Post by Lorpius Prime on Mar 17, 2007 23:20:15 GMT -5
They were crossing the bridge over the Danube when Jay worked up the courage to tap his companion on the shoulder.
“Oi, Jack.”
The other man grunted in response.
“Do you know what’s going on with all this?”
Jack turned to him, “Nothing good.”
Jay looked from side to side out the carriage windows. The great river roiled beneath them where it met the Wörnitz. “What do you mean?”
“I told you before, someone shot down that airship,” he rapped a knuckle against the window next to him. “And I’ll bet my boots these blokes had something to do with it. Captain Slime back there knows something.”
“Right… I was meaning to ask you about that,” he pulled the pad and pen from his coat pocket. “Now what is it that makes you think we were shot down?”
Jack looked at the writing instruments critically, “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m a reporter, Jack. That’d be a hell of a story.”
The Australian snorted, “The blasts you described sound like artillery. And an airship doesn’t just go down like that for no reason, not in clear weather like that. Something hit us, tore up the cabin floor too.”
“Yeah, but—and stop me if this is a stupid question—why? What could someone possibly want shooting down the Rover? Especially someone who could do it with cannons?”
Jack looked back towards the front wall of the carriage, “I’ve got a bad feeling they want me.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, “You, Mr. Duggan?”
“Everyone else is dead, and the two of us are still being jerked around. So unless you’ve made someone rather angry…”
Jay looked doubtful, “Are you implying that you have?”
His companion chuckled grimly, “I told you what I was doing.”
“Uh… dragon hunting…” Jay grimaced, reminded of the fact that Jack wasn’t exactly a credible source for… anything.
“But I didn’t tell you where I was going.”
“Poland?”
Jack shook his head, “Poland was where I got off. I was going to Russia.”
Jay gagged and sat up very straight. This time when he looked around it was for a purpose: to see if anyone was listening. “Have I told you that you’re mad?”
“You’ve mentioned it.”
“Well I think you need to be reminded of it. You’re mad!”
And he was. Russia was under blockade. You didn’t go there, not as anything except a heavily armed officer of the British Army. For anyone else, getting into the country was impossible. Which in this case was a good thing because it would be suicide to do so.
The official policy of the blockade was that nothing on the Russian side was allowed to approach within two miles of the barrier line or it was fired upon. Airships carrying cannons and bombs destroyed anything or anyone which might be a military force or arsenal. Nothing was allowed to cross the line in either direction.
The reality of the blockade was that the Army fired upon anything and anyone, period. Air Corps balloons patrolled as far beyond the line as Moscow, and the word from soldiers coming off blockade duty was that there’d been no sign of human activity for years. If there were any Russians still scraping by herding reindeer, they’d learned to evade the patrols and stay out of sight.
Russia was dead. Just like the Tsar.
“Jack, even if the Army, the Government, whoever, even if they thought you could get into Russia—which you can’t—that’s not enough reason to kill you, to kill all those people.”
“No, you wouldn’t think so, would you?”
Jay was a little incensed at that, but couldn’t say why, “Arrest you, maybe.”
“Not if they couldn’t prove anything.”
The carriage was just passing out of town, heading south along a soggy dirt road.
Jay shook his head at Jack and tried to figure out the best way to frame the story so that Jack’s theory wouldn’t sound like total lunacy. Jay was sure it was, but that wasn’t the point.
“What could possibly make you think there are dragons in Russia, anyway?” Jay was concentrating on his writing, but felt the need for small talk.
“I hear things.”
“Out of Russia? Any reason to believe they’re not all completely unfounded rumors?”
“I doubt you’d think so.”
Jay hadn’t been paying attention to the scenery on the drive, but they were rounding a wooded hill, and he could see a tiny village off in the distance towards the river.
“You know Jack; I think more people would believe you if you didn’t believe things that were, well you know, mad.” That hadn’t come out right.
Jack gave him an odd look and Jay shrugged.
