Mainwering had been apoplectic; frothing, almost, with incandescent rage that some "slitty eyed little devil" had dared tamper with his vessel. He'd practically boiled when Anderson hadn't shared his sentiments, but had calmed somewhat when Anderson had laid the law down in small words and with a cold stare.
He'd had the decency to do this in the Captain's ready room, not in front of the rank and file - that wouldn't do, to undermine a man's command. Bradford was still there though, to reinforce the chain of command, such as it was; aboard ship, a Captain was second only to God and even there it was a grey area. Also, the Royal Navy, being the "senior service", had interesting ideas about where Colonels fell in their estimation - being slightly lower than a Captain in their minds.
A quick reminder that it was only by the will of Anderson's benefactors and the de-facto commander of the British forces in London that the Captain had a berth at all, as well as resupply, security and so on. Anderson's role at Portsmouth also carried a little weight. But the chap was nothing if not combative. Some reassurance had been forthcoming; notably the nature of how much more survivable the vessel's future was, thanks to Shen's little alterations.
Bradford and Anderson decided to tour the workshops after that, only being accosted once by a burly man in braces and a bowler hat who'd leered at them. They'd gone further south into the warren of workshops and seemed to have faltered into an area that, for the want of a better word, was run by "freelancers".
However, Shen's strange reach was felt even here and a slight Chinese fellow had stepped from the shadows and shaken his head at the burly thug. Seeing a six foot brick-wall of a human shrink away in fear is quite a sight to behold. As well as his garbled apologies to Bradford and Anderson as he and his motley crew of muggers had practically fled between alleyways. Their impromptu escort had apologised and smiled, then led them back into a nearby shed. This one was another warehouse, overseen by lounging guards, as well as a few of the British Army Corps of Ordinance. In neat rows, conical cylinders sat, tips up. Each was lined with fins, whilst at the other end of the room women ground grey powder in pestles and poured it carefully into broken tubes.
Bradford frowned at the tubes and glanced at Anderson, "New artillery shells?"
"Hardly. Older, in fact. Ever heard of Mysore? Old Indian battle. Well, several, really. Maybe Congreve?"
Bradford frowned, cupping his elbow in one hand and tapping his forehead with the other, "Last one's familiar."
"Come now, good Captain. Your "Star Spangled Banner" even mentions them!" Shen chuckled as he emerged from behind a rack of the rockets. He nodded at Anderson, "My people have been busy. Seven hundred deployed this last week to… suruptious sites. Some to augment our Artillery friends, others more secluded. I must also say our own demolitionists have been hard at work. We have another thousand being prepped. Any further guidance?"
Anderson eyed the stockpile and nodded slowly, "Any way to make them more… effective for immediate encounters? Mysorean infantry stuck bloody knives on the things for firing straight."
Shen chuckled, "I had heard. My father told me stories of that one. He travelled that way, you know, during the war," Anderson arched an eyebrow in shock, "Oh Colonel, I hadn't been born then. I was but a twinkle, as you say. Anyway, I hear you decided to wander without a guide. Be wary, beyond our walls your uniform is little more than a chance to make some money for a cutpurse. Come, let us take tea. I have more to show you. I wouldn't credit British Engineers after the passing of the great Isembard, but… I am impressed by your young men when they are allowed to work without strict instruction."
Anderson and Bradford exchanged glances, then followed the short Chinaman, leaving the armoury behind them.
He led them through corridors and across narrow streets, all lined with covered benches, forges and shacks - the roads entirely repurposed to a point where buildings bled together like a shanty town. They arrived in what had once been a townhouse, a brown-brick affair. Inside it had undergone some stark renovations; one wall held a workbench strewn with parts and springs. A wall had been knocked through, the exposed woodwork and bricks stark against torn wallpaper. The effect was an extended receiving room, strewn with schematics and notations. Shen smiled thinly.
"I hope you do not mind, Colonel… Commander… I am never sure quite what to call you. Anyway, the previous occupants have left the city… and much of the Southern boroughs are a bit… chaotic. I didn't think you would object."
