Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Stubs Soon!

With the gear unloaded from the carrier, Wysocki, myself, and several of the other Polish soldiers busied ourselves preparing harnesses for the mechs.

All of our mechs had lash-down points for gear, low-profile steel loops along the waist and backs of the shoulders where you could attach straps for gear. I asked about that and found out mechs and horses don’t get along. Horses just didn't like being around desh engines. In this era, as in most of human history, horses, mules and wagons, transported the bulk of an army's supplies. That had been especially true in Eastern Europe all the way up into World War II.

So without horses and packmules to help, a large force of robots need to carry as much of their own gear as possible. Critical supplies the mechs would need on the move or in combat were loaded in packs and slings to be attached when the mechs were unloaded from the airship.

We had done almost all we could when the captains returned.

I asked how their meeting at headquarters had gone. Angelica frowned, but Frank laughed.

"It was pretty funny. That stodgy old Hungarian tried to direct all his questions at me. Eventually, I just had to say, 'Don't look at me, man. All I know are airplanes and zeppelins.' He couldn't seem to get his head around the fact that Captain Angelica was in charge."

I recalled from the data loaded in my brain that Hussar units historically were commanded by a man tagging along in a wheeled vehicle or on a horse, giving the women orders. It was a bit fucked up. It was like those African-American units in both world wars that America had deployed. They had insisted on giving the units white officers because, you know, racism. I'm sure they justified it that there weren't enough trained and educated black men to do the job, which was both bullshit and also their own doing. Plus that would’ve been an easily solved issue. But bigotry always relied on self-justifications. "So, what's the plan, Captain? Are we unloading the mechs?"

Angelica nodded, her frown fading away. "Yes, I see you've already gotten started.”

“Yes, sir."

"We will unload the mechs here tonight," Angelica said, "and get them geared up and ready to move out. We'll get started first thing in the morning, headed up the pass."

"They don't need us to get going now?" Hannah asked. Her forehead wrinkled. “I thought the situation was urgent.”

Frank gave a short laugh. "They didn't seem to want our help at all. The prideful bastards."

"Besides," Angelica said, "It's only a few hours until dark, and we'd still have to make camp. I’m not taking the mechs up the mountain in the dark. This way we can get a good night's sleep on the airship and move out before first light."

Angelica had a strange idea of what constitutes a good night's sleep. But I couldn't disagree with one fewer night camping out.

Angelica had underestimated how long it would take. Unloading the mechs while ballasting up the airship was a slow process. I had been told before and was told during the process that there are faster ways to do it. But since they had the time available, they took it. At least that was the excuse they used. I think they were just skittish about the strange Russian airship. It kind of reminded me of that one science fiction movie where the crew was using a captured enemy ship.

Either way, they took their sweet time, hooking each mech to the overhead crane, getting a weight measurement on it, and ballasting up the airship to match.

As each mech rolled off the airship, we got it lined up and attached the gear we had prepared. The riders all hung out chatting and giving us feedback on the gear loadout. As we finished loading each mech, they'd take a couple of laps around the field to see how the equipment rode. We made final adjustments to the packs then lined them up and fueled them.

When all was said and done, we would have only managed to get an hour or two down the road before dark anyway. Twice during the proceedings, I thought I saw a golem standing in the distance watching us. That was weird.

There was a hushed feeling in the air as I woke up before dawn. An airship steward knocked on my cabin door and told me in a subdued voice that it was time. I stamped into my boots, pulled on my uniform, and went down. Everyone was slinging the last of their gear, either in a truck or onto a mech. Sergeant Wysocki took his place in the truck. I was riding in the car in the front. As we finished our final preparations, the crew of the airship moved between us, distributing mugs of coffee and hot breakfast sandwiches. Their voices were quiet, as if not wanting to wake the world, as they wished us good luck.

Our infantry escort – a dozen Polish privates and corporals – squeezed into the truck and we set off in the pre-dawn dark. The car led the convoy, with its headlights lighting up the road, and the truck brought up the rear. Each of the mechs had onboard headlights, which weren't very bright, but did the job for the hour or so before the sun was up.

It was eerie driving down the country lane to the chug of two engines and the thud of five pairs of feet. Soon enough, roosters were crowing and farmhouses were awakening. As we passed, we received curious looks and the occasional wave from farmers and their wives starting their day.

In the car, I had a private driving and Captain Lewis to keep me company. Frank had assigned himself as gunner in the back with a light machine gun, with yet another private to load for him. We were as ready as we could be.

We stopped twice before lunch, once when a pack fell off Tamara’s mech, and another time when the engine on the truck died and wouldn't restart. But that was why vehicles of that era always carried tools, and we had it up and running before long.

Twice we were passed by motorcycle messengers, one going each direction. We tried to flag them down to ask for news, but they ignored us. Other than that, the only traffic was horse-drawn farmers' wagons, which pulled over to let us by and watched us pass with wide eyes and a bit of nervous stamping.