“Really, Jack, you can’t expect—“
The carriage stopped.
“Hello now…” Jay looked out the window beside him, but couldn’t see anything but trees and the muddy road.
The door on Jack’s side opened. The man on the other side of it wore a battered tricorne hat and a short beard showing patches of gray. His pants were threadbare and his patched leather jacket would have completed an effect of making him look like a poor working man were it not for the bright crimson shirt that shone from beneath its unfastened buttons.
“Good morning, Mr.—who are you?” his eyes were fixed on Jack, blazing.
Jack kicked him in the chest, and the stranger went toppling backwards into the mud. The Australian hopped down from the carriage while Jay watched in open-mouthed disbelief.
Jack bent down to reach for something on the ground, then seemed to think better of it. He dropped to his knees, rolled forward and then made a dash for the trees a few feet from the edge of the road. Jay jumped at the sound of a gunshot, sending his pen and notepad flying.
As if the noise had been thunder, it started raining, and a light pattering was broken by the sound of a second gunshot.
This was answered by several more. Jay was cowering inside the carriage, but could see Jack crouching at the base of a tree and firing at something towards the front of the carriage Jay couldn’t see. A horse screamed.
The man Jack had knocked down was getting to his feet, and he picked up something off the ground that had been near his head. An automatic pistol. He pointed it at Jack.
Jay didn’t think but leapt—or rather, stumbled—out of the carriage and landed on the stranger’s back. This didn’t work as well as he hoped, the gunman was exceedingly well-planted and strong; he shrugged off Jay’s attack quickly, and Jay ruined his second jacket in two days with mud.
Worse, the gunman was now turning to point his weapon at Jay. He kicked at the man in terror, and was fortunate enough that his foot struck the man’s hand, but the gun fired anyway.
Jay froze. His attacker was righting his aim a second time, and it seemed time slowed down as he did so. Jay couldn’t see anything in his face but a calm determination.
Jack barreled into the gunman, the Australian’s shoulder striking under the other man’s chin. He fell again, and this time Jack planted a knee in the attacker’s abdomen and drove his fists into the bearded face a couple times.
Jack hauled the other man up by the lapels of his shirt and, peering into his dazed eyes, threw him headfirst into the carriage. Then he picked up the pistol lying beneath the wooden frame and unloaded it, setting the pieces into his pants pockets.
Jay found he was shaking rather uncontrollably when Jack leaned over and offered him a hand. He didn’t have the presence of mind to take it, but Jack clamped onto his wrist and pulled him to his feet anyway.
One of the two horses that had been harnessed to the carriage was lying on its side, kicking its legs uselessly and whimpering. Corporal Gerber lay a few feet in front of it, face down and unmoving, another pistol in his hand.
Jay shivered in the rain, unable to process the scene. He’d nearly died.
Jack brought his face very close to Jay’s and looked into his eyes for a moment before nodding very slightly.
“Come on, then,” he motioned to the carriage, “before we find he’s got a knife too, or another gun.”
Jay’s arms and chest were convulsing and he hadn’t blinked for over a minute despite rain dropping into his eyes, but he stepped over to the carriage nonetheless.
The stranger was lying on his back between the seats of the carriage. He was hardly moving, but the first thing Jack did when he climbed inside was punch the man in the stomach anyway. The disabled gunman groaned a little, but otherwise didn’t react. Jack grabbed his legs and pulled off his boots.
He had been carrying a knife, a small one, inside his jacket. Jack set it on the seat along with the shoes and other pieces of clothing he’d been removing from the man.
Jack pulled him up by the armpits and set him on the seat across from himself. The other man’s head lolled, but Jack slapped him across the cheeks a couple times and tugged on the side of his beard.
“Hey, mate, snap to.”
The gunman coughed a couple times, and a little blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth. He must have bit his lip when Jack hit him in the jaw.
But he seemed a little more alert now, though his breathing was in gasps. “Wh—who are you?” he managed after a moment.
