The wager for all things
When Misu’s entourage had been escorted inside, over two dozen Bluecoats took their cue to empty from the carriages. They each fell to a knee and prepared for their orders. Juniper had already spied a number of watchmen from the outset who had claimed nooks and shadows, and he created a mental map. When this was completed, he slid out of the carriage from the opposite side, where his men had congregated.
‘I see at least seven. They’re all turned away from us. Clearly they’re under the impression that apart from the girls, this thing would be empty. They didn’t count on us.’ The gloating came first, a stab of encouragement that fate was on their side. ‘Crawl under the carriage and slide under the decking of the platform. I want sixteen men to the left, ten to the right. Nobody is to be higher than a snake, understand? For the left, follow the cover of the buildings and take them out when the signal is given. The right, run alongside the dunes and then get one on the overlook just in case this goes nasty. Keep it quick. Keep it silent.’
The marshal spied the heavy-eyed face of Jacques who seemed slightly too unsteady for his liking. ‘Silent,’ he repeated.
The self-assigned groups moved on, snaking against every scrap of cover, hugging every broken wall. The fluidity of their movements was watched by the marshal, this efficiency being a staple of his men. When given the go-ahead, Juniper ordered a pair out to a sentry or small patrol, then waited for the figures to fall. Routes opened up as eyes closed through incapacitation.
Jacques pulled a young man, covering his mouth with a thick hand, around a corner before driving a knife up to the hilt. When the eyes closed and the struggling stopped he withdrew it and breathed once more. It was a quiet way to go, but a wrong way to kill a man.
Slumped bodies were hauled out of the way before being bound and gagged to ensure they would be of no concern. Those too difficult met a knife or a truncheon – unfortunate casualties though necessary. The arrests would be hauled back onto the Morning Star when the job was done. In time, the broken village soon became empty, leaving only the looming factory as Wilheim’s stronghold.
Workers, Juniper assessed, peering through ground-floor windows from the outside. The main foyer was thankfully bare, but once inside there were tiers and stairwells to cover. Done incorrectly, they would be walking onto a killing floor and despite the firepower at his disposal, the chance of his men becoming casualties was too high. Some have weaponry, he mused, but it was a wildcard that could prove fatal. No, to do this, he had to ensure proper coverage.
Two teams of two were sent inside, through empty windows where the glass had since been ebbed away by a fierce sandstorm. They quietly sprinted up the iron stairwell to the first and second floor gantries. Both pairs drew weapons and waited for the order to be given.
Juniper led his own men into the foyer, easing the front door open and covering every corner with a barrel. Behind him bodies trickled in, ensuring there were no nasty surprises. One, however, did come, as a grubby worker emerged from a toilet, though his cheerful whistle stopped with a revolver to the temple. Juniper got what he needed – information. It was slight, though exactly what they were after, before its provider was knocked out.
Factory floor, rear doors. Loading bay.
The message was relayed. The flood of men poured against the large double doors that entertained the factory’s innards. People moved around like worker bees hypnotized for a grander cause than their own existence. A couple of sentries spoke on the ground floor with another playing cards on the first. When assessed, Wilheim gave the order and counted from five to one.
The Bluecoats filled the factory before any of Wilheim’s men knew what was going on. The sentries on the ground floor saw no use in producing iron and instead unfastened their holsters and slid them over. On the first and second gantries both groups of lawmen burst through their doors with weapons drawn, held over the immediate threats.
It was a precise takeover, with everyone freezing in their tracks. The workers retained their bags of clippings, pails of water, or whatever else they grasped. They looked in turn to the employed protection who were quickly being corralled into the centre, Jacques roughly encouraging them to hurry in doing so. This all happened in complete silence.
Marshal Juniper took to the factory floor, looked to everyone in turn, and placed his finger to his lips.
Nobody dared to find out what would happen if the silence was not followed.
