Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (42 page)

BOSTON, MA, USA

“Colonel Thomas?” said the lieutenant. “You asked me to wake you, sir.”

Thomas lay on his back, his cot set up in the port director’s office. He wasn’t asleep. He’d been looking up at the exposed wood beams of the old building, listening to the bustle of men and equipment being readied for battle. The sounds were comforting, even relaxing, but today promised to be as good as the previous one. Today he expanded his control from the port out to the entire city of Boston.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, rolling over and setting his feet on the floor. He checked his timepiece. It was 6:29 a.m. He glanced out the window, confirming that sunrise was quickly on its way.

He stood and stretched, enjoying the exquisite pain of tired, sore muscles being put to use again.

He glanced at the young officer who still waited in the doorway. “Get Roberts and Harris,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, dashing off.

Thomas pulled on his boots, then splashed water on his face from the basin. After brushing his teeth, he walked to the wide windows opening to the docks.

Every berth had been taken by British ships, and every pier was filled with piles of supplies being brought ashore. A hundred men scurried over the area, hauling crates, checking paperwork, or repairing ship damage.

The previous day had seen his force shift from a daring frontline vanguard to a machine of organization and stability. Tactics were now giving way to logistics.

He rubbed at the dark stubble on his cheek, watching the workers come and go.
But today will again contain tactics
.

The clomping of boots told him the two company commanders were approaching. He turned as they filed into the room.

“Come,” he said, waving them in. He crossed to his work desk and indicated the map of the city.

“Here,” he said, stabbing a dirty finger on the map, “is Breed’s Hill. And beside it, Bunker Hill. Today we claim them both. I’m leaving the other commanders to continue pushing back the Americans. I want you to focus on these objectives.”

The hills sat just north of the downtown area and offered commanding views of the city core. In 1775, during the Revolutionary War, the British had occupied Boston. The Americans hoped that by claiming these high hills, an artillery barrage might force the British from the city.

This was not to be, however. After several attempts the British routed the Americans and took the hills, in what became known as the Battle of Bunker Hill.

The colonel continued. “As you no doubt remember from your classes at the Academy, Bunker Hill has some historical significance. High ground was valuable in 1775, and more so today. We have harried the Americans extensively, and they’ve had little men to spare holding those hills. Within three hours I expect to see British flags flying on them. Questions?”

Harris nodded. “What resources do we have for the assault?”

“Take your pick,” said the colonel, handing him a sheaf of papers. “Since midnight we’ve unloaded several thousand men, another hundred cavalry, twenty cannons, and tons of ammunition.”

The commanders glanced at each other and smiled. Such easy victories paved the way to commendations and promotions.

THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL II

As they approached the outskirts of Boston, Madelaine paid particular attention to monitoring as many frequencies as she could.

She discovered that if she concentrated properly, she could segment off a part of her mind and assign it a task. Then she could continue focusing elsewhere. The sensation was startling and a little disturbing, as if her mind were splitting apart. But when she verified she could recombine her segments again, she felt more comfortable with the idea.

She created a dozen thin slices of her mind and instructed them to listen for any news on the battle, both from the Americans or the British. Since she could guess at each broadcast’s general position also, by checking the angle of the broadcast and its relative strength of signal, she tagged each new input with a location.

As the slices had something to report, the information flowed back up to her through the queue system. It worked well, so she expanded the idea and created another dozen slices.

She now could maintain a real-time understanding of all radio traffic in the area.

“I’m getting a picture of the battle,” she announced. “The port is fully British controlled, and they’re bringing lots of reinforcements in from the sea.”

“That was the worst-case scenario,” said Savannah.

“Over the past day, they’ve pushed out from the port,” Madelaine continued. “An American captain is retreating his men west across Longfellow Bridge, which leads me to assume the British have retaken most of downtown.”

“Oh God,” whispered Savannah.

“There’s a British zeppelin in the area. It’s been conducting bombing runs on American positions. General Houston’s men are in disarray. I think they’ve been cut off from one another. At least three pockets of American resistance. The general’s name is still mentioned in orders, so I believe he’s alive.”

“That’s something, at least,” said Tesla.

“So where can we help?” asked Savannah.

Madelaine thought about that for a moment.

“Huh,” she said.

“What? Tell us!” said Savannah.

“Great minds thinking alike,” she said. “I was about to propose an idea, but it looks like the British know their history too.”

Tesla glanced at Savannah with a raised, questioning eyebrow. She shrugged.

“I can’t do much inside the city,” explained Madelaine. “I’m just too big. So I was going to suggest we take Bunker Hill, just north of the city. From there I can mortar the hell out of the city, and the dock.”

“Sounds like a fine plan,” said Tesla.

“Yeah. Except the British got there first. There was a token American force stationed there, but they just got overrun badly. The British have the hill, and they’re digging in to keep it. They’ve got multiple cannons up there too.”

Tesla looked to Savannah, wondering what her reaction would be. Bold words of taking cities were well and good, but charging toward entrenched cannons was another matter. He wasn’t sure she’d still have the will for a fight.

She was staring ahead, not seeing, thinking about how much had been taken from them. Bertram, the Rabbit Hole, Beowulf’s reputation, Madelaine’s body.

Savannah’s breathing was deep and steady as she catalogued their losses.

Then she blinked, and her cold blue eyes flicked to him, pinning him with an uncomfortable intensity.

“No matter the cost, Nikola.”

***

BOSTON, MA, USA

“Move it!” screamed Lieutenant Terry. He watched with mounting impatience as his two hundred men fell back across Longfellow Bridge, retreating in the face of overwhelming British numbers.

