Hour of the Wolf

by Andrius B Tapinas

  At the end of one of the thoroughfares – Augustijonu Street – a group of curiously minded residents were jostling each other. They thought they couldn’t wait to see the monster. The Wolf paused and turned towards them. With its head lowered it waited for the intermittently sounding command to attack, and leaped at its new victims.

  * * *

  “Doctor, are you confident this thing will take off?” the armourer asked with a note of doubt in his voice. He had just fitted the Vickers gun to the Dragon Fly’s nose and stepped a few steps back, like a real expert, in order to assess his work.

  “There is only one way to find out,” remarked Basanavicius, clambering into the pilot’s seat and pulling the goggles down over his eyes.

  “Do you know how to shoot?”

  Basanavicius turned the steam turbine on.

  “There’s a first time for everything!” he yelled.

  Accompanied by a whirring sound, the propeller turned once, then twice, before starting to turn faster and faster, until its blades blended into a uniform flicker. Basanavicius pushed down on the pedal, both hands clutching the wing ropes: drawing them tight, releasing them, then repeating the sequence again. A thick cloud of steam shot up into the sky and the Dragon Fly threw itself forward, its vast wings flapping once, two, three times.

  The flying machine tore itself off the ground, nearly hitting a lantern pole with its wheels, then soared up into the sky. The beat of the glider’s wings carried it higher and higher. Basanavicius strained at the ropes, trying to reach the maximum altitude as fast as he possibly could, and then survey the scene thoroughly.

  Down below stretched the wakeful and shaken city. Basanavicius diverted the wing lift to circling the glider around the Navigators’ Tower, with its emergency distress signal streaming out in all directions. He could now lay eyes on his destination – the dirigible suspended above the Old Town, the rays of light emanating from it signalling the monster’s location.

  The Legionnaires – waving their batons – ousted a gang of drunken students from the Dominium courtyards, before shoving and bolting them inside the University buildings. The Dominium area was reported as safe.

  Lt. Michal Vielholskiy, firmly clutching a gun in his hands, spat angrily before glancing up in to the sky. The Vaiselga, which was moving slowly over the rooftops, was getting nearer. And so was the beast. Even though the news did not make the Pole jump for joy, if anyone ever suggested choosing between the Women’s March and the beast, he would have chosen the duel with the Wolf without blinking an eye. The memory of recent events in the Town Hall Square sent shivers down the Pole’s spine.

  “Lieutenant!” he saw a panting courier running towards him with a dispatch in his hand. “Lieutenant, Cathedral Square!” – the youth was completely out breath, and had to take a few deep breaths before he could continue. “Cathedral Square is swarming with people! Their numbers are growing by the minute!”

  “What?” Vielholskiy gaped. “But our people have just cleared the square!”

  “The Knights of the Cathedral and the monks...” the youth gasped for air. “They led the people into the square, made them go down on their knees and pray out loud. They say the prayer will stop that spawn of Satan. Divine Providence won’t allow it enter the church yard.”

  “How many of them there?” Vielholskiy barked.

  “Possibly a thousand. And the crowd keeps on growing. They are coming from the Avenue. The Knights are calling on everyone to make the prayer more powerful.

  Vielholskiy’s swearing caused the young courier’s to blush. Some of the words he had never heard before. The Pole looked up in the sky. The persecutor of the Wolf – The Svarnas – was shifting above in the vicinity of the Town Hall, right beside Didzioji Street. There was not a soul in the Town Hall Square though. The killing machine must be continuing in the direction of Pilies Street, from where it would... From where it would move over to the Cathedral Square, looking for sport.

  “Vermin,” the Lieutenant growled, before proceeding to give commands. “Tell them: the Legionnaires are to barricade Pilies Street and stop the monster from getting into the Cathedral Square. Tell them to use everything that they can lay their hands on – the barricades should be put up outside Kendzerskis pharmacy on Pilies Street. Is this clear?” He waited for the courier to nod before adding, “Quick, quick, hurry up!”

