The Stealers' War (22 page)

Paetro unrolled a Vandian assault map across the helo’s metal floor, spreading a sheaf of aerial reconnaissance images beside it. ‘We’re setting down here on the Yarl Heights. Our primary task is to cover the sappers assigned to the capital’s northern edge. The sappers’ helos will be landing opposite us, directly above Hadra-Hareer’s Trade Gate. It’s one of only two ground-level entrances into the capital. We’ll be aiming into the buildings along the North Rim ravine. Sharpshooters are to target any defender attempting to cut down our sappers, either literally or figuratively, as they rappel into position and lay their charges.’

‘The locals will be shooting at us from windows little larger than loop-holes,’ noted Charia Wyon. ‘While we only have boulders for cover.’

‘That’s why you and your sister are here and not warming the guardroom at the Castle of Snakes,’ said Paetro. ‘You’re the best shots we have. Give the defenders something else to worry about.’

‘So, the gates get blown. Won’t we need those tunnels to storm the city?’ asked Little Aldro.

‘Not until the locals are good and hungry. These hares have only two passages of size into their warren,’ said Paetro. ‘The mountain barbarians think that’s going to protect Hadra-Hareer, but instead we’ll make a stone coffin of their capital. After that? Well, they need to bring in food from their rice fields and valleys to eat. Most of it rides down the Yarl River by barge, a scattering more comes in by mule train through the mountain trails to the north and along the airfields and roads in the southern valley. Once we command the heights on both sides of the capital, we’ll cut off their supply lines and starve the locals out. They’ve made their home in rocks; let’s see how they manage eating ’em.’

‘What about the city built high into the side of the two mountains, sir?’ asked Kenem Posda, tapping one of the black and white images. ‘I mark gun fortifications here that will overlook our position on the ravine. These dark slits are launch tunnels for skyguard hangars?’

‘Aye,’ said Paetro. ‘That’s why
The Caller
is flying with us. She’s going to turn that city hanging off the two mountains into landslides and rubble. Their ramparts and cannons up in the peaks are designed to hold off a bunch of horse-riding savages who regularly try to invade from the north, a few anti-aircraft guns to see off any aerial pirates who come calling.
The Caller
will introduce these barbarians to the novelty of three-thousand-pound armour-piercing shells ringing in their ears.’

‘And the enemy skyguard, sir?’

‘Nothing we haven’t faced before. Weyland’s friendly monarch told us all about what the Rodalians are sporting. Fixed wing corn-oil smokers, plywood construction and unarmoured. Single rear-mounted rotor on a flying wing, nine-stroke engine. Outside of the trade winds, they top out at about 120 miles per hour. Largest kite they can launch is a two-seater with a pilot and a spotter/bombardier who tosses grenades over the side by hand. Radios up this way have battery arrays that fill a long guild hold, so the locals don’t fly with communications onboard.’

‘No radios?’ said Kenem Posda in disbelief. ‘But how do the barbarians take their orders once they’re in the air?’

‘Semaphore flags,’ said Paetro.

Howls of laughter rose from the soldiers, and despite himself, Duncan felt a flush of shame on behalf of Weyland’s simple mountain neighbours.
We’re no better in Weyland
. The sooner he got back to true civilization inside the Imperium and put his humble origins well behind him, the better. Let King Marcus and the rebel assembly’s fighters snipe at each other out in the prefectures. Like two bald men fighting over a comb, as far as Duncan was concerned.
It’ll be over, soon. The starving Rodalian townspeople will hand Lady Cassandra back, over their leaders’ dead bodies if it comes to it. This mad campaign will be finished with, and I’ll be back home. My real home. Vandia. Not some backward corner at the far-called end of the world
.

Paetro slapped Duncan’s shoulder. ‘You’re the local knowledge. Anything I’ve missed?’

‘The Rodalian skyguard are meant to be experts at riding mountain winds.’

‘You mean they’ve got weather scryers more accurate than usual?’ asked one of the guardsmen.

‘It’s a religious thing. Each wind has a name and they make offerings to them in their temples.’ Even as Duncan said the words, he realized how ridiculous he sounded. There were splutters of laughter from among the cohort.

‘They’re full of wind!’ someone hooted.

‘Stow that,’ barked Paetro. ‘You’ve been at this long enough to know how it goes. A barbarian spear can slice through a soldier’s neck just as easily as a bullet from an electric rifle. The first barbarian you underestimate is the one who’ll stick a dagger up your arse and ask you how it feels.’