“That’s what I’d ask you, who are you?”
The gunman nodded as if this made sense, he was clearly still very dazed from the repeated blows to his head, “I’m ah… I’m M-Major Evan Farragut I am.”
That explained the military coat he’d been wearing under the outer one. Jack looked at Jay, who was now shivering more from being wet than anything else. Jay just looked back nervously.
Jack turned back to Farragut, “Major Farragut? With the Army?”
Farragut shook his head, then had to blink and steady himself. Jack helped by keeping a hand clamped hard on the man’s right shoulder. “No. N-no. Secret Service Bureau. I’m, wait…” He blinked a few more times, and his eyes looked like he was starting to get more of a handle on his situation.
This was apparently cause enough for Jack to smack him again, in the temple.
“Why is the Secret Service trying to kill us then?”
“Y-you?” Farragut sputtered. “You… No… needed, ah…” he looked over at Jay and made the faintest of gestures with his head.
“Blake?” Jack jerked a thumb out the open carriage door. “You were after Blake?”
Farragut closed his eyes and nodded, “Orders from London. Had to stop…”
“What?!” This was Jay, shouting over his disbelief. “Has the whole world gone ‘round the bend now? What’ve I ever done?”
Jack reached out with his free right hand and tugged Jay into the carriage beside him, then shut the door. Then he turned his gaze back on their captive.
“Well?”
The major shrugged, then coughed a little more, “I just follow orders. They tell me to take care of a man, commandeer a battery from the locals… I do it.”
“You did shoot us down? You shot us down?” Jay was feeling more than a little crazed.
Farragut nodded vigorously, then visibly gulped, “I can’t—I can’t… what are you going to do with me?”
Jack looked over to Jay. For the first time, he seemed to be unsure of what to do, and was deferring the question to the younger man.
“Jesus…” was all Jay could say.
Jack turned to Farragut again, “How did you get here?”
“Horse up the road… tied to a tree…” his breathing was becoming ragged.
Jack released him and leaned back with a contemplative exhale. Farragut fell against the window somewhat messily. Neither of the other men moved to help him.
“Well, what do we do with him?” Jack asked.
“I still can’t believe…” Jay stared at the crumpled heap that a few minutes before had been trying to kill him.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “But what do we do with him?”
Jay looked at the Australian desperately, “You’re asking me? What do you do in situations like this?”
Jack shrugged, “Chop him up and feed him to the pigs?”
Jay’s eyes went wide, “But… but we can’t kill him!”
“He tried to kill you. Kill us.”
“But… but…” Jay felt like he was going to throw up.
Farragut murmured something incoherent. Jack pulled him upright by his shirt again.
“Any reason I shouldn’t kill you?”
Their captive didn’t respond, just looked at Jack with pitiful foggy eyes. Jay remembered how they’d been full of a cold rage not long ago. This man had in a short time been completely broken.
“Ah…” Jack let him fall again. He took off his broad hat and wiped the sweat from his brow beneath his copper hair.
“Sorry…” Jay was shivering still as well as sweating. He personally didn’t feel a particular desire to smoke, but he did think a shot or seven of whiskey would be nice about now.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “We have to get him some help. A doctor.”
Jack looked at Jay like he was the mad one, “What?”
But Jay nodded as firmly as he could despite the shaking, “Yes. A doctor. It’s the right thing to do, he needs help.”
Jack was shaking he head, “He tried to kill us—“
“But we’re not like him!” Jay snapped, fairly shouting. He glared at Jack, who’d gone quiet but was giving him a grimly critical look. “I’m not like him. You can—you can do whatever.” The water had soaked through to his shirt now, and the wool of his coat had nearly doubled in weight. “I’ll carry him myself if I have to.” He lifted his chin indignantly all the same.
Jack shut his eyes and sighed, “Ah, you’re not fit to carry your own hat, much less a man. I’m not carrying him either.” He paused for moment when Jay set his teeth, but continued, “But we don’t have to.”
