The Magic Labyrinth (25 page)

“No, by thunder! I’m not going to sacrifice any more good men on suicide missions! It’s dangerous enough as it is, as the old bachelor said to the spinster who proposed marriage. They could be attacked by the chopper, though I think it’s more than an even match for the
Gascon
there. In fact, if the chopper should chase the launch out, de Marbot should then fire on it. We’ll have our information, and John will wonder what in hell happened to his chopper. He won’t be able to resist sending a launch out to scout. We’ll let the launch get back.

“In any event, John isn’t going to come through until nightfall. I think.”

Byron transmitted the messages. Presently, the whitely shining
Gascon
swung away from the bank and headed toward the strait. Its commander was the younger son of an Irish baron and had been a naval aide-de-camp to King George V and then an admiral. He was a veteran of the battles of Heligoland, Dogger Bank, and Jutland, and a recipient of the Grand Cross, the Order of Orange-Nassau of Holland, and the Russian Order of St. Stanislas, Second Class, with swords. He was also a distant relative of the great fantasy writer, Lord Dunsany, and, through Dunsany, of the famous English explorer, Richard Francis Burton.

“Sir,” John Byron said, “I think we’ve overlooked something. The marines are still a long way from having their rockets set up. If the enemy helicopter or launch should pursue the
Gascon,
they won’t be in any danger from de Marbot’s fire. And they might well see his men on the mountain path. Then they would know we’re setting up an ambush.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam said reluctantly. “Okay. Tell His Lordship to come back until de Marbot is situated. No use his wasting power circling around.”

“Yes, sir,” Byron said. He spoke on the radio to Plunkett, then turned swiftly on Sam. “Only…the admiral is not properly referred to as His Lordship. He is the younger son of a peer, which legally makes him a commoner. And since his father was a baron, the lowest in the rank of peers, he does not even have an honorary title.”

“I was being facetious,” Sam said. “Lord preserve me from British sticklers!”

The little Englishman looked as if he thought facetiousness had no place in the control room. He was probably right, Sam thought. But he had to kid around a little. It was the only way he could let off pressure. If he didn’t, he’d blow his mental boiler sky-high.
See the pretty pieces flying through the air. Those are Sam Clemens.

Byron was tough, unperturbed in any situation, as calm as a man who’s sold his stock just before the market crashed.

The boat was still far out in the lake, though cutting at an angle toward the bank. Big black clouds were visible to the north. Smoke from the fires started by the fallen airplanes. There would be even more fires tomorrow—unless the rain quenched them. The locals certainly would have no love for either King John or himself. It was a good thing they were pacifists. Otherwise, they might be objecting violently when one of their grailstones was borrowed this evening by those whom they could only regard as killers and arsonists. The giant batacitor of the
Not For Hire
had to be recharged, even though it was far from empty, and the crew had to refill their grails. He did not think that the
Rex
would show during this time. It had the same needs.

Unless…unless John thought he could catch them sitting. It was possible he might try to do that. His motors had not used up all the energy stored; the
Rex
had not traveled all day. He could have many hours’ electrical supply left.

No, John wouldn’t attempt it. Not knowing that his enemy was radarless, he would think that the
Rex
would be detected the moment it showed its nose. And he’d have to cross three miles of lake to get to the
Not For Hire.
Before he could do that, the enormous hemispherical plate covering the grailstone could be swung aboard and stored and the boat well on its way to meet the
Rex.

If only he had an aircraft left to tell him when John’s boat was being recharged. If the
Rex
was connected to a grailstone near the inlet of the strait, the
Not For Hire
could be on it before it could get into action. No, John would think of that. He’d go far enough up The River so he’d have time to get ready. And he’d know that Sam Clemens would take the same precaution.

But if he would think of that, why not charge on through and catch John with his royal pants down?

If only he knew the topography, the width of The River on the other side of the mountain. But Plunkett would get the data needed.

Byron said, “Would you like to bury the dead now, sir?”

“Heh?” Sam said. “Oh, yes, might as well get it over with now. We won’t have time later. Are there enough marines left for the burial squad?”

