Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (35 page)

General Houston brought them to his face and quickly found the British line. He guessed they had four thousand men brought against the city. A few hundred cavalry too, he saw. He looked for officers, usually found easily, since they were on horseback. He saw isolated officers, yelling at the men around them.
Company commanders
. He kept looking, and a gathering of three men on horseback caught his attention. Two of them seemed deferential to the third, and he focused on the obvious ranking officer. Recognition hit him like a cold splash of water.
You wretched bastard
.

“They’re commanded by Archibald Thomas,” he said. “Looks like the weasel has made colonel.”

“You know the man, General?” asked the lieutenant.

“Don’t expect an honorable fight,” he replied, still focused on Thomas and watching him give orders. “He has a special hatred for Americans.”

Lieutenant Terry grinned. “That’s all right, General. The men don’t much care for limey invaders.”

General Houston chuckled. He liked Terry.
Man always has a smile and a joke handy. That’s worth a lot on the field.
He lowered the binoculars and turned to face him. “I’m glad you’re—”

BOOM
!

His words were drowned out by the concussive roar of British cannons opening fire. In rapid sequence a dozen explosions rang out, followed by the unmistakable whistling of cannon shot screaming through the air.

Here we go
.

The heavy steel shot tore into the American line, with gruesome results. Three men were hit directly by the cannon fire, and their bodies flew apart from the force, limbs scattering a dozen yards away.

Several of the shots were low, and they struck the grassy field in front of the Americans, then continued plowing forward, bouncing in low arcs until they found something to destroy. Men screamed, but few panicked, having taken cannon shot before.

A single shot went high, racing over the men’s heads. It hit the ground once with a loud
whumpf
, then arced up and landed in the small lake behind them. A white geyser of water sprung up, marking the round’s final impact as it sank to the bottom.

The Americans brought their rifles to bear, but there were few targets to find in the open. The British infantry held back, using buildings and cars as cover. The cannon crews were exposed, but too far away for decent rifle shots.

There was a short lull as the cannon crew reloaded. The veterans among the hunkered-down Americans put the moments to good use, running out from cover to haul wounded men back into the trenches.

And then, all too soon, the cannons opened fire again.

“Didn’t expect so many cannons,” grumbled the general, watching the damage unfold. “They hauled those beasts all the way from New Haven.” He scanned the field, not liking the view. “Lieutenant, get a dozen of your best shooters. Circle around to their flank and get on top of that building,” he said, pointing out the Hotel Wallace. “Snipe those cannon crews. Let’s make them worry too.”

“Got it, General,” Terry said, sprinting forward into the battle.

***

Both apprehensive and determined, Edison entered the base’s radio room. Colonel Oliver was already there and nodded welcome.

“All right, Jones,” he said to the radio operator. “Place the call.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young technician. A slight shaking in his hand was the only clue to his nervousness. “Never called the White House,” he said, grinning.

“Something to impress the wife with tonight,” said the Colonel.

“Yes, sir,” he said, checking a printed schedule of frequencies. He found today’s setting and tuned it in. After a series of security challenge-response codes, the communication was verified as legitimate.

“Thank you, Jones, that’s all we need. Get yourself a coffee,” said the colonel.

“Will do, sir,” he said, excusing himself and closing the door behind him.

The colonel sat down and pressed the transmit bar on the mike. “This is Colonel Oliver, at Hansford. Requesting a priority communication with Chief of Staff Paul Davis.”

“Stand by, please.”

A few minutes later, a deep voice came through the speaker. “This is Davis.”

“Colonel Oliver here, Paul. It’s time for that get-together.”

“All right, Colonel. Send him on down, I’ll get Edison five minutes with him. See him in…what? Three hours?”

“That’s about right.”

“OK. I’ll be ready. Safe flight. Davis out.”

The colonel flipped off the radio and looked up at Edison. “OK, I’ve done my part. Ready to go?”

Edison nodded. “Let’s get this done.”

The two men walked straight to the airfield, where the colonel had a plane waiting. He introduced Edison to the pilot, then wished Edison a successful trip and headed back to his office.

