The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3) (26 page)

Suddenly, without giving
an
y warning
of his intentions, Dusty took a step in Grilpan’s direction. The
soldier spread apart his arms, ready to engulf his victim. Back
hurled the small Texan’s right arm bending as it moved. The point
of his elbow smashed, with all the power of his muscular young body
behind it, full into the Yankee’s
solar plexus.
It was a devastating blow, delivered
with force and precision. Completely unprepared, Grilpan felt as if
he had been struck in the chest by a cannonball. Letting out a
strangled, agonized croak, he blundered to the rear.

As soon as Dusty had completed
the attack on Grilpan, he turned his attention to the sergeant. An
experienced brawler, Block had had his suspicions lulled by the
visitors
’
appearances and behavior. So he had not expected such violent
opposition on the part of what he assumed to be a small,
insignificant Negro. He very quickly learned that appearances could
be deceptive. Unfortunately, the lesson was not one from which he
would derive any lasting benefit.

Pivoting to the right as
he completed the
attack on Grilpan, Dusty drew his bent left arm across his chest.
Then he reversed his direction and used the momentum of his turn to
provide impetus as his arm extended and swung in an arc. He held
his left hand clenched, but did not strike in the conventional
Occidental manner. Instead, he used it as the
uraken,
back fist, of
karate
as he had been
taught by his uncle’s Japanese servant.

The protruding root of
Dusty
’s
second finger struck Block just under the nose, grinding savagely
into the philtrum collection of nerves in the center of the top
lip. Raw agony ripped through the sergeant, blinding him with
involuntary tears and causing him to release his grasp of the saber
as he reeled back a few steps. The point of the weapon spiked into
the ground and it stood almost erect.

Still moving with the same
devastating speed, Dusty rushed towards Dasour. Swerving around the
nearest of the boats, the man skidded to a halt. For a vitally
important moment, he was frozen into immobility by what he
was
seeing
happen to his companion. Belatedly, he tried to bring his rifle
into a firing position.

Sprinting forward, Dusty sprang
into the air. As he rose, he drew up and bent his right leg. At the
height of his leap, he thrust forward the leg. The bottom of his
foot smashed as hard as his gluteus muscles could force it against
the top of Dasour
’s chest. As Dusty rebounded from the leaping side kick,
the soldier was pitched backwards. Dasour’s legs struck the side of
the boat and he overbalanced. Falling backwards, his shoulders
crashed into the opposite side and his head snapped downwards with
an audible crack.

‘
Dusty!’ Harry cried, reaching behind her and trying to
liberate the Pocket Pistol as she stared from Block to
Grilpan.

The latter was hanging against
the side of the Vandenburg, trying to refill his lungs.
Already, however,
the sergeant was wiping his eyes with his left knuckles, while his
right hand clawed at the flap of his holster.

Alighting from the kick, Dusty
flung himself back in the way from which he had come. Reaching out,
he caught hold of the
saber and plucked it from the ground. Instantly,
he realized that it was not the heavy, awkward, U.S. Army Model of
1840 pattern that was unflatteringly known as the ‘Old
Wrist-Breaker’. In size, weight and balance, it came close to his
own Haiman Brothers’ saber. Looking down, he realized that he held
Staunce’s British-made Light Artillery weapon. That implied that
his friend was dead. Probably the sergeant was responsible for
whatever had happened to Staunce and had also killed
Eric.

Already Block had the holster
flap open and the Colt was coming from it. Two bounding strides
carried Dusty into range and he delivered a
backhand swing. Although Block
saw what was coming, his brain reacted far too slowly. Hissing
through the air, the edge of the blade sliced into the side of his
neck and almost decapitated him. Dusty had no trouble in liberating
his weapon.

Harry let out a muffled scream
and turned around to hide the hideous sight from her gaze. With the
head tilted at an unnatural angle and blood spurting from the
wound, Block
’s body stood for a moment. Then it toppled
sideways.

Ignoring the girl for the
moment, the small Texan turned on Grilpan. The soldier was clawing
at his rifle. Darting forward as if making a
fleche
attack, Dusty lunged and thrust with
the saber. Its point passed below Grilpan’s arm and into his chest.
Stiffening, Grilpan dropped the rifle. As Dusty withdrew the
saber’s blade, he crumpled face down and lay still.

‘
All
right, Harry,’ Dusty said gently, walking towards the girl. ‘It’s
all over now.’

‘
Oh
lord!’ moaned Harry, feeling as if she would collapse and fetch up.
‘It was terrible.’

‘
It
always is,’ Dusty answered, taking her by the arm. ‘Come on. You’d
best go and see if you can get to Mama Lukie. While you’re doing
it, I’ll tend to the gun.’

Leading Harry behind the
Vandenburg, Dusty saved her from needing to look again at the
bodies. Then, after watching her hurrying towards the
Negroes
’
homes, he collected
his weapons from their boat. Strapping on the gun belt, he
went to the boat in which Dasour was lying. A quick examination
told the small Texan that the man was of no further danger to him.
In falling backwards, Dasour had broken his neck.

Returning to the Vandenburg,
Dusty grasped the handles of the breech mechanism. Turning them, he
unscrewed and drew the breech along its key-way until it tilted
upright on the piece
’s stock. Listening for any sounds to suggest that Harry
had been discovered by the Yankees, he removed the ninety-eight
cartridges from their individual chambers and tossed each one into
the water. After taking out and disposing of the central charge
which, on being ignited by a percussion cap, would have set off
every cartridge, he closed and screwed home the breech. Reloading
the weapon was a lengthy process. So, providing that the Negroes
could take to the boats without being detected, they were safe from
the Volley Gun.

