The Eternal War

‘When?’ asked Devereau.

‘It could be any time,’ she replied.

A grin flashed across his face. Wainwright shared it. ‘Then the longer the British fool about down there on the beach, the better it is for us.’

‘Indeed.’ Devereau turned to Maddy. He lowered his voice. ‘And the moment you send your colleagues back to … What year was it?’

‘1831.’

‘1831 … this world will change?’

‘Pretty soon after, yeah. Sometimes immediately. Sometimes a few hours.’

‘It is impossible to accurately predict the arrival time of a reality wave after a timeline event alteration,’ added Becks.

‘But it would be soon,’ Maddy reassured them. She glanced around quickly at the shifting carpet of bodies. ‘Soon enough that, you know, you could stop this fighting as soon as I’ve sent them back.’

‘You mean surrender?’ Wainwright and Devereau shared a look. ‘I wonder … would this time wave arrive soon enough for us to both escape the firing squad?’

Maddy shook her head. ‘I … I can’t say when. It might even be a day or so — ’

‘Then I think we are in agreement, Colonel Wainwright, that we would rather fight on until the moment this wave arrives?’

Wainwright nodded. ‘Complete agreement, Colonel Devereau.’

Maddy puffed air. ‘All right, but …’ She turned and pointed up the slope towards the horseshoe trench and beyond that to the very top of the hump of bricks in the shadow of the overhanging ruins of Williamsburg Bridge. ‘The antennae array … that has got to be protected whatever happens. Do you understand? If it gets damaged, then this is all over.’

‘Then we shall keep the fight down there for as long as we can,’ said Wainwright. ‘What of my tank? Is its engine still running?’

‘Yeah, it’s running; we’ve got power. And the displacement machine is charged up and ready to use. So that’s good.’

‘So our business is waiting, then,’ said Devereau.

Maddy nodded. ‘I find I do a lot of that in this business … you know? Waiting.’ She half smiled. ‘Kinda sucks.’

CHAPTER 81

2001, New York

Captain Ewan McManus looked up at the sky. The low combed-out clouds above New York were a beautiful salmon pink from the late-afternoon sun. Another couple of hours and it was going to be dark.

Colonel Donohue had his officers gathered around him: company captains, lieutenants, sergeants. ‘We’re up next, gentlemen. Word is the Lancashire Rifles have wet their toes and got a firm foothold for us over there. As you can see — ’ he turned round and gestured, past the sappers putting the final pieces of their landing rafts together, to the far side of the East River — ‘the … uh, mutineers … have two lines of defence. A trench works running parallel to the river, from those factory buildings there on the left, all the way along to the remnants of that bridge on the right. Behind that, they have a bow-shaped trench, which seems to curve beneath the bridge. I imagine they will be treating that as a secondary defence position.’

McManus craned his neck along with all the other officers to get a better look.

‘Beyond those two defence lines … we’re into the old Northern defence line. As I’m sure you’re already aware, a Confederate regiment, Virginians I believe, the chaps that up until recently were holding the ground we’re standing on right now, have mutinied along with a Northern regiment. So … we find ourselves in the rather unusual position of having a temporary understanding with the French High Command.’

‘Understanding, sir?’

Colonel Donohue nodded. ‘Neither side really wants this nonsense to spread. So the French are prepared to let us go in on their behalf and sterilize the wound, so to speak.’

‘That’s very trusting of them!’ called out someone. A ripple of good-natured laughter spread among them.

‘Quite so.’ He smiled. ‘And more fool them.’

Heads nodded. Although it was still officially supposed to be top secret, every officer in every participating regiment was well aware this little uprising was a convenient opportunity for the British to launch their final push against the North. In fact, this futile act of rebellion couldn’t have come at a better time for them. The French were prepared to hold back while the British stepped in and crushed it, not knowing their intention was to continue pushing on, punching through their North’s front line and rolling up their east-coast flank.

‘Captain McManus?’

‘Sir?’

‘I think this might just be a splendid opportunity to field-test our Dreadnoughts before the proper fighting begins … don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Take your company ashore as support for them … but I’d really like to see how well our experimentals perform on their own, all right?’

‘Support only, yes, sir.’

‘Rest of you can follow in the second flotilla. Best not have too many of our chaps nearby when those monsters get a sniff of the enemy.’

Colonel Donohue turned round again to look at the landing area on the far side of the river. A low mist of gunsmoke hung above it like a membrane, and every now and then a distant crackle of gunfire was accompanied by another faint plume of blue-grey smoke winking into existence.

‘And God help those poor souls when that happens.’

CHAPTER 82

2001, near New Chelmsford

‘Bob? How much further now?’

Bob eased back on the throttle sticks as the tractor’s big ridged wheels rolled down into a shallow river and splashed arcs of spray either side of them.

‘Information: two miles, one hundred and seven yards from this location.’

The tractor emerged from the river on the far side, leaving two deep ridges carved in the wet mud of the riverbank.

‘Two miles?’

‘Affirmative.’

‘Then stop right here.’

Bob did as instructed, easing the throttles down to an idle, disengaging the gears and pulling a braking lever. He looked at Liam. ‘Why?’

Sal nodded. ‘Yeah … we’re nearly there!’

‘That’s exactly why,’ said Liam. He turned and pointed out of the mud-spattered rear window of the cabin. ‘We’ve left a trail a blind man could follow. If there were any policemen or militia called to find this tractor … it won’t be difficult for them.’

It was approaching dusk. The sun was casting a rose-hued glow and long cool shadows across the pastoral