“Exactly forty-two, sir,” Byron said with some satisfaction at having anticipated his captain.

“Good. That’s enough to bury everybody, including themselves. In fact, we’d better just use three rifles. We need to conserve all the powder we can.”

The services were short. The bodies were laid out on the stern of the flight deck, wrapped in cloths, weighted with stones. Half the crew was assembled; the rest stayed on duty.

“…for now we know that resurrection is possible, all having experienced its truth. Thus we consign your bodies to the deeps of The River in the hopes that you will once again walk the face of this world or some other. For those who believe in God, may He bless you. So long!”

The rifle salute was given. One by one the bodies in fish-skin bags were picked up and swung out onto the air. Weighted with stones, they would sink to be eaten by the small and the big fish prowling in the dark, thousands of feet below.

The
Not For Hire
put into the bank, and its anchors were dropped. Sam went ashore to face an intensely angry La Viro. The big dark hawk-faced man raged at the stupidity and cruelty of both parties. Sam listened stony-faced. This was no time for a wisecrack. But when La Viro demanded that he leave the area, Sam said, “There is no way to avoid this conflict. One of us must go down. Now, do I have your permission to use a grailstone?”

“No!” La Viro shouted. “No! You do not!”

“I am indeed sorry,” Sam said. “But I am using one anyway. If you interfere, you and your people will be fired upon.”

La Viro said nothing for a minute. Finally, his breathing became lighter and the redness faded from his skin. “Very well. We will not use force. You knew we wouldn’t. All I can do is appeal to your humanity. That has failed. On your own head be the consequences.”

“You don’t understand,” Sam said. “We have to get to the polar sea. Our mission is vital to this world. I can’t explain why, but, believe me, it is.”

He looked up at the sun. In an hour, it would touch the top of the western range.

At that moment, Hermann Göring joined the small group behind La Viro. He said something to his chief in a low voice. La Viro said loudly, “Very well. Evacuate them.”

Göring turned and spoke in a trumpet voice. “You heard La Viro! We will go east and get away from this hellish conflict. Spread the word! Everybody east! Martin, you send up the signal balloon!”

Göring turned to Clemens.

“You can see now, or should be able to see, that I was right! I objected to the building of your boat because your purpose was evil! We weren’t raised from the dead and put here to glorify ourselves or indulge in mindless sensuality, in hate, and in bloodshed! We…”

Sam turned away. Followed by Miller, Sam walked out on the floating dock and up the gangplank to the hurricane deck. Joe said, “Thon of a bitch, Tham. He really chewed you out.”

“He’s not even in the race,” Sam said. “I’ve been eaten out by the best. You should have heard my mother. Or my wife. They could give him a thousand-word start and catch up in ten seconds flat. Forget him. What does he know? I’m doing this for him and all the rest of those mealy-mouthed Chancers. For everybody, whether they deserve it or not.”

“Huh? I alvayth thought you vath doing it for yourthelf.”

“Sometimes you get too smart-alecky,” Sam said. “You don’t talk to the captain like that.”

“I chutht call them ath I thee them,” Joe said. He was grinning. “Anyvay, I’m not talking to you like a deckhand to the captain. I’m talking to you ath your friend, Choe Miller.”

John Byron spoke to them as they entered the control room. “Sir, de Marbot reports that the launchers are set up.”

“Good. Tell him to get back down to the launch. And tell Plunkett he can go ahead now.”

The
Gascon
responded immediately, heading for the strait. The tiny figures of the marines were dimly visible against the blue-black stone and green-black algae as they walked down the ledge cut upon the mountain’s face. They would be using their flashlights before they reached the bottom. The
Post No Bills
was cutting along the bank for the stone to the west. The noise of machinist’s mates aluminum-welding supports across the shattered base of the pilothouse came to him. Torches flared bluely as men cut away the wreck of the steam machine gun in the bow. Others busied themselves with rockets and a tube-battery to be set up in place of the gun. A party worked furiously to replace the radar antennas.

