by Bill Baldwin
“Ships're calling for you, Lieutenant,” Barbousse yelled, pointing to the COMM cabinet.
Brim ripped himself from his near trance and stepped into the control cabin. “SubLieutenant Wilf Brim here,” he shouted.
“Commander Englyde Zantir here, Wilf,” a voice boomed from among the flashing lights. “We're at your service as long as you need us. What else can we do to brighten your morning, Lieutenant?”
Brim stiffened. Englyde Zantir — everybody knew that name: dashing hero of a thousand hard-won battles. At his service. He was stunned. “Th-Thank you, sir,” he stammered, then quickly recovered. Hero worship could wait. “We need to find Colonel Hagbut's men, Commander,” he continued. “They've been captured. If they're still in the area at all, they ought to be near their personnel carriers — six of them, I think. Last transmission came from nine thirteen point five by E9G.”
“Personnel carriers,” Zantir repeated thoughtfully. “Well, we'll have a look for them.” In the distance, the rumble from the destroyers ceased to fade.
Brim looked toward the top of the hill, beyond which huge chunks of molten rock and debris were still falling through the towering column of smoke. “You people up to traveling some more this morning?” he called to the A'zurnians. “We need to move up the hill.”
“Oh, we're all right, Lieutenant,” a voice called out from the pitiful collection of rags and starved flesh. “You Imperials worry about driving this thing, and we'll worry about hanging on.”
“Yeah,” another called out. “We've got a few scores to settle.”
Brim nodded to Barbousse; the traction system roared and the field piece lumbered ahead. At the crest of the hill, Brim gasped first in astonishment, then in dumbfounded horror. Even the A'zurnians hushed with awe. Below, in the place where the research center once stood, all that now remained at the base of the towering smoke column was a glowing, bubbling crater perhaps two thousand irals wide and a hundred irals deep. Around this, a charred circle of smoldering, melted destruction extended outward another thousand irals. The blackened cable trench ran from the top of the hill and disappeared into the lurid incandescence below. He shook his head — a single salvo! So much for map locus 765jj.
It was the renewed A'zurnian cheering that brought him back to reality. The broken-winged wrecks of once-flighted beings were now on their feet, clapping each other on the back and pointing toward the destruction as if they were possessed (which, in retrospect, he supposed they were).
He smiled grimly. Thus grew the seeds of Nergol Triannic's eventual downfall!
“Commander Zantir for you again, Lieutenant,” Barbousse interrupted.
Brim nodded. The rumble of the destroyers was getting louder again.
“Believe we've found old Hagbut for you, Wilf,” Zantir's voice chuckled from the COMM cabinet. “Six armored personnel carriers, Imperial built. Is that right?”
“Yessir,” Brim replied. “Six of them.”
“Not far from you, then,” Zantir said. “Two hills distant, near a quarry of some sort. Do you have a chart?”
“I've got one, Commander,” Brim answered. “An A971FF.”
“Good,” replied Zantir. “Like mine, with the late research center at the top. Your hill is the next one down. Right?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Two hills to the left of you is what looks like a stone quarry. See that?”
“I see it, Commander,” Brim acknowledged.
“That's where they are, Wilf,” Zantir said. “The six troop carriers are parked on the paved apron you see surrounding the pit. The whole thing's guarded by eight big Leaguer battle crawlers of some kind: Shouldn't be much of a problem for those field pieces you're in. They're pulled up close around the pit so they can aim at the prisoners.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brim replied as he studied the chart. No cableway connected him to the enemy position, but his BATTLE COMMs by now were adept at handling the big machines with rudder pedals alone, and the path to the quarry looked as if it were clear of obstructions for most of the way. “We still need your help, Commander,” he added.
“Name it, Wilf,” Zantir replied. “We've got more than nine metacycles to get you back to Prosperous.”
“Aye, sir,” Brim answered. “And what I need more than anything else right now is your noise.”
“Our what?”
“Your noise, Commander,” Brim repeated. “While you're orbiting the area, we can sneak up on anything, even riding these roaring monsters.”