‘This will be the last action of the campaign?’ asked Little Aldro. His voice sounded like a deep rumbling landslide as it slid through his chest.

‘I reckon it will,’ said Paetro. He rolled up the map which showed their part in the planned action. ‘If these Rodalian fools had bit down on their pride and swallowed their traditions of hospitality, we’d have the little highness back and Baron Machus’s feathers wouldn’t have been ruffled.’

‘Don’t need ruffling, they need trimming,’ said Kenem Posda.

‘Yesterday’s enemy is today’s ally,’ said Paetro. ‘You know how that goes, too, back in the empire. Right now Prince Gyal and the baron’s troops are flying with us, not against us. We get this done, we go back home. Alive’s better than dead. Any arguments with that?’

None from me
. The soldiers grunted and shook their heads. An intense wave of heat slapped across Duncan’s face, his ears suddenly ringing from a sound so overwhelming it was beyond noise. For a second he thought that
The Caller
had exploded, some terrible accident in the vessel’s ammunition chambers; but the cloud of flame expanding from her hull cleared to reveal the three main guns on her twenty-inch battery recoiling back into their turret mounting, shards of oily smoke marking the passage of monstrous shells and answered by a distant plume of mountainside and masonry from the capital’s second mountain, Hareer. They were firing from miles out, but distance mattered for nought when it came to the Imperium’s might. Duncan tried to imagine the scene of panic in Hadra-Hareer right now. Whole sections of the mountain excavated by
The Caller
. Buildings clinging to the slopes disintegrated, others sliding into the abyss, townspeople tumbling into the clear blue sky as though an ant nest had been kicked over; deeper chambers inside the mountain proper collapsing, Rodalians buried alive, choking in dust and smoke. Nothing could stand before Vandia. Rodal was going to fall every bit as easily, quickly and efficiently as the resounding death blow struck against the Weyland rebels’ capital at Midsburg.
They should have learnt
, grimaced Duncan.
Prince Gyal hung the Speaker of the Winds just for speaking out against Vandia’s presence. Wasn’t that lesson enough? And how many are going to die now, for the sake of their leaders’ pride?
Stupid Rodalians. Unlucky Rodalians.

‘
The Caller
likes the sound of her own voice,’ said Paetro.

‘Don’t reckon the locals will ever grow too fond of it,’ growled Kenem Posda, clutching his rifle between his legs as though the weapon was a favoured walking stick. ‘Even though old Kenem is.’

Duncan’s stout, shave-headed Vandian friend pointed out of the open hatch towards the slopes of Hareer. Tiny dark triangles arrowing out of the hangars built into the mountain, escaping while the launch tunnels were still intact. ‘And we’ve encouraged some birds to fly their nest in the caves.’

Duncan could see tiny puffs of smoke from the city ramparts girdling both mountains, cannon fire, but it seemed their low, fast helo squadron was still too far away to feel the effects of the capital’s counter-salvo. Not even the sound of Rodalian shells whistling between the aircraft. ‘Their skyguard are climbing for height,’ noted Duncan.

‘They know what they’re about, at any rate,’ said Paetro. ‘That’s the one advantage a fixed wing flier has over a helo. Go high. Swoop down and aim for our rotors. This might get interesting yet.’

‘I was so hoping for simple,’ rumbled Aldro.

‘Nothing simpler than death, big lad.’

Again
The Caller
opened up with her main turrets, the sky split by thunder, the dragon-mouthed vessel’s hull left trembling in anticipation as the first mountain, Hadra, took a turn at receiving the Imperium’s displeasure. Away in the distance the summit blew a fume of rubble and rock into the bright, clear air.

Kenem Posda leaned out of the hatch and spat into the air. Outside, there was a change of pitch as the gunship escort abandoned the troop transports. ‘Off with our Hornets. That’s it, my beauties, you sting those barbarian pilots a good one, long before they ever reach poor old Kenem’s bones.’

