Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) (3 page)

Greyfriar straightened, feeling his strength flood back into his limbs as the heat abated. “You should have entered first. You are the war chief.”

“I am no more important than anyone else here.”

“Adele would disagree. She told me to look out for you.”

Anhalt gave a smile. “Funny. I've been charged with the same thing. With you.”

“Then we both have our work cut out for us.” Greyfriar glanced back toward the steel doors, which glowed red around the edges.

“Damn infernal weapon,” Anhalt muttered. “We caught them unaware, but we'll be lucky if they fall for it a second time.”

“They won't.”

Anhalt regarded Greyfriar again. “Were you injured?”

“You make it challenging, but no. I'm fine.”

Anhalt could almost see the toothy smile of the vampire behind the cowl.
He would have never expected humor to be part of the creature's repertoire. He was finding that many things he thought about vampires were gross misconceptions. He wondered how many of his officers and men would feel the same way if they knew Greyfriar's secret. Few enough, he suspected.

Greyfriar said, “I'm lucky. I was coming in from the northern lines when the screams of those, what do you call them, rockets, gave me warning. Though they set my teeth on edge.”

“So long as it bothers you,” Anhalt whispered, “then we know it bothers them as well. Hopefully now they'll be wary enough to buy us a day or two of peace.”

Colonel Mobius ran up, wide-eyed and exhilarated. “By God, that was a close shave!”

“Quite.” Anhalt patted out a glowing smolder on his coat, nonplussed. “As soon as it cools down out there, check the damage. Let's pray our miracle weapon hasn't cost as many on our side as theirs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Find me when you've finished.”

“Yes, sir.” Mobius departed.

Anhalt started deeper into the underground bunker complex, with Greyfriar falling into step behind him. The dirt corridors were as crowded as a tenement in the worst neighborhoods of old Alexandria. He saw men huddled in every recess, breath misting, eating scarce rations from tins.

Greyfriar asked, “Still no word from Field Marshal Rotherford?”

“None.” Anhalt struggled to keep annoyance out of his tone.

Greyfriar was too polite to notice. “Perhaps the weather has proved difficult for him as well.”

Anhalt grunted. The war strategy that had been crafted for more than a year had to be hastily changed before operations even began. First, the American allies were no longer available due to the collapsed union between Empress Adele and Senator Clark. Second, intelligence from Greyfriar indicated that Cesare had brought the clans of Munich and Budapest together into an effective alliance. To draw off these powerful clans, the Equatorians split their army and sent five divisions to invade the Balkans, aimed at Budapest.

Meanwhile, General Anhalt's army landed in Marseilles in early fall. His opening gambit was to split his elements of the Grand Expeditionary Force to form a pincer attack on the dangerous clan at Lyon at the outlet of the Rhone Valley. Field Marshal Rotherford's overpowered column, nearly a corps in strength at over thirty thousand men, had departed Marseilles for St. Etienne in early October of last year, while Anhalt took his lighter Second Division, close to fifteen thousand men, up the Gap toward Grenoble. According to Greyfriar's scouting, the road to St. Etienne was open, and the city lightly defended. It was expected that St. Etienne could be secured easily, and Rotherford would then detach part of his force eastward with haste to join Anhalt for an attempt to take the more dangerous Grenoble. The goal was to create an operational cordon sanitaire, militarize the Rhone Valley, assault Lyon, and then stage further operations into central France.

However, nothing went quite as planned. The weather turned savage sooner than expected. Resupply from the coast was haphazard. Anhalt's frozen camp below Grenoble was cut off from land and air communication in December, and lay trapped for nearly a month as the vampires drew a net tighter. The few airships he'd had on the advance north were grounded or destroyed now. His men were freezing, sick, and dying, desperately low on food and ammunition. No reinforcements had come from Rotherford to the west.

Anhalt could only speculate what had happened to his brother officer. It was certainly possible that Rotherford's divisions had met with heavier resistance at St. Etienne than expected. He could still be engaged seizing his objective, or perhaps had even been thrown back toward the coast.

Though he didn't wish to, the Gurkha couldn't help but consider another reason why a relief column had failed to show. General Rotherford had been loud in his displeasure about Anhalt leapfrogging over more superior officers, such as Rotherford himself, to take command of the Imperial Army. He had made no secret of his opinion that Anhalt was an officer of limited command experience, as well as the author of the so-called Ptolemy Disaster last year when Princess Adele had been captured by the British vampire clan. Yet, General
Anhalt had been declared sirdar, that grand old Egyptian rank, and given the greatest army Equatoria had ever mustered, only because he was the pet of Empress Adele.

Anhalt put aside his speculations and turned his attention back to Greyfriar, who was studying the men in their tight confines. The vampire seemed continually fascinated by humans. It was the damnedest thing.

