Erich Weiss looked across the bunker at Dietrich Hamm. The two hadn’t been friends, before, but Dietrich was the only other man from their unit that had volunteered and survived the vigil. Three had chosen to be sent home. Shaw had been quiet and respectful as he accepted their decision and sent them off in the company of a squad of armed soldiers. One more had gone berserk during the vigil, trying to escape. Shaw had arrived as Hamers reached the door to the small country chapel. The General dragged Hamers through the door, Erich heard Shaw’s pistol thunder, and it was over except the screaming.
The screaming had taken a long time to die down.
So now it was just the two of them in the bunker. They were at the Eastern end of The Line, where they would expect to face mainly Turks and Austrians. For something to do, Erich checked the mounted Colt-Gatling Mechanical gun. It was different to the smaller, faster firing guns his former army used, but the operation was similar enough that he didn’t expect a problem. While he worked, he spoke without looking at Dietrich.
“Why didn’t you go home?”
Dietrich’s answer came immediately. The question must have been preying on him as well. “Honestly? I don’t know. I didn’t want to die. I want to tell my family good-bye.”
“The General will never allow that.”
“I know, but while there is life, there is hope.”
“We’re not alive, Dietrich.”
“You know what I mean, Erich.”
Erich shook his head in silence. He did know what Dietrich meant, but it was still hard to make himself believe it. The best he could hope for now was to say good-bye. It was a small thing, but so long as he could remember his sweet Giselle, he would not lie down and quit. Someday this war would be over, and if the General would not allow him to go home, perhaps he would allow her to visit. Even just a short visit, so he could look at her once more, hold her one more time, tell his wife he loved her more than life itself.
***
Sebastian looked across the Garage, frowning slightly. His men were doing routine maintenance on some of the older Mechanicals, and they were wont to engage in horseplay when they did. He wasn’t opposed to high spirits, but men controlling two-ton battle machines armed with seventy-five caliber guns needed to maintain a certain level of caution.
“Davidson! Be sure you’ve properly backstopped the firing range this time!”
Before the battle at the Garage, the laughter in Davidson’s voice would have infuriated him. Now he understood it for what it was; a man glad to be alive, even happier to be miles and miles from the endless meat grinder of The Line.
“Yes, sir. It certainly was interesting the other way, though, wasn’t it?”
Sebastian just shook his head. The last firing test had been Davidson’s first as a sergeant. Neither of them would ever forget to double check a new recruit’s work again. Sebastian watched a few moments longer. Satisfied Davidson was keeping a close eye on the setup of the firing range, he moved to help Rogers unload a new shipment of material.
As he walked, he slid his arms into the Mechanical ‘sleeves’ Leigh created for him. They covered him from fingertip to fingertip, including the linkages crossing his upper torso and back. Working his fingers, which always stuck a bit at first, he walked over to the stacked crates. By the time he arrived at the overloaded pallets, Rogers had the outer layer of crates opened, checked, and tamped shut. Each had been blotted with a splash of paint, and each section of wall had a corresponding-colored flag.
Rogers nodded when Sebastian approached him. Saluting would perforce require Sebastian to return the salute, and both knew that he was a touch clumsy with the prosthetics in place. He had to use them, though. There were too few men to get the job done without him pitching in.
“How goes it, Sergeant?”
“We’re in good shape, Captain. No mislabeled boxes so far, and the odd bits are already confirmed here. I’d have packed them closer to the middle in case of enemy action, but…” Rogers shrugged his acceptance of the vagaries of Supply, and Sebastian returned the gesture as he spoke.
“Let me know if anything turns up missing or damaged. I’ll send more flak back down the line if they’ve tried to foist damaged goods off on us again.”
“Thank you, sir. No offense intended, but would it help to get Major Abrams’ signature on those as well? Or even the General’s?”
At the mention of Leigh’s name, Sebastian stiffened. He tried to hide it by grappling the first crate, a shipment of Mechanical guns, and hefting it up above his head. It was a touch awkward there, but if he kept it in front of him, he was horribly overbalanced. By the time he had it settled to move, he had control of his voice. “No offense taken. If it takes all of us getting in line and pulling, we’ll get the lads on The Line what they need to win this war.”
“Your lips to God’s ears, sir!”
As he manhandled the heavy crate across the Garage to the section devoted to Mechanical guns, he thought about Roger’s mention of Leigh and his reaction to the thought of her. Though he would never admit it, he thought of little else when he was anywhere but the Garage. Whenever she was in the room, some part of him was focused on her, watching her, hoping for a chance to right his mistakes.
The entire situation tore at him. By rights, he ought to put himself up on charges. Disrespecting a superior officer seemed the least of it, and the thoughts he’d had in the dark of his sleepless nights weren’t respectful in the slightest. If she showed the slightest interest, he knew he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, either. That thought embarrassed him, but he could reconcile himself to being irresistibly attracted to a woman. It was the rest that trapped him like a coney in a snare.
Frustration made him set the crate down less gently than he ought. Wincing, he slid the top off the crate and began a quick inspection of the guns within, ensuring his clumsiness hadn’t damaged anything. In moments his mind wandered back to Leigh. Major Abrams. Even in the privacy of his own mind he corrected himself. She was an officer in the same command. Any fool could see what a discipline problem lurked if he were to act on his feelings.
As he slid the crate shut, he sighed, the sound loud in his own ears. He exorcized some of his frustration by tamping the lid down with his mechanically augmented strength. On his walk back, he stared at the floor, trying to dispel the image of Leigh, her eyes flashing, her hand reaching for her bodice. It lurked in his mind, forcing him to realize that whether he declared it or not, his feelings had become a problem. He blinked his eyes, shaking his head to dispel the image. The motion brought a stain on the floor into his field of vision.