  The courier ran to Pilies Street as fast as he could. Vielholskiy cast a glance over his men – tired, gloomy, quiet. But none of them looked away from him.

  “Go!” he commanded.

  * * *

  The bloody feast in the narrow alley over, the Iron Wolf turned around and trotted back, before turning left.

  Saviciaus Street looked deserted. The Wolf kept on trotting. A few minutes later it came out into Didzioji Street, leaving a bloody trail behind it. Its gait became languid and proud, making it look like the chief of Vilnius himself surveying his grounds. It could smell the scent of fear emanating from the poor creatures shivering on the other side of the walls and doors, and it revelled in it. The beast couldn’t care less about the dirigible suspended above its head. By now the monster’s eyes were well adjusted to the light, while the flying object was incapable of causing it any more damage.

  The Wolf took in the deserted Town Hall Square, and then lingered for a moment before turning right, where at the distant end of the street it could hear a commotion.

  In Liya Trocka’s joy house on the corner of Pilies and Latako Streets, some eight young and older heavily made up girls, who had nothing else to occupy them at the time, were pushing and shoving at one of the first floor windows. They were elbowing one another, jumping up and standing on tiptoes in order to get a glimpse of the monster trotting slowly by below, who was now moving along Pilies Street in the pool of the dirigible’s light. The sight of the Wolf – its heavy armour gleaming in the light, the powerful paws and terrifying gory face – made some of them instantly cover their eyes. But there were others who only gave a crooked smile. They must have encountered even more hideous creatures in their lives.

  In a building owned by someone called Barscius and housing a hotel and shops, the windows were dotted with people’s faces – white as sheets, their mouths agape. Delicious smells wafted out of Romeika’s Restaurant in Viktoria House, the half-eaten dishes going cold on the tables. While the monster slowly advanced along Pilies Street, intent on making its own bloody feast.

  Suddenly the Wolf lowered its head and gave out a threatening growl – it saw an obstacle in the distance.

  The Vilnius Legionnaires – six men together with a few brave residents – had already put up a barricade outside Kendzerskis’ house, right opposite Skapas’ Street. The makeshift barrier was constructed of tables and chairs dragged over from nearby houses, and a carriage, which was positioned across the street. Behind the barricade they lined up, clutching the handles of their shields so hard their knuckles turned white. Lt. Vielholskiy and his men ran towards them along Skapo Street, while four riflemen together with Lt. Vagneris bolted over from the opposite direction.

  In order to build it as quickly as possible, the barrier had been put up in the narrowest part of the street, but it was flimsy and the numbers of Legionnaires were too scarce to stop the mechanical monster. The carriage with the cannon had not yet reached Pilies Street. It might have been caught up on Green Bridge together with all the other dumbstruck city residents and guests in a rush to escape the city centre.

  There were only a handful of Legionnaires. But they were everyone’s last hope. If they did not stop the beast, it would get into Cathedral Square and maul the defenceless prayer-givers.

  “Aoooooooo!” the Iron Wolf’s howl pounded off the building walls. People on the other side of the windows squatted with fear.

  The monster’s voice sounded different this time – it struck like a command. There was a click, and metal scythes fixed to the front paws of the beast flicked out towards both sides, revealing shiny sharpened b
lades. If the monster gained enough speed, it could use the scythes to cut through a number of its enemies’ legs.

  “Aooooooo!” The Wolf paused.

  In the pool of dirigible’s light streaming from above, the gory monster looked like a creature from someone’s worst nightmare.

  “Mother of God,” stammered a young Legionnaire, before beginning to back away. His hands trembled so much he had difficulty holding his gun.

  Another, and then another guard followed suit. Shields rattled on the cobble stones, guns slipped out of hands.

  “Stop!” Vielholskiy yelled to the retreating men.

  But that was what mercenaries were like. They did an honest job for a handsome reward: they guarded, defended, fought and even, if need be, shed blood. But as soon as they felt that they were the weaker of the two parties or that the enemy had the advantage over them, all they cared for was saving their skin and therefore they were the first to desert the battle field. They were prepared to sell their services but not their lives.

