Crossing the central cargo hold was tricky. The side hatches yawned wide open on both sides where we had unloaded mechs earlier. I released the hand grips and flung myself to the far hatch. I yanked it open but waited to go through. The mate came next, throwing himself across the empty space. As the gunship maneuvered, he missed the hatch and slammed into the wall next to me. I collared him and pulled him around to the opening.

The loader had almost the same trouble, and I had to stretch even farther to catch him. I just managed to catch his flailing hand before we pitched up in a particularly violent maneuver. For a moment he dangled from my grip, the yawning door gaping below his feet. His eyes were wild, and he let out a strangled whine that sounded like nothing more than a trapped rabbit as he dangled from my grip.

Then the world swung back level, and I brought him around to the hatch. The gunner's mate pulled him inside and thrust him against a set of handholds. I came in behind and moved my way past the pair of them. "Come on man, get yourself together!" The gunner's mate was yelling at the loader who had a death grip on the wall handle.

I didn't have time for this shit. I simply grabbed the man by his upper arm and yanked him clear. He yelped as his hands were ripped off their grip. Then I marched down the hall to the starboard aft turret room. I stepped in the hatch, dragging the loader with me. The gunner's mate was hot on our heels.

The loader was panicking. "I can't! I can't! I can't! This is...!"

I grabbed him tight and pulled him up close. His eyes were wild and I could see the whites all the way around. "You're scared, right?"

The man hyperventilated as his eyes rolled hither and thither. I couldn't tell if he was hearing me. “I am too. I'd have pissed myself if I could get this body working right. Hell, I'd have shit my pants if I'd remembered to eat this morning.” The gunner's mate behind me snorted. The short laugh got the loader's attention more than my words and his eyes swiveled in that direction.

"Listen to me, man. We may be about to die, but when you get to Valhalla, you'll have the best fucking story anyone ever heard. Those old Viking sons of bitches will be lining up to buy you drinks. Do you hear me, man?" I gave him the tiniest shake and his eyes finally locked on mine. "Now get to your job and let's take those sons of bitches to hell with us. And remember to tell them that Sergeant Golem sent them!"

His breathing steadied. "Yes, sergeant!” He swayed on his feet, but the gunner's mate grabbed him and pulled him out of my grip.

I slipped into the chair and grabbed the aiming handles. "Now for the fun part," I said.

As I settled back into the gunner's chair, I called back to the gunner's mate, "Let 'em know we're ready!"

It took him a moment to get the intercom working. The loader stood next to me, trembling from head to toe and breathing in great gasps. "What rounds do you want?"

I turned and looked him in the eye. He took a deep breath and seemed to steady down. “I’m gonna want three of high explosives, and then switch me to armor-piercing until we send that son of a bitch to the bottom.”

The man laughed. “Ha, ha.” It was a weak sound, but heartening to hear. “But we're on land!"

"Ah, hell, to the bottom of the forest, then!"

He laughed, and it sounded more genuine this time. "All right, high explosives, and then armor-piercing. You got it!"

The first clip of rounds slammed down, and the gunner's mate was back working the action. We could hear Frank on the intercom. I could only make out every other word, but it was clear we were coming around, and this pass would be close. There was a lot more light out the window. More fires were burning around. Something swooped past our open turret.

The walking gunboat swam into view. There were enough fires burning nearby now that I could faintly see the pistoning legs in the shadows below its hull, which still bobbed crazily with each motion. The deck crews were swarming about. Some of them were getting another machine gun into action. The deck itself was coated with blood and covered in bits of debris. Like severed legs.

I took in all of this in a split second before I adjusted aim and fired. Boom, boom, boom. I triggered each shot as quick as the loader could slam down the action with only the tiniest adjustment of my aiming wheels between each shot. The concussion of each impact slammed against us because we were so close. The boom of the cannon and the roar of the explosion came back-to-back.

The action slammed of my gun was slammed open and the loader was dropping in the next round. This one would be armor penetrating. I adjusted my aim lower and put two shots into the hull of the ship just below the deck line. The deck lights didn't shine over the side and I couldn't be sure of the effect. The armor-piercing shells punched right through and vanished into the dark.

For my last shot, I swung the gun up and pumped the round into their aft main turret. Something in my brain told me it was an 8-inch gun, although I'll be damned if I knew how I knew that. A curved blast deflector protecting the crews from the front and a little bit of the sides. Beyond that, they were exposed. We were so low that when my shot punched through the deflector it whistled off into the darkness beyond. I couldn't tell if I had hit the crew since their gun was pointed almost in our direction.

Boom!

The world exploded as the main battery cannon fired.

It was much later when I realized the shot had not hit us. Instead, the muzzle blast slammed into our gunship like the fist of an angry god. I was knocked back into the gunner's seat. Pain flared in my ears and back where the seat dug into it. My head rang like the inside of a bell. After that, things got hazy.

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Later I was told I had a concussion. My memory of the next hour was fragmented. The loader had been knocked at a bad angle and was severely injured. The gunner's mate, now stone deaf, got us both clear of the compartment when Frank finally landed the gunship. My next clear recollections were sitting in the tiny wardroom and hearing Hannah and Angelica explain how their attack had gone. Frank had gotten us to the backup rendezvous site several miles north. Our distraction had allowed the ground mechs to slip away into the woods. The gunboat had not been destroyed and the last they had seen of it, it was stomping away off to the north, apparently still searching for us.

Tamara and Anastasia had shown up on schedule and our battered and wounded crew had stowed their mechs. When I felt like myself again, I went around and checked that they were properly secured.