Sebastian froze, fear unmanning him.
The Hun were attacking, their siege gun had destroyed the bunker. He had to make it back to the doorway, but something pinned his legs. Inch by inch he dragged himself forward. He heard a scream and saw Abrams still moving, crawling out of his line of vision. The Blitzmen advanced. His only hope was that a Blitzman would find him rather than a daVinci. That hope shattered when the beautiful visage of the Master Engineer’s creation looked down on him, its visage frozen into an enigmatic grin. It pulled a broad, heavy blade from a sheath on its back. With one foot it kicked his arm out from under him. Sebastian craned his head back, trying to see what the thing was doing. It carefully lined up the blade with his elbow. It pulled the blade back...
And she was there, an avenging angel sweeping the field clear of the enemies who would harm him. He knew it was her, even through the layers of armor and steel. She kicked the daVinci away from him, fist hammering down on it when it tried to rise. In seconds nothing moved save himself and his Mechanical savior. Then the thunder of artillery sounded…
“Sir! Sir! Are you all right, sir!” Roger’s voice brought him back to the present. He found himself kneeling on the concrete floor, his fingers tearing gashes as they clutched convulsively. He forced himself to stillness. With a supreme effort of will, he pushed the images of death and destruction away, pushed himself upright. There, on his knees, he saw her approaching. His angel, his tormentor, his savior, Leigh approached at a brisk jog. Her skirts, replaced with the first shipment of uniforms, swished as she knelt by his side.
“Captain! Where is the problem? With the arm reinforcement, or with the prostheses?”
Sebastian shook his head, mostly to clear it. Even her voice was a distraction. Before she could ask another question, he was muttering to forestall her. “Sorry. Not the legs. Not the arms. My head, I’m afraid. For a minute I was back there. That day.”
For an endless moment she remained silent. Her hand brushed across his brow, cool and strong. Her voice rang out, ordering his men. Their men, since she as Chief Engineer was responsible for them as well. For him, if it came down to it. “Rogers. Detail some men to leveling this. Concrete, not packed earth. When they’re done, put a layer of paint over the entire floor.”
“What color, Ma’am?”
“The flags are a good idea. Let’s code the floor the same way. Pick something we haven’t used yet to indicate repair bays, and something else for corridors. We really ought to be a touch more organized.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get some men right on that.”
Leigh’s voice was soft, her breath warm in his ear. “Let’s get you back to quarters, Captain.”
Even that tiny intimacy was enough to change the visions behind his eyes entirely. He winced as she lifted him to his feet, stirring reactions from more than just his mind. Something had to be done.
***
Peyton March looked across his desk at his nominal subordinate. General Shaw had held his rank for longer than Peyton had been in the service of his country. Had he been any other man, Peyton would still be in awe at a record like Shaw’s. Given who and what Shaw was, that awe was closer to terror.
Shaw’s face was rent open in two places. For everyone who spoke with him, those two gashes were a constant reminder that the man who stood before them was more than a common soldier. His devotion to his country had defied even the grasping claws of death. Now, with his country in peril, he had travelled to these foreign shores to defend the Union once more. His men travelled with him, and together they held an ever-greater portion of The Line against everything the Central Powers could muster. They held it without complaint, pause, or failure.
Until now.
“General March.” Shaw’s voice was still the horrible death rattle Peyton remembered from his days as a young officer.
“General Shaw. Thank you for coming.”
“I could not have without your train. My men are short on officers. We have had disproportionate casualties among the lieutenants and captains. The enemy is singling them out.”
“I wouldn’t think such a thing possible.”
“Neither would I. But the rate of loss is higher. I’ve lost three this past month.”
Peyton hid his surprise. Conversations about the 54th were always odd. Conversations with their commander could only be more so. “Three? That’s rather fewer than I would expect.”
“There has been no push this month. They think to starve us out in the winter.” Shaw’s smile was a death’s head grin, his chuckle the wheeze of a banshee.
“Are your men well supplied for food, then?”
“We will abide. I will send word if we need supplies. Other than more men and Mechanicals, I need nothing but ammunition.”
“You’ll have both, although I’m not sure if I can force men to transfer.”
“You can’t. I wouldn’t have it. Volunteers only. The 54th is an all-volunteer unit. It always has been, it always will be.”
Peyton tried for humor, but even as he spoke, he could tell it was falling flat. “Even those legionnaires of yours?”
“They volunteer. They have a choice.”
“Are you sure they’re loyal? The tracks lead back toward that part of The Line. You’ll find the breach there, I’m certain.”
“You’re wrong. When I received word, I walked The Line manned by the 54th. There was no breach.”
“The whole thing? You examined it personally?”
Shaw’s voice was cold, dry. From another man, March would have taken insult. From Shaw, he simply took it as his due. “I am not in the habit of lying or repeating myself. There was no breach.”
Peyton felt his breath leave in a rush. His shoulders sagged, and fatigue overcame him before he next spoke. “I had rather hoped you’d find one. The tracks lead thirty miles toward your lines. There’s evidence they gathered there, but no evidence of where they came from prior. I had hoped you’d find the breach they came through.”
“They did not come through my boys, and we run hard to the shore; in sight of it at our southernmost point. Beyond that, I cannot tell you. Are the mountain villagers still with us?”
Peyton paused, stunned by the idea that the mountain people might turn against them. A great number even now held the last portions of The Line held by French forces. Still, given a choice between the mountaineers turning and Shaw being derelict in his duty, March knew which was more likely.