  The Legionnaire formation was disintegrating, and the men’s eyes franticly searched for an alley to flee the bringer of certain death looming over them on the street. While the Wolf, or at least so it seemed, was enjoying the panic – after waiting for a moment or two, it slowly advanced towards the barricade.

  More shields and guns clattered down to the ground, and it seemed only moments before the last remaining group of city defenders would collapse.

  Bells tolled dementedly all around.

  “Legion of Vilnius!” a sharp voice amplified by a howler sounded behind their backs.

  Both baffled lieutenants looked towards the sound.

  From the Cathedral side a hissing and tooting open-top carriage was rolling towards them. It carried a cannon mounted on a lafette with an artilleryman squatting behind, a substantial aviator’s hat pulled down over his eyes. Next to him, dirty and with a hat on his head and a gun in his hands, was Legate of Vilnius Antanas Sidabras.

  “Men of the Legion, over here! We are not withdrawing!” he commanded, shouting over the hissing noise of the carriage.

  “Dzięki Najświętszej Maryi Panny,”[42] Michal Vielholskiy mumbled under his breath, suddenly feeling somewhat religious.

  Petrified faces lit up, glove-clad hands swiftly picked shields and guns from the ground, and the men returned to their positions.

  The carriage propelled itself down the street, stopping right beside the barrier. The gunner came back to life and became one with the gunsight.

  “At the ready!” he bellowed.

  “Listen to my command!” Sidabras’ fist went up in the air while the earflaps of his aviator hat went down to protect his ears. “Let it come closer! Gunners – aim at the eyes, artilleryman – at the body!”

  And the beast was right in front of them. Looking straight down the gun tube, it lowered its head and lunged forward.

  A leap, another one...

  “Not yet!” Sidabras yelled.

  The Wolf took its speed into the take-off...

  “Fire!” roared Sidabras, instantly putting the gun to his cheek.

  A cannonball, shrouded in smoke, flew straight at the Iron Wolf, but the bionic twisted and arched its body in the air, its paws striking sparks from the cobble stones, as it landed. The ball whooshed past.

  “Hell’s bells...” the artilleryman gasped, while the cannonball ripped off part of Romeika’s restaurant, sending bricks flailing about.

  The force of the Iron Wolf crashing into the barricade smashed it asunder, some of it clattering over the carriage. The Legionnaires fortunate enough to be at the sides managed to jump off and press their bodies against building walls, thrusting their shields forward to ward off the scythes, while the ones who were in the middle were crushed to death. The carriage broke in half, and the falling cannon crushed to pieces those lying on the ground. Sidabras and the artilleryman were tossed upwards, somersaulting in the air and plummeting down to the ground amidst the debris.

  The monster performed a soft landing on its feet on the other side of the barricade. One of its eyes shone a dim light, while the other, without its protective glass, had been extinguished; one of its scythes had broken off, but overall the beast remained unscathed. The monster’s heavy head tilted sideways, and its only eye stared at Sidabras, lying on the ground.

  A heavy table bore down on Sidabras’ leg, the same one which had been injured during his shootout with the phoenixes. Sidabras tried to push it off with his other foot and get up, but realising it might be impossible, hurried to load the gun, which, by some lucky fate, he was still holding in his hand.

  The Wolf prowled closer.

  In a further twist of fate, the rifle bolt wouldn’t submit. Sidabras felt a nauseating whiff of blood, and the next thing he saw was the open-jawed monster towering above. For the last time he cocked the lever and the locked bolt clattered, but it was already too late. The jaws opened wide, exposing two rows of metal teeth, and the breath of death washed over Sidabras’ entire body.

  That same moment the Iron Wolf was suddenly blasted with dozens of bullets. Some of them ricocheted without causing any harm, others went through the metal and into the monster’s body. The Iron Wolf staggered. One more volley, then another and yet another one, before the beast was hurled to the middle of Pilies Street.

  Jonas Basanavicius did not release the trigger before the monster was lying on its side. The Dragon Fly, swooping at vast speed around the buildings in Pilies Street, flew over the ruined barricade, over the overturned cannon and the monster stretched out on the cobblestones, before soaring up into the sky again.

