Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (21 page)

Occasionally, personal needs trumped official duty.

***

“It’s not a major base,” the staff sergeant said. Even in the pre-sunrise dimness, his tanned, leathery face declared him a veteran of the colonial wars in India.

Lieutenant Danvers nodded. Beneath him, his pale horse shifted restlessly, sensing the upcoming battle. He pulled gently on the reins and leaned forward to pat his stallion on the neck, calming it.

“No, it’s not. But Major Thomas has a need for these prisoners, so we will go pull them out. Safely.”

“And if we have to kill a few Americans in the process?”

“Then we shall,” replied the lieutenant. Unlike the major, he held no personal animosity toward the unruly Americans. Truth be told, he admired their spirit. But his orders were clear, and sentiment had no place on the battlefield.

“Very good, sir,” he said, saluting. “The snipers are in position, ready to fire as we crest the hill. I’ll have the men ready to go on your order.”

“Good man.” Danvers returned the salute, then surveyed the terrain below. From the top of the bluff, he had a good view of the base’s entrance. A single road led into Fort Hamilton, which covered several acres. Toward the far side of the base, the land dropped down into a ravine, providing natural defense from attackers.

Fort Hamilton wasn’t a large base, but it did have a garrison of 140 soldiers. His advance men had found the Americans’ perimeter patrols and had taken them out quietly. Now, with sixty more men, the element of surprise and their modern weapons, the day should go well.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the company hidden below the bluff’s ridgeline. These men had performed remarkably well at New Haven. They were brave and battle-tested. And now he had the chance to lead them in an assault. With luck, this would be the first in a string of bold victories, just like his father’s legacy. He sat up straighter in his saddle and enjoyed the moment.
 

The sun was just breaking over the horizon, orange tendrils reaching up into the sky. He turned his horse to join the men, when a single rider on horseback caught his eye. He approached fast, staying hidden from the base’s view, pushing his animal hard and coming straight for the lieutenant. No American would approach this way, so curiosity held him in place until the man grew closer.

As the rider closed, he saw it was Major Thomas.
He lost confidence in my command
. Well, there would be other battles, no doubt about that.

“Danvers!” the major cried, approaching and pulling his exhausted horse beside the lieutenant.

“Is something wrong, Major? We were just about to begin our run.”

The major shook his head and held up a hand. “No, nothing. But I realized I needed to be on hand. To observe.”
 

He saw the junior officer relax as he realized the major wasn’t here to assume command of the charge.

“Besides,” said the major, “I didn’t want to miss your first major victory.” He smiled at the lieutenant, whose face brightened at the compliment.

“Yes, sir!” He glanced at the company. The staff sergeant had formed the soldiers into four platoons of fifty men each, and they stood ready.

“The company is prepared, sir. Shall we begin the assault?”

The major cast his eye over the men and nodded. “Begin your charge, Lieutenant. I will watch from here.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, saluting and steering his horse down the bluff and in front of the assembled company.

He called the order to the platoon leaders, and the four platoons marched forward, rifles at the ready. The lieutenant led the way, and as they crested the bluff, the four snipers opened fire.

They’d each found hidden positions with clear fields of fire on the base, and each had chosen his initial target based on distance and how meaningful it would be to the battle.

***

Just inside the base gate, a raised watchtower sat perched fifteen feet above ground. Inside, a young corporal finished checking the list of today’s scheduled events.
 

“Nothing major today,” he told the private assigned with him.

“Nice. First quiet day this week.”

The corporal stood, lit a cigarette and looked through the large glass window at the base entrance. Movement along the bluff’s ridgeline caught his eye.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, reaching for his binoculars.
 

Private Harland followed his gaze, but saw nothing in the dim early morning. “What? I don’t see any—”

In the darkness to the side of the bluff, a brief flash of light flared, then disappeared. A moment later the glass pane in front of them shattered with a piercing crash. A single .303 round found its target, hitting the corporal in the forehead, and killing him instantly. His mouth went slack in surprise and the cigarette fell from his lips. Then he collapsed, dropping the binoculars.