A familiar face appeared in the chaos. The stern ebony visage of General Luteta Ngongo from Katanga stopped and saluted. “Sirdar.” He offered a polite nod to Greyfriar.

Anhalt returned the salute and led him into an alcove reserved for officers that had a simple stove. “You don't seem happy, Luteta.” It couldn't be the extreme cold, despite the general's knee-length kilt and light shirt. Ngongo was used to operating his Mountaineer regiment in the sleet-driven wastes of the Rwenzori Mountains of central Africa.

“I fear I have nothing good to report. My Mountaineers returned from our latest scouting expedition yesterday.” He held up a chart of the local Alps. All the tactical maps were based on old nineteenth-century documents, and were of limited use. “We could find no safe route to the west. The few passes that looked promising were either blocked or swarming with vampires. They are not suitable for retreat.”

“Did you lose many men?”

“More than I'd like.” General Ngongo tossed the chart on a rickety table and bent over it with a scowl. “I'm sorry, Sirdar. I will re-form my men and go out again tomorrow. There is another possible candidate farther to the south.”

Greyfriar noted, “If the vampires keep attacking every day, which they will, you won't have enough ammunition or food to support a retreat.”

Anhalt strode to the makeshift stove whose coals were long unlit and cold and, therefore, so was the coffee. Fingers stiff with bitter chill brushed the tin pot aside in annoyance. He tipped his khaki helmet back. “We can't retreat. We can't wait. We have only one choice now. If we are going to die, let's take the fight to them.”

Greyfriar said, “It will be a bloodbath to storm the city as weak as we are.”

“An attack on Grenoble is a desperate gamble, but we are quite desperate.”

“If I may, Sirdar,” Ngongo offered without waiting for permission, “I agree with you. I'd prefer to move forward. I'm frankly tired of wading through the hip-deep snow. Better to be killed with a loaded gun in your hand than crawling on the frozen ground.”

Anhalt regarded his colleague before turning to Greyfriar. “You spend a great deal of time among the enlisted men. What would you say is their general feeling? Wait for relief or fight?” The general waited with his back rigid for the answer he knew was coming.

“They would choose to fight. I sense there is little they won't do for Adele, but the conditions are draining their enthusiasm for the war.”

“Well, that's surprising,” the sirdar grunted. “Very well. Our path is clear. Victory or death.”

S
IRDAR
G
ENERAL
A
NHALT
convened a meeting of his General Staff in a freezing dirt-walled room. Present were the commanding officers of the various units of the Second Division of the Imperial Expeditionary Force: Colonel Mobius of the artillery brigade; Generals Khalifa and Dikkha, both recently elevated to the command of the two regiments of foot; General Ngongo of the Katanga Volunteer Regiment; Greyfriar; and General Anhalt himself. They were a somber group, but resolved. All knew they were likely facing the issuance of copious death certificates.

The sirdar surveyed his officers. “Gentlemen, we know the situation. We are out of time and will not survive long languishing here. Therefore, we must take Grenoble now. General Dikkha, General Khalifa, feed the men as well as possible. Then form your regiments in their entirety for the assault. All weapons and ammunition are to be served out.” He looked at Colonel Mobius. “Shortly before dawn tomorrow, your artillery will bombard the perimeter of the city and demolish the old walls, taking care to avoid as much of the core of the city as possible. Our eighteen-pounders are not optimal for taking down fortifications, but I trust you will do your best. Once complete, all infantry forces will go over the top and move into Grenoble to engage the enemy. I have unit orders to pass out later.”

Anhalt paced in front of the several mediocre maps of the area. He pointed at the Bastille high above Grenoble. “General Ngongo, your Mountaineers will depart today and move into position above the fort. Take the Dyula mercenaries with you for skirmishers. We have a small store of shoulder rockets, which are yours. When operations commence in the valley, you will storm the Bastille, where the clan lords tend to reside.”

The Katangan officer nodded in grim agreement.

“Gentlemen, we have reached the point where there are no options. We have no air cover. We are laboring to get some shriekers into operation. The combustion flak is far too dangerous to our own men. There is little gain to be had from devising clever tactics. We cannot succeed through stealth or misdirection; the creatures are over us, spying at all times. Our only advantage is brute strength. Sheer firepower. We must bring firearms to bear at a distance. And, if that fails, steel at close quarters. We must simply come to grips with the enemy in a set battle, and kill more of them than they do of us. That is the end of it, gentlemen. It is us or them.”

The officers sat mute. They all understood.

General Ngongo regarded Greyfriar, who leaned in the frigid corner, long legs stretched out in front of him. “And you, my friend, what of you? You are the mysterious ranger. Battles and armies are not your usual place. What mysterious role will you be playing in this maneuver?”

Greyfriar chuckled. “I'll find something to keep me busy. If your Mountaineers manage to reach the king of Grenoble, you will find me there waiting for you.”

