The Steam Age: Gears and Bones

Chapter 17

The reconnaissance squad stormed into the clock tower under the cover of artillery fire.

The flag captain was the first to step into the doorway.

The ground floor of the clock tower was originally a small chapel, but the long wooden benches have long been dragged to the wall and piled up to form barricades.

The air was thick with a stale smell, a mixture of candle smoke, sweat, and the musty odor of the old stone walls. A few rays of morning light peeked in through the narrow window high up, illuminating the dried, blackened bloodstains on the stone floor.

The wooden staircase leading to the second floor had been completely dismantled, and bent iron nails were still embedded in the jagged broken planks at the ends.

From the dark stairwell above, you can vaguely see several thick bell ropes hanging down from a higher place, motionless.

The flag captain looked up and shouted in a low voice towards the top of the stairwell.

As he asked the question, he made two hand gestures—three knights behind him spread out to guard the doorway and narrow window, while four Romulus knights pressed against the outer wall of the bell tower, their sword tips pointing towards the street corner.

After a moment of silence, a face peeked out from the edge of the stairwell on the second floor.

He was a man of about thirty years old, with a stubble beard, high cheekbones, and the insignia of a Rus' Empire infantryman pinned to his uniform.

His eyes were narrowed to slits from being in darkness for so long. His right hand gripped a rifle with a bayonet fixed. The rifle was rusted, and the screws on the bayonet mount were loose, barely held together with strips of cloth.

“Five. None of them were bitten,” he replied in broken Viktorian, his tone a mixture of surprise and wariness.

The flag captain announced the ship's number and then used the fewest words possible to explain the cruiser's location and evacuation plan.

A faint expression, tinged with immense fatigue and hardly one that could be called joy, finally appeared on that haggard face.

The man turned and shouted a hoarse voice in Rossi behind him, then poked his head back out: "We're out of bullets, only bayonets left. The stairs are gone, we can't get up to the first floor."

"Move away the obstacles at the door, and we'll lower the rope down."

Two long ropes, made of bed sheets and ropes, were thrown down from the second floor, with the ends hanging down to the stone floor.

Five Ross soldiers slid down the rope one by one, the last one being the corporal, who gripped the rope with one hand and his bayonet-fixed rifle with the other.

The five men were in worse condition than the flag captain had anticipated—each of them was emaciated, with sunken eyes, and the bloodstains on their uniforms had long since clumped together, making it impossible to tell whether they were their own or someone else's.

The last person to come down had only one boot left on his foot, and the other foot was wrapped in a strip of cloth torn from his military uniform, the original color of which was no longer visible.

The flag captain did not waste time counting the number of people.

He quickly explained the evacuation route: along the south side of Haiguan Street, take the narrow alleys at the edge of the warehouse area, avoid the main street, and the small boat will be at the old berth at the southernmost end of the dock.

Remain absolutely silent, line up in a row and follow the knight in front. If the group is cut off, do not go back to help; each person should retreat towards the small boat.

Then he turned around and gestured to the knight guarding the door.

The gunners on the fleet side carried out Perfitt's order to "stop after three rounds," and the cannon fire ceased after the third shell struck the open ground next to the dock.

The port fell silent once again.

This deathly silence was even more unbearable than before, because everyone knew it was only temporary—the infected who had been drawn to the dock by the sound of cannons had lost their source of noise and were dispersing again.

The reconnaissance team escorted the five survivors back along the same route as quickly as possible.

The flag bearer led the procession, always maintaining a sufficient distance from the street corner to react. The survivors were sandwiched in the middle of the procession, with two knights bringing up the rear.

As they emerged from the rusted iron gate in the warehouse area, reduced to just hinges, infected individuals had already begun to return to the area sporadically.

The first one to appear at the street corner was a tibia, dragging a footless shinbone as it crawled across the gravel, making a faint scraping sound.

Then more and more appeared—not in large flocks, but scattered individuals moving about in the ruins. A few of them stood on the edge of the dock, emitting indistinct growls towards the sea.

Several more were slowly moving from the direction of Customs Street toward the dock, no more than thirty yards from the small boat berth.

The flag captain crouched down behind the wreckage of the freight wagon and raised a fist.

The entire team stopped immediately, and everyone pressed themselves against cover.

After waiting for about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, the wandering infected gradually moved away, and the flag captain gave the signal to proceed. The five survivors were pushed onto the small boat first, followed by the eight knights.

The last sailor to board the boat used his oars to brace against the edge of the dock, silently propelling the small boat into the sea. All eight oars entered the water simultaneously, rowing towards the cruiser anchored near the shore.

It wasn't until the small boat had sailed nearly two hundred yards away from the dock that the flag captain turned back to look in the direction of the clock tower.

The clock tower still stood in the hazy morning light, its spire charred black and its windows pitch black.

The bells will never ring again.

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Perfit waited on the deck for almost an hour.

She was wearing full protective gear, and the double gloves and breathing mask made her knuckles and behind her ears ache slightly, but she didn't take them off.

A temporary isolation and reception area was marked out on the deck, with three white lines extending from the ship's side to below the bridge—the first line for disinfection, the second for inspection, and the third for access. Two military doctors in charge of receiving the shipment were already waiting there, carrying preheated hydrogen peroxide sprayers, the nozzles emitting a faint white vapor in the morning breeze.

The small boat docked at the gangway. Perfit stopped in front of the first white line, with Belfast standing half a step behind her.

"All personnel boarding the ship, including the reconnaissance team, will be disinfected outside the first line." Her voice was not loud, but every word struck the deck clearly. "Clothing, weapons, boot soles—spray everything. Survivors are not allowed to bring any personal belongings onto the ship."

Five Ross survivors were the first to be pushed up the gangway. Their uniforms were tattered, and the last man's leg wraps were dripping wet. Two medics raised sprayers and sprayed them from head to toe with a fine mist of hydrogen peroxide. Uniforms, leggings, and the several unloaded rifles with bayonets fixed—all were soaked, disinfectant dripping down the butts. The survivors' uniforms, boots, and all their belongings were stuffed directly into an open tin barrel next to the gangway and the lid was fastened. A sailor picked up the barrel, walked to the side of the ship, and threw the barrel and its contents into the sea. The barrel tumbled twice on the surface, filled with water, and sank.

Next to board were eight knights and two sailors from the reconnaissance squad. They stood in a row at the gangway, and the medic sprayed each of them with water from their armor seams, gloves, boot soles, and sword sheaths. The flag captain drew his sword, had both sides of the blade sprayed with hydrogen peroxide by the medic, and then sheathed it before crossing the first white line.