Battle for the Wastelands

by Matthew W Quinn

  Another salvo drowned out the crackling of his rifle. The captured airship rose. A wave of bullets and shells slammed into the enemy balloon.

  Flames burst from wherever the ammunition touched. A wave of hot air slammed into Andrew’s face. Something flew past his arm, the heat palpable through his duster. The dirigible hurtled toward them like a burning train. Andrew closed his eyes, not wanting to see his death coming…

  Cheers broke out around him. Andrew slowly opened his eyes. The burning airship passed under the gondola. He whooped. They were going to live through this!

  The soldiers rushed over to the other side of the gondola, tilting the dirigible with their weight. Andrew peered over taller men’s shoulders to watch the burning airship plow into the front of the excavation site. The remaining structures splintered like matchsticks.

  Andrew whooped with glee. They’d won! They’d taken out four enemy dirigibles! They’d saved the Merrill!

  And then news got better. Out of the east came the Merrill horsemen.

  Alonzo grinned as the last Flesh-Eater airship crashed into the front of the excavation site, hopefully atop the oncoming Flesh-Eater footsloggers. Although gunfire continued, the calculus of the battle had changed entirely.

  He turned to the nearest officer. “Order the troopers to fall back. Let the bastards think we’re running. Then we’ll rip them a new one!”

  The officer grinned. “Yes, sir!”

  Andrew watched the Merrill soldiers flee their hiding places below. The Flesh-Eaters on the ground followed into the maze of buildings. Gunfire crackled below as they moved, different squads covering each other. Why were they running away? The dirigibles were gone!

  As the Merrills below formed into squads and squads formed into platoons, their retreat came to an abrupt halt. The pursuing Flesh-Eaters began hitting choke points even their numbers and ferocity couldn’t break.

  Andrew laughed. Good trick!

  “Don’t just gawk!” Zeke ordered. “Kill those sons of bitches!”

  Will cranked the Sawyer. Andrew raised his rifle. Crackling gunfire filled his ears and the sulfur stink of gunpowder filled his nose. The enemy below fell like wheat before a reaper. Will grinned despite his wound. So did Andrew. These Flesh-Eaters would never hurt anyone the way their comrades had ravaged Carroll Town.

  The surviving enemy scrambled into the buildings the Merrills had sheltered in before. The airship’s heavier guns took care of those. Explosive shells blew off roofs, showering the men below in lethal shrapnel. A sound a lot like a hammer hitting metal echoed over and over again as flying debris bounced off the gondola.

  More heavy gunfire sounded from the right. Andrew’s gaze jumped to the sound. Something huge passed between the captured airship and the sun. Another dirigible, bigger than the one they’d hijacked. Andrew’s vision swam. Were they going to die anyway?

  Then he saw the bag was brown and bore the green heraldry of House Merrill. “The Asherton!” someone shouted behind him.

  Will scowled. “Took them long enough.”

  The other dirigible floated beside the stolen enemy craft. With two sets of heavy guns floating overhead and the Merrill troops rallying on the ground, the Flesh-Eaters below had no chance. Their gunfire soon petered out. Andrew whooped.

  We’ve won!

  To The Victor Go The Spoils

  A hellish scene greeted Alonzo and his surviving guards as they rode out of the ravaged excavation site.

  The airships’ fall had sown debris and burning balloon shreds like seed across several acres of the open ground. The stench of the burning fabric and fuel rose together with the barbecue-smell of burning flesh to create a miasma of horror. Dozens of Merrills and Flesh-Eaters lay burning all around. Some still moved.

  And in the center of it all lay the ruined Bailey Mines. The two gondolas lay crumpled and twisted on their sides like tyrant lizards with broken backs. Beyond them, rags hanging from the balloon’s metal skeleton still burned. Some of the great dirigible’s Old World artillery pieces pointed at the oncoming Merrills. It would be right ironic if, by some dark miracle, some Flesh-Eater survivor killed Alonzo at the moment of his victory.

  Alonzo snorted. Anyone inside the gondolas would have been roasted alive. It would just be a matter of stripping the thing for metal and valuables and then –

  A repeater crackled from somewhere inside the Bailey Mines. Alonzo slammed his body down onto his horse. The bullets passed through where his head had been. He swore.

