At 0530 Standard Time, fifteen minutes after the initial explosions had crippledd The Lady, Karlstrom passed through the turnstile into the Oval Office. The President-General, summoned from his bed by the first news of the assault, was – as always – impeccably groomed and exuded the businesslike air of a man who had been at work for hours.
He greeted Karlstom by the ’stile. ‘I can’t believe this is happening, Ben. Hartmann must be the unluckiest man alive.’
‘Either that or the dumbest. Never mind. Perhaps it’ll teach the wagon-train division not to back a loser. Have you seen the map projections showing our units and where this is taking place?’
The P-G nodded. ‘While I was dressing.’ He steered Karlstrom over to the chair facing the desk then seated himself behind it.
‘We’ve had two messages from Hartmann, and Wallis, my task-force leader, has spoken with Malone. He and Brickman made it to the train but the rest of the team didn’t make it. Red River received a report from the deputy wagon-master about some shooting incident on the ramp. He also said he’d lost touch with Hartmann. Since when he’s gone off the air and Hartmann’s come through saying he’s lost contact with the rear command car.
‘Sounds very confusing …’
‘It is. Here’s the situation. Shortly after Malone and Brickman arrived, there was a series of explosions which immobilized the train, cut the power to the guns and caused a systems failure which lowered all the ramps. You can imagine the situation.’
‘Christo! I didn’t realize they were that easy to crack.’
‘I don’t think anybody did.’
‘But can’t Hartmann raise the ramps?’
‘Not without mains power. It’s a major flaw in the operating system. The designers never envisaged a simultananeous breakdown in both power cars.’
‘No …,’ mused the P-G. ‘And of course the umbilicals are on the outside of the train.’
‘That’s right. They’re in protective trunking which up to now have been invulnerable but –’
‘Not to explosives …’
‘No. It’s something CINC-TRAIN’s going to have to get on top of pretty fast. Anyway – that was when the Mutes attacked.’
‘Which Mutes are these? The last air reports put the M’Calls several miles to the west of Malone’s party.’
‘That’s right,’ said Karlstrom. ‘CINC-TRAIN is still trying to sort that one out. This may be the work of another clan – perhaps more than one. Brickman did warn us that the She-Kargo had agreed to support one another following the defeat of the Iron Masters at the trading post.’
‘Is that where they got the explosives from?’
Karlstrom had been prepared for this one. ‘It seems the most likely source. The big wheel-boats carry upwards of sixty cannon.’
‘But it would still need expert knowledge to disable a wagon-train. So who – Cadillac?’
Karlstrom nodded. ‘He wired the bombs that blew The Lady apart last year. We have to assume he lifted the information he needed about the train out of Brickman’s head. That Mute has some extraordinary capabilities. Jodi Kazan, for instance, told us he left Ne-Issan able to read and speak fluent Japanese – without a single lesson!’
‘And what else, I wonder …?’
Karlstrom moved the conversation on. ‘The how and why can wait till the post-mortem. The important thing is to help Hartmann turn this situation around.’
‘Thing’s aren’t too good but the situation is recoverable. Hartmann has an unconfirmed report of an internal explosion in the rear command car and that’s been sealed off. The Mutes control the ground under the wagon-train and now hold most of the lower floor and the middle floor of some wagons.
‘Hartmann’s battalion is holding the flight car and blood-wagon, the power cars, most of the middle floors and the entire top floor – except at the rear. That includes the flight-deck and the roof of the train. It’s a little iffy, but it’s still possible to get a plane off and land-on.’
‘What’s happened to the air component?’
‘There were six planes in the air when the Mutes hit the train. Three were on their way back after making strafing runs on the columns of Mutes moving in from the west. They handed the job over to the second flight – which meant that when the Mutes made their assault on the train, the only planes in the air had no ordnance and empty guns!
‘The Lady told them to divert to Red River and recalled the second flight but by the time they arrived overhead, most of the Mutes were either on or under the train. The power loss interrupted communications for a while and now most of the Comm-Techs on the command staff are engaged in defending the command car so apart from Hartmann there’s been no one to handle the radio traffic.
‘The second flight have been circling the train but have hesitated to attack it. Their guns are no good against the Mutes already inside and they don’t want to use what napalm they have while there’s a whole battalion of Blazers on board.’
‘That’s understandable. What about our other units?’
‘They’re moving into position.’
‘Has Hartmann requested any specific type of assistance?’
‘Yes, he has.’ Karlstrom shifted uneasily on his chair as he came to the difficult bit. ‘The Mutes have brought a summoner on board.’
‘Mr Snow …?’
Karlstrom threw up his hands. ‘Can’t say – but whoever it is, is making life very difficult. Our boys are battling against gale-force winds gusting down the passageways and they’re being bombarded with seats, helmets, air-bottles, hatch-covers – you name it. The bastard is levitating everything that’s not screwed down and turning it into a missile!’
‘So what does he propose?’
‘He’s asked for Roz Brickman to be flown over from Red River so that she can, well – use her powers against whoever’s doing this. He says if they don’t nail this guy they may lose the train.’
‘Mmmm …’ The President-General turned his attention to his right hand, drummed a brief rhythmic tattoo on the top of his immaculate desk then fixed Karlstrom with a penetrating stare. ‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘It’s why we put her on board Red River. Clearwater’s given no trouble.’
‘True. But that may be due to her injuries. Do you really think she could handle someone like Mr Snow?’
Karlstrom shrugged. ‘We won’t know that until we try.’
‘And we could end up losing her and the train …’
‘There is that risk, yes.’
‘And we also have to think about what Clearwater might do if Roz wasn’t around. I’d hate anything to happen to Red River.’
‘I know how we can cover that. I think we should transfer Roz to The Lady – but only after Brickman and Malone have flown to Red River. That leaves us with one bird in the hand and it gives us leverage against Clearwater. She won’t do anything that’ll put her boyfriend in danger.’
The P-G nodded. ‘That’s good. Well done, Ben.’
Karlstrom smiled. ‘Yeah, I think it’s rather neat. But we’ll have to move fast if we’re going to turn this situation around. Can I take it I have your approval to make the transfer?’
