Travels in Nihilon

Chapter 36

The first regiment of a hundred sports cars moved slowly forward in a perfect line so as to present a terrifying spectacle to those Nihilists who would no doubt rush to defend the walls when they came close enough. Each Zap was separated from the next by ten metres, so that the advance was on a front of nearly a kilometre. At the same time a more conventional attack by three thousand men was launched against the northern wall, a mere diversion, however, to the great set-piece. He was annoyed by Mella anxiously gripping his hand as the cars departed, and by her continual sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with a small flowered handkerchief.

When Benjamin judged that the first line was at the five-hundred-metre picket-mark out from the trees, he fired a shot for the second regiment to advance. Three further shots in sharp order set three thousand-strong battalions flowing from the trees on either side, following behind the Zaps. These were supported by two hundred dynamiters who drew their equipment along on rudimentary trolleys. They were to destroy the rocket before it could be launched, though they had the firmest orders not to damage any of the control or computer machinery, so that it would be available for the new government should it decide to begin its own space-programme.

With nearly seven thousand men and two hundred sports cars launched at Tungsten, a force was in motion that no power on earth could stop. And yet, those mysterious walls worried him because they still gave no sign of life. The cars, travelling fast, needed only a few minutes to cross the three-kilometre no-man’s-land, so if there was to be opposition it must come soon.

The big advantage of staking everything on a Zap attack was that it would be over quickly. Benjamin had no taste for long-drawn-out battles. Yet he felt confident, and enjoyed the meaty exhalations from his cigar. In a few mere weeks he had ceased to be a dullish compiler of travel and history books, and a pilgrim in half-known lands. He now commanded an insurrectionary army the like of which Nihilon had never seen, nor was going to see again, and for a moment he dwelt on this promotion, until stopped by a look of alarm on what was visible of Richard’s face under the heavy binoculars.

The leading regiment was halfway across. As much as the nature of the ground allowed, it still kept its precise alignment, though at the expense of speed. Benjamin would have liked a bit of lost formation at this moment, if it meant them getting quickly to the enemy, for through his binoculars he saw white panels sliding out of the white wall, and gleaming barrels of artillery threatening his Zap Brigade with calamity.

When Mella began sobbing uncontrollably he wanted to throw her off the platform. Richard was swearing, unable to say anything intelligible, or take his eyes from the small gobs of white smoke rising to the noise of great earth-cracking explosions from a whole kilometre of that enigmatic wall in the distance. Fortress Tungsten had spoken at last.

The leading cars, at just over a kilometre range, began to explode, though the bravery of the Zap drivers was never in doubt. Nothing could stop them, except the far-off percussion of those deadly guns. Richard, glancing aside, as if he couldn’t bear to see it, noted that Benjamin’s usually florid face had turned pale and slack. The great charge of the Zaps had become a ride of death and destruction.

Richard was fixed by it, his limbs tightening at such an exciting game. It was too good to miss, no matter whose side he was on, and he couldn’t help but regard poor Benjamin, the architect of this rare spectacle, as the greatest Nihilist of them all. History should give him that title, if no other. At the same time a more ordinary thought struck Richard, telling him that they ought to get out of the country as soon as possible.

The plain was littered with smashed and burning cars from Regiment Number One, the flower of Nihilon’s motor industries, the pride of its export trade. Survivors from the cars were lying on the stony ground, firing at the elusive Tungsten gunners. The one car of the first regiment to reach the wall hit it at nearly two hundred kilometres an hour. It lashed itself into flames, enveloping an embrasure, which at least stopped one of the cannons.

The terrible precision guns of Tungsten turned their attention to the second regiment. Brigadier Kalamata had the sense to increase speed, hoping to escape the shelling, and the line broke into individual groups, in order to get through the burning and splintered wreckage of the first wave. Due to this zigzag manoeuvre, many of the cars collided, though few seriously enough to be stopped. Some, going too fast now instead of too slow, crashed into blazing wreckage but, due to skilful swerving, as well as the trained and rapid fire from the survivors of the first wave (some of whom, unhappily, were hit by cars of the second), and also because of the fires and palls of smoke, the aim of the Tungsten artillery was not half as deadly as it had been.

