Battle For Atlantis a-6 Read online

  “Here they come!”

  The cry echoed along the Union line as the first of the Confederate troops appeared cresting Seminary Ridge. It was magnificent spectacle as Pickett’s division appeared on line, flags flying, in perfect order.

  A Union artillery officer, wounded in the stomach, used one hand to hold his intestines from spilling out, resited his guns. Men made sure their rifles were loaded. Solid shot was loaded into artillery pieces.

  The Union artillery opened fire.

  * * *

  Pickett already had a problem. He had formed his lines on · the outward curved reverse slope of Seminary Ridge. Which meant there were gaps, and some of the units orientations were not on line with the objective.

  Federal troops were shocked and impressed as the Confederate lines in places actually wheeled and aligned, slowing their advance, under the rain of shells corning · into them. As the long line of gray formed. There was no doubt in the mind of anyone in the Union lines that this was the final assault.

  EARTH TIME LINE — XIV

  Southern Africa, 21 January 1879

  The commander of the right horn, Dabulamanzi, was not happy to see Shakan and the strange woman and the strange white being she pulled with her. He had lost many warriors to get to this point, and he knew he was going to lose more in the final assault to take down the last outpost that the British had been forced into. The redcoats had fought bravely. Still it was just a matter of more force and a little more time and he knew he would be victorious.

  A small band of his men had captured the two women coming down the track from Isandlwana and brought them to him. He was just outside the outer wall of the mission that his men had already breached, issuing orders for another assault.

  “I have the protection of Cetewayo,” Shakan said, standing tall between the two warriors holding her arms.

  “Cetewayo is my brother,” Dabulamanzi said. “I was there when you first came to him. You may have bewitched him, but you will not do the same to me.”

  “I do not bewitch,” Shakan said.

  “Who is that?” Dabulamanzi pointed at Ahana. He reached out and touched her eyes. ‘1 have never seen the like.”

  “She is one like me,” Shakan said. “From a place far from here.”

  “And why is she here? Why are you here?”

  “To serve the greater good.”

  A warrior called out that all was ready. Dabulamanzi turned from the two women and issued his orders. With a great surge, a thousand warriors leapt up from the cover of the outer wall and charged the final outpost.

  * * *

  “Steady,” Chard called out, his voice cracking from both dryness and fear. He knew what Dabulamanzi knew. It was just a matter of time and numbers.

  “Fire,” Chard ordered as the next assault wave appeared in the firelight Huge gaps were tom in the Zulu line as they vaulted the wall and came forward. “Independent fire,” Chard quickly yelled. He had abandoned his pistol for a rifle and he joined his men on the mealie bag rampart, firing as quickly as he could load.

  The distance between the two walls was short and the ground was filled with Zulu bodies, so much so that the other warriors had literally to run on top of the bodies to get to the British lines. Such a dash in the face of the rifle fire resulted in frightening apparitions, covered with the blood of their comrades, reaching the mealie bag wall. Bayonets went against iKlwa. Black against white, united only in the redness of the blood that came from their veins and mixed together, soaking the bags and ground.

  A handful of Zulu warriors made it into the final outpost, but they were quickly cut down and the wave receded. Left behind, the British were lower in numbers, close to the critical point where all the walls could be effectively manned.

  * * *

  “What do you want?” Dabulamanzi demanded as he watched his warriors come back. their numbers greatly depleted.

  “A great victory has already been won,” Shakan said. “Cetewayo defeated the camp on the slopes of Isandlwana.” She did not add what had appeared on the top of Isandlwana. It was something she sensed was beyond words.

  “And I will defeat them here,” Dabulamanzi said.

  “There is no point to it” Shakan said.

  “Do you want me to just walk away?” Dabulamanzi laughed. “We have paid in blood and we will take what we have earned in their blood.”

  “I do not want you to just walk away,” Shakan said. “I want you to help me. Help her and her people” — Shakan indicated Ahana — “And many more people in many places and times.”

  “You speak foolishness,” Dabulamanzi said.

  Shakan indicated for Ahana to take out the muonic detector. Ahana pulled the device out of the pack. Dabulamanzi stared at the LED display and the blinking lights, but did not seem overly impressed.

  “This,” Shakan indicated the detector, “says something great can happen here. We can make something good happen out of this terrible day and night.”

  “And how do I do that?” Dabulamanzi asked, even as his warriors formed for another assault.

  “The British are brave, are they not?” Shakan asked.

  Dabulamanzi had to grant that. “Yes. They fight well.”

  “And the Zulu, we fight with great bravery also.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then do something different,” Shakan begged.

  “And that is?” Dabulamanzi asked.

  “Combine the Zulu bravery with the British bravery to change the course of things.”

  EARTH TIMELINE — III

  New York City, July 2078

  Chamberlain flew over what had once been Manhattan. The wings rotated up and the specially modified MH-90 came to a hover. That particular Nighthawk had a cargo bay full of sensors and imaging equipment. Both walls were crammed full of displays with seats in front of them manned by scientists.

