Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (22 page)

“Let’s go, Private! We got about one minute to fall back!” he yelled back.

“OK!” said Harland. He opened the door to the narrow staircase and peeked out.

 
A round dug into the door two inches from the private’s head. He flinched and jerked back inside.

“Watch it!” yelled Miller. “Sniper’s got your exit zeroed in. You want out of there, you need to go the hard way. Now!”

In the tower Harland glanced at the shattered window and muttered. “That’s just fuckin’ great.”

He crouched down beside the dead corporal and snatched the man’s dog tags from his neck. He tucked them into his pocket, took a step back from the shattered window, then launched himself out sideways. As he cleared the shattered window, he twisted and grabbed hold of the window’s base. Shards of glass sliced into his palms, sending a sharp wave of pain that took his breath away. His momentum continued, and his body sailed out into the air. With his feet splayed out, fifteen feet over the ground, his grip on the window stopped him, and he fell, swinging down into the tower’s outer wall.
 

He held on to the ruined window frame, gasping at the agony in his hands as he hung there, his blood coating the window’s base.
Snipers are aiming in now. Three… two…
.
 

He glanced down. He’d saved himself six feet by hanging, but still had ten more feet to the hard-packed earth. He let go and fell from the tower. Three shots hit the wall above him as he dropped, and he grinned, cheating the bastards of their prize.
Didn’t expect that, did ya
?

He fell, then landed on his feet, but was off balance. His body leaned to the right, and his foot rolled. A blossom of pain sprang from his ankle, and he screamed. He rolled over in the dirt, then scrambled awkwardly toward Miller and the gatehouse.
 

Looking back, he saw what looked like a thousand Redcoats roaring down on him, barely twenty yards away. He saw rifles, swords, bayonets, and lots of screaming faces. An officer was charging forward on horseback, urging the men on, sword raised high.
 

A warm wetness told part of his brain he’d just pissed himself, but he didn’t care. He felt hands grab his shoulders. Miller had run out of the gatehouse, joining him, and hauled the private to his feet. Miller spun him toward the base entrance and screamed in his ear, “Move it, Private!”

Together the men lurched and ran into the base. The private’s ankle howled with every step, and he sucked air like a beached fish, clutching Miller’s arm with a white-knuckle grip.
 

Miller didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The sounds told him how close the British were. The British were forced to bunch up as they entered the base, but they piled in. Rifle shots rang out, but they weren’t sniper fire.
They can’t fire now. Their own men are too close to us
. Miller grinned.
 

Another rifle shot cracked, and Miller gasped at a hot, searing pain in his left shoulder. He stumbled, but the private held him up. As best they could, they sprinted forward, lurching awkwardly as they held each other up. They’d made it maybe sixty yards inside the base when Miller looked up and saw the garrison’s infantry running toward them. A flush of elation welled up within him, and he laughed madly.

The American troops were forming up in a skirmish line, fifty men wide, with a second row behind them. They were all armed and swung their rifles up to meet the oncoming British. Miller decided he’d never seen a more beautiful sight, not even that dancer back in Paris.

“Get down!” a sergeant was yelling at them.
Sounds like a fine plan
.
 

Miller took a tight hold on the private. “Good enough!” he yelled and rolled them both down into the dirt. They landed roughly, sliding along the rough ground, adding multiple abrasions to their injuries.

“Fire!” screamed the sergeant, and fifty American rifles exploded, sending a hail of lead shot ringing over Miller’s head. He and the private lay flat, face down in the dirt, arms over their heads.

The Redcoats were massed together tightly, and the wall of lead slammed into the group, killing many instantly. Men screamed as metal shot tore into the bodies. A dozen British fell, and the forward surge faltered.
 

Lieutenant Danvers had hoped to run his men straight into the base, continuing his momentum, but the quick response of the Americans required a new approach.
 

“Take cover!” he yelled, just as his horse was shot from under him. He tumbled to the ground, losing his sword, and rolling to a stop on his back. The air had been solidly knocked from him, and he stared up at the sky, gasping.

