Fianna Kelly Versus the Jeebees: A Collection of Steampunk Stories Page 3

  Upon returning from breakfast, the duty officer was surprised to see me. "Are you done with breakfast already? I have three wagons headed East this morning that could accommodate you and your automaton."

  "That's wonderful!" I said. "When does the first one leave?"

  "They are all leaving at ten o'clock. The Base Commander would like to meet with you before you leave though."

  A Sergeant escorted me into a two-story brick building, through several hallways that seemed like a maze in their placement, and into an office. The left wall of the office was a bookcase sparsely populated with books and knick-knacks. The right wall had four framed certificates arranged in a square. In between them was a large wooden desk with papers arranged in orderly piles on it. He had two wooden chairs on my side of the desk; they looked intentionally uncomfortable to keep any visitor's time here to a minimum.

  The man on the other side of the desk had the look that shouted "career military". He had short black hair and a moustache, both trimmed as exacting as his papers and certificates. Behind him stood a small man with his arms folded in front of him.

  "Please have a seat. I am Colonel Reynolds and the man behind me is Albert. He is what we call a soldier-servant. He serves our country by assisting me."

  "I am pleased to meet you both. I am Fianna Kelly," I said as I sat down.

  "Have you heard the expression that an army runs on its stomachs? Well, the modern army runs on paperwork. I am in the middle of some paperwork here you might be interested in. This small stack here on my right is the direct result of your actions."

  "I am sorry to be such a burden to you. I am just trying to get to Wimbledon for the International Firearms Tournament"

  "You have mistaken my meaning. That single sheet of paper on my left is the roster of men missing in action this month. I'd much rather have your stacks of papers than that single sheet. That is why I sent for you today. I want to hear your story from the moment you got off the boat from Ireland to you showing up in my office this morning. I fully intend to reduce the names on that roster next month by figuring out what you did right and what we have been doing wrong."

  "I don't want to be rude, but we need to be going or we'll be late."

  "I can offer you another option than to travel by wagon."

  "Do you have an airship? My father forbids our family to travel by air."

  "No, but I have a fast locomotive preparing to leave tomorrow morning."

  "The tickets aren't expensive, are they?"

  "You can earn your passage by doing us a simple favour. Now, if you will tell us about your journey here, we will listen."

  The Colonel listened politely to my story for the next two hours. He only had me pause once; it was just after I told him about spending the night at the farmhouse. He whispered something to Albert who ran out of the room for a minute.

  When I finished, he said, "You have been modest in your telling of your story. The men stated you were very brave. When the G.B.H.I.s attacked, you fired back at them without hesitation."

  "I did, to be sure. Is that a bad thing?" I replied.

  He sighed, "If something like that happens again, please fire from behind the barricade."

  "I have not been schooled in the ways of war. I was just reacting to the warning."

  "On that note, I have had time to consider what should be done with your metallic friend. There is nothing else quite like it that we know of. Most automatons can barely walk, much less think. Is it to be treated as spoils of war and stored in a warehouse? Should we introduce it to our scientists in the hope they could make ones who will fight with us? Do we act out of fear and destroy it lest it turn against us?"

  I said, "Why would you do any of those horrible things? He has done nothing to warrant such treatment."

  Albert said, "We could say we didn't notice it, except it's so big."

  The Colonel ignored Albert and said to me, "Miss, you are quite correct. I have chosen to not make any of those decisions. Since it is with you, I have granted it safe passage as if it had its own passport."

  I didn't know how to reply. This man was nothing like what I had heard British military officers were like. Either he was an exception or the people who told me about the British were mistaken.

  "As I was saying about a favour. I believe we are in the position to assist one another. You need a fast ride to London in order to get there before Saturday. We have a private locomotive preparing to leave tomorrow morning to transport a new weapon to London. We could benefit from knowing if there are any G.B.H.I.s along the route."

  "Do you expect them to attack?"

  "No, I'd just like you to mark any G.B.H.I.s your automaton discovers on a map. If you agree to this exchange of services, I will make arrangements for your rail-car."

  "I agree, to be sure. That's wonderful!"

  The Colonel smiled at me and said, "Follow me, Miss, and I will show you what you will be looking after. Have you ever heard of a railway gun?"

  I shook my head.

  "It is a large naval cannon mounted on a flatcar so a locomotive can take it into land battles."

  We walked a short distance to where a locomotive was idling on the tracks. It looked of recent construction and had a tender, flatcar, a couple of boxcars, and a brake van behind it. I noticed something resembling a Gatling gun mounted on the flatcar, but it was unlike the one I had seen before. Beside it was a panel with almost a dozen gauges mounted on it. Albert went up to the engine to talk with the fireman while the Colonel and I continued to the flatcar. Two soldiers were leaning on it.

  "Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Mills and Lieutenant Reed. They are trained to operate and maintain the railway gun. This is Fianna Kelly. I'm sure you have already heard about her."

  I blushed and curtsied. "I am pleased to meet you."

  "How long before you can give a demonstration to our guest?"

  Lieutenant Mills pulled himself up on the flatcar and checked the gauges. "You are in luck. We are ready now."

