Serpent Sword: A Steampunk Military Fantasy, page 6
Andrew swept the space in front of him with another burst before he skedaddled. Zeke fired two more grenades before following. Andrew had gotten halfway onto his horse when an unwelcome thought hit him.
Where’s Alyssa?
A BATTLE, AND TERMS
Alonzo sat atop his horse in the Asherton’s shade. The dirigible’s bulk provided a respectable respite from the noonday sun for himself and the pungent thousands of horses. It was unfortunate this shade couldn’t be provided to the ranks of dismounted Merrill troopers gathered on the great pebbled-black tarmac highway ahead, but they’d escape the sun soon enough. Once they finished taking Mossy Way, the last big city before Jacinto.
The city had spread like spilling water over the wet country southwest of the Grand River in the centuries after his family had united the river valley. The Flesh-Eaters had consolidated their forces around their remaining strong points, unable to hold the city’s outer reaches. The Merrill troops had rolled up the streetcar suburbs’ snug little houses easily enough, but the enemy had retreated in good order into the inner core still defended by the sloping walls from the hard years after the Fall. Tall, tan buildings rose behind the hills ahead, dating back to the Old World and probably brimming with sharpshooters. The streets below no doubt brimmed with galloper guns. Three airships in enemy red and black floated over the enemy stronghold.
Three to his two.
His scowl deepened as he watched the enemy dirigibles. His army’s great strength was avoiding getting pinned down, stinging and dodging. Storming defended cities or laying siege played to the enemy’s strength — unmounted infantry, artillery, airships, and greater willingness to feed troopers into the grinder. Two rail lines cross here. We need this city to take Jacinto and keep Grendel’s troop trains out if — when — the screen buckles to the west. Once they took Mossy Way, they could load the men and horses onto trains and roll them all the way to the old capital. And then there was the airship yard. He examined his golden pocket watch again. He’d been waiting years for this, but now he had no time. With Grendel in Long Branch and his armies rolling down the Pass’s great rail lines, if he didn’t win this soon, he wouldn’t win at all.
The black road cut between two hills, each topped with pale stone walls bearing coiled barbed wire. The enemy had lined the road with rows of sandbags topped with more barbed wire. What were hopefully riflemen crouched behind them. If these men had repeaters, unclogging this pipe would be an even bigger bloodletting than he’d anticipated.
A single opening in the line had been made for Alonzo’s returning envoy. A tall rider in Merrill brown, carrying a banner topped with the Merrill green flag and a white parley flag, rode through the gap. Once he passed, enemy troopers rushed out and began piling sandbags. The last bag fell into place with the finality of a filled grave.
Alonzo sighed. This was going to be like the excavation site. Mossy Way’s cannibal overlords weren’t going to roll over and show their bellies.
Not that this should be a surprise. We haven’t exactly been taking heaps of Flesh-Eater prisoners, especially bigwigs. The cannibal bastards had run up quite a debt to the folk they’d conquered, the kind paid in blood, and now the people could take their payment. The enemy would now be even more inclined to fight to the death. He’d have to do something about that if he wanted to have an army when he reached Jacinto. He gave his horse a squeeze with his legs. His mount carried him to where Hutton received the report.
“Let me guess,” Alonzo said after dismounting. “Same bullshit as the excavation site.” The poor trooper who’d brought the Flesh-Eaters his terms of surrender had gotten shredded by the cannibals’ dirigible guns not long after, but word had gotten around they’d threatened to put him, the Merrill himself, on the grill if he didn’t retreat. Hutton had found another trooper with a gift for gab who could replace him.
“Aye.” Sweat glistened on the parts of Hutton’s bald head visible under the wide-brimmed hat. He did not look pleased. “Colonel Rhoads here can quote them.”
Colonel Rhoads cleared his throat. “Sir, the enemy commander said he looks forward to eating you and taking your soul.”
Alonzo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The garrison commander here and that prick from the excavation site must have the same speechwriter. Then again, given the Flesh-Eaters’ religious claptrap, he should be flattered. They believed eating their enemies’ flesh meant gaining their spiritual power. They must think I’ve got a soul worth devouring.
