In Part One Jeb and Soames met unexpectedly, and decided what to do with the Confederates are victorious.
A low trimmed paraffin lamp offered the faintest of illumination. Jeb edged to the table the lamp sat on and turned the wick up. Flickering light filled a sumptiuously apportioned tent. He looked at the x-framed cot. He’d chosen correctly.
“Major Haggerston.”
The sleeping man woke slowly, his eyes registered confusion.
“It’s me, Jeb Clarron. I’ve come to get you out of here and back to Dubuque. Get dressed quietly, and we can get going.”
The Major edged up on his elbow. “Jeb?”
“Yes sir. C’mon, the faster we move the better.”
“Of course. Pass me my britches, Jeb.”
Jeb turned and picked trousers from the chair. In the shadowy light they looked faded. The older man pulled them on, sliding the attached braces over his shoulders before reaching down and putting his feet into riding boots so old and supple they slid on like gloves. He stood and picked a half-smoked cigar from the table, tilted the lamp-glass to the side and bent to light stub. Standing up he blew a stream of smoke towards Jeb.
“So, Jeb. You came to save me. What’s the plan? We ride back to Dubuque and I’m so gratified that I let you wed my Gina?”
The tone was off, and Jeb didn’t know why. “I thought it might help.”
The Major snorted. “Yes, well, she’s already promised, and to a victor at that. A rich, handsome devil who’ll provide her with an estate and the servants she deserves to care for her.”
Jeb looked round the tent again, and then at the Major’s trousers, and the jacket hanging on a hook. The cloth wasn’t faded blue, it was gray. Confederate gray. “You turned rebel.”
“Rebel? I turned winner. It was only a matter of time before the Union fell. All I did was bring it forward.”
“You sold us out? Is that why we walked right into those war-walkers?” Understanding trickled through Jeb. “You were at the defense council meeting. You knew where every unit was. You sold out your own town-folk, you bastard.” He paused, remembering George, a ruddy faced farmer from outside the eastern side of Dubuque. He’d tripped while running from one of the walkers, and it stepped on his head without pausing. “George was your cousin. You sold out your kin.”
Haggerston stood impassively, his blue eyes unconcerned. He blew a stream of smoke into Jebs face. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
Jeb nodded and started to turn.
“GU—“
Before the shout was finished Jeb spun on his heel and whipped his arm round outstretched. His tightly bunched fist crashed into Haggerston’s throat, crushing the larynx. Jeb listened for a response. Nothing. He bent beside the Major, who was clutching his throat.
“That’s for your cousin, and the rest of us you betrayed. Enjoy being the victor.”
The tent flap swished and Jeb stood, pulling his pistol from its holster. He faced a young captain who sported a neat Van Dyke beard. Jeb motioned. “Best you come on in, Captain.” Haggerston made croaking noises, and waved his arms. The captain looked down at him, then back at Jeb.
“Mortem proditores,” Jeb said, “and, unless you want to be next, step to the chair and sit down. And don’t think about calling out, that’s what this one tried to do.” He stepped back to allow more space and the captain edged into the tent, twisting past one of the supporting poles. Jeb hit him behind the ear with the gun butt. The man crumpled.
Jeb looked down. Haggerston’s eyes now sparked with fear, the last clawing desire to survive, and the knowledge that it wasn’t going to happen. Jeb kicked him. “Is that the man you pimped Gina out to? Not much about him is there? Mind you, he’s about my size, and one of these scummy uniforms would be easier to travel in.” He wrestled the unconscious man out of his jacket and trousers. By the time he put them on Haggerston was dead.
Outside the tent the moon had risen, the camp slumbered on, the dead sentries, so far, un-missed. Jeb picked his way to the corral where the war-walkers were. A horse gently whinnied as he passed them. A figure was moving around the legs of the walkers. Soames.
“Are you finished?” Jeb whispered.
“The drain plugs are all out. I was about to look for rope,” Soames replied. “Did you get your Major?”
