‘How can you have a battle where nobody gets killed?’
‘With machines.’
Kemba pointed out of the window. On the far side of the exercise yard, the masts of land-sailers could just be seen.
‘Our battle fleet attacks their battle fleet. Sometimes we come out the winners, sometimes they do. But no men are at risk on either side. The corvettes and the destroyers and the battle-cruisers go into battle all by themselves.’
‘So it’s all just a game.’
‘No, no. It’s war, and we fight with all the passions of war. It’s not easy to explain to outsiders. Raka truly believes that one day his army will destroy Omchaka, and he will be the sole ruler of the plains. We all believe it; even I, in a way. You see, if we stopped believing it, we’d have to live quite differently, and then we wouldn’t be Barakas any more.’
‘But even so, you don’t really need to hang us, do you? You’re not as cruel and heartless as that.’
‘Oh yes, we are,’ said the counsellor absently, his mind revolving the problem. ‘I don’t care a button for you. But I do care about the treaty. If the Chakas learn that we’ve hanged some Chaka spies, they’ll have to avenge you, and then all the killing will start again.’
‘There you are, then. You can’t hang us.’
‘But all Ombaraka now knows you’re here. Everyone’s expecting a hanging. You’ve no idea how excited they are. We’re all brought up to kill Chakas, and now here at last, after all these years, we have three Chaka spies, caught in the act of sabotage. Of course you have to be hanged.’
He was gazing out of the window once more, speaking more to himself than to them.
‘I negotiated the treaty, you know. It was my finest hour.’
He sighed a long melancholy sigh.
‘You could let us escape.’
‘No, no. That would bring shame on us all.’
‘You could pretend to hang us.’
‘How would that help? If the pretence succeeded, the Chakas would say we’d broken the treaty, and the killing would start again. And if the pretence failed, the people of Ombaraka would tear you to pieces with their bare hands, and probably me as well. Please try to think clearly, and make sensible suggestions, or remain silent, and let me think for myself.’
So silence fell; but for the constant creaking and rumbling of the entire structure, as Ombaraka rolled on across the plains.
After a few minutes, the counsellor clapped a palm to his brow.
‘Of course! What a fool I’ve been! There’s the answer, staring me in the face!’
Bowman and Kestrel hurried to the window, to see what it was he was gazing at. There was nobody out there in the yard. Nothing seemed to have changed.
‘What?’
‘The battle fleet! Let the punishment fit the crime!’
He turned to them, his aged face positively glowing with excitement.
‘I knew I’d think of something! Oh, what a brain I have! Just listen to this.’
There was to be a battle the next day, he explained. The Baraka battle fleet would be launched, and the Chaka battle fleet would be sent out to meet them. The armed land-sailers would collide at enormous speeds in mid-plains, and would destroy each other with their spinning blades. What better death could there be for the Chaka saboteurs? Send them out in one of the battle corvettes, to be smashed to pulp by the Chaka battle fleet!
‘Do you see the beauty of it? You would die, which would satisfy us, but you would be killed by the Chakas themselves, so the treaty would not be broken! Isn’t that perfect?’
He strode about the cell, throwing out his arms like a man doing deep-breathing exercises.
‘The symmetry of it! The purity, the elegance!’
‘But we end up dead?’
‘Exactly! And all Ombaraka can watch! Yes, truly, I believe this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever come up with in all my life!’
He swung round and headed for the door, no longer interested in the children.
‘Guard! Open up! Let me out!’
‘Please,’ cried Kestrel, ‘couldn’t we – ’
‘Silence, Chaka scum!’ said the counsellor, not unkindly, and strode out of the cell.
16
The wind battle
Kemba’s plan evidently met with the approval of the Raka of Baraka, because when Salimba next came into the prison cell he told the children that the people of Ombaraka could talk of nothing else.
