GeneStorm: City in the Sky (45 page)

The human stared, then lifted his rifle and fired. Beau felt the bullet clip his ancient black breastplate, almost slamming him from the saddle. The fox-bird swirled Pendleton around, recovered, and fired a pistol at the human rider. The human fell, his horse rearing – and then more humans broke through the tree line up above, clashing bullets home into rifle breeches and opening fire. Beau unleashed a storm of shots from his twin revolvers, driving the riders back from the gully lip. He sent Pendleton running to crowd against the eastern bank, right beneath the human riders’ feet, and raced to the next bend.

Beau could not simply flee: the Screamers had to be lured onward. The monsters screamed – grinding remorselessly down the gully towards him. Up above, a human leaned far over the gully rim and fired. The bullet cut feathers from the back of Beau’s neck mantle. The fox-bird fired, then both pistol hammers clicked on empty cylinders. Beau raced to eject the old cylinders and reload, while Pendleton lunged forward, leaping onto a rock right beneath the lip of the gully. As a human leaned over to fire, the moth creature seized the man in his massive beak, cracking ribs and tearing flesh. He threw the human down onto the gully floor, then leapt forwards, bullets crashing home behind his rump.

In the gulley, the wounded human scrabbled to his feet and desperately tried to outrun the Screamers. The monsters rampaged forward, ripping into him with teeth and claws, tossing the body back into the main horde. Reloaded at last, Beau looked back. He fired a shot at a human on horseback who stared at him in shock.

Kenda!

Levelling his plasma pistol, Kenda took a wild shot at Beau, but Pendleton had already moved, surging and flowing ever onward. Beneath Kenda’s feet the Screamer horde rushed onwards down the gully, and suddenly the man saw new-dug earth in the gully walls. Remembering the pink mantis and her hellish bent for explosions, Kenda bellowed frantically to his men.

“Turn them back! Turn the Screamers back!”
He stood up in his stirrups.
“Kill the mutant and get the lures!”

A crossbow bolt missed Kenda by a whisker’s breadth, striking a sapling and exploding, blinding the man as splinters flew into the air. He staggered his horse backwards, wiping at his face, blinking until his sight cleared. A sudden blast and crackle of rifle fire came from the far bank. Kenda managed to clear his vision. From back behinds the banks, he saw his men trying to ride ahead along the gully.

The last Screamers had passed Kenda’s position. Rifle fire from across the dry river had suddenly fallen silent. The scout riders surged forward to the rim, hunting targets – and suddenly the entire world seemed to disintegrate in a massive wall of fire.

The entire length of the gully detonated in one great shuddering blast.

The Screamers vanished in an instant, utterly torn apart. The air was filled with a storm of metal shards, rocks and Screamer parts. Two of Kenda’s men were caught in the blast with their mounts. Others reeled away, wounded and bleeding. Kenda’s ears rang, his skin tight with shock. White lights flashed before his eyes.

The Screamer horde had gone. The man blinked, then saw a pink-white figure emerge on the far bank. The mantis opened fire with her home made plasma rifle. The blast missed Kenda and took the head clean off his horse.

Kenda fell, tumbling out of sight into the trees. The plasma bolt struck again, blasting a hole through another rider. Kenda staggered onwards, away from the gully – shocked and dazed. His cheek was bleeding. Wounded men came blundering back through the flattened trees. Riderless horses ran past. Kenda pushed a dead man from his horse and fumbled for the reins, vaguely aware of bullets hissing past through the grass. He clawed his way onto the wounded horse. The beast ran east, away from the holocaust – away from the smoke and burning trees. One or two other riders had survived, and they stumbled with him, fleeing out of rifle range and into the open grass.

Kenda shook his head, clearing his vision. His helmet had been lost – his uniform was streaked with blood. He finally reined in his horse and turned to look back at the gully.

Smoke was rising steadily. Trees burned. The entire force of Screamers had been utterly destroyed.

Kitterpokkie. The mantis had done it a second time. And ‘Captain’ Beau. And the plant mutant, Throckmorton, with his damned crossbow…

Somehow, they had survived. That meant the shark was alive and at large.