“Yes, and no.” said Jeb. “Here.” Thin loops of rope were bunched in his fist. They set to work, weaving the rope in and out of the walkers. Subtlety was not part of the intention, merely to make things as much of a nuisance for any pursuers as possible.
They stood below the two remaining walkers.
Soames looked around nervously. “We need to get going. Are you sure it’s so easy to ride the thing.”
“Lever to go left, lever to go right, pedal on floor for forward. It’s easier than riding a horse.”
They climbed the handholds into their respective machines, clicking the hatches shut as quietly as possible.
The darkness outside was amplified, and Jeb’s cockpit was almost entirely black. He closed his eyes, reached for where he expected the levers to be, and rested his foot on the floor pedal.
He’d noticed something about the walkers in the corral. They were a different design than the one he’d taken, than the ones he’d faced on the battle field.
Those machines were quick, powerful, and well shielded. They charged across the battle field, mowing down those who stood still, chasing down those who ran. But that was all they could do. There effectiveness was in the surprise, it gave the foot soldiers behind time to stroll up and take control.
This walker had arms. Stubby, atrophied arms that looked for the world like Richard Gatling’s multiple firing gun. He had seen one demonstrated, and couldn’t understand why they didn’t appear on the battle field immediately. Maybe this was the answer; Gatling had gone south, turned rebel like the rest of the Carolinas, and sold his weapon to more accepting Generals.
Jeb opened his eyes, there was the faintest amount of light. But not enough to see anything clearly. He felt around the cockpit cautiously, trying to find something that could be a trigger. Nothing.
Noise from outside sounded like Soames had started moving. He abandoned his search. Reaching for the levers again, he misjudged his placement and jarred his finger on something. Feeling around he knew he had the trigger. The engineers had built them onto the steering levers. Turning in the direction of the camp, he pulled the them. The bullet hoppers were full. Bright flashes lit up the sides of the glass window. He turned slowly through a rough forty-five degrees, then swung back around ninety degrees. The arc of fire covered the whole camp.
The noise echoed in the confined space, a cacophony that echoed and rattled. He’d fought for three long years. Never had guns been louder. The vibrations shook the cockpit, rattled his teeth, juddered him back and forth in the leather saddle. He traversed the field a third time then pressed the pedal for forward, and the lurching rocking motion began. He was almost used to it after riding the other one and kept his foot down, accelerating forward and hoping he wasn’t aimed squarely at the mill. A fence, bush, or human was something easily swept through or over. A solid stone wall may prove more challenging.
Something pinged against the back of the cockpit, then again. He guessed it was bullets, and when another struck he was surer. The machine plunged on in the darkness, and every step he expected to collide with something, or to tumble down a ditch. It didn’t happen, and it wasn’t long before the bullets stopped.
He slowed down a little. Before joining up with Soames he had opened the gate to the horse corral. Any that hadn’t been injured with his wild shooting would hopefully have stampeded. Between that and the other walkers being put out of commission he wasn’t expecting any immediate pursuit, he could easily out-run a man on foot.
Light was beginning to color the sky. He stopped and opened the small oval hatch above him, a space big enough for him to put his head out and get a view clearer than the one available through the thick glass porthole. The walker was in the middle of a field. Off to the left smoke drifted into the brightening sky; Manassass Junction still burning. By contorting his body in the cockpit he could see behind. There was a trail straight through the hedge and into the ripening ears of corn. Pursuit wouldn’t need to be immediate, any inbred sumbitch from a backwater Virginian cotton plantation could follow it.
He sat back down and headed back toward the roadway. There would still be tracks, but not as obvious. The meet point with Soames was the hill from the previous day. It wasn’t far, and the grass pasture leading to it should leave less tracks. But first, a little false trail. He turned the walker and made his way through the corn in the opposite direction.
