Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #22 January 2016 | Page 7

Just War

we have risen out of the heat of the plains, up into a
broad range of high, grassy hills. Gardiner halts the
column in a wide valley sheltered from the strong
winds while the scouts fan out in all directions. After
two days waiting, with rumours that the fuel cache
never arrived, Gardiner orders the artillery balloon
broken out. I am surprised he waited so long, but
everyone has been changing in this interminable
journey towards the front line. High overhead, giant
silver and grey airships slide through the sky laden
with cargoes and fuel for supply dumps far ahead.
We watch them futilely, they have orders not to
respond to ground communications. Lords of the
upper skies, the ponderous airships are vulnerable
close to the ground. Enemy forces have been
obliterated here, but reactionary guerrilla groups
may be operating.

By David Gullen
Part Two
Day 183
We have been travelling for exactly six
months. Elsa and Suzi want to celebrate, I am not
sure why, but there’s no reason not to.
In order to conserve supplies we have taken
to hunting for bush meat. This slows the column
down but means we can go further between supply
drops. The solar airships now take over a week to
reach us from the Uganyika depot. The dockyards
are an ancient memory, the preceding train ride the
relic of a fading dream.

Rolf and I are ordered into the balloon,
Mitchell operates the winch. As we rise up, the gas
burner roaring above us, the landscape spreads out
below us. Blue-grey jungle spreads to the horizon,
the gigantic expanse of Lake Uganyika concealed
by sheer distance. Spread across the green and gold
savannah, several large herds are moving north,
where silver-grey curtains of rain drape the air
between the ground and lightning-lit storm clouds.
Between us and the storms, a rising trail of dust
shows one of the light scout cars heading back
towards us.

As the afternoon heat fades, Mitchell and
Kosygyn trot out into the grasslands, bare-chested,
rifles in hand. Two miles away a huge herd of eland,
kudu and Thompson gazelle graze.
In the evening they return, dried blood caking
their arms to the elbows, each with a gutted gazelle
carcass across their shoulders.
ran.”

Kosygyn grins at Elsa. “We saw lions. We

Much further ahead, beyond these grassy
hills, is another plain, green and lush, cut by a vast
river. On the far side is a range of snow-capped
mountains.

“Please be careful.”
We roast the gazelles, trading meat with the
surrounding units for root vegetables and lungfish
dug from the mud of drying pools.

“Another big storm,” Rolf says, pointing
towards the base of the distant range.

I notice Mitchell has removed the horn tips of
the gazelles. He and Kosygyn wear them round their
necks, but later I see Kosygyn has given his to Elsa.

Dark clouds split by sullen, red flashes cling
to the base of the mountains along a wide front. As
we watch the silent flickering light, a small, yellow
and green bird appears on the rim of the basket,
chirrups once, then hops back out into the sky.

Day 190
The scouts have failed to locate the latest
supply drop and our tankers are near empty. At least

line.”

7

“That’s not a storm,” I say. “It’s the front