As Edison got strapped in, he was amazed by modern technology. Here he was, outside Boston, and within hours he would be back in Washington, sitting within the White House.

Incredible
, he thought, as the pilot taxied out on the runway and powered up for takeoff.

***

Colonel Thomas grinned wickedly as his cannons ate into the American line. It had been difficult, bringing them so far. But the result now was worth the effort. His artillery was chewing into their line like a rabid dog, and the sight pleased him greatly.

They were reloading for their fifth salvo when the sound of rifle fire cracked through the air from his left. He frowned. The infantry shouldn’t be firing yet. They were too far away for a proper shot. Then he heard yelling from his cannon crews and understood.

The rifles fired again, and he located the sound. The Americans had sent a small group into the hotel and secured the roof. It was an excellent firing position, he admitted.

“On the hotel!” he yelled, pointing. The cannon crews had determined the location of the threat also, and tried to take cover on the other side of their cannons and supply crates.

From his vantage point, the colonel guessed four of the crews had been taken out in the surprise hit.

“Damn!” he growled.

The company commander nearest the hotel had already moved into action, though. He formed a detachment, led them into covered positions, firing up at the rooftop. They had little chance of a kill shot from that angle, but they could keep the snipers pinned down, afraid to raise their heads for a shot.

The sniper fire dropped off quickly. The colonel was pleased to see twenty Redcoats charging into the hotel’s lobby. Racing up the stairs to confront the Americans on the roof, no doubt.

Time for the main event, anyway. He raised his sword high in the air. His lieutenants met his eyes, nodding that they were ready. He brought the sword down with a yell.

“Charge!”

With a deafening roar, the British infantry surged forward. They sprinted hard down the double-wide Commonwealth Avenue. The men at the back of the formation lost patience and broke off left and right to the nearest side streets, then turned and ran parallel with the main force.

Together they closed the distance to the Common, yelling and with rifles up. As they neared Arlington Street, which ran the whole length of the American front line, they opened fire, raining bullets into the simple fortifications the Americans crouched behind.

After the first wave of shots, the Americans returned fire, leaping up from the trenches to take aim. The front row of British soldiers went down, tumbling to the ground and tripping up those behind them.

But the flood kept coming.

***

The Americans watched their enemy draw closer, despite their best efforts to cut them down. Redcoat bodies were piling up on Arlington Avenue, but there seemed to be no end to the British troops scrambling over the bodies and gaining ground.

General Houston saw the British collecting in the street, now out from cover of the tall buildings surrounding the Common.

“Lieutenant!” he yelled, and Terry ran over.

“Time for our cannon to have fun,” he said, pointing toward the open street right in front of their line. “Just make sure they aim well.”

“Absolutely!” Terry yelled, already running to relay the order.

A minute later eight American cannons opened up on the street. Along the defensive line, American troops swore and dove down within the trenches as the cannon shot screamed over their heads.

The shots were concentrated and smashed into the street, gouging large chunks of asphalt from the road and sending jagged shrapnel spraying toward the oncoming British. The surge forward broke instantly under the withering fire, and the British fell back, eager to find shelter.

The American infantry rose from their trenches and cheered, firing off rounds into the retreating enemy.

“Satisfying,” said the general, watching the rout unfold. “Highly satisfying.”

Terry returned and stood beside his commanding officer, wise enough to enjoy the moment without needing to speak.

General Houston flagged down a radio operator. “Send this message to the Hanscom base immediately: ‘Engaged British at Boston Common. Send Beowulf now. Enter city by Longfellow Bridge.’ Got that?”

The junior man scribbled it down and confirmed. “Got it, sir. I’ll send it out right now.”

“Good.”

“Bringing out the big guns,” said Terry.

“Subtlety rarely wins battles,” replied the general.

***

WASHINGTON, DC, USA

Edison entered the small waiting room for the second time in his life, waiting for the president to see him. A lot had happened since then, but if this meeting went well, those mistakes could be corrected and things set on a proper path.

