Chapter Three: H-Hour

by Carl E. Mullin ©2020

Poof! Poof! Ka-poof! Ka-ka-ka-poof!

The mortars coughed their death high into the pale light of the morning. Far off, the mud-wood fort sitting high on the cliff over a vast lake was pockmarked by the yellow explosions. Other missiles erupted into black smoke mid-air. The captain looked up from her pocket telescope to check on her men. The fire teams made their hurried adjustments to their mortars, improving their delivery to the enemy.

           Poof! Poof! Ka-ka-ka-poof!

              The shieldmaiden watched, her chin pressing against the muddy edge of the trench. She surveyed her armored men. They’re restless, eager like a pack of hounds catching a sniff of a fox. She glanced at her rough drawing of their target, Fort Black South, with its outline of the barracks, walls, gates and the prime objective, their two big guns that lorded over the southern expanse of Lake Nicaragua. The fort was built in a hurry to guard the lake’s cargo traffic once the new canals were built on the eastern and western side of the lake. This would give the enemy a prized hold over the trans-New Vinlands movement of goods and people between Europe and China, bringing them a fat income. The English must deny the enemy this position and restore the control to their ally, the Iberian Empire. She peeked through her telescope again. The fort was taking a massive hit now. But the shock would wear off soon once the enemy took their measure of the battle and set up their counter-measures.

              Dawn’s breaking now. A group of men stood up over the edge of the trench.

              She bit her stringed whistle. She glanced at her lieutenant. She popped open the cover of her pocket watch.

              Time.

              The whistle shrilled loud and clear.

           “Smoke grenades!”

              The men stood and fired. Koop! Koop! Koop! Koop-koop-koop! Smoke trails traced their graceful arches high. She felt a deep rumble far behind her line. They’re getting restless she knew. Stupid but useful when employed with a sure hand. Soon enough, their handlers calmed them down. As the smoke rose from the landing of the cans, she checked the clear and blue tropical sky. She bit her whistle and heaved her shield. Helmeted men followed her example.

              Time.

              The whistle shrilled loud and clear.

              With a great shout, “Let’s get them, boys!” The men rushed over the edge of their trench, their circular shields flashing red and gold. She jumped over the top with them. “Northumbrians! Let’s go! Let’s go!” she waved with her service gun stringed to her chest. They raced toward the wall of belching white smoke. Her muffed ears heard the repeated sounds of the mortars laying down the covering fire from behind. The smoke enveloped their racing forms. Her men became dull ghosts across the field. Her heart thumped against her ribs. Her arms and legs moved with a machine-like movement despite their protests.

              Clear sky broke into their vision.

              The lights flashed from the top of the still-upright fort. A man fell onto his face. Another stiffened mid-step and fell. Another screamed and rolled down, grasping his knee. The dirt popped here and there in a random order. The whistles filled the air. She ignored the jumping earth and mud and ran straight toward the wall. She will not zip-zag her way. It was a waste of time. Speed counted now and the enemy must try to make their every shot count to conserve their bullets. As they raced, some men dumped their canisters at their designated positions. They blenched their yellow smokes.

              As they neared Fort Black South, the defenders recovered their courage under the fire. Their rifles rose as one. Their firing pockmarked the earth at the English feet with deadly rapidity.

              The men’s red shields rose up. They kept running toward the danger. Her shield drummed hard as she ran with her men to the line. Here and there, some dropped to hold their ground under the heavy fire. Here and there, some dropped dead. Her men massed outside the wall. “Shield wall! Shield wall!” she shouted. Their thousand lions rose and overlapped like a turtle-shield, their frozen snares showing their disdain for the enemy fire from above. The bullets rattled the red skymetals as they waited for the pause. A grunt here and there as a lucky shot found its mark through the gap. “Keep it up, boys!” one man cried. “Don’t let those purifying atheists discourage ye, eh?”

           “Report!” the shieldmaiden demanded.

           “The perimeter’s forming, Captain!” the lieutenant answered. “The rifles’re ready, sir!”

           “The markers?”

           “All seems in order, sir.”

           “They have arrived yet?”

              The lieutenant shook his head. “The radioman said they’re on their way. Should be anytime, sir.”

