face.
Alek stared at the controls, realizing that he’d never piloted before without Master Klopp sitting beside him. And here he was, about to stride into battle.
“You’ve never piloted, have you?” Alek asked.
Hoffman shook his head. “I’m just an engineer, sir.”
“Well, then, you’re better off helping Bauer with the cannon. And both of you strap in tight.”
Hoffman smiled, saluting. “You’ll do all right, sir.”
Alek nodded, turning back to the controls as the hatch swung shut. He flexed his hands.
One step at a time, Klopp always said.
Alek pushed the saunters forward… . The walker reared up, valves hissing. One huge foot pushed ahead in the stream, sending spray into the air. Alek took another step, urging the machine faster.
But his power gauges all flickered deep in the green— the engines were still cold.
In a few steps the Stormwalker had climbed the river-bank, up to level ground. Alek gunned the fuel injectors, the engines roaring.
The power gauges began to rise.
He pushed the machine forward, letting its strides grow longer and longer. The furrows began to flash by underneath, the sound of tearing rye audible above the engines. He felt the moment when the walker shifted into a run, the machine rising up into the air between footfalls.
From the top of each stride he could see the troop of horses ahead. They were spread out across the rye, in search formation.
Alek smiled. Klopp and Volger had also slipped away into the tall grass—that was how they’d held out for so long.
Heads turned, the horsemen wheeling toward the new threat.
The intercom crackled. “Ready to fire.”
“Aim over their heads, Bauer. They’re Austrians, and Klopp and Volger are somewhere in that grass.”
“A warning shot then, sir.”
A few of the carbines crackled, and Alek heard a bullet strike metal close by. He realized that the viewport was wide open, with no one to wind it shut.
The young rider he’d killed had missed him on purpose. But these men were aiming to kill.
He changed the walker’s stride, pushing outward with the feet so that the machine weaved from left to right. Running serpentine, Klopp called this, cutting a path like a snake through the grass.
But the machine’s winding path didn’t feel as graceful as that.
The cannon boomed below him—then a column of dirt and smoke shot into the air just behind the horsemen. Widening circles rippled through the grass like pond water from a stone, and two horses fell sideways, throwing their riders.
A second later a wave of dirt and sheer force struck Alek through the open viewport, and his hands slipped from the saunters. The walker lurched to one side, wheeling toward the stream. Alek grabbed at the controls, twisting them hard, and the Stormwalker came to, staggering but still upright.
The horsemen had gathered into tight formation, about to retreat. But Alek saw them hesitating, wondering if the walker was out of control. Lurching around like this, it probably looked as intimidating as a drunken chicken. He doubted Bauer could reload the cannon unless he could steady the machine.
Shots crackled again, and something pinged around
“THE CHARGE”
Alek’s ears, a bullet ricocheting around the metal cabin. No point in coming to a halt—it just made him a better target—so Alek leaned low over the controls, heading straight for the troop of horses.
The riders hesitated for another moment, then wheeled about and galloped back toward the stream, deciding not to pit flesh against metal.
“Sir! It’s Master Klopp!” Bauer’s voice came on the intercom. “Standing up in front of us!”
Alek pulled back on the saunters, just as he had the day before—and again the walker’s right foot planted hard, the machine beginning to tip.
But this time he knew what to do. He twisted the walker sideways, thrusting out one steel leg. Dust exploded across the viewport, and the sound of straining gears and tearing grass filled his
Alek stared at the controls, realizing that he’d never piloted before without Master Klopp sitting beside him. And here he was, about to stride into battle.
“You’ve never piloted, have you?” Alek asked.
Hoffman shook his head. “I’m just an engineer, sir.”
“Well, then, you’re better off helping Bauer with the cannon. And both of you strap in tight.”
Hoffman smiled, saluting. “You’ll do all right, sir.”
Alek nodded, turning back to the controls as the hatch swung shut. He flexed his hands.
One step at a time, Klopp always said.
Alek pushed the saunters forward… . The walker reared up, valves hissing. One huge foot pushed ahead in the stream, sending spray into the air. Alek took another step, urging the machine faster.
But his power gauges all flickered deep in the green— the engines were still cold.
In a few steps the Stormwalker had climbed the river-bank, up to level ground. Alek gunned the fuel injectors, the engines roaring.
The power gauges began to rise.
He pushed the machine forward, letting its strides grow longer and longer. The furrows began to flash by underneath, the sound of tearing rye audible above the engines. He felt the moment when the walker shifted into a run, the machine rising up into the air between footfalls.
From the top of each stride he could see the troop of horses ahead. They were spread out across the rye, in search formation.
Alek smiled. Klopp and Volger had also slipped away into the tall grass—that was how they’d held out for so long.
Heads turned, the horsemen wheeling toward the new threat.
The intercom crackled. “Ready to fire.”
“Aim over their heads, Bauer. They’re Austrians, and Klopp and Volger are somewhere in that grass.”
“A warning shot then, sir.”
A few of the carbines crackled, and Alek heard a bullet strike metal close by. He realized that the viewport was wide open, with no one to wind it shut.
The young rider he’d killed had missed him on purpose. But these men were aiming to kill.
He changed the walker’s stride, pushing outward with the feet so that the machine weaved from left to right. Running serpentine, Klopp called this, cutting a path like a snake through the grass.
But the machine’s winding path didn’t feel as graceful as that.
The cannon boomed below him—then a column of dirt and smoke shot into the air just behind the horsemen. Widening circles rippled through the grass like pond water from a stone, and two horses fell sideways, throwing their riders.
A second later a wave of dirt and sheer force struck Alek through the open viewport, and his hands slipped from the saunters. The walker lurched to one side, wheeling toward the stream. Alek grabbed at the controls, twisting them hard, and the Stormwalker came to, staggering but still upright.
The horsemen had gathered into tight formation, about to retreat. But Alek saw them hesitating, wondering if the walker was out of control. Lurching around like this, it probably looked as intimidating as a drunken chicken. He doubted Bauer could reload the cannon unless he could steady the machine.
Shots crackled again, and something pinged around
“THE CHARGE”
Alek’s ears, a bullet ricocheting around the metal cabin. No point in coming to a halt—it just made him a better target—so Alek leaned low over the controls, heading straight for the troop of horses.
The riders hesitated for another moment, then wheeled about and galloped back toward the stream, deciding not to pit flesh against metal.
“Sir! It’s Master Klopp!” Bauer’s voice came on the intercom. “Standing up in front of us!”
Alek pulled back on the saunters, just as he had the day before—and again the walker’s right foot planted hard, the machine beginning to tip.
But this time he knew what to do. He twisted the walker sideways, thrusting out one steel leg. Dust exploded across the viewport, and the sound of straining gears and tearing grass filled his
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