A middle-aged supply officer named Timothy Samms had been left in command of Fort Cumberland—which meant the situation was his responsibility. Lewis was clearly uncomfortable. His voice dropped an octave. “Captain Samms is indisposed at the moment, sir. If you take my meaning.”

  Landry knew what Lewis was referring to. Everybody did. Samms was an alcoholic. Or something very close to one. And apparently on a binge. If he was incapacitated, that put Landry in charge.

  “Right then,” he responded. “See if you can round up my horse. In the meantime I’ll have a quick word with Major Monfort. If the land cruiser makes it this far south we’ll need help from the militia.”

  Lewis said, “Yes, sir,” and disappeared into the gloom. Landry reentered the house, went in search of Monfort, and having found the Major spent the better part of ten minutes with him. Landry came away with assurances that the local militia would be activated at first light, a process that would take at least a day since the company’s men were spread all over the surrounding countryside.

  There was some comfort in having Monfort’s support. But as Landry’s horse carried him back to the fort and the unaccustomed responsibilities that awaited him there, his thoughts were focused on the Lawford steam cannons, and how inadequate they would be against a French land cruiser. But to leave the existing nine pounders in place would be to ignore a direct order with predictably dire consequences.

  Landry found himself wishing that Colonel Wilson had never left, that Captain Samms was sober, or that he had taken his mother’s advice and entered the clergy. But as the lights of the fort appeared, and a dimly seen sentry offered a hoarse challenge, Landry was forced to face the truth—he was on his own.

  The meeting in Colonel Wilson’s office was a sober affair as Company Sergeant Major Crowley handed the recently received telegraph slip to Landry, who read the message aloud. “To all British forces: The French heavy cruiser Indomptable and her escorts crossed Ohio River sixteen June and are headed south. Repeated attempts to block the raiders have failed. Stop at all costs. Signed, General Benedict Arnold.”

  Landry looked up at the faces around him, all of which belonged to senior non-commissioned officers. The prospect of a southbound battle group was bad enough. But theIndomptable? That was an unmitigated disaster. Landry, like every other officer who had read about the behemoth in the Military Gazette, knew her to be the most powerful ship in North America. It was said that the British government had been working to produce three vessels of comparable size when Boston had been overrun and all of the partially completed cruisers had fallen into French hands.

  So the simple fact was that if the Indomptable was on the way to take and secure the Cumberland Gap, then there was nothing to stop them barring the miraculous appearance of Admiral Haines and his land fleet, which Landry knew was extremely unlikely to say the least. But an attempt had to be made, so like it or not he would install the steam cannons to either side of the gap and attempt to slow the Frenchies down. Work would begin right then—and continue day and night until completed.

  Such were Landry’s thoughts when the door banged open and a disheveled Captain Samms lurched into the room. He was a big man with ginger colored hair, a spray of freckles across his nose, and pouty lips. “Landry?” the officer demanded, and he waved a bottle. “There you are! Pretending to be a colonel. Damn your presumption, sir. I am in command here and you will answer to me.”

  So saying, Samms slammed the bottle down onto the desk with such force that the cork shot two feet into the air before falling to the floor. As Landry watched the stopper a wild idea entered his mind, took root, and immediately began to grow.

  Meanwhile Samms, who mistook the moment of silence as an act of insubordination, frowned sternly. “Speak, damn you! Or be arrested.”

  Company Sergeant Major Crowley was six-two and weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds. So when his pistol butt struck the back of Samms’ head, the blow packed plenty of authority. The supply officer went down as if pole axed. “Sorry, sir,” Crowley said with a straight face. “It appears that the Captain tripped and fell.”

  Landry smiled grimly. “So it would seem. Please detail a couple of men to carry Mr. Samms to his quarters. And have the medical orderly look at him. Once that effort is complete rouse every man we have. Engineers, clerks, and cooks. In short anyone who can swing a pick or handle a shovel. We have defenses to construct and damned little time in which to get the job done.”