           “They better.” The enemy fire slowed. She dared a peek.

              A sharp crack.

              Her head snapped back.

              She lurched to the ground in a spin.

           “Captain!”

              Her right arm crushed onto the souped-up soil. Men massed tight to cover her. Her head spun. Noise dull and persistent in her head. Black and light, light and black. Hands rough and urgent on her person. “Captain! Captain Mark!” She gasped at the aches in her neck and upper arm. Shot. She was shot. Eye. Eye right. Right eye. The hands shook her hard. “Captain Dagny Mark! Are you all right, sir?” Fear’s bony hand gripped her pounding heart. Blind. Blind. “Dagny!” She gritted her teeth and willed herself to open her eyes. They popped wide.

              Light. Bright light. Legs. Boots. She glanced around like a fearsome chipmunk. She can see. Not blind. A bad crack scaring her right visor. “Captain Mark!” she heard. “Are you okay?” She jerked around at Lt. Greene’s worried face.

           “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Her gloved hand pressed hard on the ground. Her head’s still spinning. She shut her eyes and breathed deep. “Greene, report.”

           “You almost got a head shot, sir! Your visor held up, but blimey!”

           “No. Not that, Mr. Greene. THE report.”

           “Right you are, sir. The line’s holding but not for long.”

           “Good man.” She leaned on her men and bit her whistle. She forced herself to peek again.

              Before she could think, time.

              The whistle shrilled loud and clear.

           “Rifles!” she shouted.

              The steel barrels thrust out from the shield wall like a porcupine’s quills and fired. Above, the enemy in blue jerked and fell. Fire exchanged. Grunts and cries rang along the drumming shields. Her stomach tightened. How long?

              A deep hum reached her ears. The whine of a million locusts. “Here come the aerocarriers!” Greene shouted.

              She looked. High in the sky, the four steel behemoths glided from a southwestern direction. On the bottom of the carriers’ red keels, giant golden lions snared their silent roars. Their colossal propellers spun fast at their four corners.

              She turned her head north to the lake. On the far horizon, the gray enemy destroyers sailed fast toward her position from their base on the eastern lock. She had done her part and looked up at the wide belly of HMS Hengist shadowing over her men as it took the lead toward the coming battle.

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HMS HENGIST

CIC (Command and Information Center)

              Deep inside the lead aerocarrier, the dark chamber hummed with hive-like activity as the men prepared for battle. The chamber was shaped like an operating theater with six levels and assigned tasks. The overhead galleries were full of the tactical air traffic controllers hitting their keyboards with rapid anticipation. The divided sections of tactical control, navigation, communications and engineering hummed with whispers and dashes. In the center of this vast hive was the command station where the task force command team assembled around the light-table full of transparencies. The tall Marshal in her black uniform glanced at the overhead column of monitors, her brown eyes full of keen attention. “Commander Wellings, report.”

              “Sir. Colonel?” Wellings nodded at his executive officer of Hengist.

           “We’re moving into position, Marshal Popova,” Colonel Rawlings said.

           Her Slavic face with a small and tight pulled-back bun looked at him, “Bol’shoye spasibs. Fort Black South?”

           “Our boys’re engaged with it now. A spot of trouble, looks like,” General Birch of the Army Corps answered as he hung up his box-like handset. “Nothing that they can’t handle, sir.”

           “Colón?”

           “Our Iberian contacts reported most evacuated overnight, sir,” Lieutenant Mills, the tactical and watch officer, answered.

           “Are we in the range, Mr. Mills?”

           “Twenty minutes, sir.”

           “Mal’chikvov. Admiral Jones?”

              “Their navy is taking the bite, sir. By my count, it looks to be the lot of them. Fort Black South’s an excellent bait. Just…”

              “What?”

              “A bit too easy, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. I would have held some ships back, just to give myself some options for different potential movements. But who really knows what’s going through those fanatics’ heads?”

              “Commander Wellings? My compliments. Ready all batteries.”

           “Sir.” He picked up his handset. “All batteries prepare to fire on my mark.”