Enemy reinforcements were flowing out of the captured dock, pushing the Americans back steadily, until they’d found themselves no longer holding the city center. Now they’d been forced back westward against the Charles River, which wrapped around much of Boston.

While General Houston was holding the southern flank, Terry’s company had attempted to circle around to the north. It was a good idea, but terrible timing. As they approached the dock, a fresh wave of Redcoats flooded out of the shipyard. Three companies, at least. And they weren’t tired, hungry, or wounded.

Terry had taken one look and knew engagement would have been foolish. He ordered his men to fall back. If they could get across the bridge, at least they’d be behind a choke point. They could regroup and plan a wiser course of action.

So the haggard Americans ran, dashing through the streets, dodging British bullets as they bolted for the relative safety of the bridge. Half the company had made it to the other side and were busy finding cover behind building corners, grassy mounds, low rock walls, anything they could throw themselves behind as a shield against British rifle fire.

Terry crouched low behind an overturned car. Its insides were burned out, and it still smoldered and felt hot to the touch. He rubbed his right shoulder that he’d hurt by diving impetuously over a barricade. He’d landed badly, and it throbbed now with each heartbeat.

His remaining hundred men were making their way over the bridge, harried by enemy fire as they ran or limped. He unslung his rifle and returned fire at the British. Several of his soldiers took rounds in the back and collapsed, dying in moments. But most of his force was slowly escaping the onslaught.

When he was convinced all his men were accounted for, he broke from cover and sprinted after them. He’d been strong in track back at university, and he pumped his legs madly, catching up to the stragglers.

“Run, you lazy bastards!” he yelled, catching up to them.

He cursed and goaded the men along the last of the bridge, and they each found a spot to collapse safely for a moment, huffing and catching their breath.

When he looked back, he saw the British were content to chase the Americans across the river and leave them there.
For now, at least
.

The thousand British soldiers began taking a defensive posture, reinforcing their hold on their side of the bridge.

Well, we’re not getting back in that way
.

***

“We’re approaching the hill,” declared Madelaine. She had approached from the west, turning off the main road and driving through open farmland, barreling straight for Bunker Hill.

Tesla and Savannah snapped open view ports, eager for a view of their surroundings. The low, scrubby land gave Beowulf the advantage, as she could see far and drive fast. They were bouncing along at forty miles per hour, and they both reached out for handholds to steady themselves as Madelaine tore across the raised furrows of a plowed field.

“Downtown Boston is a mile and a half to our southeast,” she told them.

“And you can get a good firing position atop the hill?” Savannah asked.

“My records show that Bunker Hill is a hundred and ten feet tall,” she said. “Earlier this morning I taught myself trigonometry and ballistics. If we can get there, I can tear them up.”

“You taught yourself—” Tesla began, then stopped. He glanced at Savannah, who met his look with a mixture of pride tinged with concern. She understood. At a superhuman rate of speed, Madelaine was becoming more than what she was before.
If she can do this in a few weeks, what will she be like in a few months? Or years?

Savannah pushed aside the thoughts. There’d be time for musing, worrying, and guessing later, assuming they lived through the next hour.

Madelaine slowed, then stopped. They’d reached the base of the hill. The incline was steep, but no worse than the valley behind Fort Hamilton had been.

Tesla found a pair of binoculars and looked through a view port at the hill. From his perspective it looked like a tall anthill, with hundreds of red and white worker ants scurrying over the top, furiously busy building their new home.

“A lot of British up there,” he said. “They’re digging ditches and building barricades.”

Savannah came up behind him, leaning over his shoulder. “How about cannons?”

“Don’t see them yet, but they’re probably up there.” He handed her the binoculars, and moved back to let her see for herself.

She brought them to her face and scanned the hilltop, not speaking. Then she closed the view port.

“OK, honey,” she said. “This is going to be your show, I’m afraid. How do you feel?”

“Ready to kick British ass,” said her daughter, regretting the choice of words as soon as she’d said it.

Savannah smiled, ignoring the language. “That’s my girl. Let’s go get ‘em.”

“You got it!” said Madelaine. “You guys better get strapped in. It’s going to be a rough ride for you mortals.”

“Very funny,” said Savannah. But she hopped into a crash chair and pulled the restraining harness tight around her chest. Tesla did the same, flashing a thumbs-up.

Savannah took a deep breath. “We’re all set, honey. Make me proud.”

Before her mother had finished the words, Madelaine engaged her treads. Out of consideration for her passengers, she accelerated smoothly, so she wouldn’t injure them with whiplash.

She quickly ramped up to full speed, though, and Tesla found himself clutching the armrests with increasingly white knuckles as the massive tank tilted back and rushed forward up the hill’s slope.

Beowulf’s huge treads tore into the soft earth, spewing twin streams of flying soil and grass behind her. She sensed the need for additional power again as she climbed, so she increased her coal burn rate. Soon the hunger for more strength faded away.

She’d climbed a quarter of the hill before the British alarm was raised. One of her mind slices reported a panicked British radio report about her, and the recognition made her feel happily satisfied.
Good
.
The enemy should fear me
.

She scanned the hilltop and identified 178 soldiers, with many more bound to be beyond the hill’s crest. It seemed prudent to devote as much attention as possible to the upcoming fight. She recalled most of the slices she’d assigned to monitor radio chatter, leaving a handful assigned to the job. As the slices were reintegrated into her consciousness, she was already planning how best to reallocate them.