Meanwhile, a small group of riflemen had been tasked to ascend the loading yard roof. Taking the advice from Wyld, they identified the easiest route for infiltration, silencing any straggling patrols along the way. Finally the group ascended to the rooftop itself and, ensuring their feet straddled the steel window frames, silently traversed along to the damaged portion. They each took to their positions, withdrawing their weaponry and taking aim at the busy individuals inside.
Between them, a large burlap satchel was placed near the opening. Silently they communicated via hand gestures, taking sight of the group beneath. The higher walkways blocked some of the better shots, ruling portions of the factory impossible to cover.
But it was good enough.
* * *
Back in the loading bay, Wilheim Fort craned his neck over Misu’s shoulder. Something was amiss. Sure the desert was quiet, eerily so in fact, but he could tell when it was too quiet.
Especially, he assumed, when people were not working.
Then the yard floor flickered with a passing shadow. The birds erupted into the blue. The showgirl’s skyward glance betrayed the plan.
Misu gave the signal with her fingers behind her back.
Wilheim’s inhalation of breath was shortly followed by the basement doors crashing open. Juniper had been watching through the keyhole and correctly assumed that they had been rumbled. It was now or never. As he dived through, right arm outstretched, it was sure as hell not going to be never.
His first shot was rushed and buzzed wildly past the mark. The second, when Wilheim had begun to run for cover, was instead put through the left hand of Donovan who had drawn for a gun. Immediately he clenched the limb and darted backwards for his own wellbeing.
The covering fire from above began, the accurate shots sprawling the targets onto the ground. Spent bullet cases rained down in a crescendo.
Wilheim’s contingent scattered in alarm, utterly taken aback at the situation. Those with weapons withdrew them though even the bravest of chancers ran from the incoming hail of gunfire. Some fell in a slump as Corinne’s daggers met with their backs. Each body obstructed her true target. She withdrew them each in turn, launching them with blistering speed until Wilheim managed to gain shelter.
The Bluecoats stormed down the stairs, providing significant covering fire of their own. Feet ran through collected sand, dashing and diving beneath the cover of old machinery. The husk of the Gambler’s Den was a sizeable refuge for the showgirls who hunkered down behind its bulk. Bullets whizzed and sparked on the train’s ample frame.
‘In your own time, gentlemen,’ Misu yelled patronizingly, ‘it’s not like we’re in any rush!’
On the roof, a Bluecoat kicked the accompanying blue satchel over the side and it crashed down, bouncing off the train wreckage. Immediately the showgirls swarmed upon it, Corinne being the first to reach it. She unbuckling the bag and revealed the bevy of firearms therein, the contents of which were passed around.
‘I said no weapons, Corinne. What the hell were those knives on you for? If someone decided to frisk you, you would have blown everything!’ Misu yelled, keeping her head down.
‘I wasn’t so I didn’t! Besides, I’ve dropped a couple so it’s a good thing that I’m not listening to you then, isn’t it?’ she spat.
‘Oh I must have been a good girl at some point in my life,’ Wyld exclaimed with glee, assessing the pair of revolvers within her grip. ‘These are just cherry.’
‘Can you put them to good use?’ Corinne herself rummaged around for something bigger. She found it.
‘Keep a close eye, maybe you’ll learn something.’ Wyld grinned, nodding her head to Katerina who molested a pistol. ‘Hey. You can read the future. Want to tell us how this all pans out?’
‘Death is in the air around us. Success depends on sticking together. Don’t need no cards to tell that.’
‘Can the banter. This is no time to be breaking funnies.’ Misu took in every face around her. Some were shaken already, flinching at the cracks and pops of gunfire. One was more jumpy than most. Elizabeth fumbled about with her newly acquired shooter, quite unlike her though this was put down to nerves. This was the final push. Anything less than complete focus would get them a one-way ticket to the boneyard. ‘Everybody knows their role.’
Colette took a deep breath as she watched puffs of smoke dance above fortresses of crates. For a moment the others could have sworn that she made the slightest of smiles, confusing since her last brush with death and subsequent injury. ‘See you back on the Star, ladies,’ she stated.