Then I went to assist the repair crews. Considering our near miss, we had taken remarkably little damage. There were several cracked windows in the cockpit and some concussion injuries on the other gun crew as well. But it could have gone a lot worse.

I wasn't privy to the officers’ planning, but the ship was small enough it was difficult not to overhear some of it. We were headed for St. Petersburg and a rendezvous with some allies that the Tsar thought could help. I wasn't confident in that, and I made a mental note to pack extra firepower if I ever met those allies. As bad as the warlords ruling Russia were, you could never really trust a traitor to any side.

It was a testament to my concussion that I didn't make the connection when I heard his ally's name the first time. Vladimir Lenin. In my dazed state, I just wondered if it might be an ancestor to one of the Beatles.

Dr. Franz Weber stepped down from the train car and peered down the tracks. He could see a group of men hurrying towards him through the steam billowing off the engine. The gravel crunched under his feet as he strode toward them. His troop of bodyguards descended from the train and took up positions all around.

The newcomers surrounded him, looking him over. A fate Russian man, dressed in an officer’s uniform and wearing glasses greeted him.

"We looked for you in the first class compartments. You were not there. Some of my men thought you had decided not to come."

"Nonsense." Dr. Weber shook his head. "Luxury softens the mind, and I prefer to be with my equipment. I am a man of my word. I am eager to get my equipment settled into your facility."

"Yes, yes, of course." The Russian man, still catching his breath, stuck out a hand.

Franz eyed it disdainfully before finally taking it.

"I'm Dr. Ivanovich, by the way. You must be Dr. Franz Weber. I am the director of these facilities. If you need anything at all during your stay, please just ask."

"Of course," Franz said. Obviously he would ask. This useless, inefficient little man was wasting his time. "Now, the train cars?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course." The man turned and began yelling orders at the men coming up behind him. Soon they were busy decoupling the cars carrying Franz’s important equipment. A small utility engine rumbled up and was coupled to the boxcar. The nondescript boxcar he had just climbed out of was accompanied by several others. Franz set one of his bodyguards the responsibility of ensuring all their cars were unhooked.

On tracks all around them stood a motley assortment of other cars and train-mounted equipment, such as cranes. Through the industrial haze of smoke and dust, he could see there were many large factory and warehouse buildings.

The Russian man-made small talk as the train was moved to the nearby warehouse. Franz ignored him. The big rolling doors were slid back, and the train car was pushed inside.

"Are you sure you won't take refreshment?"

"No, I am eager to see my mechs settled into their new home before the exhibition," Franz said, not turning to look at the man who stood wringing his hands nearby, obviously unused to working with a real engineer.

"But we still have two weeks!"

"And at the rate you're going, it will take all of them to get my mechs unloaded," he thought but did not say. Franz knew how to be tactful when interactions with lesser men called for it.

In addition to his bodyguard, several technicians had deplatformed. Franz signaled his technicians to begin. They climbed up on the side of the boxcar and activated the mechanism that split its panels apart. The roof and walls swung away, revealing that they had just been a facade over a large flatbed.

"Oh, very impressive," the Russian gushed.

Franz didn't waste his time rolling his eyes. "As impressive as on the inside, Herr Doctor."

As the panels swung away, they revealed a gleaming mech. The Russian gasped. "It's so big."

Now Franz smiled. It was, and he was rather proud of that. This mech was huge by old standards and armored to match. It had required the development of an entirely new kind of desh engine and many other improvements to its systems. Without these, the monstrosity never would have been able to stand.

"The modern battlefield is changing," Franz explained. "Old designs will no longer survive in open warfare. For the humaniform machine to be of use, it must be advanced. The human form is the most versatile of all forms, and it would be a shame not to improve upon it. Wouldn't it, Herr Doctor?"

Franz eyed him, and the Russian man nodded vigorously, his jowls shaking.

Franz glared at the toad-like, fat Russian. "Where is General Petrov? It's imperative I discuss with him the arrangements for getting pilots for these machines."

The man wrung his hands, but his smile didn't slip. "Oh, it’s quite alright. I'm empowered to make those arrangements. Please, just tell me what you need."

Franz looked significantly at Dr. Ivanovich, who looked significantly at the workers busying themselves with unloading the mechs. "Forgive me, but this isn't something that should be discussed around any but the most trustworthy of ears, if you catch my meaning."

"No, that's quite alright. These men all have our utmost confidence. They are absolutely loyal." The Russian officer was the most disgusting sort of man, clearly set in his own beliefs and unwilling to change based on facts. Franz had dealt with his sort before. It was often better to go around them rather than trying to push through.

Franz considered the laborers in dungarees. It was impossible that what the officer claimed could be true. Some of them appeared to be railroad workers. The idea that all of these laborers had been cleared for secret information was ridiculous. But getting the test pilot arrangements made was more important than anything else from Franz's perspective. His goal was to make sure the demonstration went smoothly and the machines operated at their utmost performance. Securing the event was the Russians' problem, and they could do it however they saw fit, as long as his machines performed well.

He gritted his teeth but turned back to the toad-like little man with a tight smile. "Very well, Colonel. I must reiterate as I said in my correspondence, that these pilots must be of the highest caliber you have available."

"Oh, of course, of course. Only the best from General Petrov," the toad-like man simpered. “We have a considerable pool of women to choose from, all eager to get their chance.”

"Very well. Then let us discuss the needs of each individual mech. Some of them are rather unique."

Franz turned back to the unloading operation as the cover came off the first machine. The toad-like man gasped in awe at what was revealed, and Dr. Ivanovich smiled.