“No surrender then.” He turned to Hutton. “It looks like we’re in for a siege.”
Hutton nodded grimly. The city’s outer defenses had withstood the assault for a spell, but they’d clearly planned to fall back to the rail junction and airship yards the Merrills desperately needed with a force that couldn’t just be bypassed. There were only two highways leading into the enemy redoubt and from what Alonzo had heard from further east, the other was fortified too. He had forces gathered to hit the walls from multiple directions, but from what he’d seen from his dirigible on the way in, the enemy had cleared out space in front and put a powerful number of troops behind them. And there still wasn’t enough artillery.
“Colonel Rhoads reports they don’t have a lot of balloon-poppers on the road ahead. We can use the dirigible to draw out their air power like we planned.”
“Good.” Alonzo scanned the forces gathered for the assault. He counted just five upward-angled, long-barreled balloon-popper cannon that could smash an enemy gondola or ignite their hydrogen lifting gas. Massed infantry fire could do in a pinch, but a dirigible with rotating Sawyer guns could lay a lot of good footsloggers in boot hill before rifles or even repeaters could bring them down.
“Did you see where the Flesh-Eater commander made his lair?”
Rhoads shook his head. “They blindfolded me once we got into downtown.”
There went targeting the enemy bossman with air and artillery and hoping the rest crumbled. They’d have to do this the hard way. Alonzo turned to Hutton. “Let’s get started.”
Hutton passed the command along. Seconds later, thunder cracked overhead as the Asherton unleashed its cannon on the dug-in Flesh-Eaters. More thunder echoed further back as the Merrills’ all-too-few howitzers added their voices to the din. Alonzo’s right ear twitched. Even over his own guns’ roaring, he could hear another set rumbling to the east. He kept his eyes on the enemy airships in the distance. If they split up their forces, sending one against the Asherton, one against the other dirigible to the east, and kept one in reserve, this might work.
ALONZO LOWERED HIS binoculars. “Finally.” It had taken hours, but his plan to deprive the defenders of their air support was finally working. The Asherton hitting the city’s fortified entrance had baited the enemy into deploying their balloon-poppers. Although his flagship had taken damage, pushing the balloon-poppers forward had allowed his own artillery to target them. Once the gap between the walls had been sufficiently savaged — including another bombardment to make sure it was clear of mines — the first regulars rolled over the man-eaters to establish a bridgehead inside. Alonzo had brought forward his own balloon-poppers and the Asherton had demonstrated against the enemy dirigibles, smashing enemy strongpoints holding up the footsloggers all the while.
At long last the enemy flyers responded. Alonzo turned to Hutton. “Here we go. Bring in the other dirigible and push the balloon-poppers as far forward as you can.”
“Yes sir.” In moments, the telegraph wires laid between the Merrill positions would light up and the captured enemy dirigible would be on its way. That airship the Second Pendleton had lifted off the Flesh-Eaters really needed a name of its own. When Alonzo had a spare moment, he’d ask Hutton what the flyboys called it.
The Asherton’s engines rumbled as it moved to meet the challenge. Metal ballast fell like iron rain from its gondola, hopefully cracking Flesh-Eater skulls below. The Merrill flagship rose like a rocket. The three enemies hurtled forward, dropping ballast as well. They angled upward, matching the Asherton’s rise.
Cannon thundered from the Asherton’s gondola, followed by the chatter of repeaters and Sawyer guns. Fireballs bloomed across the foremost enemy’s envelope. Alonzo grinned. That one’s not fast enough. A single cannon replied from the Flesh-Eater’s bow. Fire burst across the front of his flagship’s gondola. The Asherton began rotating, its cannon falling silent as the bow guns moved out of position. Sparks continued flying off the enemy craft as the infantry and Sawyers kept firing, but those were pinpricks unless they fouled an engine. An artillery round detonated against the Asherton’s envelope right above the gondola. Alonzo winced. That was a big one. He wondered if he heard men screaming, or if it was only his imagination.