Misu was tossed a pair of guns and took to cover of her own, blind firing around it to keep dangerous heads down. She watched Jacques foolishly sprint through sporadic shots, past crate and body. He slid across the sand to Franco who remained tied to the chair. Punches of thunder boomed in his ears as he yanked the trigger of his revolver. The old familiar feeling was weathered in the strength of his wrist, the iron bucking like an untamed steed. Two bodies fell before him.
With the showgirls now armed, they fanned out among the Bluecoats and used the cover to push forward to the prize: Wilheim Fort himself.
‘Move back, move back to me!’ Wilheim roared in astonishment from his safety. Someone would pay for this one. Better yet, they would all do so. ‘I want each and every one of their heads before me in a goddamn pile! Make it happen, you assholes!’ he bellowed above the din. He called for Donovan by name repeatedly.
Wilheim received no reply. One of his most trusted men had, instead, decided to escape at the earliest opportunity. His limb was wrapped up in a shirtsleeve, tightly bound, which oozed a mass of fresh red. There was no surviving this, Donovan presumed, not if one remained. Wilheim was too stubborn to withdraw. He knew that without even attempting to argue sense. In the confusion, Donovan made it to a side door and navigated the streets to the stables. There were times to fight and times to flee. This was the latter.
Back inside, Misu sized up the considerable defence that Wilheim’s men presented and the dangers it presented to Franco who was bound in a no man’s land between the opposing sides. She watched as Wilheim’s flushed face stuck out from cover momentarily, together with a waving hand.
‘Get those snipers!’ Wilheim fiercely ordered. ‘And Franco! Get Franco! I want those bitches dead too but make sure he’s full of holes first!’
Weapons were angled up. Windows shattered, pouring in sand. Bluecoats atop the roof scrambled in retreat. The unfortunate had the glass beneath their feet give way, leading them to plummet to their deaths. Danger or no danger, Misu had no real choice now. The moment she heard this, she leapt up from her position and filled the air with death.
‘Covering fire!’ she bellowed.
Wyld took up the order from behind, slipping behind truck and crate, executing those she came across at point-blank range. She took down two until she was spotted, and bullets rained down upon the cart she pressed her back against, but her role was sufficient to give the marshal time to organize retaliation of his own.
Misu took to the scraps of cover when possible, waving to the others before diving alongside Jacques who sat flat against a box. He laughed skittishly, fumbling bullets into his revolver’s cylinder. They were just yards from Franco now.
‘Ready for the opening?’
She nodded vigorously, checking her ammo. Fourteen rounds wasn’t much but was fourteen chances at coming out of this in one piece. The Bluecoats had moved their line up on both sides and the marshal himself showed Misu a closed fist before pointing to Franco, telling her to wait for his signal before going. She nodded and poised herself to sprint.
Marshal Juniper was in his element. He corralled his men into position and shouted above the exchanges of gunfire. The accompanying Bluecoats stopped their volley momentarily on his waved hand.
‘Wilheim,’ he bellowed. ‘Wilheim Fort! Please do listen to me now! It gives me great pleasure to inform you that you are, formally, under arrest for crimes against the territories! I would say that you have the choice of doing this sensibly but you’ve clearly forgone the option.’ In exchange, he blindly unloaded every chamber of his revolver, waving for cover from the Bluecoats who had flooded inside. ‘And for that, I thank you!’
Misu kicked her feet forward at the sign from the marshal, as did Jacques. They dived over the last remaining crates before anyone else could stop them and struck the floor shoulder first. Immediately Jacques kicked the wooden chair over with the captive tied, grabbed its back and began to drag it along as the showgirls all followed Misu and ensured that anyone out in the open would swiftly succumb to lead poisoning. Franco was yanked behind a large flume that would be more than sufficient for protection and Jacques began untying his binds. Beside him, Misu held her revolver out and sent the first unlucky person to notice them scurrying back. Fourteen rounds became thirteen.
