Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (26 page)

“Lovely,” she said. “Well, the price of knowledge. Right, Nikola?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. For a man whose experiments brought down buildings and generated lightning, the lab had been a rather tame affair. Runaway cannonballs added spice to the day.

***

1,400 FEET ABOVE FORT HAMILTON, NY, USA

As the zeppelin
Orion
descended lower, Captain Montgomery could now make out the details of the base. The main gate seemed to have already taken damage, which was odd. She scanned the ground, tracing the perimeter of the base in her mind. There were no specific targets in the major’s order. Her instructions called for a full saturation bombing, so she focused on where the base’s outer limits were. Everything inside that ring would be decimated.

She glanced at the altimeter. Twelve hundred feet…one thousand feet…

“Level us out, helm,” she ordered.

Lieutenant Leeson spun his wheel and watched the bubble slide back to the center of the indicator. “Level bubble, Captain.”

Nine hundred feet…

“Drop ballast for eight hundred feet,” she said.

Lieutenant Roberts nodded and spun four wheels. He watched the levels of their water tanks drop, then checked the rate of climb indicator.

Eight hundred and fifty feet…

As their rate of climb settled toward zero, he closed the ballast wheels. Releasing the water had given the ship more lift, just enough to stay level at their desired height. The huge airship soon found its balance in the cool evening air and became neutrally buoyant.

“We are now level at eight hundred feet, Captain,” he called back.

“Engines ahead one-half,” she said, then called the bomb bay. “We begin our run now, gentlemen. Full saturation. Space twelve conventional bombs across the base. Fire at will.”

The order was acknowledged, and within the bomb bay, a junior captain patted the first bomb, already set in the attack rails.

He went to the release console and opened the bomb bay doors. The sudden howl of cold air was always a shock, even when you knew it was coming.

He watched his board, leaning down to look into a sighting eyepiece. The black rubber cup shut out everything but the view directly under them. Watching patiently, the bombardier watched as the ground below slid along his view.

Then the base came into sight. He’d already calculated for the delay at eight hundred feet, and at the right moment, his finger pressed a red metal button.

Nearby, in the attack rails, a latch released. The large steel bomb hung in the air momentarily, then fell free.

***

“God in heaven,” whispered Sergeant Miller, leaning against the doorframe that led to the sick bay. The flood of wounded and dead Americans had overwhelmed the medical facility, though three doctors and a dozen nurses scrambled to deal with the onslaught.

Miller had been shot in the shoulder, but the sights, sounds, and smells of the chaos distracted him from the pain and the slick wetness of blood coating his arm and chest. The cries and screams came in different flavors, some muffled and suffering, others bright and clear. The worst came from the back, where behind a white curtain, a surgeon removed limbs, a necessary horror to prevent a bigger loss.

The large square windows were closed, but light streamed in, shooting through the bay’s dust-filled air in dramatic shafts.

Miller had no medical training, but he could offer comfort. Pushing himself off the doorframe, he shuffled into the hectic, terrible scene. He found a bed nearby with a young corporal in it, lying on his back with a thick field dressing strapped to his midsection. His eyes were glazed, fixed on the ceiling above, but flicked to Miller as he approached. The corporal’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes blinked once, slowly.

Miller sat on the man’s bed and took him by the hand. The corporal’s grip tightened, and the pressure told Miller he’d done the right thing. He smiled, encouraging the injured man.

“Not to worry, Corporal. A cute nurse will be back for you soon. Till then, you just lie there and keep goldbricking.”

He got a small smile in reply, and the corporal nodded slightly. “I’ll…wait here,” he said.

Miller’s response was drowned out by a deafening explosion outside. Nothing like the high-pitched clap of fireworks, this was a deep, rumbling, in-your-gut boom that said
don’t fuck with me
.

“What the—” he said, instinctively turning toward the sound. A warning rose up in his brain, but didn’t quite get there in time.

Four buildings away, the bomb’s shock wave raced out from the point of impact, throwing people into the air and sending them spinning like unwanted dolls. Trees older than Miller were grabbed by the wall of force and ripped from the ground, only to be tossed back down forty yards away.