We had reached the foot of the mountains and were entering the mouth of the pass when we stopped for lunch. Several hampers of sandwiches were broken open and passed around, along with jugs of tea.

As we ate Angelica walked Eva through the basics of loading and unloading an autocannon. Now her mech stood fidgeting with its weapon, cycling rounds into the chamber until the magazine was empty. I went and loaded the rounds back into it and returned it to a bandolier pouch on her mech's torso.

Before setting out again, we adjusted our loads and made sure each mech was configured for battle. We left the gear strapped to their backs but checked their weapons and spare ammunition canisters. We also topped off their desh supplies. Sergeant Wysocki went and lined up the troops from the wheeled vehicles and gave them an impromptu inspection of firearms and basic equipment. I left him to it while I gave the mechs a final once-over. We were as ready as we could be for combat.

Sergeant Wysocki had organized the troops into pairs. Each pair was assigned a mech to support. Both would carry rifles. One man of each pair also carried a double pack of supplies, and the other a satchel full of tools and mech parts. It was difficult for a man afoot to keep up with a Hussar, but there were many situations where a rider might need some extra sets of hands or even just a little covering fire during maintenance. When we were prepared to move out, all the men piled back in the truck, but now they were organized by their two-man teams and had their assignments of which mechs they were supporting.

Wysocki himself was one of the men assigned to Angelica's team. The rest of the teams comprised a corporal and a private. With the two privates assigned to my car and one driving the truck, that accounted for all twelve of our men.

We made good time up the mountain pass. The road was rough and bumpy. The vehicles, especially the truck, were not particularly speedy as they climbed the winding mountain road.

We passed two groups of ambulances and another messenger coming down the pass on horseback. Only one stopped briefly to talk to us. The news was grim. There was heavy fighting up the pass and Hungarian forces were steadily falling back. We started to hear rumbles in the distance when the angles of the valley were just right to let the sound of artillery reach our ears.

The road twisted up the narrow ravine. Here and there it widened almost enough to be called a valley. All the while a swift running river kept us company.

The river dwindled to less than a creek and the road left its course to wind up the tree-clad side of the canyon. It took over an hour to get our vehicles to the top of the rough stretch of road. We eventually resorted to using the mechs to tow them up the slope. Their heavy metal feet digging deep into the soft earth or catching firm-purpose perches on rock outcroppings.

When we finally reached the top of this pass, we had a spectacular view ahead of us and behind us. We could see all the way back to the valley, and I thought I could make out the airship parked near Joseni. There were several trails of smoke rising in that direction that I hadn't remembered when we were in town. Hopefully just farmers burning debris in the fields.

A pass can be a confusing term for those not used to high mountains. The word ‘pass’ meant the mountain valleys and canyons leading up to a saddle between mountains. The saddle itself was a low point between peaks, but the highest point along the pass. This point was also called the ‘pass’ and would usually give the rest of the route its name. The pass we were traveling had a high point closer to the Transylvanian side than the Romanian side of the mountains.

The Russians were still somewhere ahead of us and below us. We started down the far side of the pass. The steep walls of the canyon quickly blocked the light and the day for us grew cold. Then the rain started. The road quickly grew slick and treacherous. Our pace slowed to a crawl as the daylight began to fade. Soon we had no choice but to find a place and made camp.

"How do you aim?"

The girls looked up from their tin plates at my question. There was a moment of silence, with only the campfire crackling and the wind in the pines. We had a couple tarps strung between trees and mechs. We all set around a pair of large campfires, huddled and clutching hot mugs of soup. The girls clumped together around one fire, the infantry soldiers keeping their distance around the larger fire. Frank and I were sitting with the girls, while Sergeant Wysocki rode herd on the men.

Veronica answered. "You can just feel the flows of magic around you. There's a sense of where the bullet will go. It's like fate."

The others all burst out laughing.

"She's just yanking your chain," Tamara said. "It’s just hard work and practice. Lots and lots of practice." Veronica seemed a bit upset by their laughter, but she remained silent. Tamara went on. "There's more to it than that. First of all, the main thing is that you're on the right shoulder."

"Which one's the right one?"

I got several quizzical glances. "The one that's not the left one," Tamara said.

"Oh, right, right. Why is that important?"

Again, I got some incredulous looks. It was Eva that answered. "Because then you're above the gun."

Angelica flashed her a smile. “Exactly.”

That made me feel stupid. Even the girl that had never fired a gun from a mech saw the obvious. My head was chock-full of book knowledge, including at least one entire course on mech tactics. But somehow, it just wasn't real until I saw it in action or heard an explanation that called those pieces of information to my conscious mind. Then things would slot into place and make sense. Of course, it was easier to aim a gun if you were directly above it.

“With a sniper rifle,” Tamara set down her plate and mimed holding a rifle. "I can actually sight down it when it comes up to the mech's shoulder. You can sort of use the mech's own vision, but it's hard to have a frame of reference for where its head is pointed. It takes a lot of practice. Mostly, you just get a sense for it."