Jefferson gazed at him for a moment then spread his hands. ‘You’re the head of AMEXICO, Ben. She’s part of the team you sent out to Red River so … I guess that makes it your decision.’
Karlstrom jumped to his feet as the P-G levered himself out of his chair. ‘Yes.’
And it’s your ass that’s on the line, Ben, ole buddy …
There was nothing else to say.
‘Keep me posted as things develop.’ Jefferson broke off eye-contact, leant towards his video-console and pressed the key which brought the head and shoulders of his senior private secretary onto one of the screens. ‘Nancy – could you come in for a moment?’
‘Yessir!’
Jefferson turned away to admire the computer-generated sea and cloudscape projected onto the screens outside the curving window of the Oval Office. One of the P-G’s favourite places: Cape Cod.
Karlstrom, who could read the signs, let himself out through the turnstile as Nancy came in.
Leaving Cadillac to handle the fake radio traffic, Steve poled down to the bottom floor of the command car. Picking up a quartet of Mute warriors – to avoid getting killed by mistake – he went down the ramp and aft under the belly of the train to look for Mr Snow and Jodi Kazan.
Near the foot of the original entry ramp he found the bodies of Cat-Ballou, Purple-Rain, Diamond-Head and Lethal-Weapon. None of the other uniformed corpses belonged to Mr Snow. And Jodi wasn’t there either.
With his escort boxed around him, Steve went up the ramp and into the train. Scattered pockets of Trail-Blazers were holding out on all floors throughout the length of the train but contrary to what Karlstrom had been told, the flight car and blood-wagon had both fallen to the M’Calls.
Inside, compared to the charnel-house calm which had descended on the forward command car, the situation in the rest of the train could be compared to a vicious chaotic race-riot fought in the sewers of a space-age city.
The air was filled with the noise of battle: angry screams, shouts, yelping and whooping war-cries, splintering crashes, thuds, thumps, the thunder of running feet and the muffled whump of fragmentation grenades. And there was blood everywhere. The corridors were littered with dead bodies of Blazers and Mutes – which live warriors, bright-eyed with blood-lust, used as stepping-stones in their race to get to wherever the fighting was fiercest.
Few could be persuaded to stop. Those that did only had time to shout ‘No’ to the question ‘Had they seen the Old One?’ and were off again before Steve could ask if they had seen a female sand-burrower with a slab of pink scar tissue down the left-hand side of her face. He asked one of his escort to go back down the ramp and see if either were to be found under the aft-section of the train.
Within seconds of the warrior’s departure, Blue-Thunder, the M’Calls’ paramount warrior, came into view from the direction of the flight cars, toting a Tracker carbine with a blood-streaked bayonet attached. He was sweating and smeared with blood.
‘We cannot find Clearwater, our clan sister!’
‘I know,’ said Steve. ‘But never mind. Cadillac will explain that later. Have you seen Mr Snow?!’
Blue-Thunder shook his head. ‘I thought he was with you!’
‘No. He’s disappeared!’ Pulling Blue-Thunder with him, Steve stepped back against the brass slide pole in the centre of the stairwell to allow a large group of warriors to pass along the corridor. Many of them carried severed heads on bayoneted rifles.
A drop of blood trickled down the back of Steve’s raised hand. Looking up, he saw a helmeted body slumped forward against the stair rail leading to the second floor, with one arm hanging down parallel to the brass pole. The blood had drained out of a neck wound, along the angled shoulder and down the limp arm.
Steve recognized the powerful hand and thick fingers before catching sight of the broad red diagonal rank stripe outlined in black. The arm belonged to Buck McDonnell. He’d glimpsed Big D heading aft just after he’d run into Jodi. Had they both died in sight of each other?
Motioning Blue-Thunder to wait, Steve clambered over the dead Mutes lying on the stairs and reached the Trail Boss. The barbed point of the crossbow bolt sticking through the crown of his helmet said it all. More dead Mutes lay in the passageway above. Higher still, on the top floor, there was a firefight in progress.
Steve signalled his escort to cover the stairs and the pass-way to the next wagon then stepped over McDonnell and up into the corridor.
Several doors to the side compartments hung open, some with bodies lying across the sill. There was debris scattered everywhere. The door to the first compartment on his left was closed. He moved past it without thinking then remembered his interrupted conversation with Blue-Thunder. As he turned back to see if the warrior had followed him up the stairs, his eyes were drawn to the sliver of red plastic sticking out of the lock of the closed door.
He withdrew the card. It was a high-security key-card. The kind that a Trail Boss and other senior non-coms like Battalion Master Sergeants would carry. And it had been inserted in the lock of a punishment cell. Steve tested the door with the tips of his fingers. It was shut fast. The cardholder had either had no time to open it, or had forgotten to withdraw his card after locking it. Which meant there could be someone inside.
Steve silenced Blue-Thunder and his warrior escort with a warning finger then put the key-card back into the slot and pressed a button on the COMMS-LOCK panel set at shoulder height in the door surround.
A miniature black and white tv screen flickered into life. Linked to a fish-eye camera in the roof of the cell, it revealed Mr Snow sprawled unconscious on the bunk with his head towards the door. Jodi Kazan was down on one knee in the far corner with a rifle, ready to fire at whoever came in.
Steve invited Blue-Thunder to view the scene but it only left the Mute totally perplexed. Like his companions, he had never seen a video-screen image before and since this one was a top view of a small room distorted through a wide-angle lens he didn’t know what to make of it
‘The Old One is in there,’ whispered Steve. ‘Can you not see him – lying on the bed?’
Blue-Thunder studied the image again and gave a perplexed frown. ‘But… he is no bigger than a beetle!’ The mute tapped the tiny screen. ‘Has he been trapped in this stone by dark magic?’
‘Forget it. Just leave this to me.’ Steve pushed him aside and put his mouth to the speaker grille. ‘Jodi…?’
Having journeyed back to the Federation in a similar cell on the same train the previous winter, Jodi knew the setup. Keeping the rifle aimed towards Mr Snow and the door, she straightened up and addressed the camera lens behind the small clear panel in the ceiling. ‘That you Brickman?’