“Until a few moments ago, I would have said they were. I’ll do what I can to check. Do you have any other pressing business? If not, I can recommend the manor’s kitchen most heartily. It’s perhaps the one thing I’ve been happy about since I got here.”
“No, thank you, General March. If you have no other business for me, I’ll be going.” Suiting deeds to words, Shaw stood, saluting.
“No, General Shaw. I’ve nothing else. Take one of Abram’s new long-range crystal devices when you go. I’ll contact you should we find anything.” Peyton stood, returning the salute, then walked the old soldier to the door. When he returned to his seat, he felt a little shame at his relief that Shaw was gone.
But only a little. Nightmares made flesh are not to be borne lightly.
***
Capricious Fate Jones’ dreams were disturbed by her daughter’s distant sobs. For a time, she listened quietly, uncertain of what to do. She couldn’t hold little Kay. She couldn’t cook for her or tuck her into bed. None of those things were appropriate, anyhow. Little Kay wasn’t so little any longer. Now she wept in her sleep over a man beyond her reach. Capricious didn’t properly understand why. It was clear her daughter had feelings for the man. He’d stood his ground defending her, so Cap was willing to accept him. Her daughter was a mystery to her, but she’d been told that was always the case.
When she heard the sobbing die down a little, she made soothing sounds through Kay’s earpieces. No words, just sounds of comfort, until snores interrupted the sobs. When they did, she began her endless recitation once more. Kay didn’t have Gramma Jones, but perhaps Capricious could stand in her stead.
***
Gramma Jones’ voice cracked out, lashing at Cap far worse than her willow switch ever could. “How you gone deal wit teh Spanish in teh shack?”
Cap had never been prone to panic. Gramma had scoured every ounce of it from her. Her response was instant. “I don’t know.”
“What do ya know, gull?”
Cap’s mouth was speaking before she could let herself think about what she was saying. “He wants me. Like a man wants a woman.”
“You showah?”
“No. I’ve never been. I know what you’ve taught me, but without firsthand knowledge I could be misinterpreting.”
“Nah, you got teh right of it, gull. I seen him look. What you goin’ do?”
Cap didn’t wail. Wailing was for when you were injured, and then only if you couldn’t fix it yourself. She spoke calmly, but inside she wished a wail were allowed her. “I don’t know what my options are.”
Twhip. “Tink wit yowah brain. List tem, gull.”
“I could submit to his attentions. I could refuse his attentions. Binary solution set.”
“Good. Say mowah.”
As it always did when the chores ran out and Gramma Jones’ willow switch began to find her at every hesitation, Capricious’ mind raced, transformed, became a shining edifice of crystal and light. From that light she plucked conclusions as fast as she could speak them. She heard the emotion leach from her own voice, but the light was so beautiful she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“He is unlikely to take rejection without reaction. If I deny him, he might take what he wants anyway, he might beat me, he might do both. He cannot injure me without removing me from my house chores, but he could remove me from the house chores. That would be a worse result than the beating; my only exposure to good grammar and manners is while I am serving.”
“Go on.”
“If I allow him his way with me this week, I am likely to get with child. That would also remove me from house service. If I wait more than two weeks, I may be bleeding, which will upset him. I have safe windows every two weeks.”
“Yowah not scared fowah yowah maidenhood?”
“Terrified, but there is no productive way I can save it, so I must relinquish it with minimal damage.”
“To no gain?”
“How could I gain? He can take what he wants, so putting a price on it seems unwise.”
“Man sees sometin’ free, it wortless. Man see a price, now he barter. Man see a price on sometin’ he want hard, he barter bad.”
“Your suggestion is that I enflame him further?”
“Mowah tan tat, gull. You put tat flame in him hard, ten you quench tat flame bettah tan any he have befowah.”
“I am without any amorous experience. How am I to do that?”
“I buried six husbands, gull. Yowah a quick study. You listen hard, and I tell you all I know about tat.”
***
“Well, what did you need to tell me?”
General March looked expectantly at Leigh. She realized with a start that he was looking at her, but he wasn’t seeing a woman or a Negress. He was seeing a Captain, a Surgeon, and at this moment an Engineer. The feeling made her glow with pride. She basked for the barest of moments, then began opening the portfolios she’d brought across from her office to his. The moment he saw the contents, he stood and closed the doors to his office. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, yet still filled with anticipation.
“They’re ready, then?”
“Yes, sir. With these plans, any Mechanical manufactory of sufficient size could begin production of Mechanicals similar to Capricious. The materials are rather less common than I’d hoped, but by no means unobtainable. Some of them are going to be difficult, however.”
“How so?”
Leigh paused, shying away from the worst of her news. “The pitchblende, for one. It’s highly toxic if inhaled. The aluminum modifications aren’t simple, but they can be done by an experienced Chemist. Steel is of course commonplace, but the quality of the steel required is higher than most currently made. We need clockwork steel in batch sizes normally used for the armor plate on ships of the line.”
Leigh watched as March reviewed the plans, digesting her spoken words as he absorbed the written ones. His eager smile slowly fell, until he frowned at the papers in his hand. When he spoke, the enthusiasm had left his voice, replaced by quiet consternation. “Each of these is likely to cost as much as a battleship, Abrams.”
“Yes, sir. That’s not the worst part.”
“What?”
“Sir, I’m not sure how to say this. Look at the fourth page of the material requirements.” She waited, silent, while March read the words she had put to paper over the previous five months. She saw the look of horror transfigure his face as he reached the section she couldn’t say aloud.
“This can’t be right, Abrams.”