As the shock wave struck the outer wall of the sick bay, the pressure slammed against the brick wall, bowing it in. The windows immediately lost the fight and exploded inward, pelting everyone inside with a rain of shattered glass.

Miller saw the windows disintegrate and turned his head aside, already diving to throw himself over the corporal’s face. His reaction was fast, but couldn’t beat the spray of razor-sharp glass racing at him.

The shards washed over him, slicing the side of his face and neck a dozen times. The cuts hurt sharply, and he gasped at the sensation, already feeling the too-familiar awareness of wet slickness covering his hands and face.
How much blood can a man lose before passing out?
He opened his eyes and focused them on the corporal.

He’d taken a nasty gash across the forehead, and a thick rivulet of blood was already running into his eye, but otherwise he’d not been badly hurt. Miller pulled at the bed sheet and mopped the blood away from the corporal’s eyes.

“You OK?” he asked.

The stunned corporal opened his eyes. They swam around the room before settling on Miller. His grip tightened again.

“Good man,” said Miller. “Hang on, I’m going to check outside.” He pulled his hand free and headed back to the doorway. Behind him the chorus of cries had quieted since the blast. He hoped that was just from the shock.

He pushed the sick bay doors open and stepped outside, looking around for answers. Men and women were running in all directions, many screaming. He turned toward the explosion’s direction and ran out into the street for a clearer view. The sight made his skin grow cold.

A black, smoking crater had opened up where the mess hall used to be. His mind refused to accept the news, and he stood frozen, his imagination still seeing the large two-story building where hundreds of people had met for meals and laughter. But it was gone, obliterated in a high-explosive blast. But the only thing that could do that—

He looked up into the sky and saw the zeppelin. It floated peacefully above him, eight hundred feet up. Moving forward at thirty knots, it seemed to be ponderously lofting its way across the sky. But it could carry bombs. A lot of very large bombs.

He saw something fall from the zeppelin then. It was dark and large, but growing closer by the second.

“Oh Christ,” he muttered.

The second bomb landed just outside the sick bay front door and detonated.

Sergeant Miller was the first casualty as the shock wave roared outward, and he disappeared instantly. The explosion tore into sick bay, stripping the walls off the building in a flash. Some of the roof was blown backward by the force, but most of it collapsed in place, crushing the wounded men and women in their cots.

The surrounding structures fared no better. Three administrative buildings disintegrated in the blast, killing the sixty-two occupants before they knew what had happened.

The
Orion
continued on, and as the base continued sliding into view within the bombardier’s eyepiece, he continued pressing the red metal button.

***

In the lab the colonel was enjoying taking a catalog of the new stored data Tesla had installed. He’d included several hundred books in digital form, which should make the evenings a bit less lonely.

As the first bomb fell a half mile away on the base above, the force rippled through the earth. This far from the blast, and deep underground, the effect was too minute to be felt by humans, but a subroutine monitoring Beowulf’s seismic sensor detected a strong pulse that didn’t fit any expected parameters. It processed the signal for several tenths of a second before deciding to report the discovery.

The subroutine filed a summary report in Beowulf’s main awareness queue and attached a priority code. Milliseconds later the colonel became aware of the incoming data.

“Hey, guys,” he began. “I think something’s happening on the surface.”

“That covers a lot of ground, Colonel,” said Tesla.

“An explosion of some kind. Maybe a fuel tank? I don’t have a library of seismic data to check against, sadly.”

“That’s a good idea, though,” said Tesla, scribbling a note. “We should ask the general about that.”

Savannah came closer. “How far away, Dad?”

“About thirty-eight hundred feet from my position. That’s diagonal to the surface, of course.”

“Within the base then, for sure,” she said.

“Correct.”

Bertram frowned. “I’ll call Operations, see what they know about it.” He headed for the lab wall and the phone to the surface.

Just then the colonel spoke again. “Another one, Bertram. About four hundred and sixty feet from the first one.”

The lab’s klaxon wailed, and Madelaine stuck her fingers in her ears, grimacing.

“Another attack?” yelled Tesla. Savannah shrugged her shoulders, but made sure she could see Madelaine.

Bertram ran to the lab’s wall, silenced the alarm, then called Operations. His face grew tense as he listened, then quizzical when the line went dead. He hung up and returned to the group.

