Serpent Sword: A Steampunk Military Fantasy, page 17
That had been unwise. The Merrill raiders and remaining field armies could be reduced by airships, but tanks would have been handy during sieges, especially Jacinto. He started drafting a new set of orders. By the time the armies started moving south, he wanted tanks of his own. As many as factories working three shifts could make.
And once this business with Alonzo Merrill was settled once and for all, he would dispatch more Obsidian Guard airships to spy out the enemy beyond the desert. If the opportunity arose to capture a tank or those manning or maintaining them, he wanted his own people to do it, not Quantrill’s or even Alexander’s. And he would have Isaac redouble his efforts to squeeze information from the tight-lipped Everetti about what lay beyond the Iron Desert. He would either make war on every realm but the one with the tanks, or only that one.
A KNOCK ON the door jolted Catalina awake. Her breath caught in her throat. Had Grendel figured out she’d been talking to Mrs. Breck? She hadn’t seen the older woman in some time. If the Obsidian Guard had captured her but she’d taken a long time to break, the old bastard might not have learned from his minions until now. And then he’d be coming for an explanation. If not worse.
Then her sleepy brain processed Grendel wouldn’t bother knocking. Relief welled up. It had to be Mrs. Breck, safe and sound.
Catalina climbed off the bed and began gathering up her clothes. “You can come in.”
Mrs. Breck entered with a white laundry basket. She stopped abruptly and averted her eyes. “Catalina.” A touch of matronly disapproval. Mrs. Breck wasn’t Catalina’s mother, but she could sure act like it.
“Don’t worry about it,” Catalina said as she pulled her clothes on. It’s not like it really matters now.
The older woman still remained stubbornly at the door until Catalina had finished dressing. “I assume the sheets need to be changed.”
Catalina reddened. Although Grendel’s ever-present guards always knew what they’d been up to, this was the first time one of her own had commented. What must they think about James Merrill’s daughter congressing with the man who’d murdered him? Did they realize she didn’t have a choice?
“Yes,” Catalina said quickly. “Yes they do. Thank you.”
Mrs. Breck began stripping the sheets. She made a lot more noise than necessary. Catalina immediately knew why. “So,” the older woman asked. “Anything new?”
Catalina shook her head. “Something’s eating at him, but he’s not saying a thing. Just … ” She left the rest unsaid. Mrs. Breck was a mother and a grandmother. She’d know what she meant.
Mrs. Breck put the sheets aside. “Keep trying.”
The very thought twisted her guts, but Catalina nodded. She’d had to be … enthusiastic … again. Although it made her skin crawl, certain men got a lot less intelligent then.
And much as she hated admitting it, Grendel could be … skilled … when he was in a good mood. Urgh. She didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
“Have you seen him much? Aside from here.”
Mrs. Breck shook her head. “The Flesh-Eaters keep their local staff away from the command center and other sensitive areas. Those are reserved for people brought in from the east.” From the mountains. Them. “But I know some who work this hall, and more who used to. Young women, with no reason to love these brutes.”
Catalina shushed her with a look. What she didn’t know couldn’t be forced from her. She had to trust Mrs. Breck. Men wouldn’t pay attention to an old woman, let alone a servant. Grendel may have been smarter than most about that, but it was the only hope she had. If they could track the old bastard, they might be able to pull something. Stage some kind of revolt when he was relatively unguarded, or perhaps help others get in …
“Let me help you with that,” Catalina said a bit too loudly. She stepped over and pulled clean sheets from the basket, then handed it to the older woman.
“Oh, Lady Catalina, you don’t have to.” Mrs. Breck was also a bit too loud.
Catalina frowned internally. If Grendel were around, he’d see right through this, but she’d heard his tramping vanish down the hall long before. Hopefully that big door guard wasn’t as sneaky-smart as he was.
“What’s going on out there? All I knew is what he tells me.” After.
Mrs. Breck glanced at the doorway as she gathered the sheets. “The Flesh-Eaters weren’t easy on Long Branch before, and it’s only gotten worse since Clark was murdered.” Catalina momentarily opened her mouth to object, then realized what Mrs. Breck was doing. “But there are people starting to fight back.”