A commotion outside made them pause in their strategizing. The door opened and a red-faced lieutenant ran in, saluting quickly, and then blurted out, “We are under attack, sir. The Highlanders of the Fifth report they are hard-pressed from the south.” General Khalifa, commander of Constantine's Fifth Regiment of Foot, stood in alarm.

Anhalt frowned bitterly at the news. “Damn them. I had hoped that the combustible flak would have deterred them for a few hours at least. Send word to Second Luxor to move up and reinforce. Have units of the Mombasa Askaris stand by to rotate in.” The lieutenant acknowledged and departed.

“General Khalifa, you'll want to get to your units. Gentlemen, we'll reconvene at a future time. Carry on.” Anhalt rose to his feet and his officers followed suit, trailing him out and departing for well-worn duties with their commands. Greyfriar fell into step beside Anhalt.

“Where are you going?” the general asked the swordsman.

“To join the fight, Sirdar.”

“Then I'll take the long way,” Anhalt remarked with a cynical grin. “Perhaps seeing a legendary folk hero will boost morale.”

“Just try not to set me on fire and I'll be fine.”

Despite himself, Anhalt laughed at the vampire's droll reply. Heaven help him, he found Greyfriar an amusing companion.

They emerged topside to a land charred black. Tentacles of smoke coiled up from the ground, and fires still burned in various areas. The rough coughs of soldiers echoed through the wasteland, and weary men scrambled for their positions. The distant popping of gunfire came from the south.

Anhalt and Greyfriar grabbed a transport, a light halftrack rumbling along the rutted paths between trenches and crude blockhouses. Its steam-driven pistons fired madly as the small treads struggled for traction on the churned muddy ground. Anhalt crouched on the edge of a front seat next to a driver suddenly nervous to find the sirdar in the cab, and Greyfriar clutched a bracket and hung perilously on the running board. The camp around them seemed to be in a chaos of men and machines and horses.

“They only have to wait us out,” Anhalt shouted over the rattling vehicle. “Why attack so soon? Do vampires have no patience? You said time means nothing to them.”

Greyfriar shrugged and offered blandly, “Vampires are also prideful and sadistic. They don't like being challenged.”

“Oh really?” Anhalt displayed an expression of mock incredulity. He swore the swordsman was grinning behind his cowl.

Greyfriar said, “They can wait, but if they think they have the advantage, why hesitate to strike you down?”

“Do you think we are so susceptible?”

“No. You will not be easy prey until you are unarmed.”

“Do you think they suspect a final push is coming?”

Greyfriar paused before nodding. “Perhaps. You're backed into a corner. They would be foolish to think you would just welcome death. Maybe their increased assaults are meant to forestall your attack, or simply to drain your ammunition.”

As they drew close to the southern trench lines, which were festooned with pikes sharp against the sky, they heard gunfire rattling and, amazingly, men cheering. Hundreds of vampires were visible in the air, but they were pulling back, a much different scenario than Anhalt had anticipated. He leapt from the moving truck into a slimy mud hole. Greyfriar alighted gently next to him. They dropped into a trench where a young captain noticed their arrival and tried to tidy his torn uniform with bloody fingers. “We have the buggers on the run, sir!”

“I find that unlikely,” was Greyfriar's reply, much to boyish Captain Hereghty's affront. “Something else must have caught their attention.”

Anhalt climbed onto the fire step, shouldering in between soldiers who waited at the parapet with rifles ready, firing pointlessly at the vanishing vampires. He studied the retreating mob. It was clear the vampires were no longer interested in the rear lines of the Equatorian army. The creatures were rising into the low clouds rolling off the mountains to the south.

Suddenly, the rumble of cannons echoed through the valley.

“That was not our artillery,” Anhalt exclaimed, hope springing in him for the first time in weeks.

“A ship's cannon, sir! I'd stake my life on it!” Hereghty shouted. “Reinforcements have arrived! Rotherford has broken through!”

Eager words of salvation immediately started leaping down the line, and the counterattack was resumed on the retreating vampires with more vigor. Soldiers forgot their cold, forgot their hunger, and forgot their illness in a rush of mad exhilaration.

Greyfriar suddenly jerked upright, and his head pivoted to the southeast.

Anhalt took immediate notice. “What is it?”

“She's coming.”

“Who's coming?” Anhalt followed the swordsman's gaze with a rising sense of dread. “Flay?”

“Adele.”

“Here? She wouldn't come here.” There was a sudden silence as the general contemplated what he was actually saying. “Damn it! Of course she would.”