Even so, it was difficult to imagine many of the cars getting through to the wall. The fact that more did get there than was expected seemed due solely to Benjamin’s wisdom in separating the first regiment from the second by half a kilometre. If they had been sent together, both would have been annihilated. Forty Zaps of the second wave, therefore, arrived in some condition at the wall. Out of eight hundred carborne men who had set out, nearly two hundred survived to reach it. Unfortunately, ladders were now scarce.

Mella, recovering from a fainting fit, took Benjamin’s hand. This time he was glad of its warmth. ‘Come,’ she said, pulling him along. ‘Let us go to your magnificent Thundercloud car. We’re going into the battle.’

It seemed the only possible action, suicidal though it was, and causing him an unpleasant moment of panic when he left Richard in charge of the staff platform and followed her. He expected her to get into his car, but she pointed to her platform and said she would travel in that. But she wanted him to stay close in his Thundercloud so that they could, as it were, fight valiantly together.

Forty soldiers pulled at the ropes, and because all luggage had been taken down, and Edgar was sensibly hiding somewhere among the trees, they were able to set off at a good pace. Mella sat imperious, and brave indeed on her throne, as they drew her towards the cannons’ roar, other soldiers of her bodyguard spreading around in order to protect her. Benjamin preferred to keep well away from this interesting but conspicuous spectacle that presented such a wonderful target for the gunners of Tungsten — of which there were still far too many.

After the defeat of the Zaps, the defending guns attempted to beat back the three large infantry battalions which, as they passed through the wrecked sports cars, removed those ladders that were still intact. They then carried them forward as if they were invaluable and much-loved battle-standards.

Benjamin had no intention of driving his Thundercloud more than halfway across the field of war. He stopped before reaching the zone of the Zap graveyard, and stood on the roof to watch any further destruction that might take place before, as seemed inevitable, the remnants of his army surged back into retreat. He was determined not to let it catch up with him, but to make with all speed for Aspron, and from there pursue his way with the impetus of self-preservation to the frontier.

Mella’s great wagon, now far ahead, was close to the wall itself, and he expected to see it blown to pieces at any moment. Shells were exploding all around it, sending up great gouts of stony soil till it was lost in the smoke. Groups of wounded were crawling back, helped by those with perfect limbs who simply wanted to get out of danger, passing him with such openness that he changed his mind when he thought to kick them back into the shellfire.

He saw a few of his soldiers climbing the wall. Mella was in front of it, waving her arms. The artillery had stopped firing, and the number of his men this side of the wall was melting away as they climbed on to and over it.

He needed a few hundred more men to back them up, but he had used every one in the greatest gamble of his career. In the sweet mouth of success there was always one rotten tooth to foul its breath, he reflected, feeling himself suspended in time while events rolled on without any help from him at all. Then he saw that Mella’s bodyguard, in their ferocity and devotion, and as if now answering his plea, were paving a way for the dynamiters, who began to expend their precious cargo on blowing up whole sections of the wall. He could hardly believe it. Mella’s great throne-wagon was pulled inside.

He drove rapidly back to the trees, the noise of gunfire dying away. ‘Did you see that?’ Richard shouted from the platform. ‘They’re in. They got in.’

‘I know,’ he said, curbing his jubilance, ‘but how many?’

Richard shook his hand to congratulate him, as he stepped down from the ladder. ‘A report just came from the north wall to say they’d got some men in there as well.’ A deep roar spread through the earth, shaking the platform, the trees, their legs, and feet. ‘The rocket!’ Richard cried, turning to look at it.

Even that, Benjamin said to himself with joyful relief. They got that too. I’ve won on every point with my well-trained, dedicated army. Through field-glasses he saw the underpart of the rocket surrounded by smoke and fire. The rage of everyone is quenched at last, he surmised, as the great rolling roar went on and on, thinking to realize his fondest dream that the blackest Nihilists on earth were being smashed forever.

But when the immense head of the rocket was temporarily cleared of smoke and vapour, it began slowly to ascend, lifting its sharp red nose with infinite grace and vigour, up and up above the base, and driving straight into the sky.