Sebastian hammered the last of the fireplace pokers into the frame of the antechamber door. The enemy had infiltrated the manor; he and his men barely a room ahead of them, laden with supplies. He swore under his breath; if the Abrams girl couldn’t get those Mechanical Men working, this was all for naught.
He cracked open the door into the courtyard. A flare of light had him slamming the door shut and leaping back from it as it began to smolder. A brief glimpse out of a vision slit showed him two Men standing by the servant’s entrance. One bore the uncompromising, stark lines of a Prussian Blitzman, the other the unmistakably beautiful form of a daVinci. Both had noticed him and were moving toward his door, the Blitzman hosing the wall with naphtha as it came.
A moment later, the personnel door set into the great Garage doors, flew open. Leigh stepped out, brandishing the simple Engineer-issue targeting pistol. Suitable for scaring pickpockets and killing chickens, it wouldn’t stop a human soldier, let alone a Mechanical Man.
Sebastian cursed as the two Men heard her and began turning. Before they could complete the turn, she fired. The doors around her exploded with bursts of fire that punched straight through the thin metal of the great doors. The flamethrower tank came apart under the barrage, and the Blitzman itself went down, hammered under the impact of more than a hundred Mechanical guns.
The daVinci raised its own gun in reply. Leigh didn’t duck for cover or even seem to take the Man’s actions into account at all. She squeezed off round after round into its elegantly crafted torso and the Men behind her mimicked her every action, each of her shots echoed by a burst from the guns of the motley army of Mechanicals. The enemy machine fell, hammered to scrap by a horizontal waterfall of lead.
Sebastian led his mechanics in a pell-mell dash across the courtyard, dodging around the burning streams of naphtha from the demolished Blitzman. Under one arm he carried a large keg of brandy. With the other he supported one end of an improvised stretcher rigged to carry the bulkier items Leigh requested. Somewhere behind him, over the sound of the other two mechanics dragging a tapestry piled with furniture, he heard the barricaded door being demolished by heavy machine gun fire.
On the side of the courtyard facing away from the house, Sebastian saw the rear of the machine gun bunker. He saw three mechanicals through the ragged opening where the daVinci had ripped the door off. Two fired at targets in the distance, slowing their advance. The last traversed its gun back and forth, but no bullets fired. It was clear why; the remains of the human reloader were splashed across the courtyard where the daVinci had dragged him under the door. The bastard things tended to be vicious when they could.
When Sebastian reached the far side of the courtyard, Leigh stood staring at the gun in her hand with a look of utter confusion on her face. Stray rounds chipped at the scrollwork around what remained of the door. Sebastian didn’t have time to be gentle. He ducked his shoulder and charged through her, carrying her with him into the Garage. As soon as he was inside the door, he dove to the side, falling into the shadow of the building. The first mechanic followed him, but the other pair kept running, trying to make it behind the massed ranks of Mechanicals. Sebastian winced as they were cut down from behind by a fusillade of fire, the heavy slugs tearing great bloody holes in the pair.
Sebastian grabbed Leigh’s pistol and ran for the door. After a single step, the cable connecting it to her pulled him up short. She lay on the floor, curled about herself, muttering incoherently.
“Leigh! How do you control the Mechanicals?”
“Two pounds furniture, four candlesticks, one cup cooking oil tops it all for flavor,” she mumbled, her eyes blank. “One gallon oil, one gallon brandy, ether spray into the mouth to kill the taste.”
There was nothing for it. He drew back a hand and delivered a firm slap. In the back of the Garage something shifted; the sound of metal on stone rang out as the Garage took more fire from the outside. Half repaired Mechanicals started to come apart under the onslaught. Others were sluggish, running low on steam or fuel. With a second slap awareness returned to Leigh’s eyes; with it came fear. Her shriek words were proof she was coherent, but not tracking well. “Sebastian! Blitzmen and daVincis, shooting at us!”
“How did you control the Mechanicals here in the Garage?”