“I’m afraid it is, sir.”
“If this is correct, the creation of each of these Assault Mechanicals will require sacrifice of a human being.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
Leigh understood his question, even choked off as it was. It still took her a moment to find her voice to say what she had known for months. “My mother, sir. Capricious Fate Jones.”
“If only we didn’t need them so badly. Without these, this war is as good as lost. I suppose they could use condemned prisoners.”
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“I wouldn’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“There is significant memory and personality retention.” Leigh knew her voice was as cold and clinical as her words, but that was her only defense against terror and sorrow.
March paused, chewing on her words. He met her gaze, and she saw reflected in his eyes the same horror that had been in hers until time dulled it. “She’s still alive in there?”
“She is still aware and fully capable of self-motivation. If I asked her to, she could fight herself without a controller, although there is significant diminished capacity. I must confess, she did so at the battle of the Garage.”
Her confession, which she had been dreading for months now, didn’t seem to faze General March in the slightest. He was too shocked by her earlier revelation, she supposed. When he spoke, he had to clear his throat twice before the words would come. “So, you’re telling me that the creation of these new war machines will require the sacrifice of our most valiant patriots?”
“Our most fervent defenders, sir. I have drawn up a list of possible candidate groups. I am not a psychologist, the ones in Washington might be better at choosing volunteers.”
“Bugger that.” General March was so distracted he didn’t even notice his own profanity. “I’d rather trust your inexpert opinion than a panel of a thousand Washington headshrinkers. I’m still on the rise, and will be until we lose a battle. I’m using all of that to push your plans through as is.”
“Sir.”
“What of your other modifications?”
“They’re ready as well, sir. I’ve got plans for conversion kits, as well as modifications that Colt, Ford, and Edison could begin making to their new Mechanicals. It would take less than a day to convert the factory machining for the new Colts, perhaps a few more for the Edisons and Fords.”
The General’s voice was bemused, although she couldn’t for the life of her tell why. “No plans to update the Teslas? Or the Franklins?”
“Franklins aren’t being made at this time; the 54th can rotate theirs back to us for conversion if they need it. There are too few Teslas in service to warrant plans; I’ve updated ours; I don’t think there are any others in combat zones. Also, to be frank, Mr. Tesla doesn’t take kindly to suggestions. He might try to form his own state again.”
“Well. I’ll assume you have this ready to ship?”
“These are the only copies. I could create more if they are lost, and if the base is taken, I thought it best they not be available to fall into enemy hands.”
“Just so. Abrams, I don’t say this often enough. I bless the day the lads in Washington sent you to me. Once we have the reinforcements on their way to The Line, we’ll finally have time for that drink I promised you. You’ve earned it, by God. We can talk about getting you into General Staff College then.
“That said, I plan on sending the 54th two hundred of my Mechanicals. I want you to choose the ones likely to need the least long-term maintenance and fit them with your new devices. Also, are your ‘conversion kits’ model specific?”
Leigh hadn’t blushed from pleasure much in her life. She found it far less painful an experience than blushing from shame, though no less embarrassing. Somewhere during the past months, her secret oath to become an officer Sebastian could respect had been replaced by her own personal desire for excellence. General March’s words warmed her inside and out. She blinked and found him awaiting her response. Grinning just a touch sheepishly, she answered his question. “Not especially, sir. I can make them so if you like.”
“No. Make them less so if you can, fabricate as many as you are able, and send them along with the reinforcements. The 54th are used to doing their own maintenance, and from what you say once a mechanic knows the trick, it’s not hard to do?”
“No, sir.”
“Very good. Make it so, Major. Leave the plans here, I’ll prepare them for the transatlantic flight and select an escort to Washington.”
***
Sebastian walked into General March’s office, back stiff and head held high. He imagined this was how it felt to walk to your own execution. He didn’t know how the General had found out about his feelings for Major Abrams, but the hammer was about to fall.
As he came to a halt with a precision only possible to his mechanical legs, he found it difficult not to snort at his own attempt at self-deception. Of course the General knew. Everyone knew. He was sure he mooned over the Major every second she wasn’t looking at him. Still, he would walk to the gallows as a man should, by God. He snapped his hand up in a picture-perfect salute, and his voice rang out clear and strong, filing the General’s office.
“Captain Sebastian Cole, reporting as ordered, Sir!”
General March looked up from his paperwork with a start. When he spoke, he shook his head as if to clear it. “Cole! Are you daft or deaf?”
Sebastian blinked, confused by the non-sequitur. Passing Major Abrams as he entered the building hadn’t helped his concentration any. “No, sir.”
“Do you think I am?”
“No, sir!”
“Then why are you bloody well shouting?”
Sebastian stopped, nonplussed. This was not going at all as he expected. For one thing, he expected the General to call in at least one guard. Of course, he could still be giving Sebastian the courtesy due an officer and a gentleman, but that would be contrary to the charges against him.
“Son? Are you quite all right?”
Sebastian started. He’d been woolgathering in front of the General. Worse, he’d done it while the General was awaiting an answer to a direct question. Frantically he groped for an answer that might keep the general from shooting him on the spot.
“I’ll be fine, sir. My apologies for shouting.”
“Saying ‘you’ll be fine’ implies that you’re not fine now. What’s wrong with you?”
“The doctors say it’s a touch of shell shock, sir. Nothing I can’t push through.”
The general’s voice lost all its harshness in a moment, but it was no less stern when he spoke. “Son, I’ve known strong men who wound up ending their lives due to shell shock. It’s serious business, Captain. Have the doctors said you ought to be mustered out?”
