Distant Thunders (45 page)

Billingsly flinched and drove the pistol more savagely into the princess’s neck. “Well,” he said, recovering himself. “Touché. A most impressive demonstration of marksmanship! You have saved your man, bravo! It changes nothing, however.”

“How’s that?” Spanky asked. “At one word from me, these two guys can do the same to you and your pals and this little game’ll be over.”

“That would be a most unfortunate word for you to give. You see, I have yet another hostage in the boat behind us, a young Mr. Abel Cook, if I don’t mistake his name. He is lightly injured, I’m afraid, but he is also in the hands of a most dedicated friend of mine, a Mr. Truelove. He is perfectly prepared to cut that young man’s throat, and you can’t even see him.” Billingsly shrugged. “Mr. Truelove is also performing a number of other tasks, highly specialized for this occasion.”

Spanky glanced to his right as a winded Adar and Alan Letts arrived. He knew both would have enough sense to say nothing until they knew more about the situation. “Such as?” Spanky asked.

“Mr. Truelove is holding a hooded lantern over the side of the boat. As long as that colored lantern is visible to my ship,
Ajax
, she will not fire a full broadside of grapeshot into this very gathering. If you carry out your threat I will die, which would certainly disappoint me, but then Mr. Truelove would drop that lantern into the sea and everyone here, including many of you—who I predict are leaders of this ridiculous Alliance—would also die. A most tragic ending to what I had hoped would be a very peaceful little rescue.”

“Kidnapping, you mean!” Letts snarled.

Billingsly shrugged again. “Semantics. A great hobby among philosophers, but quite tedious for me, I’m afraid.”

“You’re bluffing,” Spanky declared. “I can still see your ship’s lights, riding where they’ve been for months!”

“A regrettable subterfuge . . . Mr. McFarlane, is it not? A mere anchored raft with lights. I assure you,
Ajax
stands less than two hundred yards offshore this very moment. You could adjust your annoying light to see her if you wish. No? Well then, you should probably take my word.”

“You can’t possibly expect to get away with this!” Adar remarked forcefully. “We will chase you; we will hunt you! We will never give up! You are committing an act of war against a people who mean you no ill!”

“Oh, I certainly hope so!” Billingsly said. “War with you might suit our plans quite nicely just now! As for pursuit, what will you make it with?” He gestured at
Walker
. “Surely not that. It is not even armed and requires more weeks of repair before undertaking a chase. The bulk of your fleet is elsewhere, and that which is here and nearly ready to sail—your ‘new-construction steamers,’ you call them—are about to suffer a mischief.” He looked about. “Does anyone happen to have the time?”

A red pulse of light engulfed the waterfront and a towering, roiling ball of flame gushed into the heavens. A moment later, there was a second flash, as large as the first, and the thunderous detonations reached them at last.

“My God! The fuel storage tanks!” Letts whispered. “They must have bombed the whole tank battery!” It was true. It also wasn’t lost on anyone that the flash had indeed illuminated
Ajax
, just offshore.

“You son of the Devil!” Princess Rebecca finally screamed. “You filthy, vile, reptilian monster! These people needed that fuel to fight the Grik, not
us
, you pathetic fool! You’ve destroyed us all!”

Sandra, a bloody gag back in her mouth, struggled against the man holding her until he pressed the cutlass tighter, drawing blood. Billingsly silenced the princess with another jab of the pistol.

“There, now!” Billingsly exclaimed cheerfully. “No doubt you will replace the fuel shortly, but I am reliably informed that your new boilers do not thrive on wood or coal.” He shook his head. “You may now regard that as an oversight in design, but perhaps not. The oil you use instead seems to have a number of advantages . . . but it
is
frightfully flammable, isn’t it? In any event, you have little left with which to chase us! Your better-sailing frigates, gone with the fleet, alas, might have had a chance if the winds favored them, but your steamers will be no faster than we—and helpless if the wind fails! We would have a good start on them regardless. As for your ‘prizes,’ all the swifter variety of those are either gone as well, or their conversions are not yet complete.”

“We will chase you, nevertheless,” Adar warned grimly.