Hands shaking, Leigh undid one of her belts and handed it to him. Her gun and her goggles both connected to it via cable. Sebastian at the unexpected weight. In moments, he had it secured around his own waist and ran for the door.
“Abrams! Get the men behind the Mechanicals and keep them fueled and armed!”
He didn’t have time to listen to her reply. At long last, he was doing what he had been trained for; leading a mass of Men into desperate battle.
***
Her wings shorn clean by the earlier mishap, her Engines silent to conserve fuel, Cap fell serenely toward the waiting ground. Despite the wind tearing at her, she worked on the last modifications of her gear. They would have worked better had she had more time, but time was fuel; fuel she couldn’t waste. She couldn’t bank to see the mountains any longer, but she didn’t need to see them now to position herself. The faint traceries of streams, the checkerboard of vast Mechanically plowed fields rolling over the hills beside them, loomed ever closer.
When one of her hands was free for a moment, she tapped the controls for her crystal. A minute or so later, an open connection chimed in her ear.
“Capri? Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing I haven’t handled. Is the Padre there?”
David’s disappointment was veiled but still apparent to one who had been intimate with him. “Of course, since little Kay is still in the room. Shall I put her on?”
“The Padre, please.”
“As you wish.”
A moment later, the priest’s voice sounded through the crystal. Like most inexperienced users, he spoke too loudly, but she was familiar with the phenomenon, and compensated appropriately. A glance below showed her she little more than two minutes until she plowed a great bloody gash in the innocent French countryside. Her modifications complete, she touched her chest. By the dampness, it would take a miracle to save her if the crash didn’t kill her first.
Her voice remained rock steady. For herself, she would have cried, but for her daughter, she had to remain strong. “Father, can you hear me?”
“Yes, my child.”
“The damage my wings have taken may become a problem when I land. If something happens to me, I want you to take Kay back to the school I attended when Gramma Jones passed.”
“Nothing will happen to you, child.”
“Father, I’m asking you for my own peace of mind. Promise me, please?”
“To ease your mind, of course I will. Should anything happen to you, I promise to see little Kay to the Sisters of Saint Francis and see her enrolled there.”
“Thank you, Father. David, is Kay still there?”
“Of course. I think you may be scaring her with this talk of wing damage, though.”
Bastard. “Sweet child, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“No matter what happens, Momma will always love you and watch over you. You know that?”
“I know that Momma.”
“Momma must go now. You be good for the Padre and do what he says.”
“I will Momma.”
“I love you, Kay.”
“I love you too, Momma.”
Capricious Jones reached up and disconnected her crystal completely. She had only a handful of seconds left before impact. If she left it too late, her Engines wouldn’t have enough time to stop their plummet; too early and they would be too high when they ran out of fuel, destroying all her work.
She had done all she could. Her fate would be decided soon.
***
Leigh ran, clutching at the last can of fuel. Patterson was down, one leg gone just below the knee. Rogers ran ahead of her with the last box of rounds, topping off Mechanicals as they ran dry. Gardner had died in the courtyard. She didn’t remember the names of the two who carried the furniture, nor the one coming behind her with the last of the solid flammables. Sweating, chest heaving, wishing she could remove her last tool belt, she poured a hefty slosh of fuel into a firing Mechanical.
It seemed an eternity since Sebastian ran forward, empty targeting pistol in hand, the ranks of motley Mechanicals tracking him. The courtyard had become an abattoir, smoke rising from a hundred puddles of burning fuel. Mechanical bodies and limbs lay strewn across the paving stones. Time and again Leigh and her two assistants pulled fallen Mechanicals back to the lee of the doors. At first spares were easy; for every three fallen they could send two back to the line. Now, though, there were too few. When one fell, it opened a gap in the line too wide to pull it back. Such a gap stood before her now. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three, gathered her nerve, and sprinted through the gap. Fragments of stone, sent flying gunfire, stung her ankles. She slid to a halt behind the next Mechanical in line.
