Sgt. Golem: Royal Mech Hussar - Books 2 & 3

I found myself laying on the floor. The lightning was gone and the stench of smoke filled the air.

My limbs continued to twitch as I tried to get them to work. They seemed to have no strength. Then I realized with a shock that my heart had stopped.

That really annoyed me.

I'd worked so hard earlier coming back from the dead. Now it seemed like a wasted effort. My annoyance turned into a last spark of determination and I tried to get my limbs under me and push myself up.

My gun hand was in my view. The slide had been melted to the barrel where a lightning bolt struck near the chamber.

Had the bullet cooked off? It seemed likely but it was just as possible that it wasn't. Electricity had fickle ways as it danced across the surfaces of metal. Maybe a scientist knew where it would go but I didn't. There was still a chance the gun would fire one more time.

I still had second 1911 still holstered under my tattered jacket on my left hip, but I was in no shape to draw that and shoot. The world swam as I pushed myself up onto my knees. I was surprised I'd gotten that far. Surely the human body didn't last this long with no heartbeat. Was it my golem body? Then I remembered: Frankenstein had blathered earlier about redundancy.

I realized I could feel a funny tightness and a throbbing where my left kidney should be.

I looked up to see Frankenstein watching me with disappointment evident on his face.

"I don't know why I bothered," he said with a shake of his head. "Yes, that body is one of my masterpieces. I can tell what you're feeling. That's the secondary heart." His lips twisted in a smile. "It would be an exaggeration to say my genius knows no bounds, but I haven't reached those bounds just yet. I'm particularly proud of that heart. It's already saved both our lives today. Not that it'll do you any good." He patted the shiny silver handgun on his desk.

I tried to get my thoughts in order. I might have one shot. If I shot him, he might survive, in which case I would be dead. Or may deader? I knew from experience these golem skulls were incredibly hard, and a hit might glance off and not prove fatal.

I lifted my gun and took aim at the lightning pistol on his desk. Lapsed Baptists normally didn’t pray to saints, but I said a little one to John Moses Browning, wherever he was, as I squeezed off my shot.

If he wasn't a saint, he should have been. His masterpiece kicked in my hand as the bullet exploded from the chamber, but the slide didn't move, welded in place. The lightning pistol jumped, skidded across the desk, and fell to the floor beyond.

Frankenstein leaped to his feet. "You idiot!" He disappeared behind his desk and came up with a broken pistol. "You have no idea how hard that was to make."

I stood to my full height on wobbly feet and took two staggering steps, not towards Frankenstein, but towards a nearby bookshelf where I had seen a small bust, the head of Socrates or some old bearded guy. I picked it up, feeling barely strong enough to heft it.

"A weapon won't help you in your current condition," Frankenstein snapped.

I swayed on my feet and then let myself crumple to the floor, still holding the heavy, round head. It was smooth marble and had a good heft to it. I rolled on my back and raised the bust up in the air, then slammed it down into my own chest.

Frankenstein had been starting to rant but trailed off. "What are you doing?"

I slammed it down again. I tried to remember my training. What was that song? Staying Alive?

My arm burned as I lifted the heavy weight again. My solar plexus creaked as it slammed down. It was really damn painful and I'm pretty sure I broke some ribs and cracked my sternum.

I heard Frankenstein coming across the room, but I paid him no mind. I figured I had no chance against him without my full strength anyway.

The stone head came down again, cracking my chest with agony. Then the pain faded in a wash of dizziness. It was more than vertigo, a wave of sensations: cold chills, muscle tremors, a flash of migraine, and a painful stab low on my left side in what was apparently my backup heart.

I gasped for breath as the sensations faded. My main heart was beating again.

Frankenstein stood over, mouth gaping.

"You're alive!" Frankenstein cried. The surprised look on his face was almost worth the pain in my abused chest. "How did you know that would work? No, how did it work?"

I breathed deep as energy flooded back into my limbs. "I could explain.” Frankenstein leaned forward eagerly. "But what's the point?"

I kicked his feet out from under him. Frankenstein fell with a crash, and I rolled to my feet and straight into a crouch.

His own body, a near carbon copy of my own, had not been electrocuted and pummeled. My ribs shrieked in agony as I moved, and my muscles twitched and rebelled against every command. As he rose, I slugged him in the jaw and knocked him back to the floor.

His face was still full of surprise and confusion as he came up again. When I knocked him down a second time, he started to get mad. Without standing, his foot lashed out and caught me alongside the knee. I staggered but caught myself on a piece of furniture before I went down.