‘Yeah, now listen – we need to talk.’
‘So talk.’
‘No. Face to face. I need to explain things. But first I want you to understand you’re not in any danger. Just slide that rifle under the bunk and clasp your fingers together on the back of your neck. I promise you won’t come to any harm. You have my word on that.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Jodi took a firmer hold on the rifle and placed the barrel against Mr Snow’s midriff. ‘Your word ain’t worth shit, Brickman. I saw who you came in with – Cadillac. The scumbag that killed Dave and blew half The Lady apart. And if it hadn’t been for Buck McDonnell, I’d have gone sky-high with the rest!
‘An’ you know what? I got the blame! I was the one who got thrown in the slammer and –’ She gave a harsh laugh, ‘– here’s the biggest joke of all. I stood up for you, swore you had nothin’ to do with it! And all the while you were tucked up tight with these lump-shits! Now I know why they hit me with a Code One!’
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘They gave me a chance to redeem myself by fingering your Mute friends. When I came on board I was supposed to be kept under close arrest but Buck McDonnell persuaded Hartmann to put me back on the team while I was on the train. For old time’s sake. Not flyin’, of course, but regular duties alongside the other Blazers. Nice gesture, huh? Didn’t know it was going to end in a shoot-out with you.’
Steve spoke with a new urgency. ‘It needn’t, Jodi. We can work something out.’
‘Yeah? Like what – the length of the pole you’re gonna stick my head on?’
‘No! You’ll be safe with me. Just put the rifle down and listen! I’m going back to the Federation. You can come with me if you want. We can cover for each other. I can help you beat the rap!’
Jodi answered with a mocking laugh. ‘Where you been living, Brickman – fantasy-land? You been smokin’ too much rainbow grass! D’ya know where I was before they put me on the train? Death Row! Being around you is bad news, honeybun!’
Steve tried a softer line. ‘This is getting us nowhere, Jodi. You can’t stay in there forever.’
‘I’m staying until Buck McDonnell steps through that door. If anyone else comes in this old lump gets blown away! And that goes for you too. Comprendo?!’
It didn’t seem like a good time to tell her that the Trail Boss was lying on the stairway with his brains leaking out the top of his head. And with the rifle barrel aimed point blank at Mr Snow it was too risky to burst in. He’d be dead before the door opened up far enough for them to shoot her down.
It was at this point that Mr Snow chose to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. He clutched his bruised forehead and groaned. ‘Sweet Sky-Mother …’ He looked down the barrels of the rifle then fixed Jodi with his faded blue eyes and chuckled hoarsely. ‘Goodness me, that looks rather dangerous!’
Jodi shrank back into the corner and aimed the rifle at his head. ‘Stay down! If you try to sit up I’ll shoot!’
Mr Snow raised his head a little further then fell back with a gasp of pain and covered his face with his hands. ‘I can assure you that’s the last thing I feel like doing.’ He coughed and retched as if he was at his last gasp.
Steve saw Jodi’s rifle waver then, with a movement that was too quick to see, Mr Snow’s left hand flashed out and grasped the front of the rifle, deflecting it away from his body. His uncovered eyes blazed. The outstretched arm connecting him with the rifle was like a steel rod, every sinew and muscle taut and unyielding. A lightning conductor.
Jodi’s two-handed grip on the rifle tightened, every muscle in her body contracted as the current ran through her. Her lips drew away from her clenched teeth and her eyes dilated as she was hit by a series of convulsions; five massive shocks that jolted her from head to toe, followed by a sixth that slammed her lifeless body against the back wall of the cell.
Steve unlocked the cell door and rushed in as Mr Snow tried to sit up. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not!’ snapped Mr Snow. ‘On top of everything else, some great oaf tried to take my head off! If it wasn’t for these he’d have knocked my brains out …’ He fingered the broken skin on the ridged front of his skull then said: ‘How’s it going?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Steve. He looked down at Jodi’s crumpled body and heaved a sigh of regret. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. ‘Come on – I’ll take you to Cadillac.’
In the saddle, the young and the old master embraced each other warmly.
‘Easy, easy,’ grumped Mr Snow. ‘I’m feeling a little fragile.’ He sank into Hartmann’s chair and gazed at his surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. ‘What a strange world. How could anyone in their right mind want to live in a place like this?’
‘We’ll have to save the philosophical questions until later,’ said Cadillac. He squared up to Steve. ‘Good news and bad news. Your friends aboard Red River have agreed to fly your kin-sister over here to deal with the summoner that’s causing so much havoc.’ He glanced across at the semi-recumbent figure of Mr Snow.
‘The bad news is they want to exchange her for you and Malone. And you have to go there first. I’m planning to dispose of him on the way to the flight-deck during a gallant rearguard action. But we don’t have any steam. Can we get a plane off?’
‘Yes. Each catapult is fed from a reserve tank that’s kept topped up by the system. Even with the lines down they’ll be good for a couple of launches before the pressure falls off.’
‘Good. Okay, you’d better show me how it’s done.’
Steve looked surprised. ‘I’ve got to leave now?’
‘Yes! They’re waiting!’
Mr Snow rose to meet Steve as he came over to say goodbye. As they clasped each other’s hand and wrist, the old wordsmith’s grip was reassuringly strong.
‘Farewell, Old One. Would you believe me if I said it grieves me to leave you – especially at a time like this?’
‘This is how it was meant to be, Brickman. You’ve come a long way to find your true self. You’re close to the top of the mountain. Don’t fall!’
‘I’ll try not to …’
Cadillac and Steve climbed out of a duckhole onto the flight-deck. M’Call warriors armed with rifles and dressed in captured uniforms manned the other duck-holes to fool the circling wing-men into thinking that Hartmann’s battalion still controlled the top of the train.
A Skyhawk Mark 2 was parked on the deck with its bubble canopy open and tail booms folded. It had taken several hits from crossbow bolts but none of them had hit anything vital.