“Please do! Be my guest to try, but remember this: for each hostile act on your part, a hostage will fall into the sea with his or her throat cut! The one-eyed giant will die first. He has cost us much and spoiled what would have been a perfect plan. Next, the injured boy. After that, the Roman witch priestess will die, followed by your precious Minister of Medicine, Miss Tucker. I trust things will never proceed that far. If they do and if
Ajax
is ultimately somehow destroyed, the princess will, regrettably, die with the ship. Do as you will. Try what you like.” He paused. “Test me,” he taunted.

“We will chase you and we will watch you,” Adar promised, “and we had better see our people alive when we do!”

“As you will. As I said, you are welcome to try. Beware if I tire of your company, however!”

Billingsly looked about for a moment, apparently pondering, then nodded to himself. Spanky recognized the look of someone who thought he’d covered all his bases. For the life of him, Spanky couldn’t figure out what the man might have missed.

“Gather the giant’s weapons,” he instructed one of his men. He glanced at Spanky and raised his voice. “You will be safe,” he assured the reluctant underling. “If they kill you, Truelove will kill the boy. Now hurry; we are leaving this place at last!”

“You’ll regret this, Billingsly!” Spanky shouted. He saw Silva move a little and knew at last that the big man still lived.
Oh, Lord
, he thought, but it was something, at least. With a little more certainty, he shouted again, “I
guarantee
you’ll regret this!”

“Perhaps,” Billingsly replied. “I have few regrets, actually. I’m sure I
would
regret killing these poor souls now in my care. Pray, spare me that.”

Somehow, Sandra must have worked her gag loose. Suddenly she shouted out, “Give Captain Reddy my love! Tell him to do whatever he must!” There was a loud slap and a muffled cry. The still-growing mass of warriors, sailors, and townsfolk pushed forward with a growl.

“Now, now!” yelled Billingsly. “That was sensible advice; do what you must! At present, you must let us leave and you must signal your fort to let us pass!”

“We
cannot
just let them leave!” Keje said, moving close to Spanky, Adar, and Letts.

“We have no choice for now,” Adar replied heavily. He turned to Letts. “Quickly, have someone pass the word along the waterfront and to Fort Atkinson: do not fire; let them pass! We will save them somehow, but we cannot do it here or now!”

“What about Captain Reddy?” Letts asked. “He’s going to flip!”

For a moment, Adar said nothing while he watched the hostages briskly moved into the boat. Someone was bailing water out of it as the oars dipped clumsily and it shoved off, away from the ramp.

“Cap-i-taan Reddy will be mounting his assault on Sing-aapore about now,” he said woodenly. “Perhaps it would be best not to tell him just yet. He can do nothing but worry about our situation here, and his attack must proceed. Torn in two directions at once, he might behave rashly.”

Keje grunted assent.

“I will never forgive myself for allowing this to happen,” Adar continued, “and Cap-i-taan Reddy may not forgive me for keeping it from him, even briefly.” He blinked beseechingly at Keje. “But if he is . . . distracted now, and somehow he or our effort suffers for it, our world will not forgive me—for however long it remains.”

“
A
nd it was such a lovely plan, too,” Sean O’Casey said as yet another seething mass of Grik infantry slammed into the shield wall of the 2nd Marines. Chack laughed. The 2nd Marines and 1st Aryaal had met virtually no resistance to their predawn landing in the shipyard district. Even now, in the dawn’s dreary, overcast light, cutters and launches were securing the Grik fleet anchored in the harbor. As Captain Reddy had surmised, most of those ships had little more than caretaker crews aboard, and dozens were already making sail to join the Allied support vessels, blue streamers fluttering from their mastheads to identify them as prizes. The Marines and 1st Aryaal actually had plenty of time to deploy to defend the beachhead before the enemy finally “got their shit in the sock,” as Alden put it, and gathered a significant force to fall on the defenders.

The Marines in front of Chack and O’Casey heaved back against the onslaught and the cacophony was beyond anything O’Casey had yet experienced. He’d been at Baalkpan and seen the terrible nature of this war firsthand, but never from quite this close. There was a constant, roaring screech of weapons on weapons and shields on shields and Grik cries of agony as weapons pierced or slashed their vitals.

“It is a phalaanx of sorts, or so Cap-i-taan Reddy calls it. He based it on an ancient human formation, but he modified it to better fit our different circumstances!” Chack shouted over the din. “The enemy uses nothing like it. They attack as a mob, without discipline. It seems to be all they know how to do. They
can
bash through by sheer weight of numbers, however.” He nodded toward the left of his line, where it joined with Rolak’s. “Can you heft that spear?” he asked.