“Aha,” Zantir exclaimed, laughing. “Good thinking, Wilf! Regula Collingswood said you were a bright lad, and she's seldom wrong. We'll be back in half a moment — at which time nobody will so much as hear himself think!”
Brim looked out at the A'zurnians, no battle suits for them. No protection from anything — and in a very few cycles, a pitched battle was a distinct possibility. He slid the window open beside him, leaned out, and explained the situation in as few words as possible.
“What that means,” he concluded, “is that we can leave you here in the safety of the forest or you can go with us. The choice is yours.”
Not a moment of hesitation elapsed. They roared back as one voice, “We go. We go against the League!” In moments, A'zurnians on the other field pieces had also taken up the shout and turned it into a litany. “We go. We go against the League! We go!” Then the stillness of the skies shattered once again as Zantir's destroyers returned.
The next cycles were the noisiest Brim could remember in his lifetime. Once he gave orders to move out, the three destroyers took up station around the quarry, circling at a constantly diminishing radius that brought one of them blasting low over Brim's galloping field pieces every fifteen cycles. Even in the protection of his battle helmet, the noise was absolutely deafening. He marveled that the A'zurnians could stand it out on the unsheltered flanks of the vehicle, but all were flapping their pitiful wing stumps excitedly and pointing ahead like children on a holiday outing.
The six bellowing, steam-spewing vehicles covered the distance to the quarry in what seemed to be no time at all. They were soon charging up the last hill toward a wide opening in the surrounding ring of dense forest. On either side of the opening, two huge — incredibly old-looking — carved columns rose into the morning sky, each topped by the figure of a huge flighted warrior, wings outspread as if in gliding flight. “Double up!” Brim yelled at the COMM cabinet, wondering if anyone on the receiving end could hear anything he said.
His answer came in moments, when the second field piece in line pulled abreast on his starboard side and thundered along in tandem with him, hostages grinning and laughing in the slipstream as they clung to the vehicle's bucketing deck. The convoy exploded between the two stone columns, scattering Leaguers left and right as they came. “Stand by,” Brim yelled into the COMM cabinet. “Starboard column takes the starboard side of the pit, port takes port — and have your disruptors aimed at one of those battle crawlers!” As they burst onto the apron, he saw a score of Leaguers sprinting for their battle crawlers, but already they were too late. The big field piece careened wildly to port as Barbousse skidded out onto the apron, then again to starboard as they raced along the periphery of the pit. He watched the disruptor indexing smoothly this way and that as Fragonard compensated for Barbousse's wild maneuvering, but it was always aimed for one of the enemy battle crawlers. The ordnance work done in the forest had not been wasted. Then the traction engine bellowed in reverse while the big vehicle shuddered to a stop in a boiling cloud of steam.
As the other five field pieces skidded into place, Zantir's voice boomed from the COMM console. “Looks as if that went well, Wilf.”
“Aye, sir,” Brim answered. “So far…”
“I shall put up into orbit above the atmosphere, then,” Zantir said, his voice amplified above the roar of his generators. “You'll be able to negotiate with them a bit more easily if they can hear what you have to say, and we'll stick around to back you.” The
roaring boomed momentarily, then Brim watched the triangular shapes disappear into the clouds and suddenly the landscape was saturated with a delirious silence.
In the first tentative chirps from surrounding trees, Brim watched the stunned Leaguers begin to revive. Beyond, at the quarry pit, the Imperial prisoners started to wave and cheer. Beside him the ex-hostages only stared in deadly silence at their torturers. They sensed their time was near.
Abruptly, the Carescrian was galvanized into action. “Fire up the outside amplifiers,” he whispered, thinking furiously. “I have a game to play with these bastards, and I learned the rules from a man named Valentin.”
* * * *
The amplifiers clicked on and hummed. Brim watched the dazed Leaguers freeze in place and warily turn toward his field piece, waiting. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught the turret of one of the enemy battle crawlers as it surreptitiously began to creep around from its bearing on the prisoners. Squelching the amplifier input, he hit the turret interCOMM. “Take out that battle crawler between those two piles of rocks, Fragonard,” he ordered calmly. “Right now.”