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Early on it had been clear that one on one, the daVincis and Blitzmen were heavier and better armed than Sebastian’s ragtag army. As they came on, Man after Man, Leigh had realized they were smarter, too. Fully functional AEF Mechanicals could understand simple commands and execute them one at a time, but the Central Mechanicals seemed to be capable of storing complex commands and even choosing between them. They used cover, they rushed in the open; they acted almost like real men would, with the exception that wading into a killing field littered with their brethren didn’t slow them in the least.
A bullet from one of them tore through the last armor on the Mechanical she hid behind. Before it could fall on her, she scurried behind the next in line. Again she tipped her fuel can, but this time nothing flowed. She stared stupidly at the ragged hole where the huge Mechanical gun round had pierced the can.
David had been right. The Central Powers had the AEF completely outclassed. All that had stopped them here at the Garage was the terrain, which kept the Central Mechanicals from coming in more than one at a time, and Sebastian’s bloody-minded refusal to back up one inch. Time and again Blitzmen and daVincis had been met not with controlled bursts but with a storm of fire from the device Leigh had rigged to overcome the broken Minds of the AEF Mechanicals.
A blinding flash from the bunker, and nothing remained but a crater. Blown to her knees, Leigh saw the first rank of Central Powers Mechanicals advancing at a trot. Looming behind them, smoke still curling from a massive siege gun, a huge eight-legged Bertha Command Mechanical stood like a gargantuan clockwork spider emerging from the smoke and fire. Its siege gun slid backward to reload another round. Thoughts wandering as panic took over, Leigh wondered how the platform, perched so high above the ground, withstood the strain of firing such a gun.
Sebastian’s ragtag Mechanicals moved, crawling toward a point at the center of the Garage door. Leigh blinked, wondering how they did that; they were only set up to mimic Sebastian’s actions. Her frantic eyes scanned across the ranks of Mechanicals, searching for his officer’s coat among the metal bodies. She saw him and understood. Inch by inch he dragged himself forward leaving a trail of blood and other fluids behind him, his legs rendered useless by a shard of reinforcing rebar that protruded from his back.
Sebastian was not the only casualty. A glance to one side of the Garage showed Leigh the nameless mechanic breathing shallowly, half his face already blackened by a bruise. To the other side Rogers lay still, his back twisted at an angle too unnatural to survive.
It was too much. Leigh shrieked and scrambled away, first on hands and knees, then climbing to her feet. She ran, head down, legs pumping as fast as they could in the confines of her dress. Where she was going didn’t matter; all that did was getting away from the Blitzmen and daVincis that wanted to turn her into another mangled grotesque. The sounds of guns firing at her were muted, the ricochets tearing at her dress and petticoats were beneath consideration. She could hear each miss creeping nearer, the Mechanicals questing to extinguish her life with each shot.
The room went dark, and she ran headfirst into a wall. Behind her, bullets ricocheted like rain on a tin roof. For a moment, she felt safe. Her head pounded where she had inadvertently rammed into a metal wall. A matte black, curving metal wall the color and hardness of the devil’s own hide.
Sudden horror overtaking her, she looked up, craning her neck until she saw the faint red glow of dim pilot lights behind eyes the size of wagon wheels. She felt faint, a shriek bubbling its way to her lips, but part of her was too fascinated by the way the thing cocked its head to look at her. Its motions were smooth, almost like watching parts slide across an oiled tray.
A gong sounded behind her, the ground shaking with impact. The Mechanical’s monstrous head snapped up to look over the shield that protected them both. It snapped back down, and Leigh froze in terror. The gargantuan spear pulled back, plunged down. Leigh closed her eyes, hoping it wouldn’t hurt. The massive ringing crunch of metal driven into stone split the air.
Leigh’s legs felt tight, constrained. There was no pain. She risked a peek; the point of the spear driven deep into the stone, neatly pinning her skirts to the ground. She looked up in wonderment at the massive Mechanical, only to see a gargantuan hand reaching down to her.