“No, sir! I just need to get back to grips, sir. It’s the waiting that’s doing it.”
“That’s what the doctors told you?”
“Well, not in so many words, sir.”
The general’s snort told Sebastian what he thought of the idea of sending him back into combat. That tore it. He was a cad and a coward, and the general was going to have him shot.
“Cole, if getting back in the fight would help you, I’d put you on the train to The Line myself. I mistrust the doctors on this, though. I’ve seen men go back too soon and shatter like glass. You’re too good a man for me to let that happen to you.”
“I need to get back on the horse, sir.”
“Son, you’re going to balk at anything but a combat assignment, aren’t you?”
“I will do whatever assignment you give me to the best of my ability, sir!”
“I know you will. That wasn’t even a question. What I was asking was what you want.”
Sebastian paused, his treacherous mind throwing image after image of Major Abrams into his head. What he wanted was nothing he could say. When he even tried to admit it to himself his mind filled with flights of fancy that would have him shot if he let them be known; likely by the major herself, if not by the general.
The general’s voice broke Sebastian out of his reverie, “So what is it you want, Cole?”
“Sir, I think it best I be allowed to transfer to the 54th as soon as is convenient for you.” Watching the general’s reaction to his words, Sebastian realized how strange they must sound to anyone outside his head.
The general’s horrified tone confirmed Sebastian’s suspicion. “Are you certain, son?”
“Sir, the reinforcements passing through, I’ve seen the looks they give me when they think I’m not looking.”
“They’re in awe of you, Cole. By now everyone coming over has heard of you. If I were smart, I’d order you back to Washington with these,” General March rustled the papers on his desk, “and let them send you on a recruitment tour.” The general lowered his gaze to the portfolio of plans on his desk. “You don’t want to go home, do you?”
“Sir, no matter where I go, I’ll still be in the garage. I don’t know if I’ll ever get out, but I don’t think the way out is back in Sellersville, sir.”
General March shook his head. When he looked back at Sebastian, his eyes telegraphed his resignation. “So be it, Cole. Work with Smithers on the transfer papers. I’ll sign them, and we’ll get you to the 54th with those Mechanicals from my HQ.”
***
Capricious dreamed, reciting her past into her daughter’s distant ears scene by scene. The words and memories soothed her, the thought that she was finally passing her family’s knowledge on to her daughter satisfied her. Occasionally, she wondered if Kay would remember it all. Once in a great while, she wondered if Gramma Jones had done the same. Cap’s dreams went on, life went on, endless cycles spinning into eternity.
In the distance Cap heard Kay settle into bed. Earlier the girl had been with General March, enjoying the contents of his liquor cabinet. Now her nightly prayers were muttered with the ever so slight singsong of light inebriation. Cap congratulated herself on correctly judging the girl’s capacity. She had quietly suggested that Kay sip only when Capricious told her to do so. The girl had done as she was told, taking a single sip every half hour. Kay would sleep well tonight, but she had done nothing to embarrass herself.
Capricious noted the time, noted the conversation she was reciting now. A tiny stylus scrawled both bits of information into the wax set across the lower half of her vision. Her memories since David killed her were less crisp, less absolutely certain than those formed beforehand. She’d worried they might not be and included the tablet in her designs.
Her contemplation of her designs shattered as a sobbing cry echoed in her ears. The girl was crying. Again. It happened at least a few nights a week, but it usually started once she was asleep. A quiet lullaby was usually sufficient to quiet the sobs, but something told Cap tonight would be different. She took a moment to organize her thoughts, prepare her distant voice, then spoke quietly yet firmly.
“Daughter. You’re crying.”
“I’m sorry, mother. I’ll stop.”
“No. You’ll tell me why.”
“Why else? He’s gone, mother. Gone to the 54th. He’s gone and he’s not coming back and I’ll never see him again.”
Capricious was thankful for one thing about her altered form. She need not draw breath to speak and could keep her voice even until expressing exasperation was useful. It wasn’t yet, but she imagined it soon would be. “You’re speaking of Sebastian?”
“Who else would I cry for, mother?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. There are any number of eligible young men at this base, and to my knowledge you are the only woman of quality here.”
“Mother! The men under my command are off limits. It would be six kinds of wrong for me to force myself on them.”
“Six? You’re certain? I undercharged the Spaniard.”
Capricious was happy to hear anger color Kay’s voice, pushing aside the bitter despair and self-loathing. “Mother! I’m serious.”
Capricious let a note of understanding, a touch of pride enter her voice. “I am as well, dear daughter. I am proud of you for being a better person than the men who once held me in thrall. Still, can you deny that you’ve wept for your Sebastian in the dark of the night?”
“No, mother. I have done so, but I thought no one heard.”
Softness now, softness to comfort, to hold a fragile heart together a moment. “No one but me did, daughter. Your father’s walls are thick. How is the bastard, by the way?”
The change of subject did as Capricious hoped, professionalism pushed Kay’s despair away further. “I took the last casts off his arms today. He demanded I fit him with prostheses. I declined, noting that I am not required to perform experimental surgery if I feel it is not in the patient’s best interest.”
Capricious let honest curiosity fill her voice, “It isn’t?”
“Well, no. You’re quite accurate, but you might not know where the line between crippling him and killing him is if I replace his limbs with mechanical parts.”
For a moment Capricious sat speechless, shocked at her daughter’s perspicacity. When she found her voice once more, she let Leigh hear her pride and her humor. “How long have you known?”