The British broke formation and scattered, finding protected positions to fire from. They crouched behind supply trucks and hid around the corners of buildings. Danvers knew his snipers were repositioning now, and would be back in the fight momentarily. So now the need was to encircle the Americans. He rolled to his belly and clambered to cover with his men.

Miller saw their chance. He yelled to the private. “Let’s go!” They both jumped and ran hard for the American troops. They got within five yards when Private Harland took a British round through the back. His momentum carried him forward, and he collapsed into the arms of a startled sergeant, then fell to the ground. He flopped onto his back, gasping once, twice, then went still. A sharp rock dug into his shoulder blade, but the pain was fading. His vision blurred, and he slipped quietly away.

Miller didn’t break his speed as he approached the firing line. Instead, he leaned back and kicked his feet forward. He found a gap between two firing soldiers, and like claiming home base, he slid along the ground between them. He rolled over on his belly, finally getting a good look at the British force he’d escaped. Then he grabbed a dead man’s rifle and joined the fight.

From the bluff Major Thomas watched the assault through binoculars. It had been a splendid run, and the snipers did a fine job. Getting his force bunched up in the gate entrance was worrisome, but he saw the lieutenant was now working on a flanking position. The boy was doing very well, and there would be a commendation for him.

For another ten minutes, the two forces traded fire. Danvers called for men to push around the side, to flank the Americans’ position and set up a cross fire. But the American captain in charge of the tightly massed soldiers was mindful of the attempt, and kept the British at bay by sending extra men to strengthen his side. Both sides had lost another dozen men, but the fight was grinding into a stalemate.
 

Then the British snipers found new positions, and the tide turned quickly.

The Americans began dropping, killed by shots from unseen assailants. Another ten men screamed and fell within a minute. The four snipers had arranged themselves at cross angles, and the Americans could find no safe position from the murderous fire. Seven more soldiers collapsed, and a tinge of panic ran through the men. When the captain went down, his chest stained red, the Americans felt the cold hand of defeat reaching for them.

***

Beowulf raced down the corridor cut into the hillside. As he approached the outer blast doors, the colonel ran an inventory of his armaments. A tenth of a second later, he was satisfied.
 
Two hundred gel rounds, fifty armor-piercing, and four hundred standard antipersonnel rounds. Not enough for a full battle, but he’d make do.

He broadcast the access codes again, and the outer doors opened for him. Bright sunlight spilled into the corridor, and he increased speed. He burst forward from the hillside into the valley’s base and took his bearings. A magnetic compass gave him instant readings, and said he was headed northwest, but he realized just how superhuman he’d become when he calculated the angle of the sun, checked an almanac, and came up with the same data redundantly. And all in the space of a heartbeat.

The ravine’s walls were too steep to climb here, so he tore down the valley, his woven-steel treads throwing rocks and dirt up in twin sprays behind him. After a mile the valley’s sides grew shallower and he swung to the left, racing up the valley’s side. He needed to gain 228 feet of elevation to reach the level of the base.
 

With an odd sense of knowing, the colonel realized he needed more power. His steam pressure tank was capable of driving him forward easily, but the added strain of racing fast up a 17 percent incline was taxing his energy stores more quickly.
 

He needed more fire in his coal-fed furnace, so he willed the conveyor rig to increase speed. The belt obeyed and scooped coal into the furnace at twice the normal rate. In seconds the colonel felt the increase in combustion. His furnace temperature soared, boiling water into high-pressure steam.

Satisfied, he turned his attention to the radio bands. He scanned the two-meter and six-meter frequencies, but the only chatter he heard was American. If the British were using radio to coordinate the attack, he couldn’t hear it.

He crested the valley’s wall then, leveling out to flat ground again. He eased back on the coal conveyor and surged forward for the base entrance. With the flat ground, he approached his maximum speed of thirty five miles per hour. He concentrated on his antipersonnel shredders, and they flickered to life, swinging about and eagerly seeking targets.

Then he saw the main gate and aimed straight for it.