A half-hour passed. The chief medic reported that five of the wounded had died. Sam ordered that their bodies be taken out in a small boat and dropped in the center of The River. It was done without fanfare, since he did not want to lower the morale of the crew anymore. No, he wouldn’t say service over them first. Let one of the medics do it.

Sam looked at the chronometer. “Plunkett should just about be at the exit of the strait.”

“Then we should see him coming back out in about ten minutes,” the exec said.

Sam looked at the marines halfway down the path. “You did give de Marbot orders that he and his men should flatten out on the ledge if John’s chopper or his launch appears?”

“Of course,” Byron said stiffly.

Sam looked at the bank. There were thousands of men and women there, moving slowly in a closely packed mass eastwards. There wasn’t much noise coming from them. Most were burdened with bundles of cloths, pots, vases, statuettes, chairs, fishing poles, carpenter tools, disassembled gliders, and, of course, their grails. They looked at the great boat as they went by, and many held up their hands, the three middle fingers extended in blessing. That made Sam feel guilty and furious. “That thyure ith a pretty balloon,” Joe said.

The huge pear-shaped globe, painted a bright yellow, rose from a roofless building. It soared swiftly upwards at an angle, carried east by the wind. At an estimated four thousand feet of altitude, the balloon was a small object. But it was not so small that Sam could not see the sudden blazing red flare.

“They blew it up!” he said. “That must be the real signal!”

Burning, visible on both sides of the lake and for many miles up and down The River, the balloon fell. In a few minutes, it plunged into the water.

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry anymore about civilian casualties,” Byron said.

“I don’t know about that,” Detweiller said. “It looks like La Viro and some others are staying behind.”

That was true. But the group was walking back toward the temple.

Sam snorted and said, “They’re probably going to pray for us!”

“The
Gascon
’s in sight!” a watchman said.

There it was, the sun white upon her, her bow up as she poured on full power. And there, about five hundred feet almost directly above her, was the enemy helicopter. It was slewing around, tilting, so that its machine-gunners could fire downwards.

“Byron, tell de Marbot to fire upon the chopper!” Sam said loudly, but at that moment the roar of discharging grailstones drowned his voice. When the thunder had subsided, he repeated the order.

“Enemy launch sighted!” the lookout said.

“What…?” Sam said. Now he too saw the red sharp-nosed bow and the curving armor-plated back and gun turrets of the original
Post No Bills,
stolen by King John. It was coming out of the towering gap.

A single rocket leaped from the opening in the face of the cliff. It flew straight, locked into the red-hot exhaust of the copter. It shone like a long line drawn against the black mountain with a flaming pencil. And then it and the chopper became a round ball of scarlet.

“There goes the last flying machine on this world,” Sam said.

The ever-cool Byron said, “Better wait, sir, until the helicopter has hit The River. Otherwise, the rockets’ll go for it. It’s the hottest object out there.”

The blazing main body and its satellites of metal pieces fell with what seemed an unnaturally slow pace. Then they struck the water and disappeared.

Byron spoke into the radio reserved for communication with de Marbot’s walkie-talkie. “Direct one rocket volley at the enemy vessel.”

“Jesus, sir!” the lookout said. “The
Rex
is coming out too!”

Byron looked once, and he punched the alarm button. Sirens began whooping. The crowd that had been standing on the flight deck quickly disappeared.

Sam forced himself to speak calmly though his heart was racing. “Drop the grail-connector. Telescope the crane.”

Byron had already told the deckhands to cast off the lines. Detweiller sat waiting for his orders, his hands on the sticks.

Byron looked out of the port. “Lines all clear, sir!”

“Back her out, pilot,” Sam said.

Detweiller eased the sticks from neutral, pulling them toward him. The giant wheels began turning, and the vessel slid by the dock.

There was smoke all around the launch of the
Rex.
It was swept quickly away, revealing a blackened boat. It wasn’t moving, so perhaps it had been badly damaged. But three inches of duraluminum armored it. It could take a hell of a lot of punishment. Maybe the crew was just stunned by the explosions.

