergency bulkhead in front of them, two decks down underneath the conning tower, now locked from the other side. The Vikings puffed in the cold, clammy air, regaining their breath.
"We can't get through that," said Snorri.
"A rat's warren," said Magnus, reloading his grease gun. "So many rats. Almost out of bullets."
"We all are," said Beowulf. "We need another way in. You four, stay here. Magnus, Snorri, with me."
Captain McDonnell stood on the bridge, as his dream crumbled amongst the shouts of his officers. For thirty-odd years, he thought this dreadnought invincible. Nothing would touch her. All the sacrifice, all the switched allegiances, the cold cuts of daggers in the dark eliminating competition — had amounted to nothing when that Grieg came on board. Heathen barbarians now lodged on his ship, his ship, like dog shit on the sole of his boot, resisting all efforts to scrape it off.
The crane creaked as it lowered Grieg's boat into the water, the chain groaning with the weight, audible even over the sounds of gunfire, and screams of men below.
That bastard Grieg. It's all his bloody fault. And his boat. No-one knew how it worked, but it'd been kept airtight and clean all those years, the captain doting on it, and the moment Grieg saw it, took it as his. Bastard.
Grieg supervised his boat being lowered into the ocean water, his mood calmer than expected. So, the barbarians had taken a foothold on the dreadnought. It didn't matter. Something like this was to be anticipated, after all. He hadn't planned on remaining on the Purity the whole battle anyway.
Time to get back to the Second Armada. As Helmut Von Multke had remarked, no battle plan survived contact with the enemy. It was a classic, and Grieg loved his classics. He jumped down onto the metal gangway next to his boat, his flying boat, and began unfolding its wings, with Gunnery Officer Wright's help.
Chapter Ninety-Three
Tanks
Laurie and Griffin heard the drone of approaching aircraft, as they re-considered their options. Griffin managed to kill the first tank, but it took an awful amount of ammunition they simply did not have spare.
"There's got to be at least four of five inches of plate at the front," said Griffin. On the beach, fifteen still moved up the sand, their rate of travel slower than an old horse. Griffin's kill burned, and three others sat halfway in the surf, immobile and presumed broken.
They all watched a cannonball bounce off the closest tank lumbering towards them five-hundred yards away, the hundreds and thousands of troops using them as cover, broken or otherwise. The cannonball deflected straight up in a lazy parabola, and buried itself into the sand fifty-yards from the war machine.
"So, we kill them from behind," said Laurie.
"How pray tell we gonna do that?"
"I'm working on it."
The squadron flew overhead, and the soldiers cheered.
"Maybe they'll do it?" said Sarah, pointing upwards.
Sarah saw the look Captain John gave her and she resumed looking down the sights of her gun, waiting for optimum range, and fired.
Chapter Ninety-Four
Psychological Warfare
The three stamped, white-pills, taken from the pilot at Magdeburg, sat in her left hand. After this, there is no more. Nicht mehr. This is the last of the last emergency stash.
She took a breath, exhaled, then placed the amphetamine pills under her tongue. From her breast pocket, Ella took out Helena’s gauntlets, and with grim determination, pulled them on. As always, they fitted like a second skin. She’d never find out how her girlfriend got the custom measurements. Maybe she traced Ella’s hands whilst she slept.
With a sigh, Ella’s right index finger flicked the engine-start switch, as the drugs dissolved, and took away her pain. She could move her leg again. And what remained, the raw power beneath her assayed as Ella accelerated down the runway.
The flight to the beach seemed to take forever, the Bay full of smoke from fires and explosions. Parts of Fairholm were afire, the Purity shelling now at random it seemed anything that came into the gunner's heads. She saw the Command Bunker coming up on her left, and eased the throttle forward a little more. Her aircraft vibrated and twisted with the increased power.
I miss the Me-262, she thought. I hope no-one found it, certainly not the Inquisition. The engineering, the performance, hundreds of thousands of man-hours and fifty-years of flight poured into t
he pinnacle of aviation technology.
Oh, to have it now.
On the twin beaches below, the clouds cleared enough to see — tanks? Crawling up the beach? Thick masses of men came behind them, in long lines back into the surf.