Cadillac peered at the exposed joints of the wing and tail booms. ‘How do we unfold these?’
Steve was momentarily flummoxed. ‘Err, shit, hang on a minute. Lemme see …’ He peered at the exposed wing joints then slapped his forehead. ‘Idiot! Of course! It’s hydraulic! You work it from inside the cockpit once you’ve started the engine.’ He leant into the cockpit and pointed out the control levers. ‘You push that one forward and lock it – so, and the other raises the tail.’
‘Okay. Let’s get you hooked up.’
‘Hang on, there’s a couple more things I need to show you.’ Steve led the way aft to the rear port duckhole and showed Cadillac the control mechanism that raised the arrester wires which engaged the landing hook of incoming planes.
‘Brickman, I know all this. I’ve learned everything you’ve learned.’
‘Yeah, like how to unfold the wings of a Mark 2.’
‘Even you were hazy about that.’
‘Yeah, well there’s no harm in making sure. It’s the cleverest people who make the stupidest mistakes. Like attacking the wrong wagon-train.’
Cadillac turned his face to the sky. ‘Sweet Sky Mother … are we never to hear the last of that?!’ He turned to Steve. ‘Don’t you understand?! Talisman guided us! Your masters tried to trick us but they played into our hands!
‘If we had attacked the real Red River every person on that train would have had to die leaving only you and Clearwater alive to tell of how your kin-sister was carried off into the hills. Reflect on that for a moment. Are your masters so foolish? Your treachery would soon have been exposed!’
‘You’re right,’ admitted Steve.
‘Of course I am! This way, your kin-sister is released as the Old One wished, and you will return a blood-stained hero! A loyal soldier-citizen of the Federation who did his utmost to protect his comrades-in-arms.’
‘Yeah … C’mon.’ Steve quickly ushered Cadillac to the forward duckhole on the starboard side and explained the launch control panel for the steam catapult.
‘Yes, yes, look, it’ll be quicker if I tell you,’ said Cadillac. ‘That’s the steam-pressure read-out. The top button raises the catapult, the second fires it, and the third one lowers it back into the deck. I’m having to revise my opinion of sand-burrowers. Like all the systems on this train, this was designed to be idiot-proof – something which most of you clearly are!’
‘You’ve forgotten something,’ said Steve. ‘I’m a Mute.’
He vaulted up onto the deck and climbed into the cockpit of the Skyhawk. As soon as the engine was running, he unfolded the outer wing panels then raised the tail. The twin booms which were folded forward under the wings, dropped down on parallel swing links then were brought up into line with the trailing edge of the wing by hydraulic rams. A small illuminated diagram on the instrument panel confirmed both wings and tail had locked into place.
Cadillac and another Mute warrior came forward to hook the Skyhawk onto the launch cradle as Steve taxied forward onto the catapult.
‘D’you want any help?!’ shouted Steve.
Cadillac popped up beside the open cockpit. ‘For heaven’s sake, Brickman – just GO!’ He smiled and offered Steve his hand. ‘Take care of our sister!’
‘I will,’ said Steve. ‘Make sure you take care of mine!’
Cadillac dropped the cockpit canopy into place and gave it a goodbye slap.
The wing-man circling immediately above the wagon-train pressed his transmit button. ‘Blue Three to Red River, we have one bird on its way.’
‘Red River to Blue Three, Roger. Any update on your last sit-rep?’
‘No. The Blazers are still holding down the roof and the Mutes are under the train. Over.’
‘Roger, Blue Three. Take out as many strays as you can. Let ’em know you’re there. But try not to damage the train. We want to get that Lady back on the road.’
‘Blue Three, Roger, Wilco. Listening out.’
Roz, Don Wallis, Jake Nevill and the rest of the task force scrambled up onto the flight deck as Steve landed. Red River ground crew quickly manhandled his battle-scarred Skyhawk onto the rear port lift as the first two out-going planes came up on the forward lifts and were lined up on the catapults.
Wallis ran his eyes over the protruding crossbow bolts then turned to Steve as he emerged from the cockpit. ‘This doesn’t look too good …’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Steve. ‘We’re holding the line. If we weren’t, I’d never have gotten clear.’ He paused then said: ‘Did you get the news a –’
‘About Malone?’ Wallis’s face tightened. ‘Yeah, Hartmann …’ He shrugged off the rest of the sentence.
‘Losing him was a real blow,’ said Steve. ‘He was a great guy.’
‘The best …’ Wallis buried his feelings and became the brisk team-leader. ‘Okay, guys, off you go.’
George Hannah and Cal Parsons hurried towards the aircraft that was now hooked up and ready to go.
‘Jake! Let’s go wind up Number Two!’ Wallis gripped Roz’s arm. ‘You got one minute!’ He strode off with Nevill.
Darryl Coates and Tom Watkins headed across the deck towards a third Skyhawk, complete with buddy-frame that had just come up on the rear starboard lift.
Roz and Steve hesitated for a moment before throwing themselves into a warm, rocking bearhug. When they separated, they held onto each other’s arms. The slipstream from the propellors flattened their clothing and snatched the words from their mouths.
‘Why’s this happening, Roz? Where’re you gonna go? What’re you gonna do?’
‘I can’t say!’ she cried. ‘I’m just glad to be part of it – aren’t you?’
He tightened his grip. ‘I’m scared. Are you sure you’re not hiding something from me?’
‘No. Wait – did you pick up my message about Annie?’
‘Annie …?’
‘Yes, ages ago. I obviously didn’t get through. She wasn’t our mother, Steve.’
‘Yeah, well, with what we know now that makes sense …’
‘But don’t you see what it means? You’re not my brother and I’m not your sister!’
‘There’s no need to sound so happy about it.’
‘I’m happy because we’re both free! Free from the guilt and the pressure of that relationship. Free to give expression to that love we felt or give it to someone else. To follow The Path, Steve!’
‘Oh, jeezuss! I don’t want to lose you, Roz!’
‘You won’t lose me, Steve. Our lives are bound together by a power and for a purpose far greater than our need for each other.’
Steve nodded. ‘How come I get the feeling you’re suddenly a lot smarter than me?’