  Waiting was fine, but Chamberlain figured he’d been brought to this location for a reason, so he wanted to get an idea of the lay of the land, even if most of it was buried under hundreds of feet of water. He had a feeling the extreme Shadow reaction during the war to the tip of Manhattan had to have been for a reason. He wanted to know what that was. Oracles and prophecies were fine, but facts helped.

  “What do you have?” Chamberlain asked the lead scientist.

  The man looked up in Surprise. “We’re getting low level muonic activity. We haven’t seen this since the end of the war.”

  “Is it the Shadow?” Chamberlain asked.

  The scientist shrugged. “It’s just low level activity right now. Traces.” He pointed down. “Directly below us.” The scientist turned to the man on his left and checked his screen. “Sonar indicates we’ve got an opening in the earth itself. Geez, whatever the Shadow did to blast this place, sure went through. We’re reading a narrow tunnel all the way to the center of the planet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EARTH TIME LINE — I

  This was what Ahana and Nagoya had speculated might be the case, Dane realized as he took in the immensity of both the diamond crystal and the power it was receiving, transforming and then emitting. Even before the two Japanese scientists, the Russians had speculated that such a thing existed at the very center of the planet.

  The Russians had labeled the places where the gates were occasionally active as Vile Vortices. They claimed these spots were external manifestations of power surges from inside the planet, part of a matrix of cosmic energy that had been built into the planet at the time of its formation.

  Ahana had told him that if it existed, this crystal held its power from the birth of the planet, hard as it was for Dane to believe. Its initial power began when the loose · collection of rocks that was pre-earth, was bombarded by leased from these impacts melted everything, and the planet slowly began to cool from the outside in. The immense temperatures, gravitational pressure and sheer weight of what was on top formed this crystal, allowing it to absorb all that power being directed inward. O
nly one material could sustain such forces and that was diamond. And that was what the crystal was made of.

  Dane realized he was looking at the inner core of the planet, something scientists in his day had only been able to speculate about. While man had traveled to the moon, he had barely scratched the surface of his own planet. Apparently the Atlanteans had done considerably more than scratch.

  Dane became aware of something else as some time went by. The planet was moving, revolving, but not the crystal. Dane tried to recall what Ahana had said about that, knowing it was important. He knew that the Shadow had demonstrated an ability to tap into the power coming out of the splits between the tectonic plates. He wondered why this tap was where it was, wherever that was.

  Realizing the location of the tap and tunnel would be important, Dane reversed course and raced up the tunnel. When he reached the chamber underneath the granite slab, he continued on the same vector. Passing into the stone was disconcerting and he concentrated on trying to stay in a straight line.

  He came out into pitch-black water, the only difference from the stone, being the element that surrounding him.

  Where was he? What had this place been before the deluge?

  Dane moved up, toward the surface. He burst up out of the water and halted, searching in all directions. There was something above the water to one side and he headed over there.

  Land. Above the waves. He saw a rock wall rising barely thirty feet above the water out the place sparked some memory. He moved closer. The top of the rocks were scoured clean of life. And the land to west of them sloped down into the water again.

  Where had he seen similar rock? He knew the context was all wrong, given the water level. He added a few hundred feet to the rock, envisioning cliffs.

  Dane knew where he was. The rocks were the very top of the Palisades. And the Core tunnel had been dug underneath what was New York City in his timeline. If the tunnel existed here, it might exist in other timelines, the key issue being when the Atlanteans had dug it.

  Dane stayed in place, trying to think this through. He was here for a reason. He had to trust the Ones Before. He, a man who had never trusted anyone other than the men he’d gone into combat with in Vietnam. He realized that he’d gone into combat with the Ones Before many times in the past year.

  Why was he here?

  There was power below. More power than any of the other timelines had ever tapped. It was what had both destroyed the Shadow and kept it going.

  Did he need his body?

  The thought was startling to Dane. He’d thought earlier that he could not redirect power without his body, but was that true? Sin Fen had told him he was the step beyond what she was. He was the warrior-priest.

  It was time to go back, Dane knew. Time for all the pieces to come together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EARTH TIMELINE — VIII

  Pennsylvania, 3 July 1863

  Over twelve thousand men on a front slightly more than one mile wide.

  It was an artilleryman’s dream target. The officers who commanded the Union batteries were well schooled in their deadly science. Since the Confederates had over a mile of open ground to cover, it worked out that it would take them, if they kept a steady advance, approximately sixteen point nine minutes to reach the Union lines. In that time, a typical gun battery of six twelve-pound Napoleon guns could fire two hundred and twenty-eight rounds.

  There was also a science to the order in which different types of ammunition were fired. As the Confederate lines first appeared, the Union guns were loaded with solid shot. This was a solid ball of cast iron, designed for long distance firing. The round would fly to maximum range, and then hit the ground, bouncing several times, often cutting swathes through packed formations.

  Stacked near the guns were other types of ammunition, readied for use as the enemy closed. Once the incoming troops came within a thousand yards, shrapnel rounds would be used. And then, at the very end, inside of four hundred yards, there was canister.

  The Union guns fired round after round of solid shot at the massed lines coming toward them. This made the maneuvering of the Confederate lines to get in position even more amazing as it took valuable minutes and got them no closer to their enemy.