‘We’ve never had a battle with a real killing before,’ said Salimba, his eyes glowing. ‘At least, not that anyone can remember. Oh, I’ll be out there to see, you can count on that.’
‘How can you be so sure we’ll be killed?’ said Kestrel. ‘The corvette may be blown off across the plains without hitting anything.’
‘Oh, no, they’ll make sure of that,’ said Salimba. ‘They’ll wait until the whole Chaka battle fleet is out, and they’ll send you right into the middle. Those Chaka cruisers are mounted with the old heavy slashers. They’ll rip you into pieces, all right.’
‘Don’t you care?’ said Bowman, his eyes glistening.
Salimba looked at him, and then looked away, a little awkwardly.
‘Well, it won’t be good for you,’ he said. ‘I do see that. But,’ – he looked back, brightening – ‘it’ll be grand for us!’
Once he was gone, the twins puzzled over what to do.
‘It’s a strange thing,’ said Bowman, ‘but in spite of all this talk of hanging and killing, I have the feeling that they’re quite gentle people really.’
‘Whee-eee!’ said Mumpo.
‘Mumpo?’
‘Yes, Kess?’
‘Do you realise what’s happening?’
‘You’re my friend, and I love you.’
His eyes looked a little odd, but she pressed on.
‘We’re going to be put in one of those land-sailers tomorrow morning, and attacked by a lot of other ones like it.’
‘That’s good, Kess.’
‘No, it’s not good. They have swinging knives that will chop us into pieces.’
‘Big pieces or little pieces?’ He started to giggle. ‘Or very teeny-weeny pieces?’
Kestrel looked at him more closely.
‘Mumpo! Show me your teeth!’
Mumpo bared his teeth. They were yellow.
‘You’re chewing tixa, aren’t you?’
‘I’m so happy, Kess.’
‘Where is it? Show me.’
He reached into his pocket and showed her a bunch of tixa leaves.
‘You are useless, Mumpo.’
‘Yes, Kess, I know. But I do love you.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
Bowman was staring at the grey-green tixa leaves.
‘Maybe we can do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘When we were sheltering in the crashed wind-sailer, I worked out how its parts all went together. I think I understand it. If Mumpo was up on the mast, like when he was mud-diving, I think we could do it.’
The next morning, as the dawn light began to spread across the eastern sky, the lookouts high up in the watchtowers of Ombaraka sent the signal the navigators had been waiting for: Omchaka in sight! A second great craft, a mirror image of Ombaraka itself, was lumbering towards them over the plain, its sails and masts, its decks and towers, bristling against the pink and golden sky. A strong wind was blowing from the south-west, and the two rolling cities were each tacking at an angle to the wind, to come within range of each other by the time the sun was up.
Raka himself now took up his position on the command deck. Down below, the winches and gantries which held the attack fleet were being readied for action, and all over Ombaraka men were preparing for the coming battle. The wind masters were in place on the outer galleries, their instruments held high; and in the command room, their stream of reports was being processed into ever more accurate predictions on the strength and direction of the wind. In battle, there were two crucial elements: wind di
rection, and timing of launch. The later the battle fleet was launched, the closer they were to their targets, and therefore the higher the degree of accuracy. However, if the launching was left too late, there was the danger that the fleet wouldn’t have time to reach attack speed before the enemy craft struck them.
All this time the two great mother craft, Ombaraka and Omchaka, were lumbering into battle stations, each seeking the advantageous up-wind position. Inevitably, as happened every time, they ended up cross-wind to each other, where neither had the advantage. This was not a matter of great concern, since both battle fleets were designed, for this very reason, to run best in a cross-wind.
As the sun climbed over the horizon, sending dazzling rays across the surface of the plains, Raka gave the order for the battle horns to be sounded. The first horn boomed out high on the lead watchtower, and from there was picked up by the watchmen all over Ombaraka. One after the other, their long deep-throated notes overlapping each other, the horns echoed from deck to deck.