Grieg. It had to be him.
She gritted her teeth so hard she realised her jaw was stuck. Oh, for the four thirty-millimetre cannons on the Me-262. It would rend those tanks apart in a flash. But no. Here I am flying a barely-functioning prototype with my sum armament being a hunting rifle.
Lucius and his squadron were flying across the line of tanks, dropping primitive-grenades and Molotov cocktails. One tank was on fire, yet it moved still. Wait. There it goes. Mein Gott that's a big explosion.
So, the RAF did do some damage. It's more psychological than physical, she thought. The effect on our morale far outweighs the casualties inflicted, as she watched the Republic forces cheer every time the little boxy planes flew overhead or managed a hit.
And then she passed over the line of tanks, and flew over the Bay. She pushed the control stick forward, and aimed straight for the Purity.
If Grieg would be anywhere, there he'd be. The biggest, baddest thing afloat. I have to see. See him with my own eyes. And if possible, kill him. I don't know how, but that murdering bastard will pay.
They all watched the advance bunkers fall silent on the other beach. Or as Laurie thought grimly, the defensive gunfire fell silent. The screams of those inside the bunkers and along the first trenches as they burnt alive in the liquid-fire spraying from the tanks — well, that wasn't silent. He lifted his binoculars again, searching for a weakness. The treads, hidden within the turtle-sides, were one spot. And the rear. He had to see them from the rear, where the exhaust smoke poured upwards from. It'd make sense to put the engine — engines? — at the rear.
"Griffin, we need to counter-attack. Get explosives into those tracks, clog them somehow." The nearest tank in front of their bunker hit the two hundred-yard marker, and everyone in the bunker fired and reloaded as quick as could be.
An incoming bullet pierced the forward window slit and ricocheted inside the bunker, miraculously hitting nobody.
"Three-hundred and twelves rounds left on Betty," said Sarah, noticing the fresh divot in the concrete inches from her head.
"Or, we let 'em have the first line," said Griffin. He hefted Betty onto his shoulder. "Those tanks can't go over the trenches. Can they?"
"I dunno. At any rate, we fall back to the second line to regroup, and attack," said Laurie. "Corporal? Ring the bell."
Chapter Ninety-Five
The Twins
Stone-dust fell down from the ceiling, and settled onto the children. And the animals. Amelia brushed the grit off the puppies, in the natural caverns behind the mountains, east of The Pit. Hundreds and hundreds of children milled around, in the torchlight, lighting bouncing off the rocky formations overhead, making strange shadows. All the caretaker adults huddled together at the entrance of the cavern, deep in talk along with the soldiers protecting them.
"Nice puppies," said the twin. The brother Augustus. His sister Selena joined him, as the other kids shrank back, even the older ones, older than the twin themselves.
Amelia huddled closer to the eight Shepherds, tethered by their leads to a stake in the rocks, and Zia in her crate. "They are," she said, staring at the rocky ground.
"What do you think Sis, you want one too?"
"I like that one. The tri-colour. Give it to me," said the other twin.
Her tongue caught in the back of Amelia's throat. "No." It was no more than a squeak.
"What did you say?" said Augustus. "Selena, she said no."
"She did, didn't she. Now listen up, all of you." The children fell silent. Selena looked over her right shoulder, and made sure the adults couldn't hear. "What we say, you do. What we want, you give us. Do you understand?" The sea of faces nodded. "Augustus, let's make an example of Amelia. Her mummy's so important, they have a house all to themselves. Their own security details."
"But down here, she's all alone," said her brother, leering at her. His hand shot out and grabbed her forearm. "Don't make a sound, or I'll break it." He twisted it, hard, and squeezed and wrung her forearm, until Amelia let go of the leads, tears falling down her face.
"There. Our puppies now." The twins pulled on the leashes, and dragged two puppies away, the dogs thinking it a game. Amelia held her forearm, and sat on the ground, sobbing.
The shadows danced above, off the sharp stones and falling rock dust, as war also raged over their heads, the sounds booming in the cave.
Chapter Ninety-Six
Another Way
Grieg settled into the cockpit, with Wright in the front cupola, manning the Maxim machine-gun. Grieg gave a signal, and the rope tether released. They bobbed on the water, now free. He turned the engine crank a full clockwise circle.