All around Duncan the gunships peeled off, arrowing up for altitude. Helos could make three times the speed of any Rodalian flying wing and then stop dead in the air, hovering still while their guns tracked a passing enemy flier. This was nothing that the mountain people had flown against before. Tradition and mysticism and handcrafted fighters against the advanced science and battle-hardened veterans of Vandia.
I wouldn’t want to be a Rodalian right now
. Duncan wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be himself right now.
Paetro was right, I could have stayed behind
. And have Princess Helrena mark him as craven.
I have to do this. Bringing Cassandra back to Helrena is the only way I’m going to prove my worth to her
. But what would such success really be worth to Helrena, with a dynastic marriage to arrange.
It’s my duty. Cassandra has to be alive and unharmed. She has to
.

Between the speed of the approaching helo squadron and the approach of the attackers, it seemed only seconds before Duncan had his chance.
We’re climbing for height, too. No need to scrape our bellies on the trees now that we’ve been spotted, I suppose
. Their helo began to twist violently to the left and right, and around the sky Duncan heard the rattle of guns. The dogfight had begun.
The Caller
arced off to the east, her massive engine’s thrum diminishing with distance. Duncan realized what she was doing.
Not spooked by the attackers
. In reality, the battery ship’s crew knew she was as good as impervious to the tiny Rodalian flying wings swinging down on her like gnats bothering a bull.
She’s opening a clear line of fire on Hadra-Hareer that doesn’t have us caught between the city and her cannons
. A sudden pull to the left had Duncan clutching white-knuckled to his crew strap. He caught a glimpse of a skyguard flying wing flashing past – one of their troop transports left spinning wildly in the air as it attempted to descend for an emergency landing, a single rotor left humming as its rear blades hung broken and useless, stalled on a dark smoking engine mount. Every few seconds the panicked, white-faced legionaries in the troop cabin swung into view, clutching on to their safety straps. They were fully armoured soldiers of the legion, not guardsmen. And they were probably dead for all the metal they wore.
That could be me. That could be me
.

Some of the guardsmen in Duncan’s cabin raised their rifles and aimed them out of the open hatch, but Paetro yelled at them to hold their fire. ‘Save your damned ammunition until you see one of those corn-oil smokers roll past us close enough to spit on. You’ll need every cartridge when you land. Let our hornets do their job without risking stray fire from the beetles as well.’

A gunship came tilting past their open hatch as though it had heard Paetro, a black dragon painted across its hull, the fierce head ending on a gun turret under the pilot station, malevolent eyes swivelling on the turret as bullets roared into the sky. Tracer rounds were interspersed between the plane-killing ordinances, hot white flashes that left its volley scratched against the air like a molten spear, bright afterimages flickering across the back of Duncan’s retina as he blinked his eyelids. He never saw if the hunting helo had claimed a kill. Duncan tried not to vomit as they continued to execute wild manoeuvres, tiny glimpses of the wider fight snatched through the open hatch.
I wasn’t half as fearful during the siege of Midsburg
. Then he had ridden in battle on a monstrously large tank, practically a castle on tracks.
Of course, I could jump off and take cover at any point. But up here? I’m merely a witness until we land.
Duncan jumped up off his seat as a clang rang off the side of his helo, a hammer blow against their hull. One of the shells in the air had struck the helo, leaving a dent in the side where their armour had done its job. A stray.
One of ours or one of theirs?
It only would have mattered if it had been fired closer and reached penetration velocity.
So this is war, then?
Fleeting across the landscape with random death flying in every direction; none of it with a care for a man’s soul. If he was good or evil. If he had hopes or a family. The worthless and the worthy claimed by the same blind hand. He could still hear the clamour of
The Caller
’s colossal guns; imagine the city clinging to the twin mountains crumbling under her stern rebuke. There was no tiredness left within Duncan, now. Driven away by his last plunge through the air. All around him the house’s guardsmen prayed, muttering, some to the Imperium Cosmocrator, the official cult of imperial worship, many more to whatever local deities the soldiers worshipped in their home nations. Gods and divinities he had never heard of. Duncan tried to remember the common prayers of the Saints, but all he could conjure up was Pastor Carnehan’s hard, cold face as he put a bullet in Duncan’s heart back in Vandia.
Forget him. Leave him to Paetro.
It made Duncan feel slightly easier that even battle-hardened veterans appeared to share his terror.
Sitting ducks up here until we land and take our fate in our own hands
. They were close enough to Hadra-Hareer now to feel the thump of shells from the capital’s ramparts exploding in the air around them, the helo shaking, angry pops as distant shrapnel shards bounced off their fuselage.
The battle is coming. Coming to me
.