Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

With everything under control in the repair bay, Angelica sent me back to the bridge. When I stepped into the room, the three men were still there. They looked up, faces hopeful. It was getting dark outside.

"Sir, it’s getting too dark to drive.”

"You're right. The lieutenant says that we should pull over for the night. These mountain roads are dangerous in the dark, even with lights on."

The men nodded in agreement. "Yes, Sergeant."

In the corner of the bridge was a ladder going up to a hatch set in the ceiling. Climbing up the ladder a couple rungs, I undogged the hatch by turning a large wheel. I pushed the heavy hatch open and climbed up.

There was a crow's nest on top of the hauler, a place to stand with a chest-high armored parapet around it. A pintle mount off to one side could hold a machine gun but was empty now.

The evening was getting cool. Tree-covered slopes flanked the road to my right, ash and beech. To the left, the land fell sharply away. I could hear the murmur of a creek far below. The machine filled almost the entire two-lane road. The road was wider than I expected from an unpaved mountain road, but perhaps this was a strategic route. Or maybe haulers like this were common. The road itself was crushed gravel. Our tires made a satisfying crunching as they rolled along.

We passed through a dark mountain village and then another. Just beyond a third village, we found a clearing wide enough for our machine to park. I called down and directed the men to steer the hauler off the road. Then I sent the two drivers looking for something like camo netting, tarps, anything. I wasn't sure it was necessary, but any good non-com learns to keep the men busy, whether it matters or not.

The man running the engineering station apparently had been taught how to shut the engines down, and he busied himself with the knobs and dials. I went over to the driver's station and checked that the driver had properly set the parking brakes. He’d only set one pair of brakes, so I pulled the handles and locked all the other wheels. Best to be on the safe side in rough country with a machine this heavy.

"I'm going outside. You have the con.”

The man looked up at me in confusion as I left the bridge. I climbed down the ladder-like stairs to the gangway and headed back to the crew quarters. A number of men were lounging around. I selected several of the uninjured ones.

"You, you, you. Get your arms and come on out. We're setting up a perimeter. And you, round up two more and send them out too.”

They just gaped at me.

I folded my massive arms. “The correct answer is ‘Yes, Sergeant Golem."

The men leapt out of their chairs as if they’d been prodded with a sword. Their heels made a satisfying click as they came together.

"Yes, Sergeant Golem!"

That was more like it.

I went to the outer hatch and down the ladder into the cool night air. The first stars were appearing, but we could still see by the light of dusk. The first two men followed me down, and I sent them scurrying back for flashlights or lanterns or whatever they could find.

A few moments later, external lights came on, flooding the clearing. That was more like it. I paced the clearing, trying to look important and act like I knew what I was doing.

How far away were the Russians? Did they have aircraft that could fly at night safely? Were they getting ready to bomb us even now? Or was there a squad of panzers coming up the pass? Didn’t seem likely. But I just didn't know enough about our situation. For now, I just had to act like I knew what I was doing. For their sake and mine both.

Sergeant Wozniak came down now with the last of the three men. He walked over to me with a big frown and stood there, clearly trying to think of what to say to me, a golem.

I nodded to him. "Sergeant, I need you to take command of this detail."

The man stood up straighter. Now he was on familiar ground, even if the person giving the orders wasn't wearing a proper uniform and didn't look like anything he would have considered a superior. I lowered my voice. It wouldn't do to embarrass a fellow non-com. “The correct answer is, ‘Yes, Sergeant Golem’.”

"Yes, Sergeant Golem!" This man picked up things quickly.

I kept my voice low, just trying to clear up any confusion. "If you have any questions, you can talk to Lieutenant Angelica later. Right now, I need you to run this detail. Get the men out on a patrol pattern, set up sentries, whatever it takes. You know this war and I don't, but let's get this going, shall we?"

"Yes, Sergeant Golem!” Confidence was returning to him as he realized that I was giving clean, clear, competent orders. Nothing like knowing someone else was in charge to instill that moral fiber and backbone. He spun on a heel, went back to his men, and started giving orders. Perfect.