Catalina let herself smile. Good. She hoped they made life difficult for the man-eaters.
Once they were done, Mrs. Breck hoisted the basket and headed for the door. “If you would, Lady Catalina.”
Catalina obliged, opening the heavy door for the older woman to leave and then, without thinking, following her out.
One of the guards, a big Sejer wearing sergeant’s stripes, appeared in her path. She could smell tobacco on him. At least he wasn’t drunk. Although the Obsidian Guard didn’t tolerate drunkenness, it was easy to slip on such safe duty, rioting in the city or not.
“Lady Catalina,” the guard said. “You’re to stay here until further notice. Grendel’s orders.” He swept her with a suspicious look. “You were talking seven cottages full in there. What about?”
Catalina thought quickly. She rose to her full height, doing her best to hide the trembling in her hands, and told a lie that was almost true. “She keeps me appraised of the doings in Long Branch, information I then pass on to your master.”
That got his attention. He might not dare bother Catalina too much but taking a servant for interrogation was completely different. If they learned she’d already used Mrs. Breck to send a message to the underground, they were both dead.
“The doings in Long Branch, eh?”
Catalina didn’t step back. “There’s talk of strikes and arson. Even at least one riot.” She studied his face. From the way he looked at her, he seemed a bit less suspicious than before. “If Grendel learns you’ve been acting the boor, you’ll be sent out to deal with them.” She let the threat hang on the air. However much she hated spreading her legs for Grendel, she could use that. And she was going to take full advantage.
The guardsman regarded her a moment longer. “Good. Make sure Grendel’s kept informed of everything. Rioters get inside, they’re not going to care whether you want to be here or not.”
Catalina nodded, refusing to dwell on that unwelcome thought. The guardsman returned to his post.
Catalina closed the door and took one step, then another toward the bed. Then she couldn’t help herself and ran over and threw herself down onto it. The sort of language she’d learned from soldiers rose into her brain, but she managed to keep it off her lips.
That had been entirely too close. She’d managed to bluff him, this time, but it might not work again.
She looked at the closed door. Could she tell Grendel the guard had tried to take liberties? As protective as the old monster was of his kin — as the mother of a son, she counted — that’d be instant death, if not a slow and unpleasant one. She’d protect herself and Mrs. Breck both if she could get Grendel to deal with him permanently.
Cold reality blew the nascent smile off her face. Grendel was ruthless enough to kill his own if he saw their misdeeds himself, but he wasn’t so foolish to do it on her word. Especially her word. He’d figure out right quick she had some plan.
Catalina scowled. That Sejer oaf couldn’t deal with her permanently, but she couldn’t deal with him permanently either. Maybe she’d have to pass on some tidbit from Mrs. Breck to Grendel to allay any suspicions he might have and pre-empt any poison from that guardsman.
But what was safe to tell him? She’d need to consult with Mrs. Breck lest she give away something important by mistake. Catalina sighed and lay back down.
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, or could have.
MEETING MONSTERS
Andrew barely had time to gander at buildings he’d only seen on postcards before the detachment from the Second Pendleton was hustled to their barracks near the hangars. Hardy’s original platoon had been broken up, with each squad attached to a new one. Luckily Andrew, Will, Owen, and Tommy — Zeke’s original squad — stuck with him, along with Sergeant Harris, and the new platoon was combined another into a company under Hardy’s command. It was their job to help train new recruits for the First Cavalry, all while training like hell themselves.
All this kept everybody right busy. Andrew barely had time to write two letters to Alyssa, and he’d only gotten one back. The envelope looked like it’d been through hell on the way. Somebody had even opened the damn thing and blacked out the parts about how the regiment was faring since they’d left. That hadn’t sat well with Andrew.
After a couple weeks of training, the big bugs decided to test their mettle. They were going into battle, not against the Flesh-Eaters, but against the Blood Alchemy Host. From what Andrew had heard about them, he didn’t relish the coming scrap. Especially with so many green boys to look after.