"You're from America, isn't that how they teach you?" Eva asked. "Like the old gunfighters?" She made two finger pistols and shot from the hip. “Bang bang bang!"

She was right, although that wasn't how I'd been trained. The gunfighters of the Old West didn't aim, they pointed. Like pointing a finger. Practice enough and you develop an intuitive sense of where your gun is pointed, like it's an extension of you. That worked for revolvers and other handguns, but wasn't how the U.S. Army teaches its recruits to shoot a rifle.

"It's one of the things that limits how effective mechs can be," Angelica said. "Trying to fire a cannon while moving." She shrugged. "You just can't expect to hit anything unless it's really close."

I frowned. Somehow, that seemed like the wrong answer, but I couldn't figure out why I felt that way. There had to be better methods.

Eva's mech sat at the edge of the firelight, just outside our circle, next to the other mechs, sitting crouched in a line. With a snick of sliding metal, her mech slid open the action of the autocannon across its knees. There was a clang and a thud as a heavy shell fell to the ground. I appreciated that the autocannon was pointing out into the darkness away from all of us.

Angelica looked up. "Good, good, you're getting better at that. Keep trying to do it while we're eating. It's important you get the feel for having your mech work the action even when you're distracted with other tasks."

Eva ducked her head and looked embarrassed. "I wasn't really paying attention."

Angelica frowned but said nothing. I could tell she was bothered by Eva's admission, and it disrupted whatever training lecture she’d had in mind.

My own curiosity had been distracted by Veronica's reaction. She was sitting across the fire from me, playing with her spoon against her nearly empty plate. "Lieutenant Veronica, what did you mean by that, by the flow of magic? I've never heard anyone talk about that before."

Veronica looked back down at her food. "It was nothing."

I could tell she was lying, probably out of embarrassment, and I leaned in. "I'm trying to learn all I can about this world and about how magic works. I thought it came from desh and then flowed into girls, and then they used it. I've never heard of it being in other places or doing other things."

Veronica hesitated, and Tamara jumped in to answer. "Well, first they have to get the raw desh out of the earth, don't they?"

“Where does it come from?” Somehow it hadn't occurred to me before to ask. It was just a weird magical thing about this weird world I’d found myself in.

"From special springs," Hannah said. "The priests say they're holy sites. The water that comes from them can be purified into desh and bottled to use in a desh engine, the heart of a mech."

I was about to ask more about the springs, when Eva's mech worked the action on its cannon again, dropping another shell to the earth. I was going to have to clean those off and reload them in the magazine soon.

"It flows everywhere," Veronica spoke softly, but everyone turned to look at her. "It's the breath of the world, and it flows through everything. I don't know why more of it's in the spring or how they bottle it, but I know it's all around us all the time. If I close my eyes, I can feel it."

Tamara was frowning. "That's just a bunch of..."

I held up my hand. "Please, I want to learn." Or at the very least, I want to enhance unit cohesion, I thought to myself. But I was actually curious about what she was saying. "How do you feel it?" It was a vague, open-ended question, but I wanted to keep her talking.

"I close my eyes and focus." She leaned back and closed her eyes, "I can feel it flowing around me. It's stronger in the riders and in our robots. But it's still everywhere. It swirls around people that are doing things."

I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but I didn't dare break the spell. I wanted her to open up to the team. The others were staring at her intently. She kept going, her husky voice rising slightly as she spoke. "I can feel when they're going to do things. Move or shoot, summon their mech or swing a sword. I can feel it before it even happens, if I focus on the flow. Like eddies in a river, flowing over rocks hidden under the current."

Tamara opened her mouth to say something, but Angelica spoke up first. "You can feel the future?" she asked.

Veronica, eyes still closed, shrugged. "More like I can feel their intent, what they're about to do. It's no more than an instant ahead. I can't feel anything beyond that. Just what someone is starting to do." She opened her eyes, then looked away from the others. "That's just what it feels like. I'm sure it's a lot of nonsense."

"It sounded like nonsense," Tamara said, but the mockery was gone from her voice. "But I don't think you're a liar. I don't feel that when I close my eyes. But sometimes… " Tamara leaned forward. She held out a hand like she was grasping a rifle stock, trigger finger ready to pull. "When I'm really focused on my target, and I start to squeeze, I sometimes feel like I know what they're going to do next. If they’re going to turn, or duck, or stop walking. And in that instant, I just shift my aim and fire. I've never really thought about it too much. I guess I always thought I just had a good sense of what a target was going to do. Like I was reading something in their body language, the way they were moving or shifting.” She hesitated, clearly recalling something. No one spoke. No one even breathed loudly. “There was this one time when someone tripped. He was just walking along, and he tripped. Nothing he intended to do. Nothing he planned for. His foot caught on something, and over he went . I was so focused on him, I didn't even see what he tripped on. But just before it happened, I jerked my aim down and fired. And I still hit him. Right through the head, before he even reached the ground. That wasn't intent. That wasn't body language." She looked up with an almost pleading expression. "How did I know?"