‘I always was, little brother!’
Steve ruffled her hair playfully and hugged her again. ‘Look after yourself. It’s a rough world out there.’
‘You too …’
They looked along the flightdeck. The five mexicans were clustered around Wallis. He looked towards Roz and beckoned her forward. Roz signalled she was on her way.
‘Do those guys know what they’re doing?’
‘They think they do.’ Roz kissed him quickly on the mouth then broke away. ‘Look after Clearwater!’
‘I will.’ If they let me … Steve followed her along the flight deck. ‘Listen! I know this is a stupid question but … will we see each other again?’
Roz favoured him with another enigmatic smile. It was getting to be a habit. ‘That depends on you.’
Steve stood on one side with Wallis as Roz wriggled into the prone position on the buddy-frame then had the flight-bag zipped shut around her. It was like a wind-proof sleeping bag with a clear plastic ventilated hood covering the head and shoulders.
Hannah and Coates went away first, then Nevill’s Skyhawk was hooked up. The engine went to full revs, there was a tremendous whoooshh! then Roz was gone, leaving wisps of steam curling from the vents in the catapult rig. Gone without an answering wave.
Steve let his hand drop, and swallowed the lump in his throat. The third Skyhawk with Cal Parsons on the frame and Watkins at the controls was brought forward and went off in its turn.
When the three Skyhawks carrying Roz and the five mexicans aarrived over The Lady from Louisiana, they found a reassuring number of camouflaged and helmeted Trail-Blazers on the roof. Hannah, flying the lead aircraft, made a low pass alongside the train to check the state of the flight-deck before landing with Parsons. Wallis had ordered them to go in first to make sure everything was okay. On receipt of their signal, Nevill would then bring Roz in, followed by Watkins and Coates.
Mr Snow, who had been cajoled into wearing another Tracker helmet, crouched in the duckhole with Cadillac as the latter, using his normal voice, talked the Skyhawk down onto the wire. Along each side of the flight deck, M’Call warriors dressed up in Tracker uniforms stood ready to pounce.
Mr Snow gazed at his protégé admiringly. ‘You amaze me. Where did you get all this knowledge from?’
‘Lots of people – but mainly from Brickman. We’re lucky he had an enquiring mind. Now – for the last time – close that visor!’
The three Skyhawks from The Lady’s own flight component which had been circling the train and making the occasional strafing run, came in ahead of Hannah’s aircraft in V-formation as he made his final approach. The two wing aircraft strafed the ground on either side of the train to prevent any Mutes taking a pot-shot at Hannah and his passenger as the Skyhawk floated in over the rear command car with its flaps and arrester hook down.
Cadillac leapt onto the flight deck and ran forward while two warriors hauled Mr Snow out of the duckhole. Taking care to keep clear of the whirling propellor, Cadillac freed the snagged cable then assumed the role of deck marshal, signalling the pilot to fold his wings and taxi towards the forward port lift.
Mr Snow and a hand of disguised warriors caught up with Cadillac as Hannah parked on the lift and cut the motor. To the mexican, the Blazers around the flight-deck seemed strangely disorganized but at that point in time he had no reason to suspect there was anything wrong. This was, after all, no ordinary fire-fight.
Unzipping the flight-bag, Cadillac glimpsed an unmistakably male figure inside. Parsons. By this time Hannah, his partner, was out of the cockpit.
‘Where’s the Brickman girl?’ demanded Cadillac.
‘Up there.’ Hannah jerked a thumb skywards as he helped Parsons extricate himself from the buddy-frame. He glanced at the masked figures crowded round the airplane and wondered why they weren’t facing outwards ready to gun down any Mutes who poked their nose from out under the train. ‘Who’s in charge here?’
‘I am,’ said Cadillac.
Parsons, now standing by his partner’s side, coughed. Covering his mouth he turned in towards Hannah. ‘Check the badge …’ he whispered.
Hannah’s eyes fastened on Cadillac’s uniform and saw it carried a badge of the 5th Signals Intelligence Squadron. The decoy outfit that had been jumped by the M’Calls and Malone’s renegades. ‘So what’s happened to the crew-chief?’
‘He’s been wounded. He’s in the blood-wagon.’
‘Then where’s the Flight Ops Exec?’ demanded Hannah.
‘He’s dead.’
‘Aww, shit – Pete Carmichael?!’
‘Yeah …’
Hannah took a step back. Parsons was seized but before anyone could reach Hannah, his pistol was out of its shoulder-holster and pointing at Cadillac’s face.
‘You just struck out, good buddy! That’s the wrong name and you’re wearing the wrong uniform! What the fuck’s going on?!’
Mr Snow raised his visor and pushed aside the warriors who were shielding him. ‘A battle, my friend! Which YOU are losing!’
The pistol wavered in Hannah’s hand as he tried to control an unreasoning urge to throw it away. His brain was telling him that it wasn’t a gun he had in his hand at all. It was a snake – coiled around his fist!
With a horrified yell he jerked his hand open and flung the hideous thing away. And as the pistol clattered across the flight deck, a voice filled his mind, banishing all other thoughts and feelings.
Do whatever is required to bring the girl to us …
Moving like a sleepwalker, Hannah reached into the cockpit and plugged himself into the radio circuit.
Circling above the train with Roz lying alongside his cockpit, Jake Nevill heard the hiss of static in his earphones as Hannah came through.
‘White Knight One to Mother Hen. The perch is green and clean. Bring the bird home to roost.’
‘Mother Hen, Roger.’ Nevill glanced over his right shoulder towards the Skyhawk flown by Coates, tucked in behind and below his starboard wing. ‘White Knight Two. Do you copy, over?’
‘White Knight Two. Roger. Will follow you in.’
Filled with a great sense of well-being, Hannah pulled off his helmet, dropped it onto the pilot’s seat and stood erect, ready and willing to face whatever lay in store. Parsons had also ceased to struggle. They were like poultry which, when seized by the feet and upended, accept the inevitable and go unresisting to their death.
