Her Majesty's Western Service (22 page)

“
I didn't offer you personal clemency,” the vice-commodore said.

“
Sir!” came a young man's voice. “Lieutenant Harrison, sir? Sir!”

“
Private Rook,” said the moustached leader of the soldiers.

“
Sir! That warrant sent me from the airfield. Sir, we found the ship but there's fighting! Someone attacking the pirates there! Shooting and everything!”

The vice-commodore straightened up as though he'd been electrocuted.

“Not Vescard. Vescard didn't attack on his
own
, did he?”

“
Not your engineer, sir! No! Some other bunch that came in a line of trucks! There’s a fight all over the ships, the pirate's one and the one your engineer said was your 4-106. Whole lot of gunmen.”

“
Pirates robbing pirates? I am
not
losing my ship. How'd you get here?”

“
Lance-Corporal Innis told a man to give me his horse or else, sir.”

“
Take us back there. Quick march! Harrison! Leave one of your teams to guard the pirates. MacGreg, stay and help. Guard them, take them to the sheriff's cells when one of them shows up. Understood, MacGreg?”

“Clear, sir.”

“Except for this one.” The vice-commodore indicated Ahle. “Their captain's coming with me. Vidkowski, she's your responsibility.”

“
Aye, sir,” said a stringy-looking man Ahle recognized as having been on the airship’s bridge.

“
Get transport! Commandeer vehicles and let's
move
! Private, which way?”

Marko carefully wiped the blood off his last knife, concealed it back in his sleeve. The pirates, about sixty of them, had been half-drunk and half-asleep, and it had been far
less a battle than a butchery.

That was, of course, after carefully slitting the throats of any port staff who might give the alarm.
Which would unhappify the mercenaries, but wasn't that just an incentive for them to stay with him, another option crossed off the list for if they didn’t?

“
Get those kinematographs into the rocket bays!” Ferrer was shouting. Directing a crew unloading the heavy things from their trucks.

“
Signed up to fight or steer. Not smash boxes,” one man growled.

“
You do as the boss says or I’ll blow your lazy head off,” Rienzi told the man, pointing his revolver at that man's head.

“
Captain Caine,” Marko said.

A weathered man in his fifties,
with short grey hair and a well-worn rig, appeared. He looked rather askance at the butchery that had taken place through the bunkhouse.

“
The old crew,” Marko explained. “You’re in charge of the new crew. Pre-flight this Imperial piece of shit. We're lifting outta here pronto.”

“
Right, uh, mister. Pronto.”

The drivers of the two steam-trucks they'd commandeered hadn't been happy. Driving a steam-truck was work - you had to keep fueling the boiler via a foot-pump, while steering and maintaining speed -
and these two had been nearing the end of their shift of ferrying materials between the freight terminal and an outlying factory.

Perry had thrown some money at one of them and stuck a gun in his ear. Frantic.

“
Now
!” he yelled. “By Imperial authority, I said!”

“
Fuck you, mister. Wait, that’s a
ten!
”

“
That's for your company owner,” Perry said, as the man did hit the release and his truck began to roll again. Men were all over the rear of it. “I'll have two more for you personally if you get us there
fast
! I’ll also reimburse damage, just
get us to that ship
!”

“
Yes
sir
!” said the driver.

Perry turned to Captain
Ahle, who was in the crew-sized cab with Vidkowski. Vidkowski's gun, he noticed approvingly, had never been more than six inches from the pirate's back. He knew
exactly
how tricky this pirate was.

“
Who might be attacking your crew, Captain Ahle? Or
my ship
?”

“
I have no idea,” Ahle said. Her own expressions, since learning of the attack, had been shock. Perry believed her.

“
Who
might
be? Rival pirates? Do you have any known enemies? Because they're about to get wiped out, if you do; I have a fighting platoon here. Think of it as a small consolation.”

“
There are always rival pirates,” Ahle said evenly. “This sort of behavior is very much against the Code, and will bring down trouble.”

“Pirates seek out trouble.”

“Not this kind. It isn't profitable.”

The truck-driver rounded a sharp corner. Twenty dollars would be about a week's pay for him; making that much in twenty minutes was a
great
deal from the driver's perspective, and he was earning it.

Perry made a note to give the man twenty-five. They were approaching the airship park;
various ships’ electrical top- and side-lights could be seen, towering high above them. The ground became empty, bumpy dirt.

“
This way, sir,” said Private Rook, pointing. “Yeah. This way.”

The steam-
truck rocketed between two freighters, each five hundred yards long and towering high enough to completely blot out the sky. Steel cables held them down, running between deep-set concrete blocks through the keels of their cabins. Past an unlit shanty, half-underground, where crews without money might sleep, or goods might be stored. Then another unlit shanty.

“There!”

In the moonlight, silhouetted, was 4-106. Two extra steering vanes had been added, and so had a lot of bright paint. A casual job of deception, but probably good enough for most.

She was wobbling.
Buoyancy adjustment. Getting ready to lift. Still cabled down, but men moving around now.

“
Take us in,” Perry said. “Take us
right
in. We're going to evict whoever the hell has taken my ship.” He glared at Ahle. “Having already arrested the
first
person to.”

“
Looks like we got trouble coming.” McIlhan gestured, from 4-106’s bridge, at the two steam-trucks that were approaching at speed.