           “Sir,” Lt. Mills reported. “Matilda breaking off and on course for Isle Zapatera,” he said as he repositioned its position on the large and upright glass panel of the positioning map. “ETA, eight minutes to contact. Wind good.”

           “Mal’chikvov, Mr. Mills. Please keep us apprised.”

           “Sir.”

              Her eyes traced the digital symbols on the overhead screen as they approached the red line. “Commander Wellings, ready our dragons if you please.”

           “All dragons, prepare to take off,” he announced to his handset.

           “Mr. Mills? Battle stations if you please.”

           “Sir!” The red alarm rang with the steady ringing of the bells. “Battle stations, battle stations. All hands on the deck. Red condition throughout the fleet. Battle stations, battle stations.”

              Wellings looked up from his handset, “All batteries moving into position.”

              The symbols inched closer together on the screen.

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HMS HENGIST

Ready Room, Gallery Deck

           Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!

              The tiny bells rang again and again as the slender fingers tapped the small fascinus hanging at the side of the ready room’s hatch. Nicknamed “Doctor Love”, this small bronze Roman chime was cast in the shape of a winged phallus. Touching it brings good luck to a pilot before the mission. Thanks to the oil in human skin, years of touch have acidized the charm’s realistic details to a smooth and shining polish. The charm was a tradition that spread to Britain during its Roman period. Such popular charms were iconographic forms of the great Roman icon of Father Liber-Dionysus used in the procession of his festival that celebrates his regenerative power against the evil of decay and weakness. The dragon riders passed by it, their playful fingers sent the soft music of prayers up to this Lord of Indestructible Life. Above, the bullhorn repeated its message, “Attention, attention, Fifth Wyvern Corps, prepare for the takeoff. Repeat, prepare for takeoff.”

              One of the riders jumped a bit to tap the bells. She joined her company as they rushed up the nearly vertical stairs to the hangar deck above. The hangar deck was a cavernous hive of purposeful confusion as the great beasts and knuckle-draggers bustled about. Shouts rose to be heard over the deafening noise of hydraulic lifts rising to the flight deck. The petite rider hustled her way as she rubbed her short wavy blond hair. “Let’s go! Let’s go, girls! No time for gossip!” she called out as she slapped a few riders’ butts on her way. She pulled down her leather flight headgear and tucked in a few stray hairs as she headed toward a giant red and white beast resting on the deck. “Hey Warden, how’s my baby?”

              The Game Warden cupped her helmet’s microphone and yelled over her shoulder, “Your boy’s hungry and mean. He’s ready to snap some bloke’s head off, Spitfire.”

           “That’s how we like our boys, Shirley,” she beamed as she buckled her chin strap. “Where’s Marian? I can’t go without my gunner.”

           “Don’t know, Lt. Morganstein.”

              The dragon rider fastened her laryngophone on her throat and patted her dragon. “Hey, Puddin, you’re ready?” Puddin grumbled from deep within his monstrous belly and snorted a short flare of fire. “Yup!” She patted his red leather-like scaly cheek and kissed him. She looked around. “Where’s my gunner?” She yelled louder over the loud pong-pong of the hydraulic lift, “Where’s my fucking tail-end Charlie?”

              One knuckle-dragger shouted, “We’re peeling eyeballs, love. Haven’t seen her yet!”

              She scoffed and wrapped her neck in her long and white silk scarf. Puddin grumbled loud. “Shush you! You’ll have your chance soon enough,” she shouted over the noise. She jerked at the leather harness. “Shirley, are we loaded?”

           “Locked and loaded, love.”

              She climbed to the top and tugged up her dark leather collar over her scarf. She plugged in her laryngophone to her radio. “Control, Spitfire. Radio check. One, two, three. Over.”

              Her headset crackled, “Spitfire, we copy you loud and clear, love. Over.”

              She grinned, “Sweet Nancy, I could just kiss you. Over.”

              The voice crackled, “You have miles and miles to go before you pluck those lips, Hannah, love. Over.”

           “Don’t make me go below to spank those shapely buttocks, over and out.”

           “Dream on, Spitfire. Dream on. Out.”

              Hannah stood up with her fists on her hips and looked around, “Now, where is my gunner?”

           “Hammer’s on your five, Hannah,” Shirley answered.