Then the Asherton unleashed a full broadside, several cannon thundering at once. The attack ripped huge rents in the enemy’s envelope and split the gondola’s bow open. Flames belched upward as hydrogen vented. An intrepid Flesh-Eater — Alonzo couldn’t tell if he was trying to repair or trying to escape — climbed from the gondola onto the envelope, but Merrill sharpshooters sent him tumbling. He fell until his safety line caught him and then hung, still kicking, in midair. The dirigible sank, slowly turning back toward the city interior. Its burning envelope scraped the tall buildings as it settled onto the street out of Alonzo’s sight. Scratch one dirigible.
But there were still two more. Both angled upward toward the Asherton. Alonzo winced. If the captain didn’t get his ass in gear, the Flesh-Eaters were going to pass in a line in front of the great dirigible’s bow. The old dogs called this “crossing the T.” Two full broadsides versus the Asherton’s bow guns and whatever the infantry could manage. This was going to hurt.
More thunder cracked across the blue skies, one clap after the other. Alonzo’s gaze jumped to the right. The Flesh-Eaters weren’t firing on his flagship, not yet. It was the captured enemy dirigible, its artillery roaring. The guns spoke so often their recoil seemed to push the smaller dirigible backward. It accelerated toward the enemy, the whining rattle of its engines audible even a mile or so away.
Gunfire reached back from one Flesh-Eater dirigible’s gondola. Though flames washed the enemy bow, it held its course. In mere seconds, it would cross the Asherton’s T and rip his flagship open.
“Where are the balloon-poppers?” Alonzo looked to the nearest staff officer. “You did send out the orders?”
“Yes sir!”
Even if he hadn’t, they’d be firing anyway. No artillery captain worth a damn would turn up their noses at this.
The second Merrill airship rode an explosion upward. Alonzo’s gaze locked onto the fireball. He’d seen what happened to the Bailey Mines when the ammunition stores detonated and broke the great flyer’s back. The same thing could easily happen here.
The flames dissipated. The gondola bottom was blackened, but the enemy fire hadn’t penetrated. It looked like they hadn’t gotten all of the enemy’s antiaircraft guns.
“Get the goddamn artillery on those balloon-poppers!” Alonzo snarled. The forward observers were probably already yelling for that, but it couldn’t hurt to emphasize.
More ground fire, this time from the Merrills. The rearmost Flesh-Eater dirigible shook. It slowed, not much but it slowed.
Then came the howitzers’ deeper thunder. The ground rumbled under Alonzo’s boots. Merrill guns searched for the man-eaters’ balloon-poppers and Flesh-Eaters returned the favor. Antiaircraft shells continued detonating overhead. The leading enemy dirigible was at knife-fighting range with the Asherton. Both vessels’ envelopes crackled with flames, though crewmen crawled about with fire extinguishers and fell to their deaths when bullets or shrapnel cut their safety lines.
The Asherton stopped firing. Alonzo’s heart leaped into his throat. Had his flagship somehow run out of ammunition? Whenever he sent it aloft, it was with ammo always topped off. If the biggest airship in the Merrill fleet got splashed because someone forgot, there was going to be hell to pay.
Then the second dirigible surged into the narrow space between the Asherton and its closest assailant. Alonzo’s jaw dropped. More gunfire. At one point a Flesh-Eater shell punched through the smaller vessel’s gondola and detonated against the Asherton’s metallic flesh. Someone fell burning behind a skyscraper. Tendrils of flame crept up the dirigible that had once belonged to the enemy, the dirigible that had saved his bacon at the excavation site. Alonzo kept his eyes locked on the smaller airship, even though the fires set green and purple dancing across his vision. The mad bastard running the captured dirigible may well have given his and his crew’s lives to save the Merrill flagship. He’d give them all medals, both those who survived and those who didn’t.
Then the second airship was past and the Asherton unleashed a full broadside. Screaming Flesh-Eaters fell like burning brands from the enemy ship’s envelope and the ruptured gondola. More explosions. Flames washed away the envelope’s fabric, revealing the red-hot metal skeleton beneath. There was no more screaming as the dirigible sank, trailing thick black smoke.
The Asherton fired again, soon joined by the second airship. Unfortunately, though its crew frantically heaved ballast over the side, the smaller craft was already beginning to sink.
“Get out of there!” Alonzo hissed. “Get!” If the dirigible came down in unfriendly territory, the crew would literally be lunch.