I stood in the clearing, trying to look like I was supervising but thinking about my predicament. These people seemed competent and well-trained, even if they had been dealt a severe blow. They were recovering admirably. Where we were going and what our objective would be, I didn't know.

As a good non-com, that didn't concern me too much. That's what officers were for. My job was to make sure the operation ran smoothly and make sure that the officers didn't fuck it up too bad. It was starting to look like I was going to have an opportunity to do just that. I had been in my element in the army and medical retirement had been soul crushing. Getting a second chance was beyond my wildest dreams.

I sent a pair of soldiers inside to raid the stores and they came back a few minutes later with an arm load of lanterns and sidearms. I took one of the gunbelts and strapped it on. Fortunately, it adjusted far enough to fit me. The pistol in the flap holster was a foreign revolver I didn’t recognize. I checked its load and put it back in the holster.

Alexander came down a few minutes later. We talked a bit about the terrain and where the enemy might be. It was reassuring that he thought they would be a long way back. They might move in the dark, but not very far or very fast. If they did, they would come on in trucks, in lorries, or jeeps.

I nodded as if that didn't surprise me. Honestly, it didn't. I told Sergeant Wozniak that he should send a man or two up to those turrets and another up to any crow's nest points on the hull to keep a lookout. Enemy trucks coming up the valley would be spotted by their headlights in time to give them a warm reception.

Alexander had been scouting around the tree line when a shot rang out. Two of the men came running out of the woods and Alexander and I made a beeline for them.

"Sergeant, we found something!" The man started to try to explain something. I couldn’t follow what he was stammering. Instead, I said, "Lead on, private!"

Honestly, I didn't know if he was a private or a corporal or what. I couldn't read their insignia yet. I made a mental note to figure that out as soon as possible. Maybe Alexander could give me a quick rundown. The man didn't seem surprised by me calling him that rank, so maybe I had gotten it right.

We followed along as he led us back into the woods. About 50 yards away, where the hillside started sloping upward, several trees were down and broken. In their smashed branches was a mech. I couldn't tell much about it, but it looked different than the ones that our team had.

"It's a Flying Scout!" one of the men said.

Alexander was nodding and stroking his chin. "You're right, this looks like a Russian Flying Scout mech. Something a Cossack unit would use.”

A flying mech? The men were all nodding, so I didn't ask out loud. It doesn't do to betray too much ignorance in front of the men. "I see. Do you think there's more of them?"

Alexander was still scratching his chin. "I don't know. They usually fly in pairs, but if this one had mechanical trouble or got shot down, it might be the only one still around."

"Hmm. But we can't be sure."

"No, we can't. And whoever shot her down might not have come off unscathed either."

"Alright. Private, go back into the ship. Tell the sergeant we need more men. I want a team to make a sweep. Fifty yards in every direction, and then a hundred. Let's make sure these woods are clean, shall we?"

"Yes, sergeant!" The men hurried off. They were really perking up now that the orders were being given. I smiled to myself.

"Look!" Alexander pointed behind me. I turned to see lights bobbing through the woods. They were clustered together in groups, and the lights weren’t steady flashlights, but flickering firelight. Like a line of peasants carrying torches. My first mad thought was, it’s a torch-and-pitchfork mob, they’ve heard about the Frankenstein machine and they’re here for me.

I stood, arms folded, waiting. An aura of confidence and authority solves a surprising number of problems, even ones that you wouldn't think could be solved by sheer attitude. So I stood there, waiting as the lights came closer.

Alexander did too, keeping a hand on the flapped holster at his hip. He didn't draw his sidearm. Sometimes my aura of confidence was too good; I kind of wished he would pull his gun out. But I didn't say anything as the villagers approached.

Maybe a dozen of them were headed towards us, but they didn't look hostile. They had torches, but no other significant weapons. No firearms, no pitchforks. Not a proper monster-burning mob. I was almost disappointed. I waited until they were about 20 yards off, and then held my hand out.