           “Coming!” Marion panted as she climbed atop Puddin.

           “Marion! Git yer ass over here!” She looked at Shirley, “Straps tight?”

           “Snug as a June bug, darling.” She waved as she stepped back.

              Hannah sat on Puddin, “Rear up, big boy!” The dragon grunted and rose to his fours to march over to a lift with his wings folded at his sides. She shot a look at her gunner, “Where’re you?”

              “A quick errand, Lt. Morganstein.”

              “Better not be your beau, love.”

              “Well, yes.”

              Hannah shook her weary head. “Let me tell you something, Marion…”

              “Oh?”

              “You and…whatshisname…”

              “Roland!”

              “Roland! Hammer, you and Roland are getting awfully serious. I feel it is my duty as your pilot and as a dear sister and a partner to look after your welfare…”

              “I feel safe already.”

              “…and I say to you that since you’re young and pretty you simply must think of your future. If you like each other-love is such too strong a word, dear, and you’re serious, ya gotta rope him in. Rope him in nice and easy. Those fishes take fright so easily. Keep it smooth. It’s not like shooting your guns at your post.”

              “Good advice.”

              “You just, simply just, can’t hammer him. Gotta be patient, understand?” Their lift started to rise with a loud pong-pong noise.

              “Completely!”

              “But don’t wait too long! We girls have an expiration date on our eggs! And faces! So strike it hot, girl! And furthermore–”

              Her voice trailed off as a simple gold ring dropped in front of her eyes, dangling from a necklace. She grabbed it and studied it. “Where. Did. You. Get. It?!”

           “He mailed me, my Roland. Express. Frightfully rich.”

           “Y-you’re engaged?”

           “Yes! And I’m wearing it on my neck,” she cheered as she took it back. “Can’t let it interfere with my shooting, love.” She kissed her cheek and returned to her position to strap herself in.

              Hannah sat stunned, her mind racing as Marion smiled back at her. Then, in a slow movement, she slid her goggles over her eyes, “Me and my big mouth.”

              On the flight deck she shouted with her arm up, “Fifth Wyvern Corps! For Gods and Queen!” Cheers rose. “For Gods and Queen, girls!”

           “For Gods and Queen!”

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HMS HENGIST

Starboard

              Outside, the underside turrets swirled and lowered her twin guns toward the lakewater. Between the guns the large and stern face of a steel-cast woman’s face looked out with her blank and serene eyes. Alongside the rim of the carriers, the point defense guns came to life in the sculptured frieze. Between the various gun emplacements were the bas-reliefs cast with the same foam-metal. Projecting from the circles and garlands and scrolls were the heads of grinning satyrs, grim warriors, and the Athenas. They blended awesome beauty with extra protection for the bubble glass shells of the gunners. They aimed at the approaching lake navy of battleships, destroyers and frigates.

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HMS HENGIST

CIC

              Popova focused her attention to the map transparencies on her station’s illuminated surface. Her finger marked a spot and her eyes looked up at the overhead screen full of the ships’ electronic icons floating closer to the red line.

           “All batteries ready,” Wellings said.

              Her eyes locked onto the red line as the various icons floated closer together.

              Closer.

           “All batteries commerce fire!” she ordered in a calm voice.

           “All batteries fire,” Wellings’s voice resounded throughout the ship.

              The walls of CIC throbbed with the rattling din as the guns booms.

           “The enemy’s returning fire, Marshal Popova! Perimeter’s established, sir!”

           “Very good, son. Keep it up if you please.”

           “On it!”

              Wellings bent to Popova, “All batteries engaged, Marshal.”

           “Good man.”

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HMS HENGIST

Starboard

              As their ships speeded toward the enemy below, their big guns thundered out their ordnance. The point defense rattled their bullets. Their hot brass jackets bounced off the serene faces of the reliefs. The firing solution of explosives grew ahead of the carriers as the enemy fired back high.

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FORT BLACK SOUTH

              As the sun rose the air-sea battle commenced without reservation. Captain Dagny Mark observed the thundering black puff-puffs and cracking booms dominating the clear blue sky. Hot yellow dashs telegraphed their deadly messages at each other.

              Time.

