Kymene was already shouting for her scouts. ‘You missed their main engines!’ she was berating them. ‘While you were watching some decoy, they must have brought their leadshotters to bear!’
‘Commander, I was expecting the same thing!’ a Fly-kinden protested. ‘I was watching for just that. There are only the two packs of engines out past the Antosine, and the smaller engines with their main force. None of it could possibly…’
Stenwold leant out, staring across the uneven terrain in the direction that the Imperial artillery had apparently been set up. It was hilly, a little broken with rocks, rugged grazing land from which the farmers had fled when the black and gold flag had been sighted.
Was that a wisp of smoke there, such as a leadshotter might give out? Had he heard a distant, hollow knocking from that quarter even as he vaulted the steps?
A moment later, he heard it for sure and, watching carefully, he saw the smoke as well. Even as his mind was shouting, Impossible! he had already noted a new plume of dust, plain to all eyes, that fountained from the earth noticeably closer to the walls.
For a moment a grand silence fell over all the defenders of Myna, and the voice of a long-dead friend told him, You will know first from the sound.
He had come here to give steel to the Mynan defenders, to assure them that they did not stand alone. He had come too late, however.
The Empire’s assault on the city had begun.
There were flashes of light in the sky, a spotter from the Light Airborne reporting his best guess as to the relationship between city walls and the second ranging shot. Nearby, a lieutenant of the Engineers translated calmly, ‘Two hundred fifty far seventy-five left, calibrate.’
The greatshotter crews turned to their machines, which were to the familiar leadshotters what those devices were to simple catapults. Totho knew leadshotters, having seen them in action many times in the hands of both allies and enemies. Strengthened tubes, metal and bound with metal, in which a large charge of firepowder was detonated to fling a projectile in a shallow arc. The firepowder reaction, which had never produced efficient weapons on a personal scale, was still accurate enough by the standards of siege engines, and those weapons had slowly been replacing more primitive devices that derived their power from torsion engines and the like.
The greatshotters were ten times the size of their little ancestors, and their barrels tilted at a steep angle, as if they sought to make war on the sky itself. He had heard any number of engineers, both Imperial and Iron Glove, tell him that they could not possibly work.
The metallurgy had been the frustrating part, as he was no specialist, and had been forced to rely on others among Drephos’s people to find the precise alloys and construction that would survive the absurd pressures the barrel interior came under each time the weapon was discharged. The wait had given him plenty of time to solve the other major problem: how a weapon able to throw its missiles at a target some miles away could possibly be aimed.
Colonel — formerly Major — Ferric was excitedly explaining the process to the newly arrived General Roder, and Totho was happy to step back and let him do so. Wasps reacted to innovation so much better when it came from their own kind.
‘The thing is that, whilst most engineers can do the calculations for a regular leadshotter in their heads,’ the engineer was enthusing happily, ‘the margin of error for such a distant target is simply too great, and whilst we can, of course, simply keep shooting and adjusting by hand, it would take most of the day to get any useful bearing on the walls, and that’s assuming they let us alone that long.’
Roder nodded, saying nothing and simply listening, which Totho reckoned was a rare and valuable trait in a general.
‘Are you aware of what I mean by a Ratiocinator?’ Ferric asked. It became clear that Roder was not, so the enginer hurried on. ‘They’ve been known about for maybe fifty years — a Helleren invention — they’ve been unreliable for most of that time, and only capable of very simple tasks. Think of it like an abacus or — no, you must have seen a merchant’s reckoning wheel for currency or weights and measures — numbers in, numbers out, and the gearing on the wheel transforms the one to the other?’
Roder glanced sidelong at Totho even as he absorbed the existence of such devices. What’s the matter, General? Ashamed that a pair of halfbreeds has brought you such a bounty?
‘Then it’s a very complicated reckoning wheel — we put our best measurements and numbers in via these dials, you see,’ and Ferric was elbowing the crew aside to demonstrate, revealing an intricate arrangement of brass wheels set into the brass-and-wood box bolted to the greatshotter’s mountings. ‘We have seven different settings to describe the spatial relationship between our battery here — that’s our cluster of engines, General — and the target. The Ratiocinator takes our measurements — our best guesses really — and adjusts elevation and angle accordingly with great precision.’ Even as he said it, Totho heard steam hiss within the machine’s base, driving the gear chains that rotated it slightly on its turntable, whilst pistons ground up the angle of the barrel through a careful increment.
‘How can it know?’ Roder demanded, glancing at Totho again.
‘It doesn’t know anything, General,’ Ferric explained hastily. ‘It’s just numbers in, numbers out, like the reckoning wheel, only the gearing within is far more complicated and able to deal with many more variables. Think of it as though someone sat down with a book of tables and worked out every possible permutation beforehand — then it’s easy to see how, when we show it what our situation is by setting the dials just so, the machinery within will automatically progress through the relevant calculations.’
‘Easy,’ Roder echoed, plainly finding the concept anything but. ‘Carry on,’ he said at last and, even as he did, one of the crew shouted, ‘Loose!’ and the greatshotter spoke, fully half the barrel recoiling out of sight within the other half in order to absorb some of the shock of detonation. The sound was thunderous, but less than Totho might have expected, not so much more than that of two or three leadshotters discharging at once. Even so, everyone present had clapped their hands to their ears when the warning had come.
When he looked up, Roder was staring at him, stepping over, his face unreadable in its immobility. ‘You’re the snapbowman, they tell me,’ he grunted. ‘One of the Colonel-Auxillian’s original crew.’
‘Original crew’ was hardly true, but Totho nodded nonetheless. I will not call you ‘sir’, he promised himself. I save that for one man only. He waited for whatever slight or abuse the general of the Eighth Army would have for him.
‘Your weapons got me to the gates of Seldis, boy,’ Roder told him flatly. ‘I’d have got inside them, too, given time.’ He gave the nod of a man recognizing something of merit. ‘You’ll get me inside Myna with your engines, too. Ferric!’
The colonel of Engineers looked round, ‘Sir?’
‘Why are your shells undershooting the wall? Why not overshoot and them pull back towards us?’
‘It’s harder to judge the adjustments needed when the shots are landing in urban terrain, General,’ Ferric explained. ‘On the open ground, we can make better estimates and find the wall sooner.’
Roder eyed him sternly. ‘Colonel, you’re a grand engineer but you have something to learn about being a soldier. Shoot past the wall, not short of it. I don’t care if it takes longer to crack the city that way. It’ll be time well spent.’
His face, as he glanced briefly back at Totho, was as bland and pitiless as a desert, then he was striding off towards the band of messengers awaiting his convenience, calling, ‘Send word to the Aviation Corps!’
The next phase of the battle was underway already.
While Stenwold was still staring out at the hill country and the far-distant Imperial artillery positions, as though the Empire was a stage conjuror whose tricks might be unravelled by careful observation, Kymene was shouting, ‘Airmen, get our flying machines readied!’ and sending scouts off for the airfields. ‘We need to attack their engines,’ she told Stenwold shortly when he glanced over at her. ‘The fliers are the only way. They’re not intended to fight against ground targets, but our airmen will just have to improvise.’
The scouts had already reported a significant Air Corps presence within the Imperial army, and Kymene nodded, reading his expression. ‘At least this way we’re taking the battle to them,’ she told him.
They both heard the echoing sound of the far-off engine loosing, again just the one but, even as they turned their eyes towards the ground before the gates, soldiers were pointing behind them, deep into the city itself. Myna was built in defensive tiers up a hillside, with the main gate the only easily approachable point. The rising dust and smoke from the missile’s impact was plain to see, more than half the city away.