“No problem, Lieutenant,” the ordnance man said, “now that I've got these honkers calibrated.” The stubby disruptor overhead moved smoothly to the left, dropped rapidly, then thundered, rocking the massive chassis back on its gravity cushion. Opposite, the League battle crawler disappeared in a neat cloud of blackish flame, ragged chunks of debris wobbling over the trees and out of sight. The too-clean stench of ozone filled the air, but not a stone was disturbed on either side of the void where the battle crawler had been.
“Nice,” Brim commented.
“All in the setup, Lieutenant,” Fragonard said modestly.
Nearby, a Leaguer in a black suit had begun to emerge from one of the battle crawlers. The figure stopped to peer at the empty space, turned for one quick glance at the glowing disruptor on Brim's field piece, then disappeared again into the hatch.
Brim lifted the squelch from the amplifiers. “Surrender, or we blast you all to atoms,” he broadcast in Vertrucht. “As you can see, we've learned a thing or two about your cannon.”
Silence.
“Four archestrals remain for your answer, fools,” he said. “Then we destroy you.” That gave them two full cycles to make up their minds.
An amplifier clicked on at the black-suited Leaguer's battle crawler. “Another shot from those field pieces, and we kill our prisoners, Imperial fool,” a metallic voice warned.
“So?” Brim inquired imperiously.
Surprised silence ensued. “Well... ah… you know,” the metallic voice said lamely. “We kill all these Imperial prisoners we have captured. Including your Colonel Hagbut. Make no mistake, Imperial. We mean what we say!”
“Of course you do,” Brim said laconically. “But that really doesn't have much effect on me — or my mission, does it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen, hab'thall,” Brim chuckled into the amplifier, “my orders say to bring back the six personnel carriers you've got parked on the apron; they're expensive. We can get soldiers anywhere, and of course we’ll have to shoot old Hagbut anyway for getting himself captured.” He looked at his timepiece. “You have two archestrals left.”
More silence. Finally, the voice came again from the battle crawler. “You say you can replace the soldiers anywhere?”
“Well, of course, fool, just like you,” Brim answered. He knew he had them now. “You kill those prisoners; we bring the personnel carriers back empty — with you dead, of course. Otherwise…”
“O-Otherwise ?”
“Well, you certainly must know that,” Brim answered. “Otherwise, we blow up your battle crawlers without you in them. Either way, we get what we came for, understand?”
“Yes… I ah, understand.”
“I was pretty sure you would,” Brim said. “All right. Time's up. What'll it be? We have a busy day ahead of us.” Above his head, he watched the big disruptor index toward the next enemy battle crawler. “Ready…” he broadcast. “Aim…!” The other disruptors indexed slightly.
“We capitulate! Don't shoot!” the metallic voice screeched, this time in broken Imperial Avalonian. “We capitulate!”
Suddenly, the A'zurnians and the Imperial prisoners in the pit erupted into wild cheering. Brim took a deep breath, hoped his voice wasn't shaking too noticeably, then spoke again into the amplifier. “Very well,” he broadcast. “Then I want those battle crawlers of yours emptied immediately. Everybody out. Weapons on the ground in front of you. I'm sending the A'zurnians to make sure none of you retain any surprises. “He watched the cheering ex-hostages pile off the field pieces and hobble toward the battle crawlers, all of which were soon open, crews standing forlornly before them, their side arms and blast pikes in the hands of their former A'zurnian captives. Brim silently wondered how many of the Leaguers would be alive by the time the sun set. The lucky ones, he concluded, would not be among them.
* * * *
“ …And I've given the personnel carriers to the A'zurnian underground as well, Colonel Hagbut,” Brim explained. “They'll take them over immediately with the Leaguer battle crawlers, then send crews with us on the run to Magalla'ana so they can drive these field pieces back when we ship out.” Two ragged A'zurnians stood quietly at the rear of the control cabin.
