By that time the other vessels were clear to see, and when viewed through a small pair of binoculars, were clearly intent on intercepting Harluck’s boat. But why? The phibs didn’t know who was aboard it. Yes, there was the possibility the fi?shing boat had been recognized as stolen, and the phibs were determined to intercept it for that reason, but the combat variant didn’t think so. No, it was almost as if they were on their way to Buru for some other reason, spotted the fi?shing boat and wanted to fi?nd out what it was up to. There was no further opportunity for analysis as the lead vessel produced a fl?ash of light and a brown-edged hole appeared in Harluck’s fully infl? ated sail. “The next one will hit our hull,” the pirate predicted glumly. “The whole thing will be over soon.”
The combat variant heard the words but didn’t bother to reply, as Phan fi?red her rifl?e. It was an enormous affair, almost as long as she was, and chambered for .50 caliber ammunition. It had been diffi?cult to fi?nd a good spot for the weapon, but having settled on the bow, the assassin lay prone, with the barrel resting on a bipod. The trick was to compensate for the fact that both vessels were in constant motion, not something the average marksman could do. But the assassin was far from average. There was a loud crack as Phan squeezed the trigger, followed by a whoop from one of Harluck’s crew members, as a fi?st-sized hole appeared in the other boat’s hull. The fi?rst slug hit above the waterline, but the second struck below it, as did the third. The phibs fi?red in return, and their aim was good, but while still lethal, their energy weapons lacked the punch that the projectile weapon had, and they were soon forced to shear away as half a dozen wings appeared overhead and fi?red down on them from the sky. Phan worried that the variants might attack Harluck’s boat, too, but they didn’t, which seemed to suggest that a warning had been sent out from Esperance via winged courier. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been shooting at their enemies. Whatever the reason, the blast-scarred fi?shing boat was allowed to enter the island’s only harbor, where the pirate dropped the anchor and went in search of a bottle. He had been sober for more than half a day by then—and had every reason to get drunk.
Near the village of Prost
The train had already started to slow in preparation for the stop in Prost when a man appeared up ahead. He stood in the middle of the track and waved both arms. The engineer swore, blew the train’s whistle, and pulled the brake lever. Metal screeched as the drive wheels locked up, sparks fl?ew, and the locomotive fi?nally began to slow. It wasn’t going to stop in time, though, that’s what the engineer was thinking, when he looked up to discover that the man had disappeared.
Then, before the engineer and his fi?reman had time to absorb that, a pair of heavily armed phibs entered the cab, one from each side. They put strange-looking pistols to the men’s heads, ordered the engineer to increase speed, and watched to make sure that he actually did so. Meanwhile, behind the locomotive, and the half-full coal car, the rest of the commandos had clambered up onto a single fl?atcar. Rather than the troops that Rebo feared, it was loaded with kegs of what purported to be black powder, which was probably intended for the ironclads. A rather volatile load should Arbuk’s troops decide to shoot at it, which was why the runner detailed two phibs to study the coupling and fi?gure out how to release it. But time was passing, and the outskirts of Prost had already appeared by then, which meant that the train was only a minute or two from the yard and the steamships that waited there. Lights could be seen up ahead, lots of them, which made sense if Arbuk’s forces were assembled and waiting. The sun had begun to rise as well, sending rays of rosy pink light up over the eastern horizon, as if to herald its own coming. And now, for the fi?rst time since he had put the plan forward, Rebo felt genuinely frightened. Because events had started to overtake him, and he had no military training to fall back on.
But there was no time to consider such things as the train pulled into Prost, a reedy cheer went up from the soldiers gathered along both sides of the track, and a civilian fi?red a hunting rifl?e into the air. The phibs on the fl? atcar were hidden in amongst the explosives. And even though they had been given orders not to fi?re unless fi?red upon, they were understandably nervous, and once the rifl?e went off a dozen fi?ngers mashed down on a dozen fi? ring studs. Rebo shouted “No!” as the fi?rst energy beam lashed out, but it was too late as blue death stuttered out to cut the troopers down. Their weapons weren’t loaded, and they threw up their hands in a vain attempt to block the blue bolts. But it didn’t work, and by the time the train rolled past the station, a heap of brown-clad bodies lay sprawled on the scorched platform. There wasn’t much return fi?re since the survivors were still in the process of loading their weapons, but what few shots there were missed both the phibs and the kegs of black powder stacked on the fl?atcar. The slaughter made Rebo sick to his stomach, but it was already too late to stop it, as a blunt stern appeared up ahead. The ship it belonged to was sitting on a siding, as were two additional vessels, as the train pulled up alongside them. A phib ordered the engineer to stop the locomotive next to the ironclads so a squad of commandos could hop off the fl?atcar and burn the warships.
Only now Rebo saw an opportunity not only to improve on the original plan, but to reassert control over his troops and regain the initiative all at the same time. “Stay in the cab,” he told the phibs, “and watch the prisoners. We’re going to need them.”
One of the commandos nodded grimly, and the other grinned. Satisfi?ed that the train would stay where it was, the runner ducked out of the locomotive’s cab and followed an iron walkway back toward the coal car.
Meanwhile, the soldiers who had been fortunate enough to survive the unexpected onslaught at the train station had recovered by then, reinforcements had been summoned, and Rebo could hear the steady bang, bang, bang of semiautomatic rifl?e fi?re as he made his way along the coal car. Bullets pinged as they shattered against the locomotive, produced a whapping sound when they hit wooden barrels, and whined as the runner successfully jumped across the gap and landed on the fl?atcar.
The phibs had emerged from their hiding places by then and were about to launch their assault on the warships when Rebo ordered them to stop. “You two,” he said, pointing at a likely-looking pair, “unhook the fl?atcar. I want everyone else on the coal carrier. Now!”
As the commandos moved to obey, a bullet spun one of them around, causing him to fall into the gap between the two cars. Another projectile hit a noncom from behind, exited through his chest, and still packed enough velocity to kill the private who stood facing him. Meanwhile, geysers of dirt shot up into the air, beginning their inexorable march toward the fl?atcar, as a machine gun began to chatter. But even as some of the phibs fell, dozens poured across the gap, and climbed up onto the coal car, where they turned to fi?re on their tormentors. Machinery began to clank, enormous puffs of smoke issued from the locomotive’s black stack, and steam shot forth from both sides of the behemoth as it got under way.
Rebo was beginning to wonder if the fl?atcar would ever be decoupled and was just about to go after it personally when he heard a phib yell, “She’s clear!” and felt the train jerk. Then came the mad scramble to jump the quickly widening gap, a moment of gut-wrenching fear as the runner felt himself begin to fall backward, and a profound feeling of relief as strong fi?ngers wrapped themselves around his wrist.
Then, having been pulled up onto the fi?lthy coal car, Rebo heard someone shout and turned to see that a single phib had been left on the fl?atcar. It was the scout who had spoken with him back in the bay, and judging from the blood that was pouring down the soldier’s right leg, the youngster had been hit. Now, with slugs whistling all around him the commando lit one of the incendiary fl?ares issued for use on the ironclads, raised his right hand by way of a salute, and let the fi?ery tube fall.
The result was even more effective than what Rebo had originally hoped for. There was a fl?ash of light, followed by a near-deafening boom, and a series of secondary explosions as ordnance already aboard the ironclads went off as well. Smoke boiled up to stain the early-morning sky, chunks of wood, iron, and fl?esh cartwheeled through the air, and the station’s telegraph began to chatter. News of the phib raid would arrive in Esperance within a matter of minutes, Arbuk’s wings would take to the air shortly thereafter, and troops would be sent to intercept