The children heard them in their prison cell, and knew what they meant. Soon there came running footsteps outside, and the door burst open. An escort of heavily-armed men seized them, and dragged them out into the passage. Roughly, without speaking a word, they hustled them across the yard, and down a ramp to the launch deck. Here, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction, ranged the Baraka battle fleet: line upon line of wind-craft, each vessel suspended from gantries projecting from the high sides of the mother craft. Men were crawling all over the ships, aligning the propeller-like blades, hanging the nets, checking the belts and pulleys, and adjusting the sails. Each vessel in the fleet had its team of handlers, for whom this was a climactic moment. The machine they had so lovingly crafted, and were now preparing for battle with such precision, would soon be launched, never to return. It would carry with it their hopes of glory, and if they were fortunate would bring down a Chaka craft, before inevitably falling itself to the blows of the enemy or of the elements.
The children were marched down the line of battle cruisers and ordered to stop before the first of the lighter craft called corvettes. The soldiers of Baraka were everywhere, and whenever their eyes fell on the children they spat, and called out insults. ‘Chaka scum! I’ll be watching as your brains are spattered in the wind!’
By each gantry there were men with long hooked poles, which they used to pull the battle craft in to the side. Three such poles were holding the lead corvette close to the launch deck now, so that the children could be placed on board. The attack blades gleamed silver-sharp in the light of the rising sun, motionless until the corvette itself was in motion.
Counsellor Kemba now appeared, to oversee the fate of the Chaka spies. He nodded to the children in a friendly manner, and then issued an order to their escort.
‘Tie the Chaka spies to the masts!’
‘Please, sir,’ said Kestrel. ‘Didn’t you say everybody would be watching?’
‘What if I did?’
‘Well, if you tie us up, it’ll be over too quickly, won’t it?’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I was thinking that if we were to run about in the corvette, it would be much more fun to watch.’
Kemba considered this suggestion, a little taken aback.
‘But you might jump out altogether,’ he pointed out.
‘You could tether us loosely,’ said Kestrel. ‘And you could give us something to fight back with. Then we could put on a real show for you.’
‘No, no,’ said Kemba. ‘No swords. Not for Chaka spies.’
‘How about one of those poles?’ said Bowman, pointing to the hooked poles that held the corvette to the deck.
‘What do you want one of those for?’
‘Maybe we can push the Chaka fleet away.’
‘Push the Chaka fleet away? With a pole?’
The old counsellor smiled at that, and the men round him laughed out loud. They knew the overwhelming speed with which the battle cruisers bore down upon each other.
‘Very well,’ said Kemba. ‘Give them a pole. We’ll watch them push the Chaka cruisers away.’
Amid much mocking laughter, the children were carried on board the corvette, and each tethered by a long loop of rope to the centre mast. The ropes were slender, but extremely strong, and the knots were well and tightly made. A hooked pole was tossed in after them, and another laugh ran round the launch deck. The pole clattered into the well of the craft, and Bowman let it lie there. Kestrel murmured something to Mumpo. Mumpo nodded, and grinned, and picked up the pole.
All along the western flank of Ombaraka, the battle fleet now waited, tensed with readiness for the order to launch. From where the children stood, swaying in the lead corvette, they could count fourteen of the big battle cruisers ahead of them, and behind them, nine more corvettes. Much further away, they could see the looming bulk of Omchaka, silhouetted against the brightening sky, and they could hear the faraway sounds of the Chaka battle horns.
The two great mother craft moved steadily in the rising wind, narrowing the gap between them. The sails had not yet been set on the battle fleet, though the sailmen stood poised at the ready. Kestrel turned and looked upwards, up the towering decks and galleries above her, and saw hundreds of people, men, women and children, squeezed into every vantage point, staring silently across the plains. And higher above still, in the watchtowers, the watchmen trained their telescopes on the gantries of Omchaka, poised to cry out when the Chaka battle fleet began its launch.