Hagbut's eyes narrowed for a moment — Brim could almost swear he heard clockwork clattering, then the man's face broke into a wide grin. He put a fatherly arm around Brim's shoulders and thumped him on the back. “You make me proud of you, boy,” he roared. “I knew you had it in you when I put you in charge. I shall write a favorable memorandum on your behalf.”
Brim felt his eyebrows raise, along with his hackles. A half-stifled snort issued from Barbousse at the COMM cabinet.
“I shall tell my high command that the success of the mission is actually a tribute to the fine training I received at old Darkhurst Academy,” Hagbut continued, striking a heroic pose. He turned to address the A'zurnians. “This accomplishment, gentlemen, is merely the latest in the unbroken series of military victories which mark my career.” He indicated Brim with his free hand, as if the Carescrian were his personal prodigy. “I provided this talented young man with the proper equipment for his task, instructed him as to mission parameters, then commanded him until I could no longer physically command. Once properly instructed and equipped, he merely followed my lead to insure the success of the mission.” He turned again to Brim. “Yes, young man,” he said, “I shall write a highly favorable memorandum concerning your part in this successful operation. You follow orders well!”
“Four-metacycle departure warning from Prosperous, Lieutenant Brim,” Barbousse interrupted in a choked voice.
Brim winked at the big rating, then turned to Hagbut. “Perhaps we should consider starting out for Magalla'ana, Colonel,” he suggested. “Took us a bit more than three metacycles to drive here in the first place, and we left a real mess to negotiate at the end of that high suspension bridge.”
They both stopped to watch the BATTLE COMMs hoisting an Imperial Fleet battle pennant to the top of the KA'PPA tower where it fluttered lazily just below the transmitter — more magic courtesy of Barbousse.
Hagbut nodded his head and glared out of the corner of his eye. Then he took a deep breath. “All right,” he conceded. “Lieutenant Brim, you may broadcast orders for my men to mount the field pieces immediately.”
* * * *
They only just made it. When Brim's steam-breathing field pieces charged into the pickup zone with battle flags flying, they became the last vehicles to return at all. The whole area was littered with abandoned equipment. Only one large shuttle remained idling in the center of the lift-off area, crewmen at both hatches beckoning frantically with their arms.
“I think they want us to hurry,” Barbousse said as he braked the big machine to a halt.
“So do I,” Brim agreed. “If that League fleet is still on schedule
, Anak and his battlecruisers can't be too far away any more.” He switched on the amplifiers. “End of the line, gentlemen,” he announced to Hagbut's soldiers. “Everyone into the shuttle over there — on the double!” Instantly, the men began clambering to the ground. Hagbut was out of the control cab before Brim had even stopped speaking and led the sprint across the field. “Don't stop for anything,” the Carescrian added, chuckling, then he turned to the pair of gaunt A'zurnians who would take his field piece back into the hills.
One wore the battered tricornered hat of a highly placed A'zurnian nobleman, the other was totally bald with a huge red welt from his prominent nose to his right ear. Both were filthy and disheveled. Their wings had been cruelly snapped from their backs, ripped away, leaving long, ragged blades that moved slowly, uselessly, while they talked. Except for a few facial differences, they were alike as twins, he thought with a twinge of pity. But then, emaciated people all tended to look alike. He had discovered that long ago in Carescria: Sunken cheeks, joints swollen, dressed in tattered rags that hung in shreds from their bony frames. Yet in these hollow eyes burned sparks of hope and deep, bitter anger. These wrathful men would soon make implacable enemies for the conquerors of A'zurn. No fear of death remained among them. Each long ago relinquished all hope for his life.
Barbousse had just finished reviewing the controls one last time. “Any more questions, gentlemen?” the big rating asked with a grin. “We want to be sure you put these mechanical brutes to the best use possible.”
“Thanks to your patient instruction, we have none,” said the one with the tricornered hat. “My colleague and I will master the machine with practice.”
“At one time,” the second one croaked, holding up a spindly forefinger, “we were masters of many machines. Fine machines…”
“But few weapons among them,” the other said with surprising vehemence. “When we have scourged Triannic's plague from our homeland, we shall never again neglect that part of our responsibilities.”