But, orders were orders, and so the new platoon was packed into a dirigible named Jack Lopez that had everything torn from the gondola except for the guns and sent north. The other platoon boarded another ex-Flesh Eater airship, the Tommy Williams. As the propellers drove the flying monster into the purpling evening sky, it was time to find out what the hell they were doing.
Zeke stood before a map of the Grand River Valley hung on a pegboard. A series of colored pins marked armies the length of the river — green for the Merrills, red for the Flesh-Eaters, black for the Obsidian Guard, and blue, brown, and gray for forces Andrew didn’t recognize. Pay attention, he told himself. This might be where you find out.
“All right,” Zeke told the gathered men. “Here’s the big picture. Grendel is in Long Branch, well upriver. He’s gathering a large force of Obsidian Guard, as well as troopers from the Leaden and Blood Alchemy Hosts.” He gestured to a large cluster of pins of all colors except for Merrill green. “Smaller Obsidian Guard detachments have swept east toward Jacinto, clearing out irregulars and taking bridges, ports, and river crossings to ensure the main army will be unobstructed once they get marching orders.” He indicated some black pins east of Long Branch, still relatively far from the green pins south of the river. Andrew remembered the madhouse raid on Tom’s Ford. If they’d arrived just a few hours or days later, would the Obsidian Guard have been waiting for them?
“Luckily,” Zeke continued. “Grendel is still collecting men. As those of us who hit the Southern Wall can attest, even getting a small force up and moving can take time.” Andrew found himself agreeing. Preparing for the attack that had taken that hoard of Old World weapons and put Jasper Clark in boot hill had taken weeks. Grendel’s army in Long Branch was a whole heap bigger.
“But those forces are too far west. We have another problem, much closer.” Zeke pointed at some gray pins not far from Mossy Way. “The Blood Alchemy Host is setting up airbases north of us, running an air bridge over the Basin’s rim. The big bugs have identified a new one, not well dug-in yet. Our job is to wreck it.”
Silence fell. Andrew reckoned most of the platoon hadn’t seen real combat, except maybe kicking out some local Flesh-Eater bullyboys. This was something new, something dangerous. He looked around. All the old squad was here and they knew what to do at least.
He’d heard Harris drinking with some other sergeants after training was done for the day. One thing he’d said that stuck out was something about how one couldn’t stiffen a bucket of spit with a handful of buckshot.
At least they were going up against a relatively weak enemy, if the reports were right. If the reports are right. Goddamn it.
“However, they’re not stupid. They’ve set up balloon-poppers. We’ll need to come in on the ground and destroy or distract those before we can bring in the dirigibles for air support.”
What? True, the Merrills didn’t have a powerful number of dirigibles, but what was the point of having something that could wreck an enemy position if they didn’t use it? Although they’d trained to operate without flying backup, this wasn’t good news.
“You ever fight the Blood Alchemy?” whispered Edwin Dodd, a short black-haired soldier who was one of the green boys. “I heard — ”
Andrew brought a finger to his lips. Scuttlebutt could wait.
“So the long and short of it is, we sneak in and take out the balloon-poppers,” Zeke continued. “Then the dirigibles help us take out everything else. Clear?” Nobody raised their hands or asked any questions. “Good. One last thing. Anybody here not gotten laid?”
An awkward silence fell. Slowly, one hand went up. Will snickered before someone hissed him quiet. “The Blood Alchemy Host doesn’t just recruit its soldiers, it breeds them, and the stock tends to run out fast. You want your firstborn to have the right number of eyes and fingers, don’t let them take you alive.”
On that sickening note, he dismissed the men but ordered the sergeants and corporals to stick around.
“This is the first time a lot of these boys have seen the elephant,” Zeke said. “I’m keeping some back for fire support rather than throwing them into the grinder.” He looked at each man. “But there’ll still be plenty of greenhorns with you. I’ll be coming along and leaving First Sergeant Abraham in charge of the Lopez.” He gestured to a big, bald man sitting back and silently watching the meeting.
Thank the Good Lord. Andrew didn’t know Abraham well, but he seemed to be about Zeke’s age or even older. A good choice to run things if Zeke was going into the shit with them.