* * *
Franco blinked at the familiar face above him, though through one eye it was just a mass of blurs.
‘Howdy, boss,’ Jacques said, pulling the last of the ropes away from his wrists. ‘How abouts we get you out of this mess, eh?’
Franco had endured weeks of brutality, administered by a sadist or worse. Parts of him would never recover but those that would were willed into life. His feet trembled though he thought he had the strength to stand. Some fingers still remained broken and one of his eyes was purple and shut, but the fire within him rose. Here were the showgirls, and Misu as well, tossing themselves into this carnage for him, all to save him. Now they had him. All that was needed was to get out in one piece. Not an easy task.
* * *
Their escape was hampered by the floor workers who scattered out into the desert in a vain attempt to flee and in that confusion the security from the factory floor had taken their chances, storming down the stairwell and firing violently. Corinne had run forward but was too far ahead to be called back, yelping with each yank on her trigger, over and over. Two shots missed their target though eventually they ventured true and downed a number of crooks.
Misu attempted to call her back. Let the showgirls bunch together so that the Bluecoats can flank both sides as they move on up, she decided, but her voice failed her over the noise. Instead she relied on hand signals to Corinne and anyone else in sight, encouraging all to give them cover whilst they withdrew their concern.
Franco finally attempted to stand. It took a few tries of course and required being supported, a role that Misu didn’t hesitate to fulfil. Tears shimmered over her eyes, unsure if it was the dust and cordite or genuine relief. She reached out and traced the back of her hand down a swollen cheek, sending it lower and encasing one of his hands. He limply turned his head in her direction.
‘It’s you,’ she whimpered, ‘it’s really you.’
The urge to kiss him in relief was overwhelming but sensibly resisted.
Jacques visually checked Franco over, coming to quite the obvious conclusion. ‘He’s pretty beaten up. Getting him out will be slow. I propose we go back through the factory. We’ve got heat on both sides now.’ He flinched at a terrible whizz from overhead. ‘Unless you have a better plan? I’m open to something different.’
‘Grand. We’ll retreat that way.’ She began to test how mobile Franco was, his heavy limps punctuated with groans and hisses. At least he was mobile, which was a positive thing to focus on.
‘What about the Bluecoats?’ Jacques seemed genuinely concerned for the marshal’s men who were doing their best at withholding Wilheim’s vengeance.
‘What about them? They’re doing their job; we do ours. They knew what they were in for.’
‘Doing their job. Right,’ Jacques stated, spying one crumpled on the floor a good twenty yards away. ‘Remind me never to sign up.’
‘You a lawman. That’s a funny one.’ Corinne crawled over to the group, breathing deeply. She rolled onto her back and began to feed a fresh batch of ammo into a shotgun. When done she snapped the trigger guard back and forth to load the first shell into the chamber.
‘As funny as you keeping your trap closed but this is a day of high amusements, ain’t it?’ Jacques spied the weapon in her hands, not quite believing she had acquired something considerably powerful. ‘Swap?’ It was worth a try at least.
‘Not on your life.’
Misu readjusted the man’s arm over her shoulder to make it more comfortable, then brushed the hair from his eyes. ‘Are you ready to go?’ she asked Franco who had finally begun to take stock of the mayhem around him.
‘Very much,’ he grunted, summoning what little strength he could muster. ‘Did you see what he did to my train?’ He squinted at the blurry shape that resembled the carcass of the Gambler’s Den, now attracting bullets as if it was magnetic.
‘I know. I’m pissed too, but that can wait. Jacques, do you think you can cover us?’
‘I knew you had a reason to drag me all the way out here.’ Jacques winked, hurriedly reloading his firearm. The cylinder returned with a snap and the hammer was thumbed back in preparation.
‘And you?’ she asked Corinne flatly who smirked.