“I suspected since the day I operated on Sebastian. I knew from the day I diagrammed your stereophones. Had you wished him dead, you would have followed up your strike. Had you wanted him confounded, you would have simply released me as you did, with the command to save Sebastian.” Kay’s voice colored further with sorrow each time she mentioned Sebastian’s name. Capricious now knew something had to be done, but Kay wasn’t finished speaking. “Do you still hate him so, mother?”
“It was once a hobby, a way to pass the years awaiting your return. Now it is a habit, I suppose. Enough on the bastard, we have more important things to discuss.”
“Such as?”
“Your young man. He left for the Italian front today, correct?”
Kay’s voice began to waver. It was clear sorrow threatened to overtake her. “Yes, and I didn’t even get to tell him how I feel.”
Now was the time for exasperation. Capricious let the full force of it color her voice as she snapped, “Stop that incessant blubbering at once, daughter. I accept that you weren’t taught better to this point, but you will be now.”
The girl sounded shocked at her mother’s acerbic tone, but at least she was no longer on the edge of tears. “Yes, mother.”
“Do you still want this Sebastian as much as you did in the summer?”
Now Kay’s voice went wistful, which was an excellent sign. “More, mother. I have had a chance to get to know him. He is fine and strong and brave. Where another man would have run back to Washington afraid or seeking glory, he chose The Line, where he can come to grips with his fears.”
“So be it. The military has always been a closed and Byzantine thing to me. Does he still report to you?”
A touch of wonder entered Kay’s voice, “No, mother, I don’t believe he does. He’s officially returned to Armored Infantry command.” The wonder was quashed as rapidly as it began by bitter self-recrimination. “It doesn’t matter, though. Your words aside, I’m not a woman of quality. I’m just a poor half-breed soldier-girl.”
Some part of Capricious found it interesting that some things other than David could still instill in her a rage so fierce she saw red. Her anger flowed freely into her voice, “Daughter! No one will speak of my child that way, not even the child herself. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, mother,” came the chastened reply.
“You are a fine young woman. You are a Surgeon and Engineer and Officer, and you have distinguished yourself well in all three areas. Your father’s family is wealthy enough that his grandfather was nearly snapped up as an aristocrat during the purges. You are his only child; you’ll inherit. Between your accomplishments and your potential wealth, I doubt anyone with sense would call you less than a woman of quality.”
The girl’s voice was still quiet, despairing. “I can’t compete with Sarah.”
“Who, pray tell, is Sarah? I’ve seen no woman around him. I’ve watched him carefully.”
“She’s the woman in his locket. She’s beautiful, all air and grace.”
“Your mother took to the air when you were still a child, and you are beautiful, child, where I was only handsome and pretty. Still…”
The hesitation in Capricious’ voice was enough to rouse Leigh from her lethargy, “Still what?”
“If you’ve decided you do not want him, because he carries a locket from another?”
The girl’s reply was full of fire, as it should be. “Of course I still want him, mother. I just have no idea how to get him.”
“Well then, girl, you’ll need to visit your father’s alchemical labs, and you’ll need to find a reason to visit him.”
“What reason could I have for wanting to see him?”
Kay’s voice had lost all vestiges of sleep or despair. Now the girl was arguing with her, Capricious knew all she needed do was supply answers, so she did. “Give him a gift, child. You claim he saved your life; a small gift would not be improper.”
Capricious heard the emotion leach from her daughter’s voice. Any other mother would have worried. Capricious knew the sound, and knew she’d won. “A small gift?”
“Yes, daughter. A small gift, yet it need not be a poor one.” Capricious heard the noise of fabric and fasteners. Suspecting, but wanting to be certain, she let inquiry raise the pitch of her voice. “What are you doing, daughter?”
“Do your perfumes or cosmetics need long preparation times?”
“Some do, but most do not.”
Her daughter’s voice had gone completely toneless, save for a faint tinge of what might be impatience. Beneath it Capricious heard hard boot heels striking the floor. “Recite the instructions for those to me; I’ll need to start them tonight. I’ll be busy in the forge for the next while; and in the machine shop thereafter.”
Capricious smiled and began reciting the alchemical formulae designed to make a man lose his mind to passion.
***
Sebastian perched uncomfortably on the overstuffed wing chair. At the far end of the slowly swaying car, the other reinforcements travelling to The Line were sampling the fine liquor in the sideboard. Sebastian had taken some water, and more than a serving of the duck in the warming tray beneath, but he wouldn’t let himself be dulled by alcohol. Stone cold sober he saw things that would unman a berserk. Some men thought drinking would kill the pain. Sebastian knew better.
His father had drunk himself insensible after the war between the North and South. If Sarah hadn’t found him, dried him out, and set him on his feet, he would have died in the gutter. Neither thought the liquor to blame; father tended the bar Sarah’s family had left her. Still, Sebastian knew the risk and chose not to take it.
The other officers didn’t have his background. They stood near the tail end of the officer’s car, joking about how they would put the Hun and his allies to flight. One man in particular, rapier thin like the rest, but more flamboyant in his actions and words, raised his glass in a toast.
“One last drink, fellows, for soon we will be at The Line. When next we all meet, it will be in Berlin, with the Kaiser’s schnapps in our glasses!”
The rest of the young firebrands roared, and Sebastian thought his disbelieving snort went unnoticed. To his dismay, he saw the speaker walking toward him with the rolling gait required on a moving train. “All right, then. The grease monkey who wants to be a fighter doesn’t like our toast any more than our company. Let’s let him make one.”
Sebastian felt his jaw drop open slightly. The first wave of recruits fawned over him. By the second, he hid from them. This was at least the third wave of recruits, possibly the fourth. Sebastian had focused on the machines and materiel until he lost track of the men. Shaking his head, he stood to face the young captain.