She flinched and screamed when huge fingertips gripped her tool belt. There was a sharp ripping sound, and Leigh rose through the air, skirt and petticoats in rags. The thing dangled her in front of its eyes, examining her. There, in the darkened glass, Leigh saw a twisted reflection of herself, ragged from dozens of minor injuries, emaciated from months gone without proper food. The sight tore another scream from her, but it was weaker than the last. Her throat hurt, and the part of her that always took over when she worked was fascinated by this beautiful, deadly thing.
A dull roar sounded below her as the huge Mechanical stood up. Dangling inches below the ceiling, still protected by the massive shield, she saw its gaping mouth, big enough to swallow a man whole, opening beneath her. Before she could think, she fell down the hole.
Leigh landed with a painful thump, straddling a thick padded bar. Gears, pistons, belts, and tubes surrounded her. Damp wetness crept up her toes, rapidly moving up her legs as the compartment flooded with some unknown fluid. She scrambled away, trying to climb to safety, but cold mechanical clamps bore down on her legs, pinning them in place. Other clamps grabbed at her arms, pinning them back and holding her spread like a specimen for dissection. The fluid rose to her breasts, soaking the ragged material of her dress. As Leigh opened her mouth to take a deep breath before it engulfed her, a padded mask pinned her head back. She was completely immobilized.
Just before the gelling fluid reached her eyes, a pair of tubes settled into place over her forehead, protecting her eyes like oversized goggles. The fluid filled her ears, and there was silence; even the sound of her own breath, ragged from screaming and struggling, was blocked out. Dimly, Leigh felt something cold, hard, and angular push its way into each ear. The sharp whine of a crystal device was the last thing she heard before darkness took her.
***
Capricious’ limbs grew sluggish as the blood loss threatened to steal away her consciousness. Knowing she only had moments left, she lifted the packet of Gramma Jones’ favorite herbs to her lips with one clumsy hand. The other clenched down on the cobbled together dead man’s switch.
The bitter taste of herbs filled her mouth. She worked her jaw to swallow them; the moment the concoction hit her throat, numbness spread outward into her body. She looked at the ground, trying to find a reference point, and saw a farmhouse, though without knowing its size she couldn’t tell her altitude. One way or the other, she had to let go, and soon, but her timing had to be perfect.
The ground rushed nearer. She continued to cast about for a reference point as terror warred with exhilaration in her gut. The herbs she had eaten and the slow ebb of her life’s blood stifled both. Her core had gone numb; her limbs tingled. In another moment, her hand wouldn’t be able to hold the dead man’s switch, and calculations would become moot. Her drug-addled brain connected the name of the switch to its purpose, and she began to laugh, softly at first, then great guffaws. As she fell, she began to distinguish individual people about the farmhouse. It was then that she called out her last words to the uncaring heavens.
“Be good, baby. Momma’s coming.”
Her hand released the switch. The remaining severing charge detonated, sending the shearing blade across her shoulders, neatly decapitating her. In her last, brief flash of life, she watched her body plummeting to earth beneath her, the roar of her Engines slowing the rest of her remains to what she hoped, with fading consciousness, would be a soft landing.
***
In the wreckage of his office, David heard Capri’s Engines for the first time in decades. He turned his face to the nurse who never left his side.
“Wagner, Ride of the Valkyrie, I think. If you would be so kind?”
Throughout the manor and grounds, tiny Mechanicals scurried from equally tiny, concealed bunkers, extending wide mouthed trumpets as they did. A moment later, the sound of a phonograph needle scratching faded into the sounds of fiercely militant bombast. A rare smile spread across David’s face at the sound.
***
She awoke. She slept for far too long. The room she was in was familiar; the Garage done in miniature. At the door to lay the men and Men who had fallen trying to protect Her. Just beyond, making their way through a rubble-filled crater, strange Men clambered toward the Garage, most sheathing guns in favor of heavy, thick, blades to deliver the coup de grace. They all looked like toys, but she knew they were here to kill Her.
Rage suffused her. Strings and tiny chains connected her to the wall; her Engines roared, and they snapped like taffy. The Men in the crater looked up, startled at the sudden noise from the deep darkness of the Garage. Some reached for guns; others deployed shoulder-mounted search lights.