Snapper. Snapper was alive. And that meant…

Cavalry attack!

It was coming – sure as damnation. A charge with sabres! Everything else was only a distraction – a decoy designed to expose his human troops to an all out charge.

Still half deafened, Kenda fumbled for his radio. But the handset was shattered – broken by wreckage hurtled by the explosion. He threw the useless radio aside.

Off to the south there came a steady crackling sound. Someone had started a firefight at the west end of the plains.

Bloodied but filled with burning anger, Kenda took charge of his last surviving scouts. They took tired, dazed, wounded horses, turned them towards the main force of crusaders, and went reeling off towards the south.

The sound of heavy fire rose from the tree line, spreading steadily wider and wider as rifles came into the fight.

Chapter 18

On the plains, a volley of rifle fire crashed out from the tree-line to the west. Ten human scouts were hurtled backwards as they rode toward the trees. Horses screamed and reared. Two men survived, wounded and reeling, fleeing backwards – only to be struck down by two short, sharp shots.

The scout screen ahead of the human infantry slowed their mounts to a halt. Rifle fire spat at them from up and down the creek line. Bullets buzzed past, snapping as they struck the ground. A rider jerked back, reeling bloodily as a round struck him. The scout lieutenants swore and tried to scan the tree-line. There were easily fifty rifles firing – too far away for much effect, but too many to tackle on their own. The scouts turned and rode swiftly back to the protection of the infantry companies, while the infantry halted and formed themselves out into a battle line.

Back in the trees that lined the creek, Samuels ran crouching behind the dense plant/animal foliage. Town militia lay prone and waiting – two hundred riflemen, all of them in excellent cover. Out on the plains, the enemy were fixating on the tree line. Their columns had deployed out into two lines – the first of men with ordinary rifles, then a rear rank armed with plasma guns.

The soldiers with rifles ran forward until they were six hundred metres from the trees. The plasma gunners were a hundred metres behind – while fifty paces further behind them, a group of splendidly uniformed human officers all sat on horseback.

Beth Baker rode up beside Samuels and dismounted, then they both came hunching forward through the shrubs, watching as the human army hesitated.

Beth scowled. “What do you think? Open fire?”

“We don’t want them to think they can just outshoot us with the rifles. We need them to see us as a threat…” Samuels saw officers riding back and forth behind the enemy skirmish line. “What’s the range to the bigwigs at the back? Eight hundred? Eight fifty?”

“Easily.”

“We might be able to do the trick.” Samuels pulled back behind the firing line. “I’ll go get Ringtail Davy and his crews. You keep ‘em busy. Let’s get some fire into them!”

Beth cocked her own rifle and found a good firing position amongst the rocks and trees. In a voice long practiced in shouting crowds to order at the Dancing Dugite, she bellowed out to the militiamen.

“Alright folks! Get their attention! Shoot sharp – but take your time. Show ‘em why screwing with Spark Town is a bad idea!”

Rifles began to fire, barking steadily as marksmen took careful aim. Brass cartridges rang as they ejected from breeches. Beth stayed in place, firing three rounds, then pulled back to run along the line. She settled beside another group of men, fired several more rounds, and again moved onward, calling out targets to the better shots. Bullets hissed back through the leaves, striking branches and cracking into trees. But the men out on the plains had no targets, and were already having to face into the afternoon sun. The enemy firing line took casualties – a man here and there. They ran forward a hundred paces and knelt to fire again, but still their shots crashed fruitlessly through the leaves.

Out on the open plain, the din of rifle fire was deafening. The men were pouring a blind fusillade into the dark, packed trees and scrub that lined the creek bank. A thousand rifles barked as General Henderson rode forward towards the waiting line of plasma rifleman, unshipping his telescope to scan the enemy line.

“Scouts to the flanks! Let’s see how wide the line goes.” By all accounts, the enemy could only muster three or four hundred ‘men’. “Keep firing! Keep them pinned!”

Suddenly a massive explosion lit the north western sky. The entire army stared as roiling clouds of flame-shot smoke blasted upwards.

Even from two thousand metres away, the shockwave was astounding. The air thumped – the sheer force of the blast was utterly horrifying.

“My god!”