In the southern distance, the shadowy shape of an airship suddenly dropped out of the clouds, her descent rapid and foolhardy. Swarms of vampires surrounded her. She was a brig, and both Anhalt and Greyfriar immediately recognized the vessel.
Edinburgh
. No doubt, Anhalt's old friend and military colleague, Aswan Hariri, captained her. It didn't surprise him that Adele would have contacted Hariri for a mission so reckless. The man was more pirate than soldier, but his skill with a ship was unprecedented. Raucous cheers resounded down the line at sight of the brig, but began to fade as seconds passed and no more ships appeared out of the clouds. A single ship, and a small one at that. No fleet was coming to their rescue. Soldiers suddenly stood transfixed with dismay.

Vampires abruptly sloughed off the brig in great numbers, plummeting dead to the ground like swarms of dying birds. Soldiers watched amazed, pointed, and then resumed cheering.

Abruptly Greyfriar's tall frame reeled backward.

Anhalt turned. “What's wrong?”

“She's using her geomancy to burn a path to us. I can't go any closer.” His words were low and clipped. He was clearly in pain.

Anhalt felt nothing, but he understood that vampires were susceptible to some skill the empress possessed. He looked to the south, trying to discern what was happening. The staccato of machine-gun fire echoed, cutting through vampires still rising to intercept the brig. Already more creatures clung to the wooden hull of
Edinburgh
, crowding over the dirigible from which it was suspended. Scores of them were attacking the sail-crowded masts that extended from the sides of the dirigible. The black shapes were everywhere. Anhalt's chest tightened with fear for his empress. The small vessel could hold no more than a company of soldiers. By sheer numbers, the enemy would overwhelm them.

“Go to her!” Greyfriar commanded Anhalt. “Help open her way!”

The Gurkha general shouted to Hereghty, “Captain, we must secure the ground beyond our lines! Come on, form ranks and stand ready. Quickly now! Not a second to lose!”

Orders were relayed and men gathered at the edge of the trenches, clinging to their rifles and swords and pikes. Faces blackened with dirt and grime stared into the frozen land beyond their trenches where vampires rose and fell, swarming the little airship. Officers adjusted caps and tarbooshes and turbans. Swagger sticks swung smartly under arms with calls of “All right, lads! Look sharp now. Up and out. Mind your heads at all times.”

Captain Hereghty saluted Anhalt. “Ready, sir.”

“Very well,” the general snarled with pistol and Fahrenheit saber in hand. “Over the top!”

Whistles blew down through the trenches and machine-gun fire ceased. After seconds of silence, another whistle blew, only to be drowned out by the animalistic bellows of a thousand men as a khaki wave poured up onto the ground. Rifle fire commenced, popping across the field. Men ran and shot. Blades swung. Pikes jabbed at figures floating overhead. Some men stopped to execute burned vampires wriggling in the dirt.

General Anhalt could barely catch his breath from the excitement of the flood surrounding him, shouting and fighting. He yelled exhortations to the brave soldiers around him, even as his eyes searched the sky for the empress's ship.

Edinburgh
tacked hard over and then righted in a strange maneuver. It had lost most of its forward momentum; there was no chance of outrunning the swarming monsters. No doubt, Captain Hariri was attempting to shake the creatures off, but those that lost their grip only veered back into place like black flies rising briefly from a disturbed carcass.

The ship was low enough and at such an angle that Anhalt glimpsed the deck. He saw the familiar red jackets of the White Guard, Adele's household troops, in a tight square around a lone figure, unmistakably a woman whose long auburn hair blew wildly in the wind. Their weapons snapped and flamed, bringing down any vampire that dared come close. The brig continued to rush toward Anhalt, sweeping so low now that the mooring lines dragged the ground.

Edinburgh
made one more hard tack and then, without a sound or fanfare, the vampires clutching the airship or drifting in the air around
it burst into flames. Anhalt heard their horrible and satisfying screams as hundreds of bodies dropped like burnt cords of lumber.

Soldiers on the ground pointed up with shock.

“Look! It's the empress!”

“What in the name of hell is she doing here?”

“She
is
crazy like they say! Bless her!”

Then the ship was past and Anhalt turned to race after it like a child chasing an escaped kite. Troopers on the ground dodged charred bodies of the enemy crashing to earth while others grabbed hold of
Edinburgh's
lines. Soon great clutches of soldiers were scrambling after the mooring lines, as well as the legs of their comrades who were being dragged by the slowing airship. Aboard the brig, airmen frantically furled sails and vented buoyants. The ship lurched to a halt just inside the trench line of the vast Equatorian camp.

Once the brig was secured to makeshift mooring stakes, a gangplank descended. General Anhalt started to lope up, but he was met by Empress Adele striding down. She smiled wide, enhancing her Persian features. Her expression was open and friendly, an odd combination of girlish enthusiasm and mature intelligence, even wisdom. Her hair was unencumbered and went chaotic in the wind. She was lovely, but not stunning. Still, she exuded a personal authority that demanded attention.