  Even more devastating, Union batteries that had been moved up by General Warren onto Little Round Top now opened fire, parallel to the Confederate lines. Some of the solid shot from these batteries would hit the end of a line en and plow through them, taking out dozens at a time.

  The Union infantry, their guns primed, waited and watched. Veterans of Union assaults such as those at Fredericksburg and Antietam were happy to be behind their stonewall and not out in that field, having experienced what their enemy was now facing. They were tom between empathy for fellow human beings and a base desire for revenge.

  * * *

  General Pickett was having difficulty keeping the various units in order and trying to gain contact with Trimble’s division on his left. It took almost fifteen minutes of maneuvering for his left to meet Trimble’s right. At this point their front ranks were about eight hundred yards from the Union lines.

  Pickett’s heart soared as he saw the solid line of gray troops moving forward. He grabbed a courier and sent him dashing back to Longstreet with a request for reinforcements to support what he considered the inevitable breakthrough of the Union lines, which he believed, would happen very quickly. Nothing could defeat such a display of Southern manhood.

  “On men!” Pickett cried as he stood up in his stirrups, waving his sword. “On for Virginia.”

  For the men in the front ranks, things weren’t looking so positive. As the two divisions connected, the troops crowded into each other. Even under these terrible conditions, Southern politeness held sway as a young officer from Virginia cried out to the regiment of Tennesseans his unit was mingling with: “Move on, cousins. You are drawing the fire our way.”

  * * *

  A solid shot hit the pine board over her hole and ripped it away. Earhart decided enough was enough. She managed to unseal the Valkyrie suit and crawl inside. Then she shut it. She scrunched down as tight as possible in the bottom of the hole, wishing she could become an earthworm and rawl even deeper into the dark soil.

  The sound of battle, the screams of wounded and dying filled the air. She could hear Confederate officers exhorting their men forward. Then there was another sound, which at first she couldn’t make out. Something being shouted from the Union lines, a chant. It took her a few moments before she realized what it was:

  “Fredericksburg. Fredericksburg. Fredericksburg.”

  * * *

  The colonel in charge of the Eighth Ohio regiment didn’t wait for the Confederates to come to him. In fact, his best estimate watching the oncoming wave of gray convinced him that the attack was directed to his right and that his unit would be spared any frontal assault. His men had been deployed on a wide front as skirmishers, about five hundred yards in front of the Union line but it appeared the attack would pass them by.

  So he attacked. He formed his men into a line a hundred yards wide and charged forward into the right flank of Pickett’s division. It was an audacious move, even more unorthodox than Chamberlain’s charge the day before as there was no desperate need for it.

  But like Chamberlain’s it worked because the Confederate troops they charged into were already dispirited from being under constant artillery barrage for over half an hour and having taken considerable casualties without even having fired a single shot in retaliation.

  Pickett’s right flank began to crumble as men threw down their weapons and headed for the rear.

  The lead elements of the attack now reached the critical four-hundred-yards range from Union lines.

  Shot was replaced by canister in the Union guns. These were basically large-bore shotgun shells, each canister containing scores of oversize musket balls. Four hundred yards was also rifle range.

  The first volley of rifle fire from
the massed Union lines hidden behind their protective walls brought the Confederate advance to a momentary halt, as if every man had absorbed the incoming rounds, not just those hit. Canister tore- gaping holes, scattering the ground with men screaming in pain from grievous wounds.

  It got worse the closer they got. At two hundred and fifty yards, the Union cannons were filled with double loads of canister. Every Union soldier with a rifle was firing now.

  Many among the Rebel ranks knew it was now or never.

  A Confederate lieutenant waved his sword, rallying his men. “Home, boy’s home. Remember, home is over beyond those hills!”

  A colonel exhorted his cowering men to advance. “Go on, it will not last five minutes longer.” It didn’t for him as he immediately fell, shot through the thigh.

  The Confederate advance began to break apart.

  One Confederate brigade commander, still on his horse, disappeared in a cloud of red as a round of canister hit both man and horse directly. Given that the Confederates were now taking fire from three sides — the center of the Union line, which they were approaching, and flanking fire from artillery on Little Round Top and from Culp’s Hill-the ranks that weren’t running began to cluster toward the center.

  Directly opposite the center was the Angle — a place in the Union line where there was a ninety-degree angle formed by a bend in the stonewall behind which the Union troops had positioned themselves. General Armistead, one of Pickett’s brigade commanders, led the final assault toward the Angle.

  The bloodied line of gray finally reached the stonewall. Armistead put his hat on a sword and stood on top of the stonewall, urging the rest of the Confederate survivors forward. He fell mortally wounded-and with this, the high water mark of the attack had been reached as Union reinforcements raced up and pushed the Confederates back, capturing many of them.

  * * *

  Earhart heard a strange sound, something she couldn’t recognize at first. It took several moments for her to realize what it was: men sobbing. She carefully lifted her head and saw small clusters of Confederate soldiers falling back by her position, most carrying wounded comrades, and many crying, tears staining their dirty faces.