‘Nothing you need worry about. Huddle up, ladies,’ Corinne yelled as much as her throat would permit to everyone in earshot. She took to her feet and unloaded a contingent of buckshot, blasting chunks from wooden crates and sending men scattering. Jacques began to withdraw, patiently ensuring every shot met its mark though counting the bodies weaving behind the Bluecoats he had noticed a noticeable omission. He called to Misu and pointed at the huddled figure tightly wedged behind an overturned goods truck. She wasn’t injured from what they could both tell, but barely moving on observation.
‘Colette!’ Misu called to the fiery woman who was edging around the side of the loading bay, the closest in proximity to investigate. She pointed to the figure between them to which she paid an affirmative nod.
* * *
Colette attempted to make every shot count, knowing full well that rash firing would have her run out of ammunition sooner rather than later. The times when she fired were accurate, missing only by some quick effort of her quarry. Her firing stopped and she approached Elizabeth. The woman’s eyes were tightly closed as she held the revolver against her head, repeating an inaudible prayer. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she rocked back and forth in fear.
Lowering herself Colette hurried over, calling Elizabeth’s name to snap her out of whatever panic had beset her. Suddenly, between the blubbering, the words became audible.
‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t do it,’ Elizabeth mumbled in terror. The weapon jittered in her hand, fingers white from the severity of her grip. ‘I can’t do this any more – all the dying. I can’t shut it out. It’s everywhere …!’
‘Elizabeth, it’s okay,’ Colette hushed, trying to encourage her to lower her gun with a hand. ‘Listen to me: open your eyes, sweetheart.’
‘What’s happening?’ Misu shouted, barely audible, struggling to maintain Franco’s weight who looked in quite considerable pain.
Rather than call out a response, Colette shook her hazel hair side to side, pointed to her forehead three times. Clearly something wasn’t quite right with her and wasting time talking about it was going to do nothing but bring about further fatalities. A bullet stung the air overhead. Someone cried out their last breath.
‘Then get her out of here!’ Misu called, disappearing behind some stacked containers.
Colette knelt once more. ‘It’s okay, I promise. I’ll protect you. Come on, let’s get you to safety.’
Tear-soaked eyes blinked open. ‘R-really?’ she stuttered.
‘Really.’ Colette offered her hand out. ‘We’ll go someplace quiet. Take my hand.’
Elizabeth sniffed, wiping her face and giving a broken smile. Her relief was obvious but as Colette tried to hoist her up, she had been unaware of the crook who ducked past, though he noticed the women from the corner of his eye.
The both froze in surprise.
With a wail, Elizabeth leant to the side and stabbed the air with her weapon. The revolver chamber spun in turn. The man was scattered on the floor with a fraction of his head missing.
Imminently the gun fell from her fingers and she broke into sobs, tightly tugging against Colette’s dress.
* * *
Corinne peeked around her cover. Wilheim frantically edged behind his goons, making sure there were sufficient bodies or material between him and danger. He moved towards the doors back into the factory for a getaway no doubt. Escape, to him, was paramount, no matter how many fell for him to do so.
But Corinne wouldn’t be having any of that.
Here the monster was, almost fifty yards away and stumbling in confusion. This could be ended swiftly and decisively. All of his torment could be scrubbed away with a single trigger pull. All that was needed was an uncluttered route from barrel to body. It would be criminal for him to escape the law once again.
‘You get Franco to safety,’ she growled to Misu. ‘Wilheim is mine!’
Before Misu could object she vaulted over the crate, let fly a shot, and ducked down once more to avoid retaliation. She repeated this as Misu called for her over and over, clearly being ignored.
* * *
Wyld looked up from her place behind a cart, alarmed at the calls over the chatter of gunfire. The showgirls were sticking behind their cover as per orders, with the exception of one who sprinted onward, skirt flailing with murder in mind. The moment Misu caught sight of Wyld, she gestured repeatedly to Corinne who seemingly had a death wish. Understanding, Wyld charged out from her hiding place, first on all fours and then into a dash to intercept.