‘Take them below.’ Cadillac turned to Mr Snow as the mexicans were led away. ‘Wait here!’
He ran back down the flight deck and jumped into the Deck Controller’s duckhole and plugged himself into the radio linking him with the aircraft overhead. ‘Lady-Lady to Mother Hen. Surface wind bearing two-seven-five, speed one zero. Call finals. Over.’
‘Mother Hen, Roger. Two seven five, speed one zero.’
Cadillac watched the Skyhawk bank left onto the short crosswind leg over the forest of larches beyond the rear command car. The third aircraft piloted by Coates was coming downwind west of the train to make the same turn.
‘Mother Hen turning finals, over.’
Cadillac was gripped by a rising sense of excitement. Everything was working out beautifully. And only he could have done it! And with Brickman gone there was no chance of anyone else stealing the limelight.
Once again, the three patrol aircraft swept in ahead, clearing the way as Nevill landed on. Then as White Knight Two, carrying Watkins and Coates, turned over the forest of larches, the trio of Skyhawks banked round over the twin rivers and swept back towards the train and the incoming aircraft.
On the flight deck, helmeted Blazers in full combat gear unhooked Nevill’s Skyhawk and waved him forward. Two soldiers were already peeling open the flight-bag as Roz eagerly unzipped it from the inside.
Nevill cut the motor, threw open the cockpit cover and started to climb out. ‘Don’t bother with that! Let’s get this heap out of the way first! There’s two other guys on their way –’
A savage knife thrust to the heart, delivered by one of the masked uniformed figures, stopped him in his tracks as the three patrol aircraft zoomed overhead.
Exercising the same power that Clearwater had employed in her earlier battle against The Lady, Mr Snow reached out with his mind and filled the formation leader with an overwhelming unreasoning desire to destroy the plane now in his sights. It became the focus of everything he hated.
Coates, at the controls of the incoming Skyhawk, expected the formation to break away on either side of him. Instead, a hail of fire from the six-barrelled gun under the nose of the lead aircraft exploded through the windshield and punched a gaping hole in his chest.
Watkins, on the buddy frame, could do nothing but hang on helplessly, braced for the crash he was unlikely to survive. The pilotless plane side-slipped into the roof of the wagon-train, lost its starboard wing as it bounced off and cartwheeled messily into the ground.
Petrie, the bewitched patrol leader, pulled up into a tight loop, half-rolled off the top into a diving right-hand turn that brought him around onto the port side of his startled wingmen and pressed the gun-button. Nothing happened. The low-level strafing runs and the frontal attack on Coates had left him with an empty drum.
But both pilots, stunned by his downing of the Skyhawk, knew something had gone badly wrong. Petrie had flipped. But they had run out of ammunition too. And now that he was flinging his plane around the sky in an effort to ram them, the only thing they could do was split – and fast. Separating out, they opened the throttle and went down to treetop height where they were harder to spot and sent a May-Day to Red River.
Petrie followed. With each succeeding mile, the desire to destroy all blue flying objects faded, vanishing completely by the time he reached Red River. But by that time, the damage had been done: Mr Snow had achieved his objective – to empty the skies above the wagon-train.
Roz, stepping onto the flight-deck, knew who Mr Snow was before he cast aside his suffocating helmet, and as she clasped his outstretched hands their minds were instantly attuned. He looked incredibly old, his face was haggard and drawn, but there was still plenty of life in his eyes.
‘I thought you’d never get here.’
Charmed by the mischievous smile, Roz tightened her grip on his thin bony fingers. ‘We have waited a long time, Old One.’
‘Too long, my child. This tongue that greets you must bid you farewell with the same breath.’
Roz removed her helmet and brushed her fingers through her short auburn hair. Throwing her head back, she breathed deeply, relishing the cooling touch of the wind upon her face then, as her eyes opened, she found herself looking at Cadillac.
He too was bare-headed – and seemed to be struck dumb. For a moment their eyes remained locked together then Roz turned to Mr Snow.
‘Is this the warrior who is to become known as the Sword of Talisman?’
Mr Snow, amused to see that Cadillac had temporarily lost command of the situation, smiled broadly. ‘He has the makings of a warrior. With you at his side he may even become a great one. But for the moment, he is known as Cadillac.’
The old wordsmith beckoned them to step nearer. Without being bidden, they took hold of each other’s hand and knelt before him. Watched by a silent circle of warriors, he laid his hands on their heads and raised his face to the sky and uttered a silent prayer for divine guidance.
When it came, he closed his eyes and lowered his head. Roz and Cadillac felt their scalps tingle beneath his hands. ‘It is the wish of Talisman that you be joined together, in blood and breath, body and soul, for you are The Chosen, destined to raise his banner high and accomplish mighty works in his name! May his blessings be upon you from this day forward. I hereby bequeath to you all that was mine and entreat you to open your minds to the powers which only he can bestow.’
Opening his eyes, Mr Snow waved them to their feet. ‘Enough!’ He pushed them towards the Skyhawk that Roz had just arrived on. ‘Go! Before it’s too late!’
‘Go?! Go where?!’ cried Cadillac.
‘Go west, young man! Into the hills! Towards a new beginning!’
‘But …’ It was all happening too fast for Cadillac. He was already trying to cope with the revelation that this striking young woman had been chosen by Talisman to be – assuming he had interpreted the Old One’s words correctly – his life partner! Admittedly with her very first glance, she had reached into the depths of his being but even so … A commitment like this should not be rushed into. She had, quite literally, entered his life and his heart like a bolt from the blue but she was … Brickman’s sister! And now, on top of all that, the Old One had given his tail another unexpected twist –
‘But … my blood-brothers and sisters! This may be your dying place, Old One, but what is going to become of them?!’
‘Take a look around you!’ Mr Snow flung out his arms and swept the horizon.
Cadillac gazed around him and felt his blood run cold. Close enough to be seen by a sharp-eyed Mute but still a long way off were four more wagon-trains – moving in from the north, south, east and west. The clan could not retreat. It could only stand and fight.
