Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Books 2 & 3

A blast wave slammed into and staggered me, knocking me forward onto the top of the train car and dropping closed the hatch I’d just opened. The deafening roar disoriented me for a moment. For an instant I thought Natasha’s fortress had scored on the train, but I saw the cloud of smoke rising from a cannon barrel from the next car up. The car had two big turrets, fore and aft, with stubby gun barrels. They hadn’t been firing at me at all, but the blow-back was enough to throw me for a loop. Of course, the swaying train car to which I clung didn’t help with that.

There was a squeal of metal from the side of the train as a machine gun barrel slid out of a firing port. The gun roared to life and hammered a string of bullets toward the walking fortress.

Natasha’s fortress disappeared behind a row of apartment buildings. It was easily four or five stories tall. It had to walk on streets and dodge between the larger buildings. While it could probably trample the smaller ones, that would slow her down. A five-story collection of armor and guns might seem impressive, but in a city that had many buildings taller than that, it wasn’t exactly Godzilla.

The big cannon roared again, and the shot hit the building near Natasha had just disappeared behind. The machine gun was walking its fire across the face of the same apartments. When she appeared briefly between that building and the next, the gun scored a few hits through the gap.

That was enough of that. I swung open the hatch for a second time and peered inside.

It was dark in there, and even though the day was cloudy, my eyes had to adjust to the difference. Shapes moved inside, and the glimpses I got were strange—bits of stitched-together leathery skin and tufts of hair. Whatever they were, they weren’t particularly human. Then again, who was I to talk?

I then unslung my submachine gun and raised it. It sure would have been good to have a hand grenade just then. I fired in short bursts down into the hatch. Something screamed. Bodies moved around. I caught more glimpses of hodgepodge limbs and bits of flesh in the muzzle flash of my gun. They were an amalgamation of bits from other... things, whether people or animals, I couldn't tell.

Unlike Frankenstein's creations, which looked like he had stitched them together from mismatched limbs and bodies, these gave the impression that Noah's Ark had been fed into a blender and then superglued back together to form roughly human-shaped creatures.

I fired another burst, then I swung around to the other side of the hatch to get an angle towards the back of the car. A couple short bursts later, and nothing was moving inside.

I stepped up and then dropped into the hatch. The floor crunched and squished under my feet. There was a strange smell in the air that I couldn't identify, a wet smell that did not remind me of blood. A couple of portholes with shutters lined the wall of the car.

My eyes adjusted quickly, and I got a better look at the creatures. That didn’t make them any easier to understand, or change my first impression. They had collars around their necks with a device in the center of it. It reminded me of the zombie amulets, but larger and different, a creepy choker collar that would have made any goth kid envious. The creatures near me were unmoving. Their collars were missing that twisting green light I associated with Rasputin’s magic.

Suddenly, green flared to life from the back of the car. I spun and raised my gun. A collar was glowing in the dark, with tendrils of green energy flaring off of it.

One of the creatures stirred and sat up. It had bullet holes in its torso, all oozing a thick grey fluid nothing like blood. Its face was horrifying, lit from underneath by the green light and twisted in a sneer.

“So you decided to take up my offer of being studied after all,” it said. “Unfortunately, I’m busy with other matters. Kindly remove yourself from my train.”

I opened my mouth for a witty rejoinder, but the creature heaved itself up and flung itself at me. I blasted it in the face with 9mm from my sub-gun, and it flopped forward in a puddle of grey ooze.

I looked around me in disgust. I didn’t relish close quarters combat with more of those things. Would all of Rasputin’s train be manned with these creatures? It seemed likely.

I couldn’t tell by looking at the magazine, but my submachine gun had to be running low. I had one more loaded magazine for it. That wasn’t going to be enough. But I didn’t need to fight every car full of these things. I just needed to get towards the front of the train and find where Rasputin was hiding.

The fact that he had talked and not taken over me seemingly confirmed the suspicion I had been counting on, that if I wasn’t wearing one of his magic devices around my neck, and I wasn’t standing in a location he had booby-trapped, then he wouldn’t be able to use his mind control power on me.

I was gambling that the train was too small for a magical circle or whatever he used to set up one of those traps. Back in the castle, the effect had been limited to the throne room, so I assumed it was something he had done to the area around it. Hopefully, he couldn’t do that in a small area like the inside of a train.