  In truth, Basanavicius had already lost hope of making it on time. His little glider had never flown over the city at such mad speed. Initially he was aiming for Town Hall Square, and had barely missed the baroque dome of St Casimier’s church. Finding the Town Hall Square empty, he soared down at a dangerously steep angle of descent, and then turned towards Didzioji Street, pulling frenziedly on the wing ropes. His flight path was just a narrow gap and he wondered to himself if the distances between the buildings had shrunk. At that point he heard shots being fired ahead.

  Brushing a protruding balcony with the end of his wing and knocking down flowerpots, he set his eyes on the ruined barricade and fastened the wing ropes with a few swift moves, before decisively grasping the machinegun trigger. Now into his view came the wrecked carriage and the iron monster in the middle of the street.

  Flying with its wings tied in the up position, the glider went into a dangerous nosedive. It was obvious: if Basanavicius made an error in calculating the distance to the target, the Dragon Fly would hit the ground before it could fire and pull back up into the air.

  Down below the cobblestones began to flicker, but the target – the mechanical monster – was right there. With a sigh of relief the highly respected Alchemist – a music lover and butterfly collector, who in his whole life had not harmed a fly – pulled the trigger and fired volley after volley of heavy bullets straight at the Iron Wolf. The barrel had overheated and the long feeding belt was empty when Basanavicius finally lifted his finger off the trigger and finally got a clear view of the monster, who was lying slumped on the ground. Then he glided away.

  “Just like that!!!” he shouted triumphantly. With a single tap of his feet pushing the rods into the spare batteries, he loosened the wing ropes and pulled them as hard as he could, before releasing them again. The propeller, which had almost come to a standstill, gave out a joyous buzz – the wings moved and the glider soared into the air.

  Having ascended over the city roofs he turned the Dragon Fly over on its side and used the binoculars to look down. What he saw froze him stiff.

  The wounded Iron Wolf was slowly getting up to its feet. As if in a daze, it rose up and shook its head. It did not look well. Metal plates riddled with bulletholes dangled on all sides of its frame, sparks flew, indicating burning wires, its rear paw was nearly detached, so it had to support itself on i
ts three remaining legs. Liquid was seeping through its perforated sides.

  “This is not possible! This is simply not possible,” Sidabras gasped. He was now back on his feet.

  Nearly deafened by the gunfire, he shook his head and pulled the trigger of the gun. He had no doubt that his bullets stood no chance of causing any serious damage to the beast, but he had no choice.

  The beast opened its mouth, but only to release a drawling death rattle. The wolf tried to walk backwards in order to gain speed, but its metal paws were not willing to obey and it nearly collapsed.

  The Wolf turned round and faltered towards the Cathedral. Even with its body badly injured, it could not escape the command Kill! in its head. And with each step its gait was getting steadier and steadier.

  “This is impossible!” Dr Basanavicius muttered to himself. He turned the Dragon Fly around and flew over Pilies Street.

  The Alchemist took no notice of his empty ammunition belt or empty steam batteries. He flew as far as St Johns’ bell tower, then changed course 180 degrees and started chasing the beast along Pilies Street, with the Dragon Fly’s nose aimed directly at it.

  The steam turbine howled before it began to vibrate, indicating that it had not much left to give. Basanavicius held the ropes tightly stretched to the maximum to keep the wings immobile. The glider whooshed above the Legionnaires’ heads and above Sidabras, who had his head tilted backwards at the sky. Jonas Basanavicius felt the instinct to close his eyes before the imminent crash, but on the other hand he did not want to miss the monster.

  As if sensing something, the Iron Wolf paused, turned around, lifted its head and gave out a husky grunt.

  Basanavicius clenched his jaws.

  A girl in a long red summer dress suddenly appeared in Pilies Street.

  It was Mila. She was walking from the Cathedral side.

  “Noooo!!!!” Basanavicius screamed, pulling the ropes towards him so hard that it nearly made him fall backwards off the pilot’s seat.