              Under her men’s cover, a crouched Dagny shucked her helmet off. Her men helped her unclasp her breastplates. Down to her battle corset, she looped tight her battle-axes’ straps about her gauntleted wrists. She bit her whistle as they hung a rope over her shoulder and then slapped her back. She rolled her shoulders as she shot a look at the looming wall where a sharp shouting rose among the enemy. Greene leaned over her shoulder, “They’re loading the machine guns, sir!”

              She felt a rumble under her knees. Tanks?

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HMS HENGIST

Flight Deck

              Her headset crackled to life, “Fifth Wyvern Corps, you are cleared for launch. Repeat, you are cleared for launch.”

              Hannah glanced over to where the dragons with folded wings dove off the port side. “Come here, Puddin! Hammer! You’re ready?”

           “Ready!”

              Puddin jumped over the port side. They fell fast toward the waters as she bent over, an eager smile on her goggled face. Ahead, she saw her company of dragons falling fast like missiles toward the white-blue waters. Cold death rushed toward her. Her heart leaped.

              Then, far ahead, the leaders of their school snapped wide their bat-like wings and glided across the lake at their two o’clock direction. Nearing the waters, his wings snapped wide. They swooped over the close water, moist spray hitting her face. The company swooped high, their bright-colored leather skins distinct against the hazy blue sky. “Yeah!” she smiled with tongue between her teeth.

              Marion pulled back the chamber loaders on her machine guns, “Ready for purifying, Spitfire!”

              Their captain’s voice crackled into their ears, “Listen up, girls! Skylark here. Engage the frigates but stay out of the firing solution!”

           “Roger,” Hannah answered, her hand pressing her laryngophone. “Let’s git them, Puddin!” He roared a smoking breath. She sighted a frigate and he understood her without a word, their mental union perfect. He broke toward her target as she grinned and the yellow dashes streaked from her guns on the beast’s shoulders.

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FORT BLACK SOUTH

              Dagny looked around and saw nothing. The dragons were already engaging the enemy fleet. She looked at the wall again as the new guns were firing on her men. They have little time left to hold up against the fire. “Let’s do this,” she said. She glanced to her left. Thumbs up. To her right, thumbs up.

              She breathed deep.

              Time.

              The ground shook with a sudden force. Must be tanks! But there were no tanks.

              Then a volcano exploded.

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OVER LAKE NICARAGUA

              Hannah snapped her head at the violent eruption from an island on the far western side of the lake. “Hammer, did you see that!?”

           “Roger, Spitfire. Concepción just blew its top off!”

              Hannah watched the ash plume rising while eyeing for any falling debris. “Look out, Puddin!”

              He glided past a series of burning rocks as they splashed into the waters. She pressed her laryngophone, “Watch out for the falling rocks, girls!” At her wordless urging, Puddin flapped away from the enemy fleet.

              Higher away from the enemy fire, she checked the wind. It was blowing toward her fleet. “Hengist, Spitfire. There’s a giant ash cloud blowing your way. We gotta fly low by the waters.”

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HMS HENGIST

CIC

              The crew gasped when a sudden force hit their ship.

           “The bloody Hel?” Admiral Jones grumbled. “That doesn’t sound like the enemy artillery.”

              Popova ordered, “Damage report!”

           Mills reported, “We have a volcano eruption, sir! Collecting data, sir!”

              Wellings bent his head with an intense focus as he listened to his handset. “Marshal? We have serious damage next to the point turret Number Twenty-seven. No smoke condition as of this time, sir. Specialist! See that the DC team get there!”

              Another specialist spoke up, “Marshal! Confirmed that that bloody Concepción just blew.”

              Jones scoffed, “A volcano? Why that thing hasn’t puffed a single smoke for three hundred years!”

              Popova turned to the Watch officer, “Mr. Mills?”

           “Getting a reading on the weather conditions, sir. One minute!”

              Jones faced Popova, “Marshal, that bang a moment ago was debris, not artillery. If that ash cloud is blowing our way, they’ll chock our propellers if we don’t remove ourselves to cleaner air soon.”

              Wellings shook his head, “That’ll cost us our commanding height.”