In the back of the cart, near the machine gun firing slits, was a rack of strange-looking rifles. They had magazines that were a half-circle sticking below the gun and a bulky metal action. I thought they looked like something out of a crappy ‘50s science fiction serial. But when I laid my hand on one, the implanted knowledge in my brain filled me in on everything I needed to know. It was a French light machine gun with a 20-round half-circular magazine in a configuration unlike anything you would see in a modern weapon. Didn’t matter. I knew how it worked and how to fire it.

I grabbed one off the rack and slung it over my shoulder, then made a quick search of the car, looking for anything else useful. I found a revolver carried by one of the abominations, which I took and dropped into my pocket. There weren't any other weapons. Did Rasputin not trust his subordinates, or did he just lack imagination when it comes to modern warfare? I suspected the latter.

There was no way to the next car from inside. I climbed back out of the hatch, crouching once more atop the car as the train raced through the ruins of Moscow. We seemed to be reaching the suburbs now, the buildings all around lower and slightly farther apart. There was still no sign of life anywhere, not even Russian soldiers.

There was a distant rumble, and I looked around, trying to locate Natasha's fortress. It was over a mile away and falling behind us. She was moving through an area of low buildings, and the train had just rushed out on a raised trestle, so for the moment, she had a clear shot at us. Another puff issued from her fortress, and a shell roared past, plunging into the buildings beyond us. It crashed through masonry and, a moment later, exploded, bringing an entire apartment building down in a collapsed heap of rubble.

The cannon from the next car on the armored train fired and sent a shell in her direction. It missed her fortress by a wide margin. Smaller puffs were issuing from the fortress—lighter caliber weapons.

Farther down the train, there was a clang as a shell bounced off armor, and I saw a rooftop shatter between Natasha and the train as another shell landed short.

I wasn't sure if I was glad she was falling back or relieved. I didn't relish being in the middle of a duel of Titans. But if she couldn't keep up with the train and I wasn't able to stop him, then Rasputin was about to get away.

Stepping forward, I hopped onto the roof of the next car. There was a wide space between the back turret and the end of the car. I leaned over the side of the train car and saw what I expected, a two-foot-long slit in the armor at roughly head high, for shooting out of. I leaned over and jammed the barrel of my rifle into the gap. From this precarious position, I was barely able to angle the weapon towards the center of the train car.

I held down the trigger and swept it from one side to the other, emptying half the magazine rounds in the direction where I hoped the gun crews would be. Then I moved to the other side of the car and repeated the attack through the slot on that side.

The smack and whine of metal ricocheting off metal echoed in the interior. I dropped the now empty gun over the side of the train and climbed back to my feet. That was enough time wasted with this car. I had to move forward and find Rasputin.

I went down the roof, weaving between the two turrets into the cart. The train had navigated the bend in the rails and was once again chugging down smooth track. Crouched down against the pull of the slipstream, I pulled out the magic detector from my pouch. It was still giving a reading for somewhere farther up the train. I couldn't be sure, but I thought it was louder than before, which made sense. I had to be getting closer.

The car I was on did not have any gun turrets. It was merely an armored box. A glance over the side confirmed it also had firing slits, but I didn't want to waste any more ammunition on it. I moved carefully down the roof. If there were troops inside, I didn't want to alert them with footsteps on metal if I could help it. It was probably a wasted effort considering all the racket I had made with the previous car.

I stopped at the far end of this car and waved the Geiger counter around again. The tone was distinctly louder now. When I pointed it down slightly, it gave a louder squawk. It seemed certain that Rasputin was in the next car along.

I considered my bleak options. The car I stood on, directly behind Rasputin's, appeared to be a troop transport. It was likely filled with armed creatures of some kind, and I didn't want to have to deal with them. The best option would be to separate this car and the whole back of the train before confronting Rasputin himself.

I looked down between the cars and confirmed what I had hoped. There was room to get between them, and the coupler was accessible. Crouching low, I crawled between the armored roofs of the two cars, both of which protruded over the gap. Then I hung briefly and dropped onto the tiny platform between the cars.

Heavy doors on either side of me led into the cars fore and aft. Below, through the metal grate of the platform, the mechanism of the coupler rattled and clanged, as if mocking me. I crouched low and leaned around the side of the platform. There was a handhold on either side of both doors that I used to anchor myself as I leaned further down.

From there, I could reach the coupler itself. The mechanism looked simple enough, but I didn't see any way to release it. They made it look so easy in the movies.

As I hung there, inspecting the coupler, the door slid open and a hand grabbed my wrist with an iron grip.