The general stared. He fumbled for his telescope. The line of hills and ridges to the north were blanketed in smoke and a haze of debris.

A radio man looked up from his hand set, utterly aghast.

“General! No answer from the beast herders!”

“Scouts?”

“Nothing from Major Kenda!”

The staff kept staring at the cloud of debris.

The Screamer horde. The general turned to his chief of staff.

“Send a scout detail to...”

His chief of staff was suddenly missing part of his head.

The officer’s body remained upright in the saddle for several long seconds, slipping only reluctantly aside. An instant later, a massive bullet buzzed viciously past. It slammed into the radio operator’s horse, felling the beast with a staggering blow. General Hendricks whirled to look at the enemy’s tree line.

“General! Dismount!”

Another huge bullet blurred past, almost big enough to see. The mutants had brought some sort of wall guns into action – massive firearms now targeted on the command team. The general leapt from his saddle an instant before his own horse was struck. The beast fell without a sound, crashing to the ground. An instant later, another senior officer was hurtled from his saddle by a massive rifle round.

The mutants were making fools out of the army of purity! The general moved forward, shouting at his men.

“Clear those trees! Don’t skirmish – attack!”
He ordered the plasma gunners forward.
“Open fire! Set the trees alight! Close and destroy!”

Plasma rifles were switched on, giving a brief whisper as they hummed into life. The riflemen ran forward, charging into the snap and buzz of enemy fire. A few men fell – and then at three hundred metres, a terrific volley crashed out from the trees. Human soldiers were smashed down, rifles barked in reply, then suddenly the first plasma rifles opened fire.

The energy bolts flickered, leaving a brilliant after-image scored across the eye. Bolts struck the trees, superheating sap to burst their trunks. Wood splinters flew like jagged knives. Some cracked into Spark Towners’ armour, ringing from metal helmets and breast plates. Others struck into flesh. Wounded men fell back as plasma bolts slammed into riflemen. Trees and fallen leaves burst into flames.

Human soldiers rose and rushed forward, firing as they came. Plasma bolts whip-cracked through the air, sawing through trees – bursting river rocks. Rifle bullets flickered through the trees. Spark Towners were falling, but Mayor Beth was still up and moving. She bellowed at the militia.

“Hold the line! Rapid fire!”

Human soldiers were rushing forward in pairs, firing as they came.

“Keep them out there in there open!”

Behind her, Samuels crouched in cover and swiftly opened up the radio equipment. He loaded the memory cartridge that Kitterpokkie had given him – a cartridge taken from a melted pistol in the far off city beyond the cliffs. He switched on his Mistral radio, opened the menus just as Kitterpokkie had shown him – and uploaded files into mid air.

“Hold the line! Keep them stalled out there!”

Beth moved from post to post, loading and firing again and again. Sharp splinters of wood jutted here and there from her immensely thick rhino hide. She pulled a dead man back out of a flaming bush, rescued his cartridges, and sent a round cracking off into the enemy ranks.

“Keep them back! Keep them back!”

Out on the plains, a plasma rifle suddenly blew apart.

One moment the gunner had been running forward, firing from the hip. The next instant, the chamber destabilised and plasma exploded through the rifle case. The man fell, arms burned clean off. He shrieked in agony as the grass all around him caught aflame.

A second rifle exploded in its user’s face – and then another and another. Men screamed while others staggered, blinded. Riflemen threw away their plasma guns in panic as they burst and melted, spraying white-hot sparks. Officers had pistols turn molten in their holsters. Kenda came racing up behind the line, frantically throwing aside his own pistol. The weapon burst inside its holster, hurling out a shower of sparks. Kenda saw the general fall, his own pistol exploding at his hip. Kenda cursed as staff officers were consumed by plasma blasts.

“Reform! Close order!”
Kenda rode furiously along behind the line, pulling riflemen back – sending shocked, weaponless plasma gunners stagging to the rear lines.
“All companies close order! Move move move!”

Smoke choked the line where grassfires smouldered. Kenda hauled his horse around as bullets whipped past him in the haze. The staff were down, and he was now the ranking officer still on his feet.