And waited. Two more full circuits. Nothing happened. He looked at the engine and propeller mounted behind them. He tried again. The motor spluttered, then died. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a crude monoplane heading straight for him. He narrowed his eyes.
Her.
Ella swept over the rows of tall-masted sailing warships, and towards the dreadnought, or to be more precise she thought, angled away from it. Forward visibility over the huge B-17 engine was non-existent.
I'll change that on the next prototype. Make the cockpit higher. Yes, that would be optimal.
She began her approach, making sure she was out of range of anything lethal, like rogue machine-guns or the like. The Viking ships clustered on one side of the Purity, and she saw Hellsbaene still afloat, right in the middle. She lowered her altitude, and started her banking run, nudging the throttles forward, to make a wide circular-pass around the dreadnought.
She flew by the Viking longships, and could see pitched battles between Vikings and the Inquisition here and there on the superstructure. She came around to the bow, and saw the far side of the dreadnought. A seaplane lay just off to the side, facing directly towards her. The machine-gun at its front fired up at her with impressive reaction-time and she shoved her left foot hard down and wrenched the control stick over to avoid the blistering fire. But behind the machine-gun, she'd seen just a glimpse of a face. Grieg.
In the moments that followed, two Universe's opened up, and presented their cards in her mind. Her brain sped up as the world slowed down, as her thoughts assembled themselves. She could kill him right now. Pull the stick in, and aim the massive whirling scythes in front right at him, at full throttle. No-one could survive a B-17 engine straight to their face. But she would also die.
No. Amelia. She didn't deserve this. But who does?
The mastermind of so many deaths seemed to be having trouble starting the engine. Now's your chance Ella. Do it. Do it now. No more responsibilities, no more nagging worries rotting your will like rising damp.
The image of Helena in the shelter popped into her mind. Hamburg. The necklace around her neck, Helena's necklace, seared the skin on her chest, as alive in her imagination and burning like the city did. And as Victoria must have, her lungs burning as she drowned.
Nein. There must be another way. Message Bear. Hope.
The moment ended, and then the opportunity shot by. A row of bullet holes punctured the port wing, and Ella ducked and weaved until out of range. She came around for another pass.
Grieg adjusted the choke, and swung the crank around once more. With a bang, the Hispano-Suiza V8 coughed into a rough idle behind him. Ella had disappeared around the dreadnought's side, and he saw movement above them. Vikings moved down the superstructure towards him. With a roar, matched by the engine, he slammed the throttle open and the Supermarine flying boat started to pick up speed across the bay's open water.
At last. He's off my boat. How do you get stubborn dog shit off? Find a bigger brush. He gave the command to raise anchor.
Beowulf, Snorri, and Magnus swore. They were too late. T
he water plane gathered speed, now way outside the range of their short grease guns.
"Now what?" said Snorri. "He's getting away."
Beowulf opened his mouth, about to speak, when the metal beneath their feet shook as the Purity's engines turned over. They lurched, as the ship swung around from full rest to full power hard on the rudder.
"Snorri, do what you can here. Get up to the tower my friend." He turned to Magnus. "The Hellsbaene. Maybe we can catch it." He stabbed a finger at the bi-plane and hauled on Magnus's shoulder, all three running back up the metal stairway.
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Freedom, Or Death
"Men and women of the Republic. I'm not going to lie to you. Our chances of victory are small. But they are small. Up here, in their heads. You built a dream, on hope, on freedom, here on Elysium. Those bastards hate that. If Beowulf was here, he'd say luck would save you, if your courage held."
Laurie pounded his heart. "This is fucking courage. Every day, I wake up saying, 'Today is the day I die'. But you know what? We all gotta die sometime. And especially today, especially today... today they die. Them. Not us." He paused. "Are you with me?"
The Republic Army roared.
"Are you with me?" Laurie said. He lowered the bullhorn.
General Versetti stood by his side, and withdrew her sword. She thrust it into the air. Three-thousand-odd soldiers of the Republic made an awful din, and charged towards the beach, Marietta, and Laurie at the spear tip, for freedom, or death.