Frankenstein flipped to his feet and came up ready, his hands wide and open. It was a grappler's stance, and I could see he had partaken of similar combat training to what I had received. I had to assume he was my equal in skills and reflexes.

I went for my second gun and had it half drawn before he hit me. We went down hard with him on top. My gun went skittering away across the carpet. We broke apart and came up at the same time.

His stance shifted, and I changed mine to match, moving into the posture of a striking martial art instead of a grappling one, hands up and close in line with the body. He moved in with a flashing jab immediately followed by a hard right hook. I blocked both.

What followed was a blazing series of strikes and counterstrikes as we both went all out. I caught punches and chops on my hands, forearms, and elbows. But still some landed, knocking my head back or bruising my shoulder and throwing one of my own punches off-center. I gave as good as I got, landing hard strikes on Frankenstein. He shrugged them off. My ribs were shrieking in agony. I couldn't keep this up on even footing.

I launched a series of blows to force him back a step and give me some space, then I kicked for his knee. He dodged, and my foot only grazed his calf. He turned his off-balance move into a blazing spin kick that caught me coming in and threw me back across the room.

I might have stayed on my feet had I been in open space, but instead, I hit the couch and flipped over, landing hard on the ground beyond. For an instant, I was looking into the eyes of the Ninja Warrior. His mask was off. He had short-cropped dark hair. I was surprised to see him still alive, then saw his sword, which was stabbed into the ground next to him. I realized he had used it as a grounding rod to divert the nearest lightning strikes past his body. He was seated on the ground and still looked strung out. No help from that quarter then.

I leapt up and vaulted the couch. My move caught Frankenstein by surprise, but I was in the air and he still had his feet planted on the ground, so his rushed block to my diving punch still threw me off balance and gave him the initiative.

We struck each other with a blinding series of punches and kicks, blocking where we could but both trying to stay on the offensive. He pushed me back, but I dodged to the side so the couch wouldn't be at my heels. The pain in my chest was taking its toll in the strength of my punches and the speed of my blocks. He steadily pushed me back across the room.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of light on metal as something flipped through the air. I stepped back, held up my hand, and the straight-bladed katana's hilt slapped into my palm.

I whipped the blade down, and Frankenstein threw himself backward. His eyes were wide and surprised, his mouth agape to ask a question, likely where the hell that had come from, but I didn't give him the space to breathe.

I lunged in, the short, straight blade of the katana flashing between us. I could feel the sword training coursing through my brain and instructing my muscles, but it seemed I had been programmed with instincts for a longer blade, likely a fencing rapier or a cavalry saber since those were contemporary martial arts for this time. Several strikes I thought had him were spoiled by my reflexes expecting a longer reach.

Frankenstein scampered back, dodged around his desk, and snatched a rapier from a decorative mount on the wall. Now it was my turn to retreat as his own skills, which matched the blade in his hand, drove me back with blinding strikes.

Step by step, I was pressed back, forced to defend with my shorter blade. I had no opportunity to counterattack against his longer reach. I leapt backwards, landing on the top of the couch and then dropping behind it to grab the ninja sword dropped by the dead mini-ninja. I was mildly surprised to see the one who had been conscious moments before, and who had apparently thrown me his sword, was now flopped over on his face, lying still. Apparently, giving me a weapon had been his last act. I would try to make it count.

Frankenstein rushed in, trying to press his advantage, but now with a blade in each hand, I was able to block with one while quickly counterattacking with the other. It offset his reach advantage. I was able to counterattack with my two blades, despite my abused ribs.

He leapt to the side, still on the back of the couch, and I jumped up to meet him. For a moment, we made a ridiculous spectacle, both balanced on the piece of furniture, exchanging blows. Then the couch toppled over and we sprung clear.

We were about to clash again when a shot rang out. The wall paneling behind Frankenstein sprayed splinters as a gunshot hole appeared.

Frankenstein glanced at it in surprise and then looked back at me quizzically, as if to say, "What the hell?" There was no sign of a gunman anywhere in the room. The two bodies of the ninja still lay on the floor. With the couch toppled over, we could see both of them clearly, and they hadn't moved.

What I didn't see anywhere were the two .45s I had dropped earlier, one damaged by lightning, but the other fully loaded and ready to use.

My ribs were throbbing, my breath coming in great gasps. I used the momentary distraction to try to catch my breath, but each inhale was agony. I had a cut on my upper arm and another low along my ribs. Neither enough to be debilitating, but they stained my shirt with blood.

Frankenstein's confused look turned to anger, and he lunged for me with a wicked slash. His newfound fury combined with my fatigue had me on the defensive, pushing me back step by step.