“What’s happening now?” asked Savannah.

“I…we’re being bombed.”

“What?” she yelled.

“Operations said a zeppelin was bombing the base. The line went dead before I could get anything else.”

“I’m detecting a third detonation,” said the colonel. “Given what Bertram said, this is probably the start of a prolonged bombing run.”

“So we’re stuck down here,” said Savannah.

“You mean we’re
safe
down here,” corrected Bertram, throwing a glance toward Madelaine. She was doing a good impression of a brave young girl, but he saw the fear in her tight lips.

Savannah pulled her daughter close and wrapped her arms around her. “We’re fine down here, honey. We’ll just wait it out. No problem at all.”

“I know, I’m not scared,” she said, clutching her mother’s waist tightly. Savannah stroked her daughter’s hair, letting her have the final word on the subject.

She hated the idea of being out of touch with the base. Ever since they had fled England, Fort Hamilton had been their home. The garrison here had become extended family, and the base was a great place to raise a child. Until today.

The colonel’s voice boomed. “Well, there’s no need for me to hide out in here. I’ve got a hell of a main cannon, and haven’t been able to try it out yet. If I can get an angle that high, I’ll blast that gasbag out of the sky.”

Tesla and Savannah shared a look. Beowulf’s cannon could get the job done, but the bombs falling out there could kill even the heavily armored tank.

“He’s your father,” offered Tesla, reluctant to send the colonel into a truly dangerous situation.

Savannah nodded. She stared at the floor, thinking it through, then looked up.

“There’s no choice,” she said, looking to Bertram. “That zeppelin is killing our home.”

“Agreed,” he said.

Savannah turned to the massive tank. “Go get it, Dad.”

“Will do.” Beowulf’s power system surged, and the tank slid forward slowly on its huge treads.

The colonel accessed his records for the door codes and was about to throw them at the door access in a tight radio burst when the lab’s lights flickered, then went dark. Beowulf stopped, analyzing the situation.

The lab went black as a bottomless mine. Madelaine’s grasp on her mother’s leg grew tighter, and Savannah was grateful her daughter had been against her when the power failed.

“Mom?” she said, her voice trembling.

Savannah patted her head gently. “Don’t worry, honey. We’re fine.”

Tesla intuitively reached out into the darkness. The sudden blindness was disorienting, but he stood still.

“What the hell?” muttered Bertram in the dark. “Must have hit the power relay station. Nobody move, backups will be on—”

Around the large room, eight dim backup lights snapped on, not enough to cover the whole lab, but they weren’t blind anymore. Mounted high on the walls, the lights cast shallow pools of light, surrounded by wide expanses of darkness.

“That’s a bit better,” said Tesla.

“I can improve on that,” said the colonel. Across Beowulf’s front, five recessed lights flared, bathing the far wall in white light, and raising the visibility in their half of the lab.

“Nicely done,” said Tesla.

“Unfortunately, that’s all I can do. The doors aren’t responding to my codes.”

“Quite right,” said Bertram. “When we lost main power, we lost the tunnel doors. Backup power isn’t sufficient to open them.”

“Damn!” yelled the colonel. “And I can’t blast them open—”

“Without blowing out our eardrums? No,” said Bertram. “The overpressure in the room might even kill us.”

“Damn!” he said again. “I guess we are stuck down—”

The fourth bomb from the zeppelin
Orion
landed then, directly above them.

The bomb’s pressure-trigger was designed to detonate upon impact with the ground. The bomb fell from the
Orion
and landed on the Rabbit Hole’s entry building. It hit the roof and very nearly triggered the explosion then, but the roof failed under the huge weight, and the bomb punched through. It fell another twenty feet, then struck the floor inside the secured building and detonated, exploding the building from within. Tons of brick, steel, and wood were blasted away in a millisecond.

The lab’s top level was destroyed by the blast. It had been dedicated to computing machines, and under Hollerith’s leadership, was making great strides in processing information rapidly. The long banks of computers were smashed against one another, and every technician on the floor died instantly, Hollerith among them. America had just lost one of the finest minds in the field, but the devastation was only beginning.