              Popova turned to the Watch officer who was in a heated discussion, “Mr. Mills?”

           “Sir!” a communications officer spoke up. “Matilda is engaging with Fort Blue West. The enemy is giving as good as it gets but we have the advantage of height. They said that the ash cloud is blowing in the southeastern direction. Little mechanical interference as of this time. Commander Forham expected to wrap it up nicely in estimated three hours, sir.”

           “If we don’t get beat back from our fight, sir,” Jones added.

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FORT BLACK SOUTH

              The guns fell into a stunned silence.

              Dagny looked north to the horizon being filled with the looming gray-black cloud belching from the volcano. Then she saw her men becoming nervous. Bad omen their eyes were saying. She must act. “Praise be to the Gods!” she shouted. “Lord Hephaistos has joined us! Men! Victory is ours this day! Claim it, men!”

              They cheered. “Let’s get those bloody bastards and go home!”

              She crouched again, her whistle in her teeth.

              Time.

              The whistle pierced the grave-silent air. “Volley!”

              The English rifles cracked and popped in union. The enemy in the blue jerked and cried in pain as they were being forced back from their ramparts.

              The whistle pierced the din-filled air. “Trolls!”

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HMS HENGIST

CIC

           “Marshal,” Mr. Mills called as he rushed to the positioning map. With a white china marker in his hand, he made a quick sketch onto the back of the glassed tactical map, “This is the data we’ve received. Concepción is spilling out a massive ash cloud. Half of its dome was blown clean off. Fortunately, the mass of its debris fell in the northwestern direction, away from Matilda’s position so she’s safe, sir. Now, the wind’s blowing in a southwestern direction, right where we are. It’ll get very dark and gauchely within ten minutes, sir. We’ll have to lower our altitude to avoid damage to our air power, sir.”

           Birch scoffed, “Marshal, this will cost us our commanding height.”

           “Birch’s right,” Wellings nodded. “We get close, our exposure increases exponentially. Our firing solution can only do so much.”

           “I agree,” Jones added. “I say we pull back now and fight in a better condition later.”

           “But if we do that, Admiral,” Birch said, “we’ll lose the advantage of surprise. Not to mention abandoning our attack on Black Fort South. We let up, they’ll fortify their big guns. We must press while time’s on our side.”

              Popova nodded. “Gentlemen, lower our altitude. Prepare for a real fight.”

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OVER LAKE NICARAGUA

              Their headsets crackled, “Hengist to all riders, Hengist to all riders. Press your attack. Repeat, press your attack as planned. Evade the ash cloud unless unavoidable.”

              Hannah turned to Marion, “You heard that?”

           “Still have the advantage, Spitfire!”

           “Yeah. Hope my buddy below has better luck!”

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FORT BLACK SOUTH

              The firing slowed as a new sensation made itself felt. Dagny peeked at the foggy screen.

              The disturbed earth shifted a bit. Then the pockmarked dirt jumped a bit.

              A distant rumbling announced their approach.

              The dirt jumped again, higher.

              Higher.

              The rumble grew larger and more booming. Dagny crouched lower, her stomach tighter, her breaths deeper.

              Dim shapes loomed large in the smoke, assuming a greater and heavier mass as they came closer. The noises redefined themselves as a series of pounding steps. She waited.

              The monstrous trolls, gray and armored, rushed out, shrugging off the feeble hold of the trailing smoke. They thundered toward the English line with a roar. She spread her axes.

              They reached the yellow smoke markers and halted. They crouched low with a grunt.

              She shot toward them. A few men did likewise, their feet stomping the earth hard. Her legs ached, her lungs sore as the enemy fire cracked in fury behind her, missing her.

              She leaped into the large waiting hands. The troll reached back with her in his hand.

              He threw her.

              She flew high. Sky ballooned to her sight. Her heart struggled to escape her bone-cage. Then earth rushed into her vision from below. In the earthwork fort little men bustled about as some looked up in astonishment. The big guns looked small as if she could pluck them.

              The wall rushed fast at her. Her fear rose. Focus. Focus. Her arms spread out, her axes posed. The wall. The wall. Death raced at her. The wall. She breathed deep. Patience. Patience.

              Time.

              She swung.