The Steam Age: Gears and Bones

Chapter 54

"Withdraw Viktoria?" Chertsov looked up at him. "Even if we can withdraw Viktoria, then what? The samples we brought back are still in Allen's lead-lined box, the abominations are still sealed underground in the Predelshinsk district, and the wilt disease is spreading throughout the Old World."

If Miss Perfit were awake, what would she choose?

Ludwig didn't avoid his gaze: "She won't choose to retreat. That's why I said to keep moving forward."

Sabel sat slightly to the left of the two of them, the Book of Words open on her lap, one hand always resting on the pages.

From the night of the breakout, she never stopped reciting requiem prayers. Even now, when she is not reciting them, the scriptures seem to be engraved into her breath, vibrating slightly with each exhale.

Her face wasn't much better than Perfit's—pale, cracked, and with sunken eye sockets, but her eyes still shone.

"My words can only stabilize her condition, not revive her. It's not an injury—Miss Brandlis nearly exhausted herself during the breakout. I examined her condition; it's not physical damage, as the body recovers much faster than the mind."

Her spiritual power was now like a completely emptied reservoir, every drop of its reserves drained. Divine magic could protect the dam from collapsing, but to fill the reservoir again, only she could do it herself.

I'm not sure how much longer she'll need—maybe she'll wake up tomorrow, maybe it will be many more days.

Therefore, our current plans, whether to continue or change course to the port, must take into account the possibility that she may remain in a coma for an even longer period of time.

The flag captain has remained silent since the beginning.

He sat in the seat closest to the carriage, with his sword at hand and his helmet on his knees.

His gaze swept back and forth between Chertsov and Ludwig before he spoke: "My mission is to protect Miss Brandlis's safety. The last order the Knights of the Sword and Roses received came from Her Highness the Princess herself—to bring her back alive under any circumstances."

This command has the highest priority.

I don't care whether I continue towards Romulus or change course to the port, nor do I care whether I can rendezvous with the Northern Legion.

I only care about one thing—she's lying in the carriage, feverish, and not waking up. If continuing will worsen her condition, then we should stop.

If stopping would put her in greater danger, then we should find a safe place as soon as possible.

The four of them fell silent at the same time.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered inside the windproof cover, and a snowflake blown in by the wind landed on the top of the cover, instantly turning into a tiny droplet of water that slid down the brass cover, only to freeze halfway down.

The wind lifted a corner of the map, and Chernzov reached out and pressed it down, his finger pressing on the valley marked by Ludwig.

Just then, Allen strode over from beside the carriage.

His toolbox was still open next to the artillery vehicle, and chalk dust was still stuck to his sleeves, but his expression clearly conveyed a sense of "maybe it will be useful."

He walked to the edge of the circle where the four were sitting, slowed his pace slightly as if considering his words, and then said, "The radio transmitter that Miss Brandlis had us assemble is still working."

After setting up camp, Morris and I checked and found that the spark gap oscillator was not damaged and the hand-cranked generator had sufficient output power.

"If we need to contact the Northern Army, we can set up an antenna now."

Ludwig looked up at him, paused for a moment, then shook his head: "There will be no response. The last telegram I received before I left was several weeks ago, and since then the Northern Legion's communication frequency has been completely silent."

I've tried calling daily at set times using the military radio in Stokana, and I've never received a reply. If you set up your antenna now and send a message to the Northern Army's frequency, no one will answer.

Ludwig did not speak.

Cherzov glanced at him, then turned to Allen. His voice was still hoarse, but each word seemed to be coaxed from a dry throat, devoid of any inflection, yet carrying a calm composure honed from countless near-death experiences: "Set up the antenna. Send one signal to the Northern Legion. Ludwig von Oberstan, son of Elector Oberstan, has arrived south of the Hippol Pass with the Victorian Empire's expedition and is approaching your forces."

If no one responds, consider it a wasted Morse code.

But if someone responds—even if it's not the Northern Legion headquarters, even if it's just some still-functioning border outpost—we'll at least know if there are any Romulus still alive on this battlefield.

Ludwig glanced silently at Chernzov, then turned and nodded to Allen.

Allen turned and walked toward the wooden crates next to the gun carriage where equipment was piled up. Morris had already taken the main body of the transmitter out of the crates.

The two found a flat gravel surface at the bottom of the cliff, fixed the spark gap oscillator, connected the capacitor board and inductor coil, and used the same cartwheel spoke for the antenna, which was held upright at the top of the cliff by a Ross soldier.

Another soldier held the crank handle of the hand-cranked generator and began to turn it at a steady speed, the low hum echoing back and forth on the inside of the cliff.

Ludwig walked to the telegraph machine, squatted down, and translated Chernsov's dictation word for word in Morse code. He wrote it down on a piece of paper torn from his notebook and handed it to Allen.

Allen checked the message again and then pressed the trigger switch for the spark gap.

Intermittent electric sparks crackled in the gaps between the copper plates, and high-frequency pulses radiated outward along the antenna, leaving a faint ozone smell in the cold air with each discharge.

The message was sent three times, and after each time Allen stopped, put the earpiece to his ear, and waited for a response.

After the first transmission, there was a brief silence, with only background noise in the headphones.

After the second transmission, there was still only noise.

After the third transmission, Allen closed his eyes and adjusted the spacing of the capacitor plates, scanning several preset military frequencies. Then his fingers suddenly stopped—something seemed to faintly pulsate in the background noise, extremely far away, like a signal.

But the signal was too weak, so weak that he couldn't even tell if it actually existed.

Allen pressed the headphones tighter, his fingers subtly adjusting the spacing of the capacitors in an attempt to recapture that frequency, but the signal didn't reappear.

After trying several times, I finally took off my headphones.

"I haven't received a clear response," he said to Chernzov and Ludwig, who had gathered around him, in a low voice. "Maybe that signal was just atmospheric noise, maybe it wasn't. I can't be sure."

Chertzov nodded, patted him on the shoulder without saying anything, then stood up and walked to the outside of the cliff to check the sentry post.

Ludwig stood beside the transmitter, staring for a long time at the copper sheet gradually cooling in the spark gap.

Then he turned and walked back to his gray-armored knights, sat cross-legged on a piece of gravel, placed his knight's sword across his knees, and closed his eyes.