“I don’t drink, sir. For what they are worth, you all have my well wishes.”
“Don’t drink? What kind of a soldier are you, sir?”
“One who doesn’t wish his wits dulled by drink when the Blitzmen and daVincis are charging, sir.”
“Charging? Mechanical Men do not charge, grease monkey. They lumber, at best.” The young captain shrugged, as if dismissing an unpleasant, irrelevant fact, “Oh, certainly some of the newer Edisons can manage a jog on a road, but there are no roads across The Line.”
“You’ve seen them in combat, then?”
“Well, of course not. None of us have. All of these,” he nodded at his fellows, who clustered behind him, “are unblooded. I fought in the campaigns against the Comanche and the Sioux. Why I enjoy these,” he tapped the twin silver bars on his shoulder, “and the rest do not.”
“I have heard both Comanche and Sioux are fierce. Those campaigns must have been difficult.”
“The savages broke when facing our Mechanicals. Just like the Hun and his allies will do.”
“For all our sakes, I hope so, sir.” Sebastian raised his glass to the gathered Armored Infantry officers, “Let that be my toast to you gentlemen, then. May your enemies break at the sight of you, may their Mechanicals break down when they sense you coming.”
The young captain’s voice was low and threatening. “You mock us, sir.”
Sebastian’s head felt like a railroad spike was being driven through it. He lowered his eyes, rubbed at them with the oversized gloves that covered his mechanical fingers. He had nowhere to carry the Mechanical jacket, so he’d worn it under his great coat and got the over-large gloves. “I’ve offended you. It was not my intent, Captain…” Sebastian looked with squinting eyes at the nameplate on the captain’s chest. “Jason?”
“My name is Jackson. Are you sober, sir?”
“No. I mean yes, Captain, I’m sober. I’m afraid the motion of the train has made me ill. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you gentlemen to your celebration.”
Sebastian tried to step around Jackson, but the other man sidestepped to intervene. The air seemed to be shimmering, wavering. Snow seemed to dance in front of Sebastian’s eyes, obscuring the officer in front of him. He clutched at the sideboard to steady himself, heard the wood crumple under his enhanced grip.
“You have the advantage of me, sir. Won’t you introduce yourself? Or are you more comfortable speaking with your mechanicals?” Jackson grinned at him, laying a hand on his arm to stop him.
…The daVinci grinned down at him, pulling his arm taunt. It raised its falchion, preparing to joint him like a pig…
A voice whispered in his ear. Her voice, “You’re safe, Sebastian. I won’t let you die.”
…He slapped the daVinci’s arm aside, lifting it into the air, the primal snarl on his lips facing the enigmatic grin on its…
Sebastian blinked, looked up into Jackson’s eyes. Those eyes were wild with fear, and Sebastian felt the young Captain’s hands scrabbling ineffectually at his coat. Sebastian carefully lowered his fellow officer to the floor. With Jackson’s feet planted firmly, Sebastian let him go.
The screech of wheels sliding on rails drowned out all other sound, and Sebastian felt himself pulled backward by the force of the train braking. Since the battle where he was injured, his balance had inexplicably improved, and for obvious reasons he weighed quite a bit more. Jackson’s impact did little more than knock his greatcoat askew.
When the screech of braking died down, the speaking tube from the engine sounded. “All Gentlemen destined for the First Army; this is your stop.”
Jackson’s voice was pure venom. His fellows pulled back from him, startled by Sebastian’s reaction, and he knew he had to save face. “Well, Captain, let’s go see our commander and get this sorted out. Shall we?”
“I apologize for manhandling you, sir. For a moment I was back at the garage. As for our commanders, if my apology is not enough for you, let your commanding officer know and I’m certain he’ll take it up with General Shaw.”
Confusion and fear washed the anger from Jackson’s eyes. “Shaw is commander of the 54th, not the First.”
“That is correct, sir, but I’m not transferring to the First.” Sebastian settled Jackson’s jacket, took his unresponsive hand and shook it. “Captain Sebastian Cole, recently of General March’s staff, now of the 54th Massachusetts, at your service, sir.”
On the long, cold ride to his own unit, Sebastian wasn’t sure which kept him warmer; the look of awed respect under the salutes of the lieutenants, or the lingering terror that replaced Jackson’s boasting.
***
From his perch in General Shaw’s command post, Sebastian looked across the countryside. On his arrival yesterday, he had thought the land redefined the term war-torn. Trenches crisscrossed the hills and fields as far as the eye could see. A no man’s land of barbed wire, scuttling Mechanical hunter-killer mines, and unrecovered scrap metal to the East. To the West, the reserve trenches receded into the distance. Barely visible behind an obscuring hill stood a small cluster of buildings set up to service the troops.
That batch of buildings puzzled Sebastian when he arrived. The train platform he understood; although it seemed a bit extravagant for the end of the line, having some semblance of connection to the outside world couldn’t help but be good for morale. The remaining buildings he’d seen in any number of military towns back in the states; a decrepit bar, a threadbare general store, and a thriving, large church. It was the condition of each that made Sebastian wonder. It wasn’t common for soldiers to be exceptionally devoted parishioners, but the church showed every sign of recent expansion and fervent maintenance.
As he considered the small village, he heard the faint squeal of the locomotive beginning the long haul back to the AEF HQ. Seeing it go, Sebastian fought off a sudden surge of wistfulness. The strength of his feeling surprised him. He wasn’t afraid of battle, wasn’t frightened of his current surroundings, but he feared that while he was away, something would happen to woman who had saved his life. He was homesick, but not for the quiet countryside of Sellersville or even the purposeful bustle of General March’s headquarters. Instead, he missed knowing that she was never far from his side. As he stared, he could almost feel her in the distance.