She gave them no chance. Her Engines screamed defiance and she leapt on her enemies, an enraged Gulliver amongst murderous Lilliputians. Some died beneath her feet; others shattered as she swept a kick through a rank of them. She gave herself to her rage, lashing out against the ones that had tried to hurt Her, tearing through them like so many unwanted, unloved dolls, scattering pieces to the winds.
The deep rippling roar of an artillery volley sounded, and pain exploded in her side. She wheeled into a crouch, her great shield Glacis held protectively before her as a second and third volley sounded. Her side dented, gears and cabling had been dangerously strained, but nothing had broken. She was strong, she was hard, and the impact had not harmed Her. The Auto Cannon had never seen her like before. Their fire didn’t slack, but neither did it penetrate the thick, heavy armor of Glacis. Impasse.
The fourth volley sounded; its numbers matched perfectly to the second. There were only two batteries. The moment the shells impacted Glacis, she moved. Her shield lifted only feet from the ground, and she charged forward with it held before her. Her Engines shrieked, guzzling fuel at a pace to shame Dionysus, and she rammed the lumbering, clumsy Auto Cannon at a full sprint with Glacis held before her. The first rank fell over backward, gun barrels cracking, dismounting, and spinning away into the distance. The second rank fired point blank into Glacis. A line of indentations stippled the back of her shield. Her arm joints strained, stressed beyond their ratings, but they held.
The Auto Cannon were not so lucky. Deflected shots tore through them, as effective as counter battery fire ever might be. As they tried to right themselves, she was there, tearing them apart like a housewife might render chickens for the pot. In moments, none of the Auto Cannon could move or fire; the remains lay twitching feebly.
A sound from behind and she leapt, Engines shrieking their berserk song, Glacis swinging to interpose itself. Her whole body shook as a round tore through Glacis and into her thigh. That last leap would be her last for some time; the round had penetrated her leg, and shrapnel from the shell had lodged in the steel of her gears. She stood, turning to face her enemy across the mansion’s front lawn: the gargantuan spider with its massive siege gun.
The spider’s gun retracted, starting its reload cycle. The men aboard were worker ants, scurrying to ready their metallic warrior for another phase of the battle. She reached up over her shoulder for Ipapa. Her gun had cycled to ready the moment her Engines first screamed their song to the world. The moment Ipapa was level with her eyes, crosshairs folded out from the side, the body of the clockwork spider already lined up in their center.
Ipapa needed no trigger. It was part of her. The crosshair aligned, thunder rolled, and a bar of light stabbed out at the heart of the spider. It rocked backward on unsteady legs, trying to right itself, jerking as the dart ricocheted around inside its armored casing. Blood leaked out through scuppers intended to shed rainwater, but the spider didn’t fall.
Engines screamed. Belts and cables whined as they transferred power to reloading servos. Ipapa came back into battery and fired in one smooth motion. Speared once more by deadly silver light the spider stiffened, a cherry red glow emanating from all its ports. The screams of its minders blossomed, only to be cut short by a sudden, awful roar of flame. A moment later, the body of the beast blew apart as the fire found its magazine.
She had triumphed, but triumph had never been her goal. Engines growled, and she set off at a slow lope back to the Garage. Course set, she took careful stock. She would need a new sheath on her hip, and a new layer of armor on Glacis. None of that mattered. She squatted next to where Iklwa still pinned fragments of a dress to the ground and checked the one thing that was important. Engines wound down to stand by. Her body was undamaged. Her mind, however…
Noise was unavoidable; her Engines were loud beasts. Transmission of external sound to Her was dead easy; the crystal devices were made for that. Speaking was difficult. Still, Her wellbeing was paramount. She tried, failed. Tried again. A quiet squawking whine resulted. Tried once more; this time a quiet approximation of her own voice, a soothing disembodied whisper into Her ears resulted.
“Momma’s here, Kay. You’re safe now.”