A second flash, and another round screamed for the private’s head, but missed, whispering an inch to the right. As the round slipped past his head, the private heard the soft whistle of air, then felt a sharp pain in his right ear. He clapped a hand over it, then held the hand in front of him, amazed to see blood on his palm. The bullet had clipped his ear, tearing off a marble-sized chunk of cartilage.
 

The sniper swore, seeing he’d missed so narrowly. For a shot of five hundred meters, it was still damn good, but not enough. He cycled the bolt-action Enfield and aimed again at the stunned private who stood frozen, gaping at the sight of his own blood.

Harland looked up and saw another flash. This time adrenaline worked for him, and he threw himself to the floor as the next round slammed into the wall behind him. He crouched down low, protected by the masonry of the tower, and looked over at his corporal. The man’s head had been punched like a melon, and the sight made him turn away and retch, filling the small room with the smell of vomit.

At ground level, the four MPs manning the gate heard the shots, and reacted. They each bolted for cover, but snipers had already sighted them as targets. Three shots rang out from the darkness, and two of the MPs fell to the ground, dead. A moment later the shots continued, and a third MP went down, clutching his side to stop the dark blood that seeped between his fingers.

The last MP raced to hit the alarm switch in the gatehouse. Two sniper rounds screamed to intercept him, but went wide. Running hard, he launched himself into the gatehouse, landing hard on his side. Ignoring the cracked rib that radiated hot pain through his chest, he rolled over and reached up, triggering the base alarm.

Klaxons mounted high on buildings throughout the base wailed, and now the whole base knew they were under attack.

***

General Houston had just finished his exercises and was getting dressed when the alarm rang out. “What the hell?” he muttered, throwing his jacket on and racing to the base phone. He dialed the main gate and was relieved to hear someone pick up.
 

The last MP stayed on the floor, but reached up to answer the phone. “Sergeant Miller here!” he yelled over the sound of bullets impacting the wall between him and the enemy.

“Miller? This is General Houston. What’s happening, son?”

“Snipers, sir. Walters, Abbott, and Paulson are dead. I think the watchtower got hit first. I don’t know about them.”

“Goddamn. OK. Do you see the ground force yet?”

“One second, sir.” The MP slid along the floor toward the gatehouse door. Keeping his face low, he peered around the doorjamb, then pulled his head back.
 

“Yes, sir. A quarter mile out. A hundred men, maybe two.”

The general ground his molars hard. This base had been built as a supply and research depot, not for combat operations. He thought of options. It was a short list.

“OK, Miller. If you can, get your men and fall back into the base. We’ll make our stand a hundred yards back, beside Admin Building B. Got that?”

“Got it, sir!” He hung up and wondered how the hell he was going to dodge those snipers with a busted rib.

General Houston rang Operations and gave them the intel. In minutes the garrison’s men would assemble and do their best to push back this force. At least by choosing a spot a hundred yards within the base, he would force the opposition to funnel themselves through the narrow gate entrance. Like the Spartans at Thermopylae, his strategy studies reminded him.
Let’s not think about how that worked out for them
.

***

In the lab, red alarm lights flared, and the klaxon howled, making everyone yell to be heard.

“What the devil?” yelled Tesla. He’d been focusing intently on soldering a bundle of wires to a delicate seismic detector, and the sudden cacophony made his hand slip, sending too much solder into the joint, ruining the expensive sensor.

He looked up and disliked the look on Bertram’s face as he went pale.
Like a white fish
, Tesla thought.

Savannah ran to them, hands over her ears. “The base is being attacked!” she yelled over the alarm. “Where’s Madelaine?” She scanned the room, panicked at not having her daughter beside her.

Tesla set down the soldering gun and leaned closer, cupping his hands to be better heard. “She was going to my house for a book.”
 

Savannah nodded and ran for the elevator.

“What does this mean for us?” asked Tesla.