‘Wilheim!’ Corinne screamed, now quite taken with bloodlust. The shotgun bucked in her grip as she charged for him, his gross visage moving through the maze of clutter.
Wyld ran as quickly as her feet could carry her, ducking as the wooden crates burst with splinters with every shot wide of the mark. As Corinne’s firearm emptied, she jerked to the side, confused as to why her legs suddenly wobbled with every step. A sharp shockwave of pain flooded from her shoulder, removing all grip from her fingers. In her haste she had missed one of the goons who had her dead in his sights, his gun barrel smouldering from a freshly fired shot.
But she didn’t miss him drawing back to finish the job.
Time slowed down. As the hammer clicked into place, it was the goon’s turn now to twist, a sudden punch of red erupting in his chest causing him to fall backward. Wyld dived through the air, grabbed Corinne, and brought her sliding across the ground and back to cover.
Misu saw everything, powerless to help. Too far to make a clean shot. Too far to save her friend. All she could do was cry out in alarm.
It took Corinne a moment before she realized what had happened, noticing blood now streaming down her arm. Wyld immediately took Corinne’s hand in her own and pushed it firmly on the wound. It did little but exacerbate the sunken bullet, causing Corinne to shrilly cry out, but it did at least help the bleeding.
‘Keep that held tightly, keep the pressure firm. I don’t care how much it stings, you keep it there until I say so!’
Corinne attempted an objection, but her head fell back onto the concrete with a gasp. Wyld waved out towards Misu who had hoisted Franco up onto his feet, barking at the Bluecoats to swoop in and secure them from harm, shuddering at the Bluecoats laying down suppressing fire. The factory doors were blocked off by the law, forcing the criminals back. With both ends of the train shed bolted up, Wilheim’s men had nowhere to retreat to. Wyld waved on to Misu who gave the go-ahead for the next part of the plan. Get everyone out in one piece and let Juniper finish up. That was the arrangement. That was the deal.
‘Ladies!’ Misu called out above the din. ‘We are leaving!’
Marshal Juniper ordered the Bluecoats to move in and deflect any heat directed to those who withdrew. Bullets flew and thankfully the casualties were non-existent, with exception of one.
Corinne’s eyes blinked as darkness swamped her for a moment. Eventually she focused on a new face that loomed over her, with a brilliant sun-drenched halo, a flock of red hair falling about her like curtains that now blotted out the light.
‘Hand away please.’ Katerina withdrew Corinne’s shivering sticky fingers, binding the wound with a makeshift tourniquet.
‘I thought you were an angel …’
Katerina laughed, keeping the good humour as her makeshift bandage aggravated the bullet sunk inside.
‘I’m sorry to say you’re still among the living. Hold on tight.’ Corinne was pulled up, and carried backward, accompanied by Wyld who fired this way and that to the faces that protruded into view. She backed up to the doors, thankful for the Bluecoats filling in the gaps of her defence.
‘More haste please, more haste!’ Misu called to them before ebbing her way backwards with Franco, leaving just them and Jacques remaining from the Morning Star. ‘You can die another day but until that comes, I want you moving!’
Before they could reach the doors to the factory interior they were pinned down by a surprising offensive.
* * *
Wilheim barked his demands. He wasn’t going to get caught, not like this, not here of all places. He had much grander works to perform. Today would not be the day for him to be taken down. This disgrace had gone on for long enough.
* * *
Alarmed, the Bluecoats suddenly scattered in confusion. Misu hadn’t seen the cause, neither did Franco, who tried to identify the source of the commotion, but Jacques had. He had heard the hiss as it cut the air, growing louder by the second. He had seen the sparks litter the air as they spat from the fuse wire. He had seen one of the lit sticks of dynamite that had been tossed towards them in desperation. It travelled along the floor and rested behind some crates.
‘Oh hell!’ Jacques exclaimed as his face fell.