Anderson sighed, "I tolerate much, Shen. We are indebted to you. But I cannot protect you from the ire of everyone. You and yours have been given the gift of legitimacy; don't stretch that gift too far."
Shen arched an eyebrow and folded his hands into his sleeves, peering over his round glasses, "A threat, Colonel?"
"No, and you know it Shen. More, a word of advice - if this war does end in our favour then people will return. And the Empire can't abide an overt power bloc within its borders - become like those wretched gangs we hear about in less salubrious parts, it may be more costly than is worthwhile.. Just… be careful about what you appropriate for the duration. And be prepared to abandon it if need be."
The engineer stared at him for a moment then nodded slowly, "True enough. Forgive the accusation, I do sometimes forget you are not… representative of your particular class."
"I shall choose to take that as a compliment, Mr Shen."
The man nodded, then gestured to a contraption on the middle of the large table, set between the two broken rooms. It was large, inlaid with brass screws and made of hammered metal. Wood inlays allowed for fastenings and for pipes to thread in and out. The machine looked like a back-pack and was connected by a series of cables to what looked like a rifle. Except this rifle was inlaid with the strange blue alien metal, as well as several blocks covered in copper wiring. Bradford frowned at it, "Some kind of devilment? You picked it out of the wreckage?"
Shen grinned, "No, Captain. I built it."
The men both turned to look at him. Anderson adjusted his red jacket and harrumphed, "So, what, a nifty old rifle? A heat ray?"
"Not quite, Colonel. But a step up. Please, observe."
He moved over to the rifle and adjusted it where it sat, propped on a set of blocks and held in place with a clamp. Then he moved to the box and unhooked a lever which he cranked. There was a "whizz-whizz-whizzzzz" from within and the smell of static and copper filled the air. He moved back to the rifle and, carefully, leaned around and pulled the trigger.
As he squeezed, the blue metal spun around the barrel. On inspection it looked like it was attached to a sort of spindle, with most of the barrel actual not attached to the stock of the weapon, save at three points. Tubes of copper stretched over the top of the barrel, linking the wrapped coils.
There was a split second as the metal spun, then the crack of air and the stench of ozone. At the far end of the room the brickwork splintered into dust, collapsing partially. Anderson realised there were several other holes and he blinked.
"You managed to adapt weaponry, get it working for us?" he asked, incredulous.
Shen nodded slightly, "Some of it. We can use their scavenged rifles now, some of them, but can't recharged them… yet. But this, this is an extrapolation of principles. As well as some amazing contributions from those Royal Society gentlemen you sent to me. Doctor Vahlen, in particular, was instrumental in highlighting the electrical current flow, as well as the properties of…"
Anderson nodded, "Indeed, indeed. But is it… deployable? Or a proof of concept?"
A moment later the tea arrived, borne by one of Shen's innumerable minions. The young man poured into several paper thin cups, which he handed to the trio. Shen tooked his and set it on the table, then pulled his glasses off, polishing them on a sleeve. For a moment, the terrifying shade of Whitechapel, the gang-master of Opium dens and smuggling rings looked like nothing more than an absent professor, "It requires quite the investment of material. Power packs, our own static generators, metal from the fighting machines. I cannot produce them at the same scale as, say, a bolt-action rifle…. But I think we can get a good dozen in the next month. Ammunition is easier - metal particles loaded into the breach, that gets accelerated by the coils and a compressed air charge."
Bradford held up his hands, "Hold it, hold it. This things a God damn air rifle."
Shen nodded, "Essentially. Albeit projected along a rail-way of electrically charged magnets. With our current batteries and generators, we would not be able to produce such a weapon - the addition of the invader power packs and the use of their metals provides us with magnitudes more…"
Bradford rubbed his eyes, "We're bushwacking aliens with a rifle I used to knock out God-damn possums."
Anderson chuckled, "Well, at least with that, you were left with a carcass," he gestured to the ruined brickwork, "I hope Moira doesn;t get too upset at a lack of… complete samples."
"I will let you, ah how do you say sell that one to her, Colonel," demurred Shen. Anderson chuckled and indicated the rifle.