“
Those pirates’ friends?" Rienzi asked.

“
None of them got away to give the alarm,” said Cannon. “There was that group sorta hovering around the distance near the other ship, though.
Their
friends?”

“
Something going on we don’t know about?” McIlhan asked.

“
Who gives a fuck?” Cannon asked. “You two know how to use a pressure-gun?”

“
I’m an engineer,” Rienzi boasted. “I can learn
anything
.”

“
Learn to use a pressure-gun
now
.  Get down into that fore turret and fucking kill them, whoever they are. Hey! How’s prep going?”

“
Engines heating well,” came a reply. “Two minutes!”

“
Hold them off for two minutes. And then blow the fuck out of that other ship, the pirates’ one. But those other people might know something.
Waste them.
”

The fore pressure-gun mount turned. If Perry hadn
’t been intently focused on 4-106's bridge, and the people he could see moving about in there, he might have missed it.

“
Guns
!” he shouted instead. “Brake and bail!”

The first burst fired high, missing completely. The truck driver brought the vehicle to a screeching halt, kicking up the hard-packed dust
and spinning the truck ninety degrees. Men were thrown around and off.

The second burst of pressure-gun fire,
poum-poum-poum-poum-poum
, riddled the truck, smashing tires and boiler. Perry threw himself out, hitting the dirt ground and rolling. 4-106's cabin was two hundred yards away, and whoever was inside
definitely
did not want visitors.

They were prepping for flight. He could see that now, as a man ran along the stanchions and disconnected one of the heavy cables, then toward another. Boiler going hot.

At best, they had five minutes before the ship lifted.

More pressure-gun fire came, smashing
into the truck but missing the men on the ground. One heavy ball ricocheted off a piece of inset concrete and into the air.

“
Permission to return fire, sir?” Lieutenant Harrison asked, running over and throwing himself down.

“
Do what it takes. We're taking my airship back. Fire and movement. Assault. Whatever.”

Harrison nodded harshly and started yelling orders.

“With me, Vice. Leapfrog attack. We're gonna distract that fucking P-gun.”

4-106 began to rock slightly, a sure sign that engines were powering. Yes. One of the propellers was spinning.
No. All three of the starboard-side ones were.

Some of the soldiers opened fire on the pressure-gun
turret. The turret turned, fired back, the balls kicking up thick clouds of dust in the air as they hit dirt. Every third one was a tracer, its abrasive phosphorous surface ignited by progress through the barrel. Those blazed bright orange as they flew through the darkness.

“
Go!” Harrison yelled, and leapt up. Perry followed a second later, running forward at 4-106 as the other men fired.

“
Fifty yards and
down
!” Harrison said. He carefully aimed at the bridge, fired a burst. The other men from his section did the same. Perry considered helping with a pistol round but no, at a hundred and fifty yards that wouldn't even be a distraction.

The
se pressure-gunners were not, Perry thought, very good. They didn't know to bounce the rounds, although in dirt that wouldn't have done very much. They were firing randomly and ineffectively; as far as suppressive fire went, it was terrible.

One of the bridge
windows opened, and a man with a rifle leaned out. He sighted on one of the other section, running, and fired.

“
Shit! Meval's down! Meval is fucking down!” cried one of the soldiers.

“
Run!” Harrison yelled.

4-106's propellers were rotating fast now, and
lights were on along the length of the ship. Perry leapt up, ran forwards. A pressure-gun ball hit the ground just in front of him, dust exploding up and choking his face. He ran, firing, as 4-106 started to lift.

“
Down, Vice,” Harrison screamed. “Get fucking down!”

4-106 was lifting. The hell with that. He was
not
going to lose his ship a second time.

“
Follow me!” he shouted. “Retake the ship!”

A few men did
follow, as he ran for the airship. For the bridge, and the man with the rifle fired twice more, and someone screamed. Dust choked Perry's lungs, but he ran anyway as 4-106 lifted three, five, ten, fifteen feet off the ground, heavy ballast bags being pushed out.

More pressure-gun balls pounded into the dirt around Perry. The fore turret was a pair of heavy guns, built to penetrate armor; even a glancing hit would take
his arm or leg off. He'd seen it happen.

He didn't care. He ran, as 4-106 lifted from the ground, ropes dangling, ballast harnesses trailing.

They are not going to take my ship a second time! Those pirates are not going to escape!

He fired up at the bridge as he approached under it, thirty-five feet high now and rising. Grabbed a rope, jumping to grab it, and felt himself pulled up.

His right hand dropped the pistol to take a better hold of the rope. He had a knife in his belt; that would have to be enough.

Gunfire around him, but the world consisted of the rope and the departing 4-106; he felt himself being pulled up above the dark dirt. His other hand pulled, and he began to climb.

“There's one here!” A voice from above, the missileers’ catwalk behind the bridge. A man appeared, tall and thin and dressed in black. From thirty feet below, Perry could see that the man's teeth were broken, and that there was a large gold ring in his right ear.

“
You'll hang, pirate!” Perry yelled. “You'll all hang, you bastards!”

“
Of course. But not today!" The man on the catwalk reached down with a knife and cut at the rope. Perry climbed harder, forcing his strength into it, his ankles kicking and grasping for the tail end of the rope.