O’Casey balanced the spear in his right hand, judging the weight. “Well enough,” he assured Chack.

“Very well. Stay out of the front rank and beware the crossbow bolts!” With that, Chack called his staff, and together, they waded into the fiercest of the fight. O’Casey had been a soldier once, but he’d never been in a fight like this. The sheer scope was beyond his experience, and the type of fighting quite alien. The biggest battle he’d ever seen before Baalkpan had involved maybe a thousand men on both sides combined. He’d thought it was huge at the time. He’d lost that battle and been branded a traitor. His cause was crushed and he’d barely escaped with his life. Here, Rolak and Chack commanded nearly three thousand, and God alone knew how many Grik they faced. Many thousands more, at least. And yet Chack, whom he’d heard was once a pacifist, seemed unconcerned. He hefted the spear again and plunged ahead with the rest.

Six pounder field guns poked their muzzles through the ranks and spewed deadly, scything hail through the attackers, and two guns preceded Chack’s reinforcements into the bulging line. With a pair of thunderclaps and a choking haze of white smoke, the pressure there all but vanished. Still Chack raced into the gap, giving the battered line time to re-form around him. He and his staff bashed with their shields and thrust with their short Marine spears at the regathering swarm. O’Casey found himself right among them, poking inexpertly and a little awkwardly with his own spear. More than once he felt it bite. Even so, he decided he’d probably have to become a pistol man, maybe with a few braces draped around his neck. A swordsman he’d never been. Maybe it was time he learned that art?

“Did you find that exhilarating?” Chack asked, when the last dribble of attackers was repulsed. Chack’s white leather armor glistened with bright blood and the incongruous American helmet shone where a sword had skated across it, taking the paint. A slow, rolling, methodical broadside thundered from the frigates on the water.
Donaghey
’s eighteen pounders swooshed overhead to impact in the dense but confused enemy rear, while the fewer but heavier twenty-fours of the steamers moaned over the largely Lemurian force, trailing smoke. They detonated over and among the still-gathering Grik and the screams brought a wicked grin to Chack’s face. “The new exploding shells, or case shot,” he explained. “Wonderfully destructive things, though we don’t have many yet. The fuses can be unreliable as well, which adds a . . . delicious uncertainty to their passage overhead!” He watched while another broadside erupted from the covering warships. “Glorious,” he breathed happily and turned back to O’Casey.

“It
is
a lovely plan! What did you mean earlier? Do you fear it goes poorly?” Chack asked the one-armed man.

“What do
you
mean? Is this good?” O’Casey gasped.

Chack laughed again. “Everything’s swell so far! You do not know
all
the plan, and I do!”

“I thought ours was ta be a blockin’ force!” O’Casey seemed exasperated.

“It is! And we block well, don’t you think?” He gestured around. “We have already accomplished much of our goal. We are ashore and well placed. We have seized most of the docks and much of the repair yard. We have drawn the enemy’s focus and hopefully it will remain fixed upon us for some time to come.” He pointed excitedly, watching several squads hurry toward them from the boats. “Ah! The new mortars! Soon we will see something, I think! Soon, but not yet!”

O’Casey had already seen quite a lot. He knew, for example, that he was glad these people were his friends, and he now knew how essential it was that they be friends of the Empire. He keenly suspected that this small force to which he was attached would have made short work of the Imperial Company regiment that had ground his own rebellion to dust. They had no muskets—yet—but they had something far more important: confidence, discipline, and the unwavering certainty that they were
right
.

“Oh, Jenks, ye fool!” he muttered under his breath. “Where’er ye be on this field this day, open yer eyes and do nae aggravate these folk!”

 

 

“Now, now, now!” shouted Pete Alden, lowering his binoculars. With the thunder of a hundred drums, the 1st Marines, the 2nd and 4th Aryaal, the 1st Baalkpan, 3rd B’mbaado, and 2nd Sular kicked off their sweeping, or “swinging,” advance with around four thousand troops. ’Cats just couldn’t do bugles, so they’d settled on drum tattoos and various combinations of short whistle blasts to control large forces on the battlefield. The first few fights had shown the need for something like that, and now they had it. The roar of the drums sent gooseflesh down Matt’s arms.