"Get more of those, and maybe you can keep Brixton after all…"
Zhaojie grimaced as the troop moved at speed through the town - the day was already past its zenith and their plan was already hitting complications.
It had been simple - get into the town, bunker down, identify the invader's communication areas (All militaries had their signals areas - pigeons, flags, light boxes, telegraph and, most recently, telephone.) and then strike, seize the device and extract.
However, the reality on the ground changed things. For one, the enemy force was magnitudes larger than expected. For another, there were now prisoners to contend with. Part of him wanted to focus on the objective, to just be done with it. But another had seen the rage in Corporal Essex's eyes.
Britain had never been kind to Zhaojie's people. It had tolerated them at best. And yet, listening to the man describe the likely fate of those within those walls left a cold pit in his usually unflappable soul.
The reality was a cold dose on top of that; the numbers situation made things near untenable for both problems. And it also painted a picture of what was likely to happen to the south - if this was a regional location, then the heavenly bureaucracy knew what was being deployed in the mists down south, ready to envelop the foolish British advance in a meat grinder to break the back of the worlds greatest Empire.
That thought made him pause. For of course, that was it.
A strike to knock back the British. A strike that would force them to commit, to attack with everything, to pull out all the stops.
Did the invaders know they would do that? Was it a gamble? How well did they know the British mentality, the approach to warfare? Or was it a genuine push?
Too many doubts, far beyond his level to influence. But still it nagged at him. The British tended towards hardheadedness, but he knew that they didn't tend towards blind assault. Maybe the invaders assumed they would, hoped they would. But all it would take was one over-zealous commander to lead to a break.
A hand rested on his shoulder and he met Jiayi's gaze, "Zhu?"
"Wo hen hao.." he nodded at her, then gestured to the front. She nodded and moved to the front of their slow, stealthy advance.
The man had kept low, moving behind the houses, crawling past low walls, until they had reached a small copse, little more than a park that bordered the villages of Walker and Byker. From here their view was obstructed, but they could see the column of dust and smoke rising to the West. The squat, green dome was visible, however, the parade of people in and out still obvious even from the distance.
Over toward the city proper, the massive grey "shed" was just visible over the tree line. Something about it irked everyone. It was too large, too imposing, too wrong. And the position mean it was built on the hill at an angle that mean it was taller than the railway bridges or spires, but also that it was jutting out from the hill. And from what Jiayi had said, it had no support struts, just piping that lead into another structure nearby, perhaps obscured by it.
But that would imply it was being held in place by another structure, like a shelf… or that it was, somehow, floating. And that was impossible - it couldn't be a balloon, too large for a dirigible, too metallic. So, strange invader-support structure was the agreed upon method.
Zhaojie called a halt and the men spread out through the tree line, staying low and talking in hushed whispers. Jiayi and her scouts came and squatted nearby as Zhaojie rummaged in the pockets of his long-coat. He produced a map and pencil, then waved over the Corporals.
"We are here, about 170 yards from the river. Jiayi, head down there with your fellows, check the waterfront, see if you can sight Hackett. He knows to make for the river by sundown today and to hold there. If not, observe what you can. Corporal Essex, I want you to take a man and move west, see if you can espy their perimeter and what likely guard we will be facing. Do not attract attention. We will hunker down here. "
One of the Corporals frowned, "Not the buildings? Defensible…"
Zhaojie shook his head, "The village is a trap - narrow corridors, limited arcs of fire, higher concentration of the lost," he checked his pocket watch, fished from another pocket, "And we have an hour before our little timers trigger. And the Captain sends some other little… surprises down river."
The men grumbled but nodded - they all wanted a solid roof over their heads. No man like "digging a bivvy" to doss down in if it came down to it. Corporal Essex spoke up, "If we hit resistance?"
Zhaojie sighed, "Slow and steady, fall back as soon as you see anything. Let's leave the distraction to draw them out. But we need to know where we should slip past to."
Essex nodded and with that, the troops moved off to get their bearings. The remainder hunkered down, taking swigs from water canteens, breaking out hard-biscuit to take the edge off the hunger. Zhaojie opened the map and looked at it with a frown.