He was just sitting down when the Oval Office door opened, and he stood again, ready to be asked inside, flushed with the typical nerves and eagerness that room evoked.

Chief of Staff Davis appeared and smiled toward him. He had a genial face, framed by a black, sharp beard. He stepped forward, closing the door behind him and shaking Edison’s hand powerfully.

“Mr. Edison! Great to meet you. Your reputation really is amazing.”

Edison smiled easily, hiding his confusion about the closed door. “Mr. Davis. Thank you so much for making this meeting possible.”

“Yes, well,” he said, and Edison knew he would not be meeting the president today. He’d flown down specifically for this meeting, and all was supposed to be arranged. He worked to keep the disappointment from his face.

“I understand,” Edison said. “The president is a very busy man.” He smiled bravely.

Davis watched him for a moment, reading him easily. Deciphering men’s true feelings was in his job description, and he did it quite well. “I know it’s a disappointment. And I am sorry. When the colonel and I spoke, I thought I could get the time. But this business with the British is heating up quickly. I hope you understand?”

Edison waved his hand as if the matter was trivial to him. “Of course, of course. So shall I…”

“The president has authorized me to act on this matter,” said Davis. “He does have an interest in this lab and the work they do, but right now he honestly has bigger fish to fry.”

Edison nodded in understanding, sensing a possible advantage here. Roosevelt had previously seemed quite enamored with the Beowulf project. Perhaps the chief of staff was less biased.

“He certainly does,” said Edison, laughing.

Davis pointed toward the waiting room entrance. “Walk with me, Mr. Edison. Let’s find a quiet corner and chat.”

Edison let himself be led away, but not before casting a last glance at the closed Oval Office door.

Davis led him down a richly appointed hallway and into an empty conference room. “Have a seat,” Davis said, pulling out a chair and sitting at the large circular table. Edison joined him, then thought how best to pitch his case to Davis.

“Mr. Davis, I—”

“You want to take over control of the lab, yes? Now that Bertram has passed?”

Edison was taken aback. “Well, I—”

Davis smiled, having confirmed his assumption about dealing with scientists. So unaware of the ways of politics. He leaned forward, smiling. “Look, I’ve read the file on the Rabbit Hole. Nuclear fission, lasers, this Beowulf tank, even antigravity. Obviously, I don’t know a whit about science. Hell, I was a political science major. But I know the lab was effectively wiped out in that zeppelin attack, and we need our military research back up and running. And as soon as possible. That is in the nation’s interest.”

Edison nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

Davis continued. “I don’t know this Tesla personally. He sounds like your typical eccentric genius, which is great, but not the type to run a lab of this caliber, am I right?”

“Yes, I do believe you are.”

“I know General Houston considers the lab his baby, but his main responsibility was the base itself. Savannah Browning has done great work, but I’m not putting a woman in charge up there. The whole country knows about Menlo Park and the work you’ve led. Personally, I think it’s a no-brainer. You have the pedigree to run large research projects. You already have a facility up and running. Seems to me the smart thing to do is move the lab to Menlo Park. The PR alone would be good for the war effort.”

Edison realized he was holding his breath and willed himself to breathe smoothly. He’d simply wanted control of the research. Actually moving the work to his facility was more than he’d even thought of. But it made perfect, easy sense. He’d have to staff up, of course. Which was fine. He’d prefer to hire his own team anyway. No troublesome prior alliances to worry over.

“So, to be clear. We are speaking of full control, yes?”

Davis nodded. “Absolutely. The budget’s already in place. We’ll just put you in at the top.” He raised a finger. “Although I do know the president considers the Beowulf project important, and it should continue as before.”

Edison frowned, then took a new approach. “I fear the president’s information may be out of date on that particular project.”

“How’s that? Field tests went grandly.”

“Yes. That they did. But that was when Colonel Browning’s mind was controlling the tank. Sadly, that is no longer the case. When the colonel’s granddaughter was injured in the attack, Tesla took it upon himself to replace the colonel with her.”