It was a tense time for all, this waiting, with the enemy rolling nearer all the time; for all, that is, except Mumpo. Mumpo was swinging the long hooked pole round his head and laughing to himself. He seemed not to realise that the Baraka people hated him, and when they shook their fists at him and made gestures showing how he would be killed in the battle, he waved cheerily back and went on laughing. Bowman and Kestrel, by contrast, remained quiet, wanting to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. They were studying the sail mechanism, and the activities of the member of the launch crew whose task it was to set the craft on course.
Then at last there came the distant cry, followed by a nearer one, and then one nearer still.
‘Prepare to engage!’
At once, a ripple of alertness ran through the teams on the launch deck, as they braced themselves to follow the expected commands. Ahead, a mile away across the plain, they could see movement on the launch decks of Omchaka. Then, distant but full, like the deep roar of a waterfall, there rose up the war-cry of the Chakas.
‘Cha-cha-chaka! Cha-cha-chaka!’
At the same time, the sails on the Chaka battle cruisers unfurled, and the lead cruiser was lowered to the ground, sails straining in the wind. All eyes on Ombaraka watched as the Chaka craft was loosed, and its blades began to churn the air. All eyes followed it as it picked up speed, and began its charge.
‘Launch one!’
The crisp order threw the launch deck into instant action. Smoothly the launch team by the lead battle cruiser ran through their practised routine: sails loosed, blades released, final wind-direction check, enemy locked in the sights, course set. A curt nod from the sightsman, and the launch leader gave the final command.
‘Go!’
The holding clamps snapped open. The brisk wind pulled the heavy craft out from the launch deck, and it rolled away on its high wheels. The huge blades started to turn as the sails filled in the wind. Out from the lee of the mother craft, and the full force of the cross-wind hit the sails, howling through its mast-top horn, and the battle cruiser accelerated into its lethal charge. From every deck and gallery the war-cry of the Barakas rose up, urging it on its way.
‘Raka ka! ka! ka! Raka ka! ka! ka!’
Now a second Chaka cruiser had been launched, and a third. As all eyes followed the lead craft, the orders echoed and re-echoed along the launch deck, and cruiser after cruiser was unleashed. All the time, the two great mother craft were closing in on
each other.
The sightsmen had done their job well. The first two cruisers struck each other head on, their great blades interlocking, mangling each other, sending both craft spinning in a tumble of mutual destruction. A cheer went up from the onlookers, and across the plain, a similar cheer could be heard rising from the decks of Omchaka. The collision had taken place too far away to judge which craft had inflicted the most damage. The cheer was for the first hit of the battle.
Now the strikes were following thick and fast. The sightsmen and the wind masters on both sides were experts at their trades, and the battle cruisers closed in on their moving targets as precisely as if they carried living helmsmen. Soon the central area of the plains between the great mother craft became a graveyard of wrecked battle cruisers, their sails vainly tugging at their beached hulls.
The rate of launching was faster now, as the Chaka commanders piled on the pressure. Clearly their aim was to overwhelm the Baraka fleet with sheer numbers, leaving Ombaraka defenceless during the crucial final phase of the battle, when the two rolling cities were close enough for the attack fleets to inflict damage on the mother craft themselves. All the strategy of battle came down to this single decision: how long to hold back the last, fastest, most manoeuvrable craft in the fleet, the corvettes.
The battle cries never ceased, on either side; their steady roar mingling now with the splintering crashes of the cruisers as they piled into each other, or into already wrecked craft, and sprayed yet more wreckage up into the air. Impossible to tell which side was gaining the upper hand, though the Chaka fleet seemed for the moment to be so huge that it covered all the plain.
Still the commands hammered out.
‘Go! Go! Go!’
Craft after craft hit the dirt running, as the launch directors sweated to hurl their parrying punches out into the field. Up on the command deck, Raka prowled the observation window, in the midst of a pandemonium of shouting voices.