Bertram was distracted, scanning the room. Most of the technicians had never experienced an attack, and he saw the nervous twittering spreading through the room. He crossed the lab and hit the alarm button to shut off the room’s klaxon, to everyone’s relief. On the other floors of the lab, the alarm continued, wailing faintly through the ceiling.

Edison had been consulting upstairs with Hollerith’s team and had just stepped off the elevator platform when the alarm was raised. He prided himself on remaining calm during adversity, and his years of running his own lab at Menlo Park had instilled a natural leadership role. Seeing the building confusion, he raised a hand and began to address the crowd.
 

“Don’t worry,” he began.
 

Then Bertram returned from silencing the klaxon and jumped on a table, waving both hands. “Can I have your attention, please!” Bertram called out.

Edison was caught short, interrupted. He lowered his hand, his eyes burning into Bertram’s back.

Throughout the lab everyone dropped what he was doing and moved toward Bertram, clustering around for info.

“The base appears to be under attack. What this means for us is that we will remain right where we are. This lab is the most secure point in the entire base, and we are in no danger here. OK?”

Many in the crowd were nodding and calming down. A moment ago, the lab was lurching into a flurry of chaos but now was calming down and focusing on the tasks at hand.

Bertram projected his voice to the far sides of the lab. Despite his bookish appearance, his booming voice and confident tone had great effect.

“In an abundance of caution, however, we will begin our overrun protocol. All sensitive lab books will be collected and readied for incineration, if necessary. Let’s focus on what we must do, and let the soldiers upstairs do what they do best. Let’s go,” he yelled, clapping his hands once.

The crowd dispersed quickly, now strengthened and purposeful. Bertram hopped off the table as Tesla approached.

“Well done, Bertram. You gave them exactly what they needed.” He raised his voice just enough to ensure Edison overheard. Tesla knew he had when the inventor suddenly went stiff, then turned and walked away.

“Thanks,” Bertram replied. “Now let’s just hope we don’t have to destroy our work down here.”

That thought instantly filled Tesla with sorrow, and a scowl turned his aristocratic face sour. Losing people would be tragic, but destroying research was an even deeper loss. The human race improved, bit by bit, with the help of science and the pushing back of unknown frontiers. To throw away their efforts would be like turning their backs on the future. And that idea was unthinkable.

He ran to Beowulf and looked up at the massive blast doors that opened to the outside world.
 

He pointed to them and called out to the colonel. “Can you open those doors?”
 

“I certainly can,” the booming voice declared.

“Get out there, Colonel,” said Tesla. “Savannah and Madelaine are running around at ground level. I’ll take responsibility.”

“Good enough for me,” said the colonel. He scanned his data banks for the command codes to the blast doors and broadcast them over short-range radio.
 

Twin lights over the massive steel doors flared, and the multi-ton doors swung open silently. Beowulf powered up all systems and moved forward.

“Tesla, what the hell are you doing?” yelled Bertram. “He’s not checked out for combat yet.”

“I have no doubt he soon will be,” Tesla said.

***

Miller held a hand against his cracked rib, pressing firmly. He leaned around the gatehouse door. The ground force was closer now, just a hundred yards away. He pulled his head back just before a sniper round tore into the doorframe where his head had been. Splinters of painted wood sprayed over his face.
 

“Jesus!” he cried.
 

He looked up at the watchtower and saw the smashed front window. These snipers were good. If the tower had been their first target, it was likely both the men up there were already dead. Still, that ground force would be here in minutes.

“Hey! You guys alive up there?” he yelled. He strained to hear a response, but the dull roar of the approaching horde made it hard to hear anything. “Corporal!” he tried again. He heard nothing, so he started thinking about making a run for it. Zigzag pattern. Change directions randomly, but keep adding distance. A shitty plan, but it beat waiting here and feeling a pistol muzzle against his forehead.

“Corporal’s dead, but I’m here!” yelled Private Harland from the tower. Miller breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank God. At least I’m not doing this on my own
.