"Hold! Identify yourselves!" Project confidence and problems start falling away.

There were gasps and mutters from the crowd. I had almost forgotten the appearance I must present. These people were probably no more used to a golem talking to them with authority than the soldiers had been. Too late now. Time to bull my way through." Come closer. Let me see you. What's the meaning of all this?"

"You're Polish, aren't you?" one of the men at the front asked, clutching his torch like it would save him.

Alexander spoke up. “32nd Hussar Battalion."

I muttered out of the corner of my mouth to him, "Don't give too much away until we know what they're about." He nodded but didn't say anything more.

"We're from the village of Domaradz. We've caught a witch, and we need your help."

I nodded and stroked my chin with a thoughtful expression, but inside I was gibbering, What the fuck? A witch? “Really? Very good. Take me to her."

This threw them off for a moment as they conferred. One of them seemed to think that we should be bringing guns and troops. At last, an elder stepped forward. He had a long white beard and a funny-looking black hat. He held up a hand, and the muttering stopped. “No. This is good. A golem will be able to resist her witch's magic."

The muttering was back, but this time it was a wave of agreement. “Oh, yes. Golems are immune to magic. Everyone knows that."

I hadn’t, but I filed the information away. Immunity to magic could be useful.

"Alexander, please tell the sergeant and the lieutenant where I've gone. I will go with these people and find out what they need."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. “I'll be back in a few minutes. Lead on," I told the peasants.

I was getting a little carried away with myself. What was I getting into? A witch? Really? Now I was curious. Just how immune to magic was I? And what sort of witch did they find in these mountains? If magic immunity was an issue, I probably didn't want a bunch of armed soldiers around. What could they do against witches?

I followed them down through the woods. We skirted around the cluster of stone buildings and wooden barns that constituted their town. A hundred yards or so beyond the other structures was a barn. Everyone stopped short, 50 yards away from a barn just outside of town.

The old man in the long beard and black hat pointed. “She's in there. We dare not go any closer or the witch's magic might take us."

"That's fine. Everybody step back. Here, hand me one of those torches. Thank you. Step back. Give me some room."

My confident aura had gotten me through the military. It had gotten me promoted to sergeant. It had let me get a business loan and found my own company after my disability discharge. It had impressed my doctors and physical therapists in my recovery. It had impressed my ex-wife early on, though it hadn't stopped her cheating when I was off at war. Now it was likely to get me killed.

I held up the torch and strode confidently towards the barn. The main door was cracked open. A dim light came from inside. I swung wide, heading around the opposite side of the barn. I might be trying to pull through with confidence, but I wasn't completely stupid.

The back door was also open and I nudged it with my foot and peered inside. As I went to open the door, it exploded outward. I was flung back and hit the ground, rolled over and came to my feet, facing a smaller, lighter mech than the ones I’d been dealing with before.

The mech charged. I threw myself to one side, hit the ground, rolled, and came up again. This body wasn't just big and strong, but also lithe and quick. It was a nice combination. My feet skidded in the farmyard muck.

The mech was back at me again, fist whistling through where my head had been just before I slipped and fell. My boot connected with its shin. It was like kicking a brick wall, but the mech staggered slightly. I realized, as I lay on the ground, about to get squashed, that one of its arms hung loose and it had some rather significant dents in its torso.

It staggered again and lifted an arm to pulverize me with one giant fist. I threw myself to the side again, rolled over and came up. And then I bum-rushed it. The monster was half again as tall as I was and probably outweighed me by ten tons. But when I hit it, it still went off balance.

It staggered a few times, seemingly disoriented, and then keeled over like its strings had been cut. I stood there panting, shocked at my victory. Something registered with me. The mech had big shoulder pads, just like Angelica’s, and nobody riding them.

I turned to look at the barn just in time. Boom! I jerked my head the instant I saw the yawning black pit of the cannon pointed at my head. The blast warmed my face as the shell whipped by my ear. The shell exploded in the forest behind me, but I didn't look.