  “What the hell?” a trooper shouted. “Nobody could have survived that!”

  “Well somebody did!” a wit shot back.

  The repeater chattered again. A trooper went down.

  The Merrill repeaters shouted back. Something moved inside the gondola, like a red and black tongue inside a mouthful of shattered glass teeth. A trooper rode by the gondola, throwing grenades through the open windows. Alonzo led the rest toward the door at the far end. Anybody who didn’t want to get pulped by the grenades would come through there.

  The door slammed open. A grenade flew out. The Merrills recoiled. The explosion that would have killed the foremost horsemen failed to kill any.

  On the heels of the explosion came a ripper. One eye socket was a bloody ruin. Blistered flesh showed where fur had burned away. It knocked a trooper off his horse and tore his throat out.

  A repeater cracked. The ripper stumbled off the man’s still-twitching corpse. It raised its mangled head at the Merrills and snarled.

  Alonzo’s own weapon chattered. Three rounds through the head and the ripper went down.

  Then Jasper Clark emerged.

  Alonzo did not know how the man still lived. His bald head and mad face were scorched black. Red meat peeked through split skin. His eye patch was gone, revealing the sunken grave of an empty eye socket. His red armor was torn and even melted in places. His hands were beet red, but their grip on the repeater was steady.

  “Well-played, Merrill,” he snarled through jagged broken teeth. “Well-played. Y’knew I couldn’t resist repayin’ your pa for Judy and Roddy by ending th’Merrill line myself.” A flash of anger in his eye accompanied the mention of his dead kin. “Except for your sister, of course, and her boy.”

  Alonzo saw red. His finger slammed down the trigger. The gunfire walked up Clark’s chest, throat, and mouth. Blood flew. His huge body slammed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

  Alonzo dropped from his horse. He approached the fallen tyrant, repeater up. He had enough rounds to finish the bastard if he still hadn’t died.

  Clark lay unmoving. Alonzo narrowed his eyes. Springing forward like a sand snake snagging an unlucky traveler, he buried his foot in Clark’s groin. Though the Flesh-Eater’s balls pulped like grapes beneath his toes, the man did not move.

  Alonzo laughed. “He’s dead!” he shouted. “Jasper Clark is dead!”

  Behind him, the troopers roared. Alonzo let his repeater hang from his shoulder by its strap and drew his saber. He bent over and sank his left thumb into Clark’s empty eye socket.

  Two swings of his blade and the tyrant’s head came free. He turned and showed the men the head of the man whose army had ravaged their homeland, who had killed or conscripted their men, carried women off as slaves, and made children into fanatics. That man would never hurt anybody ever again.

  He let the soldiers cheer for another minute, then set the head on the ground and raised his hands. Silence fell.

  “Take his carcass and burn it on what’s left of the buildings over there.” He gestured to the shattered buildings of the excavation site. His Old World artillery had made them kindling. It was fitting that be his pyre.

  Two soldiers bore away the fallen tyrant. As they left, Hutton rode out. Even more ash and blood stuck to him than Alonzo, but he wasn’t hurt.

  “He’s dead,” Alonzo repeated. “He’s dead.”

  Hutton grinned. “It’s better than that. Those Flesh-Eaters who got away are carrying the news. Once
the telegraphs pick it up, it’ll be everywhere. They’ll crumble. You didn’t just strike a blow against the Flesh-Eaters. You struck a blow against Grendel himself.”

  Alonzo grinned. The bastard deserved more than just a blow. He deserved a saber to the throat. Maybe to the crotch first.

  His smile faded. Grendel would come. He’d come with multiple Hosts, with the Obsidian Guard. The coming battles would be far worse than the one he’d just fought, even with his new arsenal.

  His smile returned. Clark was dead. Alonzo drew his saber and took one of his two long braids in his free hand. A swift cut and the braid fell onto the ground.

  Once Clark’s carcass was disposed of, he would see to the Second Pendleton.

  Zeke and the rest of Andrew’s squad stood over David’s cot in the stuffy medical tent. The gash in Will’s cheek had been cleaned and stitched back together, leaving him with an odd permanent half-smile. But David’s case was more serious. Although his wound had since stopped bleeding, the white-haired surgeon old enough to be Andrew’s grandfather said the leg had to go or it’d mortify.