The second dirigible broke off its attack and began limping back toward the Merrill lines. But the damage was done. Fires spread all over the final enemy dirigible. Men, afire and not, leaped from its savaged gondola as the burning monster descended. One man tumbled into the air, only to be impaled on a metal structure atop a skyscraper. Alonzo winced.
Still, someone tried to steep the dying foe toward the Merrill flagship. Cannibal bastard’s on a suicide run. The Asherton pounded it with gunfire, tearing open the gondola and envelope still further. Even the second dirigible helped out with its stern gun. Burning hydrogen spewed from the holes they tore as it lost altitude. Alonzo kept his attention locked onto the enemy craft.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Come on!”
For one terrible moment it looked like the enemy would take the smaller Merrill dirigible as a consolation prize. Alonzo’s heart pounded in his throat. Then the burning enemy passed underneath. The heat of its flames pushed the smaller vessel upward. Alonzo didn’t envy the men in its cracked gondola, but there was no collision.
The men surrounding Alonzo cheered. Alonzo exhaled in relief. The Flesh-Eater dirigible continued descending, now on a collision course with a tall brown skyscraper right on the enemy line. The craft pivoted, as though someone were still in control, but it wasn’t enough. The dirigible slammed into the building, shattering windows and sending sheets of flame rolling up its sides.
Hopefully that was full of sharpshooters.
The men around him kept cheering. Alonzo tried to smile. But the second airship’s condition kept grabbing his attention. Something must’ve given in the last few minutes — the gondola hung slantwise beneath the envelope. Fires crept along the envelope’s fabric skin. They’d need to ground it and put those fires out or else the whole thing would go up. He’d seen burned Flesh-Eaters at the excavation site and didn’t want that happening to his own men.
And the sounds the engines had made ... if something had busted inside them, that kind of damage needed yard time. And Mossy Way’s yards were still in enemy hands.
“Are we ready to implement the plan?” he asked Hutton.
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Start rotating in the locals and pulling out the regulars. Requisition all the bicycles you can.” Arm the city folk and the Shoemaker underground with captured Flesh-Eater weapons and extra repeaters, leave some regulars to organize and balloon-poppers to defend them against airborne reinforcement, and then pull the rest out. The locals would take the remainder of the city themselves, thus allowing Alonzo to husband his regulars for the assault on Jacinto.
Or, failing that, attacking any Flesh-Eater forces heading this way on my terms. There were still cannibal armies to the west and east. If that bastard “Big Al” had finally gotten them organized, the Merrills couldn’t have half the army entangled in a street fight.
One of Hutton’s staff came bringing telegrams. Hutton read them, eyes growing narrower as they moved down the pages. His jaw set. This can’t be good. Hutton stepped over to Alonzo and lowered his voice. “The irregulars around Long Branch have skirmished with the Obsidian Guard and some Blood Alchemy. They’re leaving the Pass. The Leaden Host has crossed the old border farther south.”
Alonzo tensed. Once those armies pushed back or broke through the screening force — and they would — they would be the hammer to the Flesh-Eating Legion’s anvil. He could always retreat south between them, but that would be repeating Pa’s mistakes. Trading space for time only worked if it didn’t mean retreating into open country where dirigibles could flay an army alive. And he wasn’t going to leave anybody to the freaks who’d killed his brother or the man-eaters, not if he had a fighting bone left in his body.
Take Mossy Way, then take Jacinto. Then Bisbee. Bottle up the Flesh-Eaters and the Firebird Host north of the river and keep the other Hosts and the Obsidian Guard to the south. Block the Grand, keep the cannibals in the delta contained and hope the people whose lands they stole deal with them.
All that would only delay the inevitable, given the enemy’s superior numbers and the places the Grand River could be crossed by footsloggers. But wars weren’t won by battles alone.
“Switch out the regulars with the locals soonest,” Alonzo ordered. The Shoemakers had been valuable spies and saboteurs; now here was their chance to do more. “Have the forces in the west wreck the bridges and rail lines in the enemy’s path. Keep me posted. I’ve got something to work on.” He paused. “I’ll need Colonel Rhoads.”