  Lieutenant Reed grabbed a wooden target, mounted a horse, and set off at a gallop down the road while Lieutenant Mills busied himself with an assortment of controls while glancing at the gauges frequently.

  I thought about men with their toys and how they just can't resist showing off. I sighed. Perhaps I will do the same if I had a shiny new rifle, but I didn't think so. It was something that men did, not women.

  The Colonel pondered for a moment and asked me, "Do you know how magnets attract iron?"

  I was going to tell him that I was not some stupid girl, but instead gave him a glaring look that was just as good.

  He continued, "Well, what this gun does is put a series of magnets in front of the bullet to pull it forward at incredible speeds. It doesn't need any shell casings. The ammunition is all bullet. It doesn't use gunpowder so there is no chance of a powder magazine explosion during intense firefights. It has the destructive power of a small cannon with a much higher rate of fire."

  We heard a gunshot from the direction Lieutenant Reed had gone. "That's the signal," the Colonel stated. He led me over to a telescope on a tripod that I hadn't noticed before. "Look through here. You will be able to clearly see the target on that small hill. It is precisely two miles away."

  "Surely, you can't hit anything that far away with such a small gun. The best I can do with any accuracy is 700 yards," I replied rather smugly.

  "Just watch and see what happens."

  He motioned to Lieutenant Mills. I heard a sound like a crack of a whip and a second later the target I was looking at was wooden shavings in the distance.

  He said, "Did I mention it hardly makes any noise? All you hear from the gun itself is the bullet as it accelerates away."

  Colonel Reynolds was smiling with pride at his weapon as I stood with my mouth slightly open, stunned. I thought about the prospect of this and asked him, "Could one of these be made smaller, like the size of my rifle?"

  "No, you see the locomotive is no
t just to transport it. The engine is specially fitted to provide the enormous amount of electricity the weapon takes to fire. Plus, even though the gun looks small, it has the recoil of a cannon."

  "I would guess so."

  "I would like you to visit the gunsmith while you are here. You helped our men fight the jeebees; we may be able to assist you with your competition."

  I was about to object, but I knew a dismissal when I heard it. I had gotten many of them in my life. I figured the Colonel had run out of things to tell me.

  I looked at the Colonel. Well not quite at him; more like at his feet. "If I could request a favour..." I started, "It's not for me, but it kind of is for me too... Well, it's for Bradan."

  "Is that what you call that huge boiler on legs that walks around in circles whenever you are out of its sight?" He said with a smile.

  "That's him," I laughed. "I don't think he can ask for himself, but once you have a skilled engineer... I don't want you to infer that I can't keep him going... I could follow his directions when I had the books, but we left those back at the farmhouse... He knows what he needs. Once you have someone here who actually knows about steam engines... I am sure he would appreciate a good check if you know what I mean. The jeebees were killing him slowly when I came along and I'm not sure I got all his parts back in place properly."

  "Well, I could lie to you and say we have the best men who work on steam engines here. Instead I will tell you that the ones we have on the base are very good and I personally guarantee that only good things will happen to your metal friend while in our machine shop."

  "You will tell them to pay attention to the words on his chest. That is how he communicates."

  "I suggest you voice your concerns when you meet the engineer. I'll have Albert escort you to him on your way to see the gunsmith."

  The chief engineer was ecstatic to check out Bradan. He walked around him, inspecting everything closely, while talking about what a marvellous machine it was. While he had worked on automatons before, he had never worked on a walking steam engine. He assured me that the principles were the same; boilers, pistons, and gears.

  The gunsmith's office was just down the hall from the engineer's. A piece of paper was tacked onto it. It read:

  If you are that woman sharpshooter, I am at the range. If you aren't, I have left on holiday.

  When Albert and I arrived at the range, I noticed a balding man fiddling with a small telescope. When we approached, he looked up from his work.

  Albert introduced us. "Fianna, this is David Buckley, our resident gunsmith. David, this is Fianna Kelly, that woman sharpshooter."

  I thought that was funny, but I just smiled and curtsied. Albert excused himself, having many errands for the Colonel awaiting him. I looked back at the gunsmith and wondered what I was doing here.

  "Miss Kelly, have you ever heard of a French engineer named Fresnel?" He did not wait for my reply, but kept talking. "Not many have. He is best known for designing lenses for lighthouses. We were trying to apply his work to make a lightweight telescope for mounting on rifles. It was too fuzzy. You could be aiming at the moon as easily as a target with it. Now we have this one which uses a lighter tube, made of an aluminium alloy, to hold standard lenses.

  He put down the telescope and appraised me. This was in the usual way that men always do and I had gotten used to since I reached puberty. Perhaps my mother was right to say I should wear long skirts.

  He said, "I see you have a Martini-Henry Infantry Rifle MK II. It's a fine rifle you have there; for Yanks, and young women that is."

  Perhaps he wasn't looking so much at me, but at my rifle. It would require a close inspection for most people to determine the version while it was on my back.

  He went on, "Please don't take offence. I have heard the story of your travel and you have done very well with that rifle. I found something that will serve you better at your competitions. Before I show it to you, let me tell you about it."