He still had a thousand riflemen, and hundreds of ex-plasma gunners, unarmed but unharmed. He pulled men back out of the chaos, and gave a snarl of triumph.

It was not too late to seize a victory.

South of the main battle, three hundred Spark Town cavalry were formed up in two battle lines in the shallow river bed. Snapper stood up in her stirrups, watching through binoculars as plasma rifles burst and exploded. The enemy battle lines were in utter chaos. The shark gave a predatory snarl.

“That’s it! We’re going in. Toby – take the second wave!” Snapper waved her big sabre forward.
“First three squadrons on me! Prepare to charge!”

Snapper spurred forward with the town trumpeter falling in beside her. The first line of squadrons surged out of the trees, locking boot to boot and crossing the open ground like a tidal wave. Toby waved the second line onwards, moving forward more slowly, letting the gap between waves open out to two hundred metres.

“At the fast trot – forward!”

The cavalry raced out of the river tree line to the south of the human troops. They moved with shocking speed. Sabres hissed from scabbards. Plasma rifles were still exploding – infantry staggering, men screaming. Snapper’s front lines closed from a thousand metres to six hundred, five hundred… They needed to cross the gap fast…

“Canter! Canter!”

The trumpet sounded the order. The entire line burst into a canter, the dense-packed wall of riders racing ever forward – birds and beetle-horses screeching, beaks and mandibles clashing. The first few staggering human infantry company saw the onrushing cavalry. A few men fired, and Snapper levelled her sabre like a spear.

“Charge!”

The trumpet blew the charge – four rising notes that flung the riders into madness. The cavalry screamed – their mounts screeched deafening war cries. Snapper felt a bullet whip past, then suddenly she was spearing her sabre through a rifleman.

There was a crash as the central squadron slammed into the flank-most company of ‘crusaders’. Sabres sliced through riflemen. A hundred and fifty infantry vanished in an instant as the riders sabred down fleeing masses of men.

The two flanking squadrons raced on, unencumbered by opposition. But something was happening. Two companies of infantry had shaken their riflemen into line. They managed a ragged volley, emptying saddles. As another company ran forward and added to the line, the rifle fire became a storm. Birds and beetle-horses balked. The charge faltered as more fire slammed home. Snapper’s bloodied squadron emerged out of the carnage of their own charge. She saw the other two squadrons being hammered, and sounded the recall, riding into the thick of the fire to rally the men.

“On me! On me!”
She emptied her carbine at the enemy ranks, sending two soldiers flying backwards. Other cavalry opened fire with pistols and revolvers.
“Right turn! At the gallop!”

The lead cavalry turned in place and sped east at astonishing speed. Toby’s squadrons raced into the gap, the men leaping from their mounts and opening rapid fire with carbines. Mount-holders raced the beetle-horses, cockatoos and budgerigars back out of the zone of fire, and men opened up with breechloaders and repeating carbines. The volume of fire was monstrous. But it was still a hundred and fifty men against three times that number. Human troops took terrible casualties, but were shooting back in return. Whenever a man fell, an uninjured ex plasma gunner seized the man’s rifle and kept up the fire.

“Re-form! Re-form!”
Snapper’s men were still in good order. They about turned in ranks and locked tight. Snapper sent Onan shooting forward. “
Charge!”

The three mounted squadrons charged home again, this time slamming into the human companies from the flank. Screaming birds crashed into the humans – sabres rose and fell. There was a panicked spatter of fire from rifles, but the infantry were smashed. Cavalry rode through them, swords flailing down. The beaten fugitives ran for a second line of troops that had formed themselves into an enormous square. The riders sawed aside, turned about and sped away as the enemy square locked tight.

Four companies of crusaders had been utterly obliterated by sabres – but Kenda had rallied his men.

The human crusaders had started with fifteen hundred men. Even after losing so many, they still outnumbered the Spark Towners by almost two to one. They had also finally realised that they were faced by only two hundred riflemen in the old creek bed. The Spark Town cavalry were the real threat. Riding at the centre of his men, Kenda formed six companies into a tight packed square, surviving plasma gunners behind the riflemen, ready to replace the casualties. Having forced order out of chaos, he could take stock of the battlefield.