Instead, I threw myself to one side, and then lunged forward. Standing in the doorway of the barn was a girl, and she was carrying a gun bigger than she was. It was the rifle equivalent of Angelica's buster sword, ridiculously oversized and impossible for an ordinary girl to wield effectively. Yet she was holding something the size of a Ma Duce it like it didn't weigh anything.

Well, she had been holding it like that, but as I lunged forward, she sagged. By the time I reached her and grabbed the barrel in my massive fist, I was able to pluck it right out of her grip. She stumbled back and then slumped to the ground, as drained as that robot had seemed.

“Who are you?" I looked down at her, panting and trying to think of what to say. She wore a strange uniform, definitely from some other army. "Identify yourself," I said. Authority and confidence. I stood over her, seemingly unconcerned about retaliation, setting the butt of her gun on the ground and holding it still by its barrel.

She grinned up at me, despite the situation. "I would have had you if I hadn't run out of istota.”

I nodded as if that made sense to me at all. "Of course you would’ve, but that doesn't matter now, does it?”

She stood and dusted herself off. I still loomed over her. She wore a thigh-length coat and started to reach for the buttons.

“Leave it on,” I said in a warning tone. She might’ve had other weapons under there. I didn’t have any weapons pointed at her, but I was close and much stronger, at least with her magic expended.

She shrugged. “I’m Tamara of the…” She hesitated before continuing. “Of the Don Sich. I was scouting for the Transcaspian Cossack Brigade. I was shot down this afternoon and took refuge in this barn."

"And you've been harassing the locals?"

"No, not really... Okay, maybe a little." She smirked.

“They seem to think you're going to put a spell on them."

"Well, I might have cast a few." She grinned up at me. I couldn't tell if she was joking about that or not.

"What were you — ?” I broke off as the rumble of engines intruded on my consciousness. I took a step back and turned, cocking my ear towards the open barn door. There were vehicles coming up the road from the north the way we had come. It sounded like more than one heavy-duty engine.

"What is it?" the girl asked, then broke off. She could hear it too. "Oh no," she muttered, stepping forward and dodging past me to get out of the barn.

She stopped two steps outside and looked to the north. I followed her out. "Do you know who it is?" I asked.

"I hope not. Before they get here — Who are you with?" She turned to look at me, and I stared back in confusion.

"With?”

“Who are you with? You're not wearing a uniform, but you act military. Not that I've ever heard of a golem acting like you. What unit are you with?"

I wasn't sure I trusted her enough to disclose that. Loose lips sink ships after all. Headlights flared through the trees and then a column of trucks came roaring around the bend. I heard shouts over the engines, and they turned off the road, straight towards us.

A light skewered us to the side of the barn, as men piled out of the trucks. I considered turning to run briefly but didn't relish a bullet in the back, and even ducking inside the barn—well, wooden barn doors only stopped bullets in the movies.

The soldiers were shouting in Russian. I swore to myself and spread my hands out to the sides, open, empty, raising them slowly, making no sudden moves.

"Damn it!" Tamara said under her breath. “We're out of time. Who are you with? Is there a Polish unit here?"

Why was she asking? A line of men formed in front of the trucks, rifles leveled. These men were about to be asking the same thing, maybe not as friendly.

An officer slipped between through the line and shouted them to silence. I was guessing by his uniform and tone of voice, but a good NCO learns to spot officers from a mile away. He took a step nearer and said in heavily accented Polish, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The girl looked at me. She whispered, “Time’s up”.

I looked back. "The 32th Hussars."

I don't know why I said it. I don't know what made me trust her, but for some reason, that look in her eye—worry, desperation— touched me. Why this mattered so much to her, I don't know. But when someone gives you a look that intent, you can't help but pay attention.

The look of worry vanished and was replaced by relief and a smile. She sighed. "Ah. Good." She started unbuttoning her jacket.

The officer took a step nearer. "Do not move. You will tell us who you are with."

Tamara opened her jacket and revealed the hilts of two sabers. Smiling, she drew the swords.