  I was still thinking about the railway gun while he related stories of this new rifle. I would love to be able to hit targets miles away and so fast that I could almost ignore gravity and wind effects. I tried to look interested and just nodded in the places that he appeared to be expecting that kind of response. I was almost willing to do anything to get back and get a closer look at the railway gun. I wanted to know how to work it. He continued on explaining about this rifle for far too long.

  Then he showed it to me. I was stunned. It was beautiful. This must have been made for a king or ruler of a distant land. He had mentioned something about a pattern welded steel or was it Damascus steel barrel. It looked like it had long strings, folded back and forth on themselves, along the length of the barrel. There was a process that gave the barrel an amber colour. I forgot what he called it. Whatever it was, it brought out details that would have been hidden in a blackened or silver barrel. Maybe I should have paid more attention to what he was saying.

  He was going to give it to me. What had I done to deserve this? When he held it out for me, I took it carefully. Were my hands clean? I opened the breech and checked the action. Smooth and easy, not sloppy. It wasn't muzzle-heavy like my rifle, but balanced at the hand-guard. It was easy to control when I put it to my shoulder. I could only hope that this wonderful rifle fired straight. One could never tell if this was only good for a show piece. They wouldn't give me something that wasn't working, would they? He said something about it being good for tournaments. This rifle surely had to be better than mine.

  He started talking again, and I started listening. "Let me tell you about the cartridges. You know, the French came up with something called white powder for their cartridges. We improved it into what we call Cordite. Forget your old black powder cartridges. These new ones have none of that nasty smoke to get in your pretty green eyes."

  He appeared to have overlooked my goggles which I always wear for that reason. They were on my forehead now keeping my hair held back from my face. I slid them down over my eyes and pointed at them. He looked embarrassed which was what he deserved. I pushed them back up and smiled.

  I said, "I could use a few more cartridges for my rifle. I came to England for a competition, not a war. Do you have those in .450 calibre too?"

  "Do you have an emotional attachment to your current rifle? Is it like a family heirloom or birthday present?"

  "No, I just know it well and I like it."

  "I can tell by the way you are looking at the Enfield-Martini that you are falling in love with it. You won't look twice at your other rifle once you fire it."

  "It seems a shame to fire it. It looks so pristine."

  "It won't be the first time it's been fired. It was sent to us for evaluation. Most of those we test and send back to be melted down. I couldn't bear to see this one go back, even if I couldn't find a military use for it."

  I asked, "So what would you use it for?"

  "You haven't been paying enough attention. This rifle is best used for target shooting. Every modification that was made to it, no matter the reason, made it suited for competition."

  "I don't know what to say." I really didn't.

  "And not to impose..." he started, "You don't have to take my advice... but a rifle like this should have a name, just like the finest swords of legend... And you must take good care of it, get to know it intimately."

  I stifled a laugh. The idea of naming a rifle was funny. And he looked so serious. He probably expected me to sleep with it under the blankets. I tried to keep that image from my mind; and failed.

  I replied, "I will take good care of it."

  "The word going around is that you saved two soldiers from hundreds of jeebees? Where do you keep all the cartridges?"

  "I have a special pocket on my skirt which holds eight. Since there were only six jeebees, I had enough."

  "Did I mention that you can attach a magazine of eight cartridges onto the right side of this rifle? You won't need to keep them in your skirt any longer."


  I laughed and said, "I have to admit that it was embarrassing to walk around making that clicking noise."

  "Have you ever fired a rifle using a telescope for a sight before?"

  "I haven't."

  He said, "You need to get comfortable with the telescope first. It is an important part of this rifle. It is different from most in that you can adjust the magnification. The adjustment nearest you controls that. The other one controls the focus. However, when you change one, you disturb the other. Try it out. When you feel okay with it, I'll show you how it mounts on the rifle."

  He was right. Just when I'd get one setting right, the other would go wrong. This was frustrating as it would seldom end up where I wanted it. After a minute, I realised setting the magnification too high then adjusting the focus would reduce it to where I wanted it in the first place.

  I looked over at him and he continued, "Now you know how to set it, you need to work on where to set it. You want to set it so your target is always in view, especially when you or whatever you are standing on is unsteady. With it on your rifle, set it as close as you can on the nearest target. Try to keep the centre in view at all times."

  This was another challenge and even more frustrating than before. Trying to hold the rifle on target with one hand while adjusting the telescope with the other was difficult.

  I asked, "Why can't I just use the sight on the barrel? Those have always worked well for me."

  "I don't know why you can't, but I don't know why you'd want to either. Keep working at it and you'll see what I mean."

  I finally got it where the target bobbed up and down as I breathed, but stayed in view. I even got it properly focused. It was nice to see the target up close instead of aiming for a red dot in the distance. I think that was what he meant about not wanting to use the steel sights when I had the telescope as an option."

  "You might want to loosen your corset; get some more air in your lungs."

  I looked at him sharply, then realised that he could hardly know the advantages of a well-fitted corset, "I have better breath control with it tight, thank you."

  "Let's sight it in now. I'm sure you know how to do that. Start with the nearest target."