***

Major Thomas had enjoyed watching the battle. Danvers found a tougher fight than he’d first imagined, but the snipers had made all the difference. He smiled as he scanned the base interior through his binoculars. The sniper’s angles had pushed the Americans into a tight ball. Now unable to defend against a flanking attack, the lieutenant was moving his men around to surround the defenders. Once in place, things would end quickly for the Americans. Then they could begin the search for Savannah and his daughter.

He brought the binoculars down, seeing the wide scene of the battle. Movement in his peripheral vision turned his head, and he was unsure if what he saw was real.

It was a tank, fast approaching. But not like one he’d ever seen. The monster was the size of a house, easily five times bigger than normal. It was damned fast too. It must have come around from behind the base, up the valley’s wall. It tore up the earth as it raced for the main gate, and the major stared bug-eyed.
 

“My God,” he whispered, suddenly worried for the lieutenant. He cursed his lack of foresight to not keep a radio with him.

Then the massive tank suddenly ground to a stop.

***

The colonel’s increased sight showed him a single British officer at the bluff’s peak. He saw the man’s eyes go wide, then the colonel startled, recognizing the officer who’d married his daughter.
I see you too, Major Thompson
.
 

But the single distant rider wasn’t the reason for Beowulf’s abrupt stop. He’d detected four sources of gunfire nearby, and the firing signatures told him they were snipers. Instantly, eliminating them became the colonel’s top priority. He turned toward his new objective and moved forward, listening for more shots.

Within a minute he found them, scattered far apart. They had excellent angles to fire within the base, and they’d been so focused on that task, they hadn’t turned around to see him approaching. He closed to within one hundred yards and stopped.

“Snipers like head shots,” he said to himself. He focused his attention on the closest sniper’s head. Beowulf’s forward left shredder twitched. A moment later the head disappeared in a cloud of pink and gray. The headless body fell and three snipers remained.

The colonel found the next enemy in line and fired again. Like his friend, this one went down headless, his blood pouring into the dry earth.

The sound of the second shot carried to the remaining two snipers. They turned, gaped, and swung their Enfields around at Beowulf. The rounds both struck solidly, but clanged off Beowulf’s forward armor, leaving only twin scratches.

The colonel moved forward, gaining distance quickly. With limited ammunition, he saw no reason to risk a bad shot. Apparently, rifle rounds weren’t much of a concern for him anymore. The two snipers continued firing, and inwardly the colonel flinched slightly with each impact. He chided himself at the response.
Going to have to get used to this new body
, he thought.

Beowulf ground over rough scrub and knocked aside small trees as he closed on the remaining British shooters. He wanted to try a simultaneous kill, so he’d chosen an approach vector to bring him within equal distance of both snipers. As he closed the distance, he came to within forty yards of them, then slowed.
 

The one on his right threw down his rifle and dug into a pouch. A moment later, he lobbed a small steel sphere at the colonel. As it flew toward him, the colonel focused on it. Sized like an oblong baseball, the device was grooved like a pineapple. He recognized the grenade as a Mills bomb, recently invented by the British weapon designer William Mills.
 

The man’s throw was remarkable, or lucky. The grenade hit the ground in front of Beowulf’s right tread, and his momentum carried him over it. The device detonated with a horrendous boom, and a sideways geyser of dirt exploded out from the tank’s tread. The colonel noted that his right suspension took an impressive amount of force from the explosion, even momentarily shifting Beowulf’s weight slightly. But he could detect no damage from the explosion.
I can run over grenades now. Amazing
.

He saw the men’s eyes go wide as he ignored their grenade. They watched in dawning horror as the massive tank ground onward toward them. While snipers typically hunkered down outside the active combat arena, these soldiers had also faced the enemy directly, and lived to carry on. But this was something entirely different. While separated by a hundred yards, the snipers were united in their sheer terror at seeing this mountain of steel descend upon them.

The colonel brought to bear both of his forward shredders and fired them as one. The snipers died instantly, the image of Beowulf blazed on their panicked minds. As the bodies fell, the colonel spun within his own axis and resumed course to the base gate. In minutes he reached it, but realized he had a serious problem.