‘It grieves me to go against you, Old One, but if I honour your wishes I shall be without a shred of honour myself. I brought our Bears and She-Wolves to this place. I cannot run from here and leave my clanfolk to die.’
‘“I-I-I this, I that”! Can you think of no one but yourself?’ cried Mr Snow. ‘Talisman has given this star-child into your care! The Path is drawn. Follow it and don’t look back!’
‘But –’
Mr Snow slapped him hard on the chest, forcing him to step back towards the Skyhawk. ‘The Clan M’Call is not going to die! It is going to become immortal! When the history of the Plainfolk nation is written – as one day it will be – our sacrifice here today will be remembered as one of the first glorious steps on the road to final victory!’
‘HEYY-YAHH!’ chorused the listening warriors.
‘But you still haven’t told me what I must do!’
‘Exactly! I’m through giving advice! Stop thinking about yourself and listen to the Sky Voices!’
Cadillac and Roz found a score of willing hands to help them position the Skyhawk on the unused catapult. Hannah’s craft parked on the adjacent lift proved to be in the way and was promptly tipped over the side. Cadillac checked the steam pressure read-out and explained the control panel to Mr Snow.
‘Are you sure you know which button to press?’
‘I’m just old, not feeble-minded, you impudent rascal! Don’t let this promotion go to your head!’ He accompanied Cadillac back to the Skyhawk; Roz was already in place on the buddy-frame but she had not closed up the hood of the flight-bag.
‘Does he know how to fly this thing?’
‘Oh, yes. That’s the problem. He knows a great many things but not enough about the things that really count.’ Mr Snow squeezed her shoulder affectionately. ‘I’m relying on you to drum some sense into him.’ He moved round the nose of the aircraft to bid Cadillac farewell.
‘I shall miss you, Old One …’
‘Nonsense! If that were true, it would mean you were not ready. Are you trying to tell me that all the years I’ve spent teaching you have been wasted?!’
‘No, but –’
‘Then be off with you!’ cried Mr Snow, hiding his deep love for the wayward, gifted child whose mind he had nurtured from the age of one. ‘We’ve got work to do!’
The command staff of True Grit, the wagon-train now rolling westwards along the far bank of the North Platte, saw the Skyhawk leave the deck. Tracking it through a telephoto lens, they watched it gain height in a climbing turn towards Wyoming.
The Flight Ops Exec tried to contact the departing aircraft on the standard frequency but there was no reply and it vanished in a bank of dense low cloud before one of their own Skyhawks could be put up to intercept it. The four approaching wagon-trains had been ordered to keep their aircraft grounded so as not to alert the M’Calls to their approach. CINC-TRAIN wanted to nail every single one – not send them running into the hills.
Aboard Red River, currently a hundred miles to the south east beyond the Nebraska/Kansas State line, Wallis was becoming increasingly worried. Fargo’s staff had been relying on Hartmann’s radio messages to tell them how his battalion was coping with the attack and now he had gone off the air.
His disappearance had coincided with the arrival of Roz Brickman and the team from the White House. Nevill had set down after getting the all-clear from Hannah and Parsons then things had gone haywire. There had been an inexplicable incident involving Petrie – one of the Red River wing-men loaned to The Lady to train up her own pilots on the Mark Two aircraft. An incident which had cost the lives of two of Wallis’s colleagues and had almost claimed two more.
The stunned Petrie, faced with the testimony of his fellow wing-men, could offer no explanation for his behaviour. There was a total blank in his memory starting when he began the run in towards the wagon-train. The next thing he could recall was tailing one of his wing-men back towards Red River and receiving orders to land on. Pending further investigation of the incident, Petrie was formally relieved of his duties and thrown in the slammer.
James Fargo, the wagon-master of Red River, could make neither head nor tail of it. Wallis, on the other hand, had been given access to the record of Jodi Kazan’s debriefing. The similarity between Petrie’s behaviour and the incident surrounding her pick-up by aircraft from The Lady were too striking to ignore. This was earth-magic. The work of a summoner. Probably Mr Snow. Had he also overcome Roz? They wouldn’t know the answer to that until someone on The Lady came back on the air. Or until – as seemed more likely – the four Trail-Blazer battalions now being carried into action by True Grit, King of the Pecos, Sands of Iwo-Jima and Overland Raider had retaken the stricken wagon-train.
By the time that happened, Red River would be even further from the scene. CINC-TRAIN had already ordered her to roll south and off-load Brickman and the injured Mute at Monroe/Wichita for forward shipment to Grand Central. The signal had caused Fargo and his crew considerable distress. This was the first time they had been ordered away from a fight. What made it worse was the fact that they had been ready and willing to take this cocky bunch of Mutes apart for more than eight weeks only to learn twenty four hours before the expected attack that The Lady from Louisiana – a real nothing train to nowhere – was going to act as a decoy!
After giving the command staff of Red River a report on the general situation aboard The Lady up to the time he’d left, Steve was handed over to Wallis for debriefing on the more sensitive aspects of the operation.
Steve stuck to the scenario he and Cadillac had concocted. After two hours of patient questioning that ranged from the battle at the trading post to Malone’s death while attempting to reach the flight car, Wallis indicated that he had enough material for his preliminary report but warned Steve he would be required to cover the same ground in greater detail when they reached Grand Central.
Until then he would be required to remain close to Clearwater and use his ‘best efforts’ to prevent her from becoming a threat to the security of the wagon-train or its crew.
In a somewhat blunter vein than usual Wallis said. ‘The word is you’ve developed a relationship with this lump. I don’t know how much influence that gives you, but you should make it clear to her that if she steps out of line, you will be held responsible.’
‘I don’t think there’ll be any problems, sir.’
Wallis’s face creased with anxiety. ‘I can’t understand why Jake hasn’t reported in. I hope they’re okay.’
Steve shrugged. ‘They flew into a tough situation. Hartmann’s boys were doing a good job when I left but they were only just holding their own. That’s why I suggested calling in Roz. Wish I hadn’t now. If I’d known you weren’t going to let me stay and help look after her I’d have kept my big mouth shut.’