He was roused half an hour later when Essex and Jiayi returned. The pair had conversed quietly, then headed to talk to him. The Corporal knelt down, leaning against his rifle which he planted on the ground like a spear. Jiayi just squatted down and stared at her commander. Essex spoke first.
"Got a bit further along the rise, hugging some outhouses and a few hedgerows. Mostly fields north of here, open ground. About half a mile west there's… well, towers. Cobbled together but clearly got the invader handiwork - bits of that metal of theirs but… here's the thing," he licked his lips, "They've got people in 'em."
Zhaojie frowned, "Hostages?"
Essex shook his head, "People. Or they look like people. Not them suited bastards. This lot… wearing brown-coats, helmets. Rifles, though they're a bit funny-looking. Robert was all set to call out to 'em until he saw five of the bastards walking between two of the towers with one of them Muton buggers."
Zhaojie frowned, "You're sure?"
"Well, couldn't see their faces proper. Wearing goggles and that funny helmet. But people."
Zhaojie mused, "We know the Fenian movement is working with them. They have this… force. The Commander mentioned it in a briefing, the Extra-force Command Troop or something. Maybe they have other allies here."
"The Americans? Know they haven't liked us for a while."
Zhaojie managed a chuckle, "Doubtful. I think they are being hit as hard, if not harder, than here. Unless they surrendered, which I doubt. Their national pride is in some ways stronger…" he nodded to himself, "So likely an augmented force. But we know how to fool humans. And once we're in the city, we can hide more easily, make them fight to find us. Jiayi?"
"Zhu, we observed a reduced fighting force on the southern side; they clearly feel that side is more secure. Fighting machines further to the south, patrolling, but only three."
Essex rolled his eyes, "Only, she says… only," he murmured. Zhaojie gestured for him to be quiet, Jiayi continued.
"No sign of Hackett as yet, but he is likely not advancing until the distraction triggers. We also observed potential… collaborators near the dome and patrolling the shore. Strongest concentration is nearest the dome and a couple of sites of what appears to be… construction. Or clearance. I am uncertain. Two of the strange beetle machines."
Essex looked thoughtful, "Those are actually pretty easy to commandeer. Sort of."
Zhaojie shot him a look and Jiayi scoffed for a moment, "Oh, and how would you know?"
He gave her a lopsided grin, "Your mate Shen? All those pretty toys he has? You can thank yours truly for that, little miss. Pop that in your opium pipe and smoke it."
She stared at him, then looked at Zhaojie. He just grinned, "Interesting, Corporal Essex. That may be a skill we will need to draw on."
They went back and forth, sketching out on paper the layout of the perimeter to the west and the observed patrol routes. After a few more minutes Zhaojie checked his watch and beckoned the Corporals over.
"We advance forward, following the route Corporal Essex has laid out. In five minutes our little surprise should go off and I expect all manner of chaos to ensure. We need to use that to move into position… here," he pointed to the map at a point overlooking the river and also with a good line of sight to the enemy perimeter, "Jiayi, your people need to be ready to check for communication from Hackett. Whilst the distraction is in effect, we can observe, see how the enemy reacts. And plan our entry to the city."
He looked around and saw several faces nodding. With that he pocketed the map and stood. As he did there was a rumble in the distance, followed by several echoing explosions. The afternoon sky, already darkening, was lit by flashes over the crest of the hill to the east. A few moments later there came the echo of alien wailing:
UUlllalllaaaaa!
With a quick nod, the team moved quickly and carefully, hugging cover and sticking to the trees. As they transitioned from treeline to open field, they hunkered down. Three hundred feet away, to the north, a tripod thundered past. Its slow, ponderous footsteps shaking the ground. The machine was making a bee-line for the source of the explosion. Above, three discs floated alongside it, flanking its advance. A small flock of six of the jet-creatures circled the behemoth as it advanced, jinking back and forth like excited starlings.
Further north, Zhaojie could make out the silhouette of another machine. He checked the south and, sure enough, a third machine advanced from the city, toppling buildings and half ruined structures., It moved along the shoreline, then stepped into the river proper. Zhaojie grinned.