  Crowley and the other noncoms came to attention. The word “Sir!” was said in unison. And with that the work began. The Indomptable might come. And she might win. But if the French wanted to pass through the Cumberland Gap they would pay a price.

  North of the Cumberland Gap

  It was nighttime, and despite of the fact that the Indomptable and her sole surviving escort were at rest, Admiral Gaudet felt as if the land cruiser was still in motion. He was standing in front of the brightly lit plot table located just aft of the command bridge staring at a map of Kentucky as a plate of untouched food cooled on top of New England. He, the ship, and the ship’s company had been underway for six days, and during that time they had survived a half dozen encounters with British forces. That included an attack by three steam powered dirigibles which disabled all but one of the Indomptable’s escorts and inflicted damage on the cruiser as well.

  Now the French force was still fifteen miles short of its goal. And truth be told, they would be lucky to reach the Cumberland Gap, since the Indomptable was nearly out of coal. But,Gaudet told himself, if we can reach the gap and hold it for a week all will be well. The area is rich in coal and the supply train is already on its way south from Ohio. “All I have to do is take Fort Cumberland and hold it.”

  The last was said out loud and caused the navigation officer to look up from his log book. “Sir?”

  “Nothing,” Gaudet replied, as he lifted the plate of cold food off the table. “Nothing at all.”

  Landry was asleep when the French arrived. For days he, his men, and a small army of civilians had labored around the clock to strengthen the gap’s defenses. And now, as Company Sergeant Major Crowley shook Landry awake, the officer discovered that he was laying on the ground with a quilt over him—not a wool army blanket but a beautiful coverlet made from scraps of cloth all sewn together to make a beautiful pattern. “Where did this come from?” Landry wondered as he sat up.

  Crowley had an enormous mustache. It twitched as if a smile might be hidden beneath it somewhere. “Miss Wilson, sir.”

  The morning air was cool, but Landry felt unexpectedly warm as Crowley took charge of the quilt, and began to fold it. While Landry lay sprawled in the dirt Sarah had come to visit the troops. Presumably with her mother as part of the effort to keep everyone fed.

  But any further thoughts in that direction were forestalled as Crowley placed the neatly folded quilt on top of a crate. “The French are coming, sir.” The words were said without inflection, as if such attacks were a routine part of each day.

  Landry stood. He was in need of a shave, his uniform was filthy, and his boots were muddy. Hardly the way an officer was supposed to look. But there was nothing he could do about it. “How long?”

  “Half an hour, sir. Forty-five minutes at most.”

  “I will make the rounds and return here,” Landry announced. “And Sergeant . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Please pass the word. No matter what happens, our troops have done a remarkable job. I want them to know that.”

  Crowley watched the engineering officer walk away. He’ll do, the noncom thought to himself. Yes, he will. If he survives.

  The new defenses were layered on old, which meant that while Landry had obeyed Colonel Wilson’s order to install the steam cannons, the nine pounders remained right where they had been, positioned to fire on the road where it passed between two rocky hillsides. It was a passageway that the French land cruiser would be forced to negotiate since it was far too large to circumvent the pass as cavalry or foot soldiers might.

  An early morning mist cloaked the hillsides as Landry went from gun to gun. He paused every now and then to have a word with an anxious militiaman or to ensure that the stops that would prevent opposing batteries from firing on each other were firmly in place. Then it was on to visit the concealed boilers from which steam would flow to the steam cannons via a carefully laid system of pipes.

  Finally, satisfied that all of his forces were ready, Landry returned to the rocky ledge where a venerable nine pounder and its crew of nervous farm boys waited to do battle with the land cruiser Indomptable. One of them mouthed a prayer as a whistle shrieked.

  Landry knew that the device wasn’t mounted on a destroyer but on the massive warship herself. Because if one of the Indomptable’s escorts were to be destroyed in the narrow passageway, the larger ship wouldn’t be able to pass through.