Zeke pulled his pocket watch from his duster. The manacle he wore peeked briefly from under his sleeve. “I reckon we’ll be there in the next twenty minutes. All of you, talk with the troopers. Any questions you can’t answer, bring them to me.”
“Yes sir,” Harris and Andrew said at the same time. Harris headed back toward where the troopers gathered. Andrew, however, lingered.
“Question, Corporal Sutter?”
Andrew drew a breath. He’d interacted little with Hardy. He didn’t even know just how to address Zeke, beyond “sir” instead of “sergeant.”
“Lieutenant Thaxton, sir. I’m wondering … we’ve all got the repeaters and revolvers. But where’s your grenade launcher?”
“Ran out of ammo taking those trenches. No reloads.”
Of course. It was an Old World weapon. Not like that type of grenade grew on trees.
“It’s back at the barracks,” Zeke continued. “Without the right rounds, might as well be carrying a club. If we can liberate the right type of ammunition from the freaks I’ll be hunky-dory, but that’s not what we’re going there for.” He paused. “Keep that in mind with the repeaters too. Once it runs out, it’s gone.”
Andrew remembered how Zeke’s grenade launcher had cleared out whole bunches of Flesh-Eaters. It had been like having his own galloper gun. Without it, they’d be going in one-armed against an opponent they’d never fought before.
Most of them, anyway. From the way Zeke had sounded, he probably had. His eyes crept to the sleeve hiding Zeke’s manacle. He’d never spoken about it. Did it have to do with them?
Zeke’s words grabbed his attention again. “Still with me, corporal? We’ll be arriving soon, and I don’t need you distracted.” He dipped his head toward some green boys playing poker. They looked so young. Dodd was dealing, and though he wore a big smile and laughed, his hands shook. “Join in. Help them keep their minds off what’s about to happen.”
THE MOON LOOKED down like a half-open sideways eye as twenty-five men crept low across the open ground. Directly ahead, dappled in the silver moonlight, stood a skeletal metal mooring tower. No enemy dirigible floated there, for which Andrew was most grateful. He could see the tops of metal buildings around the tower, but not much more.
Harris raised his hand. Andrew followed suit. Soon the whole line stopped. Harris gestured for everybody to kneel. The men obeyed.
“Remember,” he hissed. “The plan’s not to get into the base, at least right away. We hit the balloon-poppers first, open a way in for the flyboys and force the freaks to dance to our tune. If they turn out to fight, we pull back and the dirigibles will give them a real nasty surprise. If not, then we go in.”
Andrew reckoned Hardy’s group on the Williams was doing the same thing, from a different direction. Just a matter of getting around the patrols any competent enemy would have.
Gunfire crackled to the east. Repeaters, the kind every Merrill trooper on the raid carried. Then came fire from regular rifles.
Just my luck.
“Goddamn it!” Harris snarled. “Everybody get down!”
The men flattened themselves on the grass. A moment later, several men in gray coats and blue trousers carrying repeaters rushed past. Andrew couldn’t see much in the dark, but he didn’t like the look of them. Beside him, Dodd raised his repeater and tracked the rearmost enemy.
“Not now!” Andrew laid his hand on Dodd’s weapon. “Killing troopers isn’t the plan!” Dodd looked at him, then looked at the backs of the gray-jacketed soldiers as they disappeared into the dark. His grip shifted on his repeater, but Andrew put a bit more strength into his hand until Dodd lowered the weapon.
A moment passed. “All right,” Harris whispered. “Now they’ve passed us, it looks like we’ve got a clear shot — ”
Gunfire split the darkness. Harris and Andrew threw themselves flat. One soldier Andrew didn’t know took a bullet to the top of his head. He fell gurgling onto his side, brains spilling onto the ground like soft, wet cheese.
“How the hell did they see us?” Andrew snarled. “They got eyes in the backs of their heads?”
“Knowing Blood Alchemy, they do,” Harris said. “We’re going to have company.” Andrew looked to his old squad mates. Owen was busy organizing some privates. Will didn’t look as eager as usual.