‘In this game you do what the big man says. I have to follow orders too.’ Wallis eyed him, then said: ‘Have you, ahh … heard from Roz?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Don’t you find that kinda strange, in the circumstances? From what I understand, your mind-contacts are stress-related.’
‘With her they have been. It doesn’t always work the other way around. There’s nothing strange in not hearing from her – but it is worrying.’
Wallis appeared satisfied with this explanation. ‘But if she does come through …’
The lie came easily. ‘You’ll be the next to know …’
Wallis slapped the table top. ‘Okay, listen, I’m assigning you to the blood-wagon. Report to the CMO – Michelle French. You’ll be quartered with her staff until we reach Monroe-Wichita. The night duty-staff will keep an eye on your patient but otherwise she’s all yours.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Don’t take your eyes off her.’ Despite his anxiety, Wallis managed a grin. ‘Having taken a look at her myself I imagine that won’t cause you too much hardship.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Okay, get on it …’
Clearwater opened her eyes to find Steve sitting by her bed, freshly scrubbed and in a clean set of fatigues. ‘At last … How d’you feel?’
‘Better for seeing you.’
‘The doc tells me your arm will be out of that cast soon and that in a month or two you’ll be on your feet again.’ He touched the back of her hand. ‘When I think of how you looked when …’ He waved the thought away. ‘But that’s all over now.’
‘For you, perhaps. Tell me, Cloud-Warrior – why did your masters save my life when, as we speak, they are killing my clanfolk?’
‘That’s because you’re important. They hope to discover the secret of your power.’
‘I am merely a channel. The power belongs to Talisman.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s their problem.’ He took a firmer grip on her hand and gave her a warning glance. ‘We’ve got other things to worry about.’
‘Where is your kin-sister?’
‘She’s gone.’
In his mind’s eye, Steve looked down at the M’Calls, settlement as he circled it like a bird. Flames and smoke from burning huts rose into the air. Many were already rings of grey ash. Around them lay the bodies of the nursing mothers and the young children the clan had left behind with a posse of She-Wolves to guard them.
The only moving figures wore camouflaged combat fatigues; a unit of Trail-Blazers had descended without warning to complete the destruction of the clan. And as the flying eye swooped lower, some of them turned their faces towards the sky and waved triumphantly.
Steve shared with Roz the sense of utter desolation. He lowered his head and pressed a thumb and finger against his closed eyes in an effort to wipe away the haunting images but they were branded on his soul.
This was all his work. This was why he had been called the Death-Bringer. Oh, Sweet Sky-Mother! When would it stop?!
Clearwater saw the pain in his eyes. ‘I see it too, Cloud-Warrior. I share your grief. But these are things we cannot speak of.’
Steve got the message, ‘No. So … from now on, it’s just you and me.’
Against the might of the Federation …
Not just you and me, thought Clearwater. But that news could wait. She nodded and squeezed his hand. ‘The journey begins.’
‘Yes …’ But how would it end?
Despite Brickman’s cooperative attitude, the debriefing failed to provide Wallis with an answer to the one big question. Whatever the final outcome of the present engagement, the Mute attack on The Lady had obviously been carefully prepared. But how had they known so far in advance where the wagon-train was going to be?
Brickman, outwardly none the worse for wear, was unable to add anything of significance to what Wallis already knew from the radio signals he and Malone had sent while on the run. He claimed to have done his utmost to warn them of the impending attack and although he repeatedly expressed the wish to have done better, could offer no explanation as to how the Mutes came to be lying in wait for The Lady.
The young man had suffered a double trauma – the assault on the wagon-train crewed by many of his former comrades and officers, and the loss of Malone and the other mexicans. Crushed by the guilt which haunts all survivors, he felt personally responsible for both and in an effort to unburden himself he confessed to not having reported that the M’Calls believed Cadillac was able to predict future events.
Wallis struck this veiled and somewhat embarrassed reference to seers and seeing-stones from the record. Even though he had been given access to what COLUMBUS knew about Mute summoners, Wallis shared his director’s scepticism. The subject of ‘gifted’ Mutes and psionics was a speculative quicksand into which a rational man ventured at his peril.
In time, Brickman’s mental scars would heal. He would come to realize that the responsibility for such disasters could rarely, if ever, be laid at the door of a single individual. The system might need to find a scapegoat but investigations showed it was a series of actions and decisions – often apparently unrelated – by a large number of people that created the circumstances in which something like this could occur.
Wallis counted himself doubly lucky – first, because he had been ordered to hold the fort instead of flying to the embattled wagon-train with the rest of his team and second, because the order to transfer Roz Brickman had come direct from Karlstrom’s private terminal. With Nevill watching, Wallis had translated the coded letter strings into a clear on-screen message, then he had logged it into the comms-system memory to build up a complete record of the operation. When you were working on something this sensitive, it was always advisable to cover your ass.
A niggling thought triggered by the continuing silence from his men aboard The Lady prompted Wallis to double-check the log. It proved impossible to retrieve the record of Karlstrom’s signal ordering Roz Brickman’s transfer to The Lady. With growing desperation, Wallis spent several hours trying to coax the fateful order from the system’s memory but it was no longer there.
There were only two explanations for its disappearance, and both cast a dark shadow over his career prospects. He had either been the victim of another stunning illusion created by Roz Brickman or shafted by his superiors. Perhaps the message he and Nevill saw had only existed in their imagination for the length of time needed for them to act upon it. The alternative was altogether too depressing.
Ray Ramsay, the Red River Flight Ops Exec knocked on the outer wall of the skip and put his head around the open door. ‘A message for you from the wagon-master. It looks as if we may have lost Hartmann’s battalion. The Lady is ablaze from end to end.’
‘Jeezuss!’ Wallis drew a hand down his face.
‘We don’t know the full score. The support units that went in are still mopping up. Commander Fargo asked whether you would like to join him in his quarters to hear the news as it comes in.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be right along. Just got a little business to attend to.’
When Ramsay had gone, Wallis thought over all the moves, then closed the door to the cargo skip, sat down in front of the blank screen, switched his pistol to Full Auto, placed the barrel against his chest and shot himself.