  There was a momentary wink of light as the Indomptable’s five-inch guns spoke, followed by twin explosions as the opposite embankment took two hits. “Hold your fire!” Landry bellowed through his speaking trumpet.

  It was impossible to know how much information French spies had been able to gather regarding the gap’s defenses. But if they knew about the muzzle loading nine pounders, then they knew roughly how long it would take to reload them, and would attempt to time their passage accordingly. So one of the things Landry feared most was the possibility that his most reliable weapons would be empty when he needed them.

  Metal clanked, steam hissed, and there was another loud boom as the Indomptable’s guns fired again. The French drew blood as a gun on the west side of the road took a direct hit and vanished in a flash of light.

  At least half a dozen British lives had been lost without a single shot being fired in return. Landry gritted his teeth as the land cruiser pushed deeper into what he hoped would be the kill zone. And as the colossal vessel drew closer, Landry was astounded to discover that her stacks towered above him. But there was no time to give the matter additional thought as he shouted, “Fire!”

  Rolling broadsides were fired from opposite hillsides and the results were devastating. The nine pounders might be old, but they were lethal, especially at such close quarters. TheIndomptable shook like a thing possessed as pieces of the superstructure flew off, the navigation bridge was wiped away, and a secondary weapons platform was reduced to a mass of twisted metal.

  Landry was exultant at first, but that was before the Indomptable’s guns fired again, and two neighboring gun batteries were destroyed. The surviving guns were being reloaded, but the militiamen were slow. And Landry knew he wouldn’t be able to rely on them for more than a ragged volley or two. Like it or not the time had come to employ the Lawford steam cannons.

  Major Monfort appeared at that point. He was a genial man with a moonlike face, a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, and a belly that hung out over a wide leather belt. Though senior to Landry in terms of rank, Monfort had chosen to play a supportive role, which he had done to perfection. Since without him and his militiamen, it would have been impossible to mount any defense whatsoever. Monfort had to shout to make himself heard over the relentless rhythm of the Indomptable’s running gear, the snake-like hiss of steam, and the persistent rattle of gunfire. “So lad, I came to see the grand finale. You won’t disappoint me will you?”

  Then Monfort was gone as bullets from a Picard gun tore him apart and Landry was forced to dive for the ground. Banked earth protected him from the incoming hail of bullets, but steam sprayed the air as the control for the steam cannons was destroyed and half of the nine pounder’s crew was killed.

  Landry swore as he rolled over, stood, and began to scuttle south along the trail that led to the next gun battery. There was a back-up control there, but because the Indomptablewas still in motion it would be only a matter of seconds before she cleared the point where the Lawfords could fire on her, and she would be free to attack the fort.

  Landry stumbled, fell, and made it back to his feet again. Bullets pinged, whined, and buzzed all around him as he struggled forward. “Fire the Lawfords!” he shouted. “Fire them now!”

  Landry felt a momentary sense of hope as he saw a militiaman step over to the row of levers and prepare to pull them. Doing so would release steam to the cannons, enabling them to fire. And even though they were worthless beyond five-hundred feet it was the engineer’s hope that they could cause a significant amount of damage close in.

  But as he staggered forward a bullet hit the militiaman’s chest and threw him back into the embankment. Then Landry was in the gun emplacement, his hands on the levers, as theIndomptable caught up with him. The front half of the warship had cleared the kill zone by that time, and it was only a matter of moments before the entire vessel would be safe.

  Time seemed to slow as a French officer turned to look at Landry from no more than fifty-feet away. He was standing on a bridge not far from the steel enclosed wheelhouse. An admiral? Yes, judging from all of the gold lace. And it was then, as their eyes made contact, that Landry began to pull the levers.

  Steam surged through the network of buried pipes, entered firing chambers, and sent explosive shells straight up out of holes hidden under the surface of the road. They went straight up. Half the shells shot into the air, but the rest penetrated the hull, where they went off and triggered secondary explosions.

