Chapter 44 - The Broken Lineage
"You have until midnight to hand over the original deed to the Black Ridge vein and the syndicate registers," Arthur Thornton said, turning back toward his carriage. "If the depot bell chimes twelve and the documents are not on my table, the battery fires. We will pave this valley in ash and lay our tracks across the embers."
With a sharp whistle from the conductor, the armored door clanged shut. The private militia formed a bristling perimeter around the tracks, their bayonets gleaming dully under the pale mountain sun.
"We have to evacuate the town," Judge Vance said, panic bleeding into his tone as he hurried back onto the terrace. "The mortar shells will level the residential district in twenty minutes!"
"There’s nowhere to run," Caleb replied, his jaw set like granite. "He’s got the northern canyon choked with ironclads and the southern pass covered by battery nests. If we run into the blizzard, the mountain takes us. If we stay, the cannons take us."
Clara stood motionless, staring at the armored train. Her mind raced through the blueprints she had studied in the governor's office. She knew the design of that private carriage. Her father had commissioned it years ago—she remembered the brass drafting tubes scattered across his study in Philadelphia.
"The train isn't just an escort," Clara murmured, turning to Caleb. "It’s his armory. The ammunition for those mountain mortars isn't on the ridge. The shells are packed in the rear boxcars because the mountain roads are too steep for heavy munitions carts."
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Caleb’s eyes sharpened. "You're saying the batteries on the ridge only have what's in their chambers?"
"A dozen shells each, at most," Clara said, her voice brimming with resolve. "If we sever the supply line at the switchyard before midnight, the guns on the ridge will run dry after the first barrage. We don't defend Black Ridge. We cut the snake’s head off in the yard."