§
The sun rose without a cloud to dim its brilliance. Jeb looked out over the valley. After climbing the hill he’d gone back down on foot and dragged a big branch back and forth to obscure the tracks in the damp grass. Now he scanned for Soames and his walker.
The road below was busy with the gray uniforms of rebel soldiers, and he kept a careful watch for anyone showing an interest in climbing the small ridge. No-one did, though throughout the day there was constant movement. There was no way of knowing for sure, but he guessed some of the activity had to be a search for them.
Evening fell with no sign of Soames. Jeb didn’t want to travel in the dark again. First light would be the time to go. He made his way into the thicket of trees where the walkers were - the new one and the broken one - wrapping himself in the greatcoat he’d left there nestled down to sleep. It took little time to drift off. Between the action of the previous night, and the jarring ride of the walker, his body was stiff and sore, desperate for rest. A warm meal would have helped, but setting a fire on a hilltop, even a concealed fire, hadn’t seemed a great idea.
It was still dark when he was woken by something crunching through the trees. He jumped to his feet and put his back against the walker.
There was the distinctive noise of a walkers leg joints moving, it stopped, and was followed by the hiss of the engine coming to rest. Jeb remained motionless. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light and he could see the outline of the walker on the edge of the trees, it was the same model he’d stolen yesterday, with twin guns high up on the shoulders, and bullet hoppers above that.
“Jeb?”
It sounded like Soames, but he couldn’t be sure, so he stayed quiet.
“Jeb, it’s Soames. Are you here?” The call was hopeful, with an edge of desperation. “Dammit!”
“I’m here, Soames.” Jeb clambered up.
“Thank the Lord.”
“What happened to you?”
“I got lost. You can’t hardly see anything our of the porthole, even in daylight. And I went the wrong way, ended up running through the river. After twenty minutes or so hoping I wasn’t going to fall into ravine I stopped. When I got out for a look around, I’d nearly run into a farmhouse.”
Jeb chuckled. “Yeah, that can happen.”
“When I set off I thought I heard guns. Was that you shooting these things?” he asked, pointing towards the shoulders of the walker.
“Yup, figured it could give some cover, maybe take out some of them sumbitches. Should o’ spooked their horses as well. So, tell me, what you do today? I got here this morning. Figured you’d been caught or the like.”
Soames lowered himself down, resting against his walker. Jeb followed suit, leaning against the other leg.
“I’ve had to go miles to avoid search parties. One nearly got me, I just saw them before they would have seen me. Ended up looping down round south of where we were. Took a sight on a straight line up to here, and hid in an orchard ’til dusk. Took a little longer than I expected but, there it is.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an apple, handing it to Jeb.
Jeb looked at it, gave it a rub on his jacket and took a bite, his cheeks drawing in as the tart juice hit his mouth.
Soames laughed, “There still a little under-ripe.”
Jeb kept chewing, trying to keep the juice off the part of his tongue where it tasted most bitter. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“So, where’s your Major?”
Jeb grimaced, and spat apple flesh. “Sumbitch’d sold us out for a pretty marriage for his daughter.”
“The one you were fixing on marrying?”
“Yeh.”
“So what now?”
Jeb reached into his jacket pocket. “I got letters from the Captain she was promised to. She seemed pretty happy about the idea, was eagerly awaiting the end of the war that her traitor of a father arranged.”
Soames frowned.
“He sold us out, Soames,” Jeb said. “Gave up the whole Union defense so his daughter could live on a plantation with slaves.”
“I’m sorry, Jeb.”
“Not your fault.”
“What happened to him?”
In the dark there was a rustle and a small creatures death squeal.
Jeb said, “He ain’t going back to Dubuque.”
They sat in silence for a while. Exhaustion taking its toll.
“Before you met me yesterday,” Jeb said, “what were your plans?”
“Didn’t really have one. I figured for heading west. See what the sunshine coast might bring.”
“Y’know, that’s not a bad idea. Come first light let’s do it.”