Now the
Rex Grandissimus
was halfway out of the darkened strait. It shone whitely, then became pale as the sun slid all the way behind the mountains. Twilight fell on the lake. The sky darkened. The mass of closely packed stars and gas sheets in the sky began to glow as the sunlight faded. By the time complete night came, the light above would be as bright as a full moon on a cloudless Earth.

The two launches were smudges of paleness. The
Rex
was a greater whiteness, like an albino whale seen just before it burst through the surface of the sea.

So, old John
had
decided to attack while the
Not For Hire
was tied up for recharging. He was not turning back. He’d take his punishment whether he liked it or not.

How had John known that the boat was tied up? Easy to explain. Somewhere up on the mountain on a ledge above the mouth of the strait was a lone observer with a transceiver. That would also explain the readiness of the
Rex
’s defenses against Petroski’s attack.

Sam spoke quietly to the pilot. Detweiller stopped the vessel, then turned her toward the
Rex
and applied full speed ahead. Byron said, “What should the
Post No Bills
do?”

Sam waited a moment to reply while he watched the arc traced by the rockets from the cave. But surprise was dead now. John knew that the missiles came from his now usurped cave. Before the rockets had gone halfway, flames spurted from the
Rex,
and trails of fire rose from it. The two packs met about fifty feet above the boat, and the roar rolled across The River. Smoke covered the vessel and was whisked away.

If the
Rex
had been hit, it could not be determined from this distance.

John’s rockets would not have hit so many of his unless they, too, had heat-seekers in their noses. Which meant that the enemy did have some of the devices. Apparently, John had had some manufactured. But how many did he have? Whatever their number, some had been sacrificed to stop the attack.

A second covey darted from the cave. This time, they were met halfway, and a flame-centered cloud spread out to be swiftly dissipated. Almost before that happened, a third flight shot from the
Rex.
Its arc ended against the cliff. Some had hit the cave itself, though. Flame belched like gas from a dragon’s mouth. Mark off thirty good men and women.

Now the leviathans headed toward each other. Sam could see one light in it, that from the control room. Like his boat, it was blacked-out except for the one illumination needed.

The lookout reported that the enemy launch had resumed motion.

“Neither of his launches originally had torpedo tubes,” Sam said to Byron. “But John may have fitted them with tubes. I’m betting he has. Where is his other launch, by the way?”

A moment later, the lookout reported that it was now detected. It must have just emerged from the stern launching compartment.

The
Post No Bills
was cutting toward the
Rex
. It had two torpedoes set to go and four waiting.

The
Gascon
was racing toward the motherboat, under orders to get into her compartment and take on torpedoes. Sam doubted that it could be gotten aboard soon enough.

“There goes the smaller enemy launch, sir,” the lookout said. “Headed toward the
Bills.
”

Sam told Byron to order the
Gascon
to assist its sister boat.

Four rockets sprang from the
Rex.
An explosion announced the end of one curve. A moment later, Admiral Anderson spoke over the radio. “That bird knocked us silly, sir. But we’re on our way again. No damage to the boat—that I know about.”

The
Gascon,
firing rockets at the enemy launch, swung about it. Little spurts of flame showed that their machine guns were operating. The other enemy launch continued doggedly toward the
Bills,
shedding warheads and bullets alike. The distance between the two larger vessels, as estimated by the eye, was five hundred feet. Neither was loosing its rockets. Evidently they were waiting until they got within close range.

The
Gascon
was circling behind the enemy now. Plunkett’s voice came. “I’m going to ram.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Sam shouted, in his fear bypassing Byron, who should have relayed the message.

“Is that an order, sir?” Plunkett said calmly. “The crew has left—at my orders, sir. I think that I can wreck the enemy’s propellers.”

“This is the captain!” Sam said. “I order you not to do that! I don’t want you to kill yourself!”

There was no answer. The smaller of the two white objects crept up on the stern of the bigger. At least, it seemed to be moving slowly. Actually it was overtaking the slower craft at about fifteen miles an hour. Not much speed, but the weight of the heavy armor-plated boat gave it a fearful amount of energy.