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
“Oi, Jack.”
The other man grunted in response.
“Do you know what’s going on with all this?”
Jack turned to him, “Nothing good.”
Jay looked from side to side out the carriage windows. The great river roiled beneath them where it met the Wörnitz. “What do you mean?”
“I told you before, someone shot down that airship,” he rapped a knuckle against the window next to him. “And I’ll bet my boots these blokes had something to do with it. Captain Slime back there knows something.”
“Right… I was meaning to ask you about that,” he pulled the pad and pen from his coat pocket. “Now what is it that makes you think we were shot down?”
Jack looked at the writing instruments critically, “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m a reporter, Jack. That’d be a hell of a story.”
The Australian snorted, “The blasts you described sound like artillery. And an airship doesn’t just go down like that for no reason, not in clear weather like that. Something hit us, tore up the cabin floor too.”
“Yeah, but—and stop me if this is a stupid question—why? What could someone possibly want shooting down the Rover? Especially someone who could do it with cannons?”
Jack looked back towards the front wall of the carriage, “I’ve got a bad feeling they want me.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, “You, Mr. Duggan?”
“Everyone else is dead, and the two of us are still being jerked around. So unless you’ve made someone rather angry…”
Jay looked doubtful, “Are you implying that you have?”
His companion chuckled grimly, “I told you what I was doing.”
“Uh… dragon hunting…” Jay grimaced, reminded of the fact that Jack wasn’t exactly a credible source for… anything.
“But I didn’t tell you where I was going.”
“Poland?”
Jack shook his head, “Poland was where I got off. I was going to Russia.”
Jay gagged and sat up very straight. This time when he looked around it was for a purpose: to see if anyone was listening. “Have I told you that you’re mad?”
“You’ve mentioned it.”
“Well I think you need to be reminded of it. You’re mad!”
And he was. Russia was under blockade. You didn’t go there, not as anything except a heavily armed officer of the British Army. For anyone else, getting into the country was impossible. Which in this case was a good thing because it would be suicide to do so.
The official policy of the blockade was that nothing on the Russian side was allowed to approach within two miles of the barrier line or it was fired upon. Airships carrying cannons and bombs destroyed anything or anyone which might be a military force or arsenal. Nothing was allowed to cross the line in either direction.
The reality of the blockade was that the Army fired upon anything and anyone, period. Air Corps balloons patrolled as far beyond the line as Moscow, and the word from soldiers coming off blockade duty was that there’d been no sign of human activity for years. If there were any Russians still scraping by herding reindeer, they’d learned to evade the patrols and stay out of sight.
Russia was dead. Just like the Tsar.
“Jack, even if the Army, the Government, whoever, even if they thought you could get into Russia—which you can’t—that’s not enough reason to kill you, to kill all those people.”
“No, you wouldn’t think so, would you?”
Jay was a little incensed at that, but couldn’t say why, “Arrest you, maybe.”
“Not if they couldn’t prove anything.”
The carriage was just passing out of town, heading south along a soggy dirt road.
Jay shook his head at Jack and tried to figure out the best way to frame the story so that Jack’s theory wouldn’t sound like total lunacy. Jay was sure it was, but that wasn’t the point.
“What could possibly make you think there are dragons in Russia, anyway?” Jay was concentrating on his writing, but felt the need for small talk.
“I hear things.”
“Out of Russia? Any reason to believe they’re not all completely unfounded rumors?”
“I doubt you’d think so.”
Jay hadn’t been paying attention to the scenery on the drive, but they were rounding a wooded hill, and he could see a tiny village off in the distance towards the river.
“You know Jack; I think more people would believe you if you didn’t believe things that were, well you know, mad.” That hadn’t come out right.
Jack gave him an odd look and Jay shrugged.
“Really, Jack, you can’t expect—“
The carriage stopped.