Suddenly, Frankenstein stiffened. He took two quick steps back and twisted to look behind him. When he did, I could see his back. A throwing star protruded from just under his right shoulder blade.

"What the hell?" he demanded.

Frankenstein took two quick steps over to the body of the fallen ninjas. He kicked one, and it flopped over, eyes wide and staring. With a snarl, he lashed his foot at the other. Crunch. The black uniform deflated as pottery shards spilled out. His face was a mask of fury when he looked up at me. "My Ming vase! Where is he?"

I tried not to laugh because my ribs were aching too much. I took another step back in case he lunged for me again. "How should I know? You're the one who killed him."

Frankenstein whirled left and right. He kept his sword pointed towards me, but searched the room with his eyes desperately.

There was no sign of anyone here but the two of us and the one dead body.

I tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. "You're the one who thought ninjas would be useful. Isn't it a shame that you're right?"

Thud. Another ninja star was suddenly sprouting from his upper arm. I was really glad this ninja was observant enough to distinguish between me and Frankenstein, since we has basically the same body. He must be cuing off our clothes. I wondered if all golems looked alike to him, then whether that was racist. I was pretty sure I was starting to lose it. How much blood had I lost? This fight needed to end.

"Damn you,” Frankenstein cried. He lunged forward, trying to get to his desk and whatever devious devices could be controlled from there. I moved to block his path. He thrust at me furiously, but I blocked that strike and the next five.

Had I just seen a flicker of movement from behind him? There was nothing there.

"Damn you," Frankenstein screamed. "Damn you both!" He turned and ran, and as he did I saw another throwing star protruding from his back about liver height.

He ran to the door and disappeared through it. I followed. I found the short flight of stairs that gave access to the roof. As I stepped through the door, Frankenstein's sword whished through the air, and I barely evaded it. The door clanged behind me.

"He can't be up here! He can't! There's nowhere to hide! I would have seen him come out of the door.” Frankenstein’s eyes were wild and his sword wavering. His arm and torso were stained with blood. “Now we finish this.”

The blood loss and a broken sternum had left me with almost nothing more to give. I steeled myself for the final fight. Frankenstein was losing blood faster than I. He lunged in, sword flashing with wild abandon, risking it all in a desperate attempt to cut me down. In my injured state, with my shorter weapons, it was all I could do to defend myself.

His movements became more erratic. Suddenly, he slipped. I lunged in past his defenses. My left blade cut his sword arm and my right slashed deep across his chest. He staggered back with a cry, his sword falling from limp fingers, and came up hard against the parapet. But when I moved in to stab him, he lunged forward.

My right blade cut deep along his side, but he caught my left hand in both of his and stopped my overhand strike. For a moment we struggled.

He was too close for me to bring the sword around. He shifted sideways to slam my right arm against the parapet, catching it between his body and the concrete blocks.

My hand spasmed and the sword clattered onto the roof.

He redoubled his efforts on my left hand, forcing my arm up and back and trying to get the other blade away from me.

My fist hit his jaw with the sound of an axe splitting a log. His head snapped around and he staggered back but kept a grip on my hand. Off balance, I was pulled along with him. With a twist he smashed my left hand, sword and all, into the stone wall to our side. The sword went flying off into the empty spaces beyond, falling towards the valley below.

I drew back my right fist and punched him again. He tried to get his hands up to fend me off, but I didn't give him a moment's space. I swung my left and then my right again, getting into a rhythm. Each time he tried to block, I brushed it aside and slammed another big fist into him.

The bloodlust was on me and I couldn't feel my damaged ribs, though I was sure I would later. For all I could feel now was the jarring in my arm as each of my blows pounded into him.

I hit him in the face, neck and body, targeting the wound on his shoulder, as well as sending powerful punches to his solar plexus.

He sagged back against the wall. I grabbed his collar with my left hand and jerked him upright to throw two more quick punches to his face which by now was so cut and swollen, it was hard to tell he was human. Although I guess he wasn't.

With a burst of energy, Frankenstein shoved away from me, but that made him fall back against the parapet. He hit at an unlucky angle and toppled over the wall into empty space.

I lunged forward and reached out my hand. He caught it and came up hard with a jerk that drove agony into all of my body. My second wind had faded.

He looked up at me as he dangled from the side of his fortress. The anger in his mostly swollen shut eyes had faded. The only emotion left on his tattered features was confusion. "How? It's impossible! I'm a superior being!"

I shook my head. “Not from where I'm standing.”

I let him go.