  Zeke handed David a stick. “Put this in your mouth. Bite down when it comes. It’ll make it easier.” David trembled, drenched with sweat, but nodded and obeyed. “Gollmar, you hold his arms. Simmons, his legs.” The two obeyed. Zeke sighed. “Remind me to look for chloroform next raid. Get this done.”

  The surgeon stepped forward, setting his scalpel, several pieces of thread, and the ugliest saw Andrew had ever seen on the table beside the cot. David’s eyes bulged. He went rigid. Fearful sounds emerged from around the stick in his mouth. Zeke looked gravely at the rest of the squad. “Don’t let him up.”

  Owen and Will tightened their grip. The sawbones took the scalpel and knelt by the cot. David lurched against the other two young men, but they held him fast. The surgeon pulled up the leg of David’s trousers, exposing the messy wounds. They yawned open on his leg like morbid mouths with teeth of splintered bone. Tears ran down David’s cheek.

  The surgeon started cutting through the flesh above the wound. David screamed around the stick and started thrashing against Will and Owen’s grip.

  “Sutter, grab that leg!” Zeke ordered.

  Andrew knelt by Will and the surgeon, doing his level best to ignore David’s cries of pain and the hot blood spilling onto his still-tender hands. “String,” the surgeon demanded. Zeke obeyed. The sawbones took the string and swiftly made a cut.

  Blood spurted, spattering Andrew’s face. He winced. His grip loosened. David started kicking around.

  “HOLD ONTO THE GODDAMN LEG!” Zeke roared.

  Doing his best to ignore the red, sticky heat around his eyes and the pain in his hands, Andrew forced the leg back down. The sawbones quickly tied off the gushing artery.

  “There’ll be two more of these,” the surgeon said.

  David passed out. Cutting and tying off the remaining two arteries was much easier.

  The sawbones set the bloody scalpel on the table before cutting into the bone with the saw. The awful grating made Andrew wince. He looked away until it finished. His stomach lurched.

  Owen looked at Andrew. “Your first time helping with an amputation?” Andrew nodded weakly. “You’re doing better than I did. I upchucked on the poor man.”

  Despite the situation, Andrew laughed.

  The surgeon set the saw down and cut away the rest of the leg with the scalpel. He threw it into the corner of the tent, then began stitching down a flap of skin. “Let him rest. Give him plenty of water, and beefstock to heal. Hopefully fever won’t set in.”

  “What kind of duty will he be able to do?” Zeke asked. “It’s not like we can discharge him.”

  “If we can find him a clockwork leg, he’ll be back with you boys. But those’re scarcer than hen’s teeth even in the cities. We’ll probably give him a peg-leg and take him off the front lines.”

  Zeke frowned. “I was afraid of that.”

  “I’m sorry, sergeant.” The surgeon smiled. “But I’m sure you’ll have plenty of replacements. Jasper Clark’s dead and most of their dirigibles went down with him. With the enemy in disarray, people will be flocking to join us.”

  Zeke nodded. “Good Lord willing.”

  The tent opened. Andrew and the others jumped to their feet as Alonzo Merrill appeared. “I heard you boys were the ones who captured that dirigible,” he said. “You saved my bacon and dropped Jasper goddamn Clark into my lap while you were at it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zeke replied. “Thank you, sir.” He looked at Andrew. “Got to give credit where it’s due. Sutter here spotted the airship arming up. We got under the guns before they started shooting.”

  The Merrill smiled and clapped Andrew on the shoulder.

  “Excellent job. Good thing I decided to rescue you back when I thought you were a Flesh-Eater.” He stepped back. “Everyone who helped take that dirigible will get medals, of course. And although we don’t know how many repeaters we’ve captured today or how much ammunition we’ll have, every man in the Second Pendleton will get one!”

  Owen whooped. Will grinned, although it soon turned into a wince.

  All of us with Old World weapons, Andrew thought. We’d be damn near unstoppable.

  Night had fallen on the excavation site, but this time fires were lit with no fear of dirigibles. The Asherton and the captured Flesh-Eater airship had returned to make sure. Everywhere rang with the sounds of celebration. There was singing, laughing, and the playing of drums and fiddles. There was food, too, from the looted Flesh-Eater stores.