  Landry saw the admiral stumble and reach out to steady himself as the main magazine went up. The resulting shock wave knocked Landry off his feet, destroyed a British gun position on the other side of the road, and sent a column of black smoke roiling into the sky. That was followed by a rockslide that buried part of the wreckage, thereby ensuring that nothing would pass through the gap for weeks to come. The price had been high. Very high. But a battle had been won.

  Colonel Wilson and the 17th Dragoons returned two days after what was already being called the Battle of Cumberland Gap. They were dusty, tired, and frustrated, having been ordered to return to the fort without seeing a French soldier much less firing at one. Because shortly after the Indomptable’s widely heralded defeat, the French army’s diversionary force had fled north. And making the situation that much worse was the fact that the real battle had been fought in their absence.

  So having been summoned to Wilson’s office, Landry felt a sense of trepidation as an unsmiling Sergeant Hopkins rose to greet him. “The Colonel is in his office, sir. He is expecting you.”

  Landry entered, came to attention, and announced himself.

  Wilson was on his feet, looking out through the window adjacent to his desk. He was silent for a moment before turning to face his visitor. The expression on his face was grim. “I read your report. We’ll come back to that in a moment. First there is the matter of Captain Samms to discuss. He claims that one of your men attacked him. Furthermore, he claims that you were present and did nothing to stop the assault. Is that true?”

  Landry felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Should he come clean? That would be the right thing to do. But the penalty for striking an officer was very severe. And if Landry confessed, Crowley would not only be broken back to private but sent to prison. All for doing the right thing. Landry kept his face professionally blank. “No, sir. Captain Samms was inebriated, fell down, and hit his head in the process.”

  Wilson was silent for a moment. Then he nodded soberly. “That matches what Sergeant Major Crowley said. I don’t believe a word of it of course—but I’m glad to see that you have your stories straight. But only because Samms is a disgrace to the uniform. I trust you won’t make a habit out of attacking superior officers. I won’t stand for it.

  “Now, as for your report. Using the Lawfords to fire upward into the Indomptable’s belly was quite unorthodox. How did you know her armor would be thinner there?”

  Landry swallowed. “I didn’t, sir. Not for sure. But it made sense from an engineering perspective.”

  Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. But you took a great deal upon yourself, Lieutenant Landry. Still, a victory is a victory, and we could use one right about now. General Arnold will join us tomorrow, and I daresay he will take advantage of the opportunity to hang a medal on you. Try not to get a swelled head.”

  Landry kept his eyes straight ahead. “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir.”

  “And that brings us to the road,” Wilson said. “Leave things exactly as they are until the general and his men have had a chance to inspect the wreckage. Then clear it away and get the job done quickly. Traffic is starting to back up in both directions.”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Good. That will be all.”

  Landry did an about face and was nearly to the door when Wilson stopped him. “And Lieutenant . . .”

  Landry turned. “Sir?”

  “I was ordered to invite you to dinner this evening. Try not to make a fool of yourself.”

  Landry felt a surge of joy. Ordered? By Sarah perhaps? Yes, he thought so. “Thank you, sir. I would be honored.”

  “Yes,” Wilson agreed as the slightest of smiles appeared on his face. “I should think so.”

  Rogan’s World

  About Rogan’s World

  Rogan’s World is a novel a length story being published for the first time as an e-book.

  In Rogan’s World New York Times bestselling science fiction author William C. Dietz takes a satiric look at the future. It’s a time when the Calag Corporation saves money by putting one man in charge of an entire agricultural planet. Because other than an orbiting cyborg named Wally, and thousands of robots, Dan Rogan lives on Calag Planet 4782/X al by himself. It should be a simple but enjoyable life.

  But with a worldwide harvest to manage, an overbearing boss, and some unexpected labor problems to cope with Rogan has his handsful . And that’s not all. Can a nice guy cope with a femme fatal, the criminals who want to find her, and thousands of dying aliens? There’s only one way to find out.