‘
I’ll
hit the island with every shell,’ Sergeant Major
Smalley told Eli Cable as they stood watching the big gun being
loaded. ‘But at this range I couldn’t say where in a hundred yards’
square the shells’ll drop. One thing I’ll promise is that I’ll try
to keep them away from your home.’

‘
I’d
rather you tried to avoid hitting my people’s homes,’ the engineer
answered. ‘They’ll need somewhere to live and I’ve an idea that it
will be a long time before Harry and I can call Cable Grange our
home again.’

The evacuation of the island
had taken place successfully. On reaching Mama
Lukie
’s
house, Harriet Cable had found the old woman ready. It almost
seemed that Mama Lukie had used her strange powers and discovered
that the attempt would be made. Swiftly the Negress and her husband
had alerted the rest of Cable’s employees. Although there were
guards at the bridge, the rest of the soldiers had been in bed. So
the Negroes had been able to slip away undetected. A couple of the
boats had been crowded, but there had been sufficient to transport
all the party to the southern side of Nimrod Lake in one trip.
Dusty’s precautions with the Vandenburg had proven to be
unnecessary, which did not cause him to regret having taken
them.

Having completed the first and
most important part of his assignment
—Oscar had told him what had happened to
Captain Staunce, having witnessed the duel from the garden once
more—Dusty had wondered if he could take advantage of the island’s
unguarded state. Unfortunately, before he could make the necessary
arrangements, the alarm had been raised.

What had happened was that,
when Sergeant Bl
ock did not return to the guardhouse, its occupants became
suspicious. Block had never been noted for his devotion to duty
and, as there had been an undercurrent of unrest amongst the
Negroes all day, the corporal sent soldiers to investigate. They
discovered that the houses were deserted and, going to the rear of
the island, had found the three bodies. So they had aroused the
rest of their party.

Rather than chance losing men, Dusty had
decided to wait until dawn and continue with his original idea.

So Dusty was on the northern side of the
lake, with half of his Company and the two prisoners. As yet, they
had not shown themselves. While they remained in concealment, about
a mile from the bridge, he lay hidden behind a bush and kept watch
through his field glasses.

Established on a piece of level
ground about three thousand, one hundred yards from the island, the
Parrot 30-Pounder rifle was being crewed by eight of mountain
battery
’s
most experienced men. All had served with siege guns in the British
Army and Smalley felt sure that they could handle their newly
acquired piece in a satisfactory manner.

Fixed rounds were not practical
for use in such a massive gun, so the load was split into its two
major components. Already the three and three-quarters of a pound
powder charge had been thrust down the barrel. The twenty-seven and
a half pound shell had also been forced home with the cup-headed
rifle rammer, which had to be used to prevent pressure igniting the
fuse in the shell
’s nose. With that done, the temporary chief of piece had
caused the trail to be levered into alignment and laid the
adjustable rear sight upon the workshop. Twirling the elevating
screw, he had tilted the barrel to an angle of eight degrees. When
all the preparations had been carried out, he grasped the end of
the lanyard and retreated to the left and rear of the
gun.

‘
Ready!’ the sergeant announced to Smalley.

Before replying, the sergeant
major swung his eyes to Harry and Gable. The engineer exchanged
glances with his
daughter. Setting his face into a grim mask, Cable slowly
nodded his head.

‘
F
ire!’ Smalley commanded and raised his field glasses to
observe the fall of the shell.

Giving a sharp tug at the
lanyard, the chief of piece activated the firing process. Causing a
deep roar and a gushing cloud of white smoke, the Parrot ejected
its shell and bounded rearwards with the force of the recoil. There
was no need to hurry with the reloading, for they were not
to fire again until
a minute had gone by. So the crew turned their gazes to the distant
island, as did Harry, her father, and every other man present.
Eleven and a half seconds dragged by without anything happening.
Just as Harry was thinking that the shell must have missed, or
failed to go off, there was an eruption of earth about ten yards to
the east of the workshop.

‘
Did
you see the fall, sergeant?’ Smalley inquired.

‘
Yes,
sir,’ answered the non-com.

‘
Reload and make ready,’ Smalley ordered. ‘See if you can
get the next one on the target.’

~*~

In the
dining room of the mansion, Monica
Cable was seated at the table and complaining bitterly over the
poor service now that the servants had taken their departure. Her
words were directed at an entirely unsympathetic Major Lyle. For
his part, the officer had other, more serious reasons for being
alarmed by the incidents of the previous night. He suspected that
the Negroes had learned of ‘Schmidt’s’ visit and its consequences.
They had been restless ever since Harriet Cable had fled, but it
was too much of a coincidence to believe that they would have
chosen that particular night to escape. So he was worried about the
story they would tell, if they should meet the captain’s escort.
With Block and Grilpan dead, Lyle might find great difficulty in
explaining how ‘Schmidt’ had come to be killed. Nor did the major
have such a strong hold over the remainder of his men. It was fears
for their own safety, in case the Negroes should return to avenge
the insults and humiliations received at the soldiers’ hands,
rather than a desire to accept discipline which had kept them at
their posts and awake all night.

‘
Don’t
you have a better cook?’ Monica was saying, when the shell arrived
and exploded.

Throwing over his chair as he
sprang up, Lyle ignored the woman
’s startled shriek. He darted from the
room, across the hall and out of the building. Staring around, he
saw a number of his men rushing towards the western end of the
island. Sprinting in that direction, he joined them around a
smoking crater.

‘
What
happened?’ Lyle barked, addressing the corporal who was
present.

‘
I’m
damned if I know, major,’ the non-com replied. ‘I was down at the
guard house and heard the bang.’

‘
It
come from over there,’ one of the enlisted men stated, pointing to
the southern side of the lake. ‘I heard it whistle over, just like
when we was training with that big gun.’