The creak of the ladder broke him from his reverie, and he realized how right his decision to leave had been. That thought in mind, he turned to face his new commanding officer. The first thing he saw was General Shaw’s right hand gripping a huge, heavily modified revolver. It slammed into the floor, and the general levered himself up into the room a moment later.
The general’s voice matched his face, worn near to the bone and with no room for compromise. “Give me a hand up, Cole.”
Without thinking, Sebastian reached down and grabbed Shaw’s hand. Even through the thick oversized glove he could feel the cold of the December day in Shaw’s hands. Shaw pulled himself up, leaving Sebastian shocked by how little he weighed. His uniform hung normally, but now that Sebastian knew what to look for, he saw how it had been tailored to hide how thin he was beneath the cloth. The general’s growl interrupted Sebastian’s examination.
“Well?”
Sebastian was relieved to let formality take over. “Sebastian Cole reporting with three hundred Colt Model Ten Mechanical Men, as ordered, sir.” He pulled his orders out from within his overcoat, holding them to Shaw.
General Shaw glanced at the folded, sealed packet and shook his head. “I don’t read much, Cole. You ought to understand why.”
Sebastian’s confusion must have shown on his face. The general stepped close, and before Sebastian realized what he was doing, rapped his pistol against Sebastian’s thigh. The cloth helped some, but nothing could dampen the ringing of metal on metal completely. Sebastian’s eyes went wide with sudden understanding. Looking again with enlightened eyes, he saw the welded, weathered strips of metal holding Shaw’s gun in place. Meeting the older officer’s eyes, he nodded.
“I think I understand, sir. Would you like me to read them to you?”
“That won’t be necessary, Captain Cole.” The general’s nostrils flared, and he stepped away from Sebastian. He tried to cover his action by picking up a heavy set of field glasses and scanning his troops’ positions, but Sebastian had seen him recoil.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“You’re an anomaly in the 54th, Cole. Do you know why?”
“No experience on The Line, sir?”
“That’ll right itself soon enough. I was talking about your heart.”
“Sir? I know I haven’t been tested on The Line yet, but I will not fail you.”
Shaw’s voice was harsh, even frightening. His laugh belonged to a monster from nightmare. “Not your fighting spirit, Cole. Your heart. It’s still beating.”
“Sir?”
The general slammed his glasses to the table, turned around, and crossed the small room all in one motion. Before Sebastian could react, the General stood nose to nose with him. With no more than an inch between them, Sebastian could neither look away nor deny the reality of the desiccated, cloudy eyes before him.
“Look, Cole. This is who we are. This is what we are. You…”
Shaw’s voice cut off suddenly. With inhuman strength he pulled Sebastian closer. Gears whined as Sebastian tried to keep some semblance of space between them. He gave over when he heard Shaw’s ribs creak. Face against Sebastian’s chest, Shaw snuffled at him, face contorting as he did. Sebastian saw from far too close a range how loosely Shaw’s nose connected to the rest of his face.
Suddenly, like a scene from a dream, General Shaw stood on the far side of the room. Sebastian hadn’t seen him move. He looked down at his chest, confirming his memory with the claw marks where Shaw’s fingers had ripped at his great coat. When he looked at Shaw again, the general had composed himself completely and stared out over The Line.
“You smell oddly, Cole.”
“Sir. The water car for the bath in the passenger car was refilled with a mix of the new high proof fuel. Chief Engineer Abrams says it will work in any of our Mechanicals.”
For a moment, Sebastian thought Shaw would accept the change of subject. “How will that work, Cole? Our Franklins need solid fuel, not liquid. You smell of fuel, and of blood, and of sweat, but you smell of something else, too. Something I’ve not smelled since Cook made us all that draught the night before the assault on Wagner.”
“I’m sure I don’t know why, sir. As for the fuel, Major Abrams says it melts at roughly one hundred twenty degrees. We’ll need to heat the car to pump it out, but at room temperature it turns to jelly. The Franklins are tight enough to keep most of it from spilling, and the newer models run hot enough to melt it.”
“David Abrams is too smart for his own good. You smell of…” Shaw broke off, shaking his head.
“The fuel is a concoction of his daughter, Leigh Abrams, sir. It was made for her mother’s Assault Mechanical, the Capricious Jones.”
Shaw’s head snapped up at that, his gaze boring into Sebastian like an auger. When Sebastian went to speak, Shaw raised his good hand, forestalling him. After a few moments holding that pose, Shaw spoke again, his voice speculative.
“It has been a long time since a recruit came to us with a beating heart. I suspect you’ll be the last, but I wouldn’t grieve to be proven wrong. So be it.
Shaw continued; the speculation gone from his voice. Sebastian recognized orders when he heard them and snapped himself to attention. “Most of our new men are kept in seclusion until they stand vigil. I’ll not put you through that, but I’d rather you didn’t mingle until after. I’m assigning you to my Headquarters guard until Vigil night. I’ll give the orders for the others to make a hole. You get those Men you brought fueled, armed, and dug in. Once that’s done, and I expect you to have it done by this time tomorrow, you report to me.”
“Sir. That will require working through the night.”
“We don’t tolerate layabouts, Cole. You report back to me this time tomorrow. Get your sleep when you can. After that, you’re my eyes. And my hands, most likely.”
Sebastian recognized the honor and opportunity he was being given. He only suspected the horror he was about to live through. None of that mattered. There was only one response to a direct order. “Sir. Yes Sir!”