“Hello now…” Jay looked out the window beside him, but couldn’t see anything but trees and the muddy road.
The door on Jack’s side opened. The man on the other side of it wore a battered tricorne hat and a short beard showing patches of gray. His pants were threadbare and his patched leather jacket would have completed an effect of making him look like a poor working man were it not for the bright crimson shirt that shone from beneath its unfastened buttons.
“Good morning, Mr.—who are you?” his eyes were fixed on Jack, blazing.
Jack kicked him in the chest, and the stranger went toppling backwards into the mud. The Australian hopped down from the carriage while Jay watched in open-mouthed disbelief.
Jack bent down to reach for something on the ground, then seemed to think better of it. He dropped to his knees, rolled forward and then made a dash for the trees a few feet from the edge of the road. Jay jumped at the sound of a gunshot, sending his pen and notepad flying.
As if the noise had been thunder, it started raining, and a light pattering was broken by the sound of a second gunshot.
This was answered by several more. Jay was cowering inside the carriage, but could see Jack crouching at the base of a tree and firing at something towards the front of the carriage Jay couldn’t see. A horse screamed.
The man Jack had knocked down was getting to his feet, and he picked up something off the ground that had been near his head. An automatic pistol. He pointed it at Jack.
Jay didn’t think but leapt—or rather, stumbled—out of the carriage and landed on the stranger’s back. This didn’t work as well as he hoped, the gunman was exceedingly well-planted and strong; he shrugged off Jay’s attack quickly, and Jay ruined his second jacket in two days with mud.
Worse, the gunman was now turning to point his weapon at Jay. He kicked at the man in terror, and was fortunate enough that his foot struck the man’s hand, but the gun fired anyway.
Jay froze. His attacker was righting his aim a second time, and it seemed time slowed down as he did so. Jay couldn’t see anything in his face but a calm determination.
Jack barreled into the gunman, the Australian’s shoulder striking under the other man’s chin. He fell again, and this time Jack planted a knee in the attacker’s abdomen and drove his fists into the bearded face a couple times.
Jack hauled the other man up by the lapels of his shirt and, peering into his dazed eyes, threw him headfirst into the carriage. Then he picked up the pistol lying beneath the wooden frame and unloaded it, setting the pieces into his pants pockets.
Jay found he was shaking rather uncontrollably when Jack leaned over and offered him a hand. He didn’t have the presence of mind to take it, but Jack clamped onto his wrist and pulled him to his feet anyway.
One of the two horses that had been harnessed to the carriage was lying on its side, kicking its legs uselessly and whimpering. Corporal Gerber lay a few feet in front of it, face down and unmoving, another pistol in his hand.
Jay shivered in the rain, unable to process the scene. He’d nearly died.
Jack brought his face very close to Jay’s and looked into his eyes for a moment before nodding very slightly.
“Come on, then,” he motioned to the carriage, “before we find he’s got a knife too, or another gun.”
Jay’s arms and chest were convulsing and he hadn’t blinked for over a minute despite rain dropping into his eyes, but he stepped over to the carriage nonetheless.
The stranger was lying on his back between the seats of the carriage. He was hardly moving, but the first thing Jack did when he climbed inside was punch the man in the stomach anyway. The disabled gunman groaned a little, but otherwise didn’t react. Jack grabbed his legs and pulled off his boots.
He had been carrying a knife, a small one, inside his jacket. Jack set it on the seat along with the shoes and other pieces of clothing he’d been removing from the man.
Jack pulled him up by the armpits and set him on the seat across from himself. The other man’s head lolled, but Jack slapped him across the cheeks a couple times and tugged on the side of his beard.
“Hey, mate, snap to.”
The gunman coughed a couple times, and a little blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth. He must have bit his lip when Jack hit him in the jaw.
But he seemed a little more alert now, though his breathing was in gasps. “Wh—who are you?” he managed after a moment.
“That’s what I’d ask you, who are you?”