  But Andrew wasn’t hungry. Instead he sat at a wooden table inside a building smelling of spent gunpowder and blood. Ignoring the smell and the aches the day had left, he scraped out his rifle. The amount of shooting that day had done a number on it. He didn’t want to take the chance he’d miss in the scraps to come. That, and there’d likely be inspection beforehand anyway. Zeke’d make them all do gaspers if their rifles weren’t clean, and they’d deserve it.

  “Sutter,” Zeke said in the doorway behind Andrew.

  The suddenness made him jump. He spun around and saluted.

  “Sergeant!”

  Zeke smiled. “At ease, Sutter. Not for long though.” Before Andrew could open his mouth to ask, Zeke smiled. “After we fixed up Court’s leg, I had a talk with the L-T and the Merrill himself. They’re giving me a battlefield commission.”

  It took Andrew a second to make the connection. “They’re making you an officer?”

  “Aye. It won’t take effect right away, not until we recruit enough men to fill out the regiment.” He smiled again. “Looks like I’ll be working for a living for a bit longer.”

  “Congratulations si…I mean, sergeant.” That was well-earned. If Zeke hadn’t had the initiative to storm the airship, everybody would have died that day. The soldiers at the fort, the Merrill, the whole army. Whatever was left would be easy prey for the Flesh-Eaters.

  “You’re welcome, Sutter.” He paused. “That’s not why I’m here though. The L-T wants you.”

  Andrew stowed his cleaning gear in pockets, collected his rifle, and followed Zeke to a shattered wooden building. They found Hardy in what looked like a former storeroom lit by a flickering kerosene lantern and shafts of moonlight through a shell hole in the roof. Zeke and Andrew both stepped forward and saluted.

  “At ease, boys,” Hardy said. “Sutter, come here.”

  Andrew approached the low table Hardy used for a desk. Hardy reached into a shirt pocket of his brown uniform and drew two patches. Two sets of paired golden triangles, one atop the other.

  Andrew’s eyes widened. His jaw worked, but no sound emerged. Those were corporal’s patches! A corporal was just below sergeant!

  “Sergeant Thaxton recommended you and I talked to the captain. You haven’t been serving long, but if it weren’t for you, the Merrill would have died today.” He frowned. “And a lot more than just him.”

  Andrew finally found his voice. “What
about Owen and Will?” He immediately closed his mouth. The other two young men might have seniority, but he’d just argued with an officer!

  Hardy smiled.“Their time will come. Gollmar will be the first and Simmons second if he can control his mouth. We’ll be moving north to put our new weapons to the test and we’ll be recruiting heavily. A corporal helps the sergeant drill the new soldiers, and there’ll be plenty of that.”

  “I’ll learn you your new responsibilities over the next couple weeks,” Zeke said. “In the meantime, finish cleaning your rifle and go enjoy yourself.”

  Zeke stepped out. Hardy looked at Andrew. “You heard the sergeant, Corporal Sutter.”

  Once Andrew returned to his table, he set his rifle down and picked up the patches. He’d have to sew them onto each shoulder of his duster. But he wasn’t much for sewing. Ma and Sarah had typically taken care of that, much like how he was the one who did the hunting…

  He closed his eyes. Ma was dead, and if Sarah wasn’t dead, what was happening to her didn’t bear pondering. And Cassie likewise.

  Of course, that might change soon enough. They’d be moving north, not running back to their camps. They’d exterminate the cannibals, make that old tyrant Grendel tremble on his throne. Cassie and Sarah hadn’t been at the fort they’d broken today, but they might be at the next one, or the one after that.

  The thought brought a smile to Andrew’s face.

  “Hey there, handsome.”

  Andrew’s head snapped up. Alyssa stood in the door. Although she’d been in the battle too, the only thing marring her looks was a cut on her temple in front of her left ear.

  “May I come in?”

  Andrew nodded quickly. “Sure.”

  She sauntered over and sat on the bench beside him. “Was wondering where you were at. The old bastard’s dead and everyone’s celebrating. Owen and Will didn’t know where you were, but I ran into your sergeant a few minutes ago.” She leaned over, her shoulder brushing his. She picked up the stripes and whistled appreciatively. “You a corporal now?” She saluted, then grinned. “Sir.”