The Kingmakers(4)

“You've read the Order of Battle, Colonel. And we've discussed this at length. An artillery barrage will do little more than waste ammunition and kill the humans we are trying to liberate. Vampires can easily rise above your falling shells.”

Mobius scowled. “I'm more concerned with safeguarding the humans in Equatorian uniforms than those wandering Grenoble.”

Anhalt turned to his officer with eyes smoldering. He did not deign to reply because he knew that, despite his words, Mobius wasn't trying to imply that Anhalt didn't care about his troops; the artillery colonel was outspoken and not always with clear forethought. As long as Mobius kept it between the two of them, Anhalt could absorb a little potential insubordination under such harsh conditions.

Mobius spat onto the ground, undeterred by his commander's clear anger. “I can't conceive why we're so concerned for these near-men. They're nothing more than herds. It's a known fact.”

“The Northern Reports say otherwise. You read them.”

“I did. They were required for command staff. But can those reports be believed? The General Staff didn't place much stock in them.”

“Our empress wrote them. Therefore, we trust them completely. Is that understood?”

The colonel muttered, “The empress isn't out here, is she?”

“Damn it, Colonel!” Anhalt drew close to the startled officer. “When you have endured a quarter of the hardship and horror that Her Majesty has, I would welcome your opinion on it. Until then, you had best keep your snide comments related to the empress to yourself, certainly in my presence.”

The colonel stared at the ground. “I understand, Sirdar. It's simply an option. It's said that the Americans aren't so careful of what they blow up. It's said that Senator Clark is rapidly gaining ground against the vampires in the old United States.”

“Gaining ground is simple. Holding ground is difficult. And I do not care how Senator Clark and his American Republic fight their war. Their way is not the Equatorian way, which was made clear when our empress refused to marry the senator last year. Our empire pursues other options. That's the end of it.” Anhalt's tone made it clear that discussion was at an end. He would brook no further argument on the matter, so Mobius wisely let it drop.

Abruptly, the whitening sky darkened as vampires darted out of the cold and miserable mist. Shouts of alarm went down the ranks as soldiers raised weapons and prepared to answer the attack yet again.

Colonel Mobius shouted, “Man your guns! Look lively! Shrapnel shells!” Crews scrambled to the cannons, and his arm rose and fell with each resounding order of “Fire!”

Flak peppered the sky, concussion and shrapnel pushing back the vampires momentarily. Only those creatures that took a direct hit fell to the ground in pieces, while the rest continued their attack.

“Get some men on the shriekers.” Anhalt pointed to several two-foot brass boxes mounted nearby on rough wooden poles.

Mobius shook his head. “They're broken or frozen up. Haven't worked for days.”

The men outside the perimeter struggled back toward the lines with the wounded and dead. But the vampires were too many and too fast. They dropped out of the sky and fell hard onto the backs of those who had been brave enough to step out into No-Man's-Land. Soldiers died instantly in a shower of blood and bone. Those remaining ran harder. Those who carried the dead abandoned their fallen comrades and helped with the wounded, desperately trying for safety. As the terrified men closed the distance to the trench line, machine-gun nests added to the din of artillery. The spray of bullets ripped many vampires to pieces.

“Battery Four! Adjust azimuth twenty-one degrees!” Colonel Mobius shouted with field glasses pressed to his eyes. His voice boomed as loud as his artillery. For those beyond its reach, others repeated orders down the line. Gunners paused to wheel their barrels up, unable to see the new wave looming in the distance. The double-barrels of the eighteen-pounders rhythmically churned out shell after shell.

“They're still coming,” Mobius informed his superior, gesturing toward the city where shapes continued to swarm out from the Bastille fortress lost in the white fog of winter high on the rocky cliffs of the Chartreuse mountain range just behind Grenoble.

There was a moment of silence before General Anhalt ordered, “Use the combustion flak.”

Mobius's eyebrow rose and he swallowed hard. “The wind is light enough. I suppose it's either that or be overrun.”

“We will not be overrun.”

“Yes, sir.”

Word was passed down the line, and special bright brass shells were brought up. They were loaded in place of the normal shrapnel shells. Scrawled on the casings were pictures and slogans depicting the death and hatred of vampires. “Suck This!” “Back to the Grave!” “From Empress Adele, Greetings!”