The gunman nodded as if this made sense, he was clearly still very dazed from the repeated blows to his head, “I’m ah… I’m M-Major Evan Farragut I am.”
That explained the military coat he’d been wearing under the outer one. Jack looked at Jay, who was now shivering more from being wet than anything else. Jay just looked back nervously.
Jack turned back to Farragut, “Major Farragut? With the Army?”
Farragut shook his head, then had to blink and steady himself. Jack helped by keeping a hand clamped hard on the man’s right shoulder. “No. N-no. Secret Service Bureau. I’m, wait…” He blinked a few more times, and his eyes looked like he was starting to get more of a handle on his situation.
This was apparently cause enough for Jack to smack him again, in the temple.
“Why is the Secret Service trying to kill us then?”
“Y-you?” Farragut sputtered. “You… No… needed, ah…” he looked over at Jay and made the faintest of gestures with his head.
“Blake?” Jack jerked a thumb out the open carriage door. “You were after Blake?”
Farragut closed his eyes and nodded, “Orders from London. Had to stop…”
“What?!” This was Jay, shouting over his disbelief. “Has the whole world gone ‘round the bend now? What’ve I ever done?”
Jack reached out with his free right hand and tugged Jay into the carriage beside him, then shut the door. Then he turned his gaze back on their captive.
“Well?”
The major shrugged, then coughed a little more, “I just follow orders. They tell me to take care of a man, commandeer a battery from the locals… I do it.”
“You did shoot us down? You shot us down?” Jay was feeling more than a little crazed.
Farragut nodded vigorously, then visibly gulped, “I can’t—I can’t… what are you going to do with me?”
Jack looked over to Jay. For the first time, he seemed to be unsure of what to do, and was deferring the question to the younger man.
“Jesus…” was all Jay could say.
Jack turned to Farragut again, “How did you get here?”
“Horse up the road… tied to a tree…” his breathing was becoming ragged.
Jack released him and leaned back with a contemplative exhale. Farragut fell against the window somewhat messily. Neither of the other men moved to help him.
“Well, what do we do with him?” Jack asked.
“I still can’t believe…” Jay stared at the crumpled heap that a few minutes before had been trying to kill him.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “But what do we do with him?”
Jay looked at the Australian desperately, “You’re asking me? What do you do in situations like this?”
Jack shrugged, “Chop him up and feed him to the pigs?”
Jay’s eyes went wide, “But… but we can’t kill him!”
“He tried to kill you. Kill us.”
“But… but…” Jay felt like he was going to throw up.
Farragut murmured something incoherent. Jack pulled him upright by his shirt again.
“Any reason I shouldn’t kill you?”
Their captive didn’t respond, just looked at Jack with pitiful foggy eyes. Jay remembered how they’d been full of a cold rage not long ago. This man had in a short time been completely broken.
“Ah…” Jack let him fall again. He took off his broad hat and wiped the sweat from his brow beneath his copper hair.
“Sorry…” Jay was shivering still as well as sweating. He personally didn’t feel a particular desire to smoke, but he did think a shot or seven of whiskey would be nice about now.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “We have to get him some help. A doctor.”
Jack looked at Jay like he was the mad one, “What?”
But Jay nodded as firmly as he could despite the shaking, “Yes. A doctor. It’s the right thing to do, he needs help.”
Jack was shaking he head, “He tried to kill us—“
“But we’re not like him!” Jay snapped, fairly shouting. He glared at Jack, who’d gone quiet but was giving him a grimly critical look. “I’m not like him. You can—you can do whatever.” The water had soaked through to his shirt now, and the wool of his coat had nearly doubled in weight. “I’ll carry him myself if I have to.” He lifted his chin indignantly all the same.
Jack shut his eyes and sighed, “Ah, you’re not fit to carry your own hat, much less a man. I’m not carrying him either.” He paused for moment when Jay set his teeth, but continued, “But we don’t have to.”
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-