They all turned their attention to the distant perimeter - little more than a few towers spaced evenly amidst ruined terraced houses. Zhaojie counted the guards, then check south, where their vantage point granted them a relatively clear view of the road into the city. The towers were spaced a good three hundred yards apart, with meandering patrols between. Currently all attention was fixated on the distant explosions and the advancing fighting machines.
"Move carefully. We move south, use the buildings for cover. The tower midway between the river and the crest of the hill has the worst line of sight. Jiayi, can your marksmen make a shot?"
The small woman smiled, "From here, most definitely."
Zhaojie nodded, "On the next detonation, mark targets, take out the watchers on the tower. We use that to advance swiftly, penetrate the perimeter. We are then in the city and can regroup. Find a building with line of sight south and we can signal Hackett at nightfall."
He watched through the binoculars, spotting two guards atop the ramshackle metal tower, then checked his watch. Next to him, four marksmen lined up shots with their Afghan rifles. It was a good three hundred yards and Jezail rifles usually, usually only hit targets at two hundred and seventy. And that was in the hands of seasoned Afghan hunters.
But then again, Afghans didn't have access to efficient rifling, high quality powder, good spotters and the engineering dark arts provided by Shen.
Zhaojie watched and then, as a second round of detonations went off, observed the snipers in action.
The first round went wide by a foot, spooking the sentry. The second caught him in the throat. The third round hit the second guard in the shoulder and the fourth shot went skimmer off the lip of the tower railing, just grazing the sentry. Zhaojie watched as the wounded guard stumbled backwards. The man seemed dazed, clutching at his wound. Zhaojie heard his snipers swear. Then a rifle cracked and the distant sentry fell. He turned and glared at one of the snipers. The main quailed.
"They may have heard the shot!" hissed Zhaojie. Then there was a loud explosion from the river followed by an inhuman wail:
UuuUUlllaaaaaaa-
It cut out suddenly and a great column of steam and black smoke rose into the air. Essex glanced at Zhaojie, "Looks like your river trap actually worked."
"We know they check the river - an obvious point of advance. I hadn't dreamed we get a fighting machine though…"
Essex nodded, "But at what cost."
"We shall have to see. Right, everyone advance. That stroke of luck will have covered us,"
The troops advanced, single file, at pace, hiding behind first a hedgerow, then a low wall as the hit the first long street of workers cottages. These were in a state of disrepair, missing walls and roofs. The troop moved through them and then found themselves at the base of the tower.
It was little more than scaffolding with reinforced plate. A ladder led up one side. It emerged from the ruin of what had once been a cottage, slap in the middle of a terrace. Zhaojie ushered the troops past it, into the edges of the sprawl that was Newcastle. He held up two men and gestured up the ladder.
"Get their weapons and bodies. We will secure them and whatever they have."
Whilst the troop kept watch, the men worked fast. First one corpse, then the other thudded to the ground. The men slid down the ladder, strange weapons slung over their shoulders. Then the troop hefted the bodies and made their way further into the city.
Over the hill, the sunset was lit by the flashes of heat ray and the familiar, distant howl of the Lost echoed through the late afternoon air. Zhaojie grimaced, "So, they do not play well together. Interesting…"
Another hundred yards in, they found a section of terrace that was mostly complete and hunkered down. The corpses were deposited in the centre of what had once been a main room, whilst the troops fanned out to adjacent buildings, securing windows and doors, bunkering the place up as best they could. Zhaojie looked down at the bodies, joined by the Corporals and Jiayi.
Brown longcoats, britches with stitched on armour, some sort of rudimentary metal breastplate and welding goggles? The overlarge eyewear sat atop a human lower face. Except the blood was… yellow.
The troops exchanged glances and Corporal Essex leaned down and lifted the goggles up hooking them onto the tin helmet.
"Jesus have mercy…" he whispered.
The eyes were human. But they were wrong. Far too large. And the nose was little more than a squashed slit, The head had no hair at all and the ears looked almost fused to the side of the skull, almost melted on.
The troops exchanged glances and Zhaojie breathed out, "Definitely not Americans…"