Iron Angel: Genesis of an Iron Angel: Iron Angel, #1

By Robert C Roman

This, the first collection of stories from the world of The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones, tells the stories of Capricious Jones, an engineer who would rather die flying free than be enslaved, her daughter Leigh Abrams, Lady Officer in the American Expeditionary Force, and Tina Tesla, an AI from halfway around the globe, designed to emulate human behavior, who finds herself with a Badge, a Gun, and a Duty to uphold. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert C Roman
• Release date: Nov 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223484691

Book preview

Iron Angel: Volume One

by Robert C Roman

The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones

or

Genesis of an Iron Angel

(Chapter One)

Capricious Fate Jones soared. The wind rushing past her face lifted her spirits and her body ever higher. Below her the countryside stretched for miles, every stream and hill brought close by her goggles’ lenses. To the west the horizon curved away over the Atlantic, a huge cargo airship bound for the States at the edge of visibility. Banking to the left, she could just make out the Pyrenees. A quiet creak from her leather harness, barely audible over the roar of her engines, the quiet rush of wind, and the woolen insulation in her helmet, brought a frown to her lips.

The leather connecting her to her wings was supple, not prone to creaking. Some of the leather in her flight cap was hard, but it wasn’t under stress. All of it, hard or soft, was properly oiled and cared for, even that of her wings, with the cloth and thin wood supported by hard leather straps. Thinking about them, she smiled. Orville had been such a gentleman, providing her with the proper conformation for the wings. It was a pity he was so much younger than Cap; she might otherwise have dallied with him rather than David.

The rush of a sudden updraft washed away her melancholy. Soaring high in the sky, she was freer than she had ever been on the ground. In the sky, no one cared that she had been born a slave. As she floated on the winds, no one cared that under the thick insulating linen she wore bloomers instead of breeches. Driven by her Engines and lofted by her wings, no one cared that she had not only borne a child out of wedlock, but done the unthinkable and acknowledged her openly.

Thoughts of Kay made Cap realize how long she had been aloft. The gauge on her right epaulet showed her tanks were half full of the secret mixture of distilled naphtha and jellied alcohol propelling her through the skies. On this, her first flight, she had no intention of letting her fuel drop any lower. Her wings were too short for her to glide safely to the ground, and her parachute was as experimental as her Engines. She gave one last longing glance at the snow-capped Alps. With a wistful sigh, Cap leaned to her right to bank back towards David’s manor.

Halfway back around, Pyrenees once more in sight, she heard the distinctive sound of stressed leather snapping free. Her wings began to unravel, and she knew without doubt that she would die before she saw little Kay again.

AFTER EXITING THE MECHANICAL carriage that delivered her to the road outside Abrams manor, Leigh made her way across what once had been a lush, green lawn. Vague memories of that lawn gave her a sense of deja vu, but the grass was gone now, replaced by a vast mustering point pounded flat by the Mechanical Men of the American Expeditionary Force. They stood in orderly rows, guns ported in sheathes across their backs, various melee weapons clamped to their bodies. The image of military power should have made her feel safe.

As Leigh walked, she passed through alternating sun and shade; most Mechanicals in the camp were taller and broader than a man. Just before she reached the manor house proper, she paused under a huge Command Mechanical, the only one present. Looking up from beneath it, she admired the way the articulation for each of the four legs was armored to prevent sappers from flinging explosives into the joints. With one lucky toss, a single charge was capable of killing off the entire crew, and if the officers commanding them were killed, Mechanicals became unstable. They might go on fighting everyone, including each other, until only one remained, or they might just grind to a halt then and there. That’s what her instructors had told her, at least.

Finally, Leigh stood a bare half dozen paces before the doors of the converted château that served the American Expeditionary Force as a headquarters. Enlisted men bustled past her on both sides, their thinly-concealed annoyance kept in check by the officer’s tabs on her epaulets. Those same tabs drew quick salutes, held until the rankers passed her. A few, thinking her engrossed in the orders she held clutched in her hands, stared surreptitiously at her in passing. With the massive losses of the last few years, Lady Officers in the States had become ever more commonplace, but the Expeditionary Force hadn’t received many yet.

A few did more than glance, and her skin begin to heat. Not for the first time she cursed whatever fate had overindulged when blessing her with feminine attributes. Self-consciously, she adjusted the thick leather belts that stretched across her midsection. On a man, or a less well-developed woman, they would be arrayed across the chest and waist, allowing easy access to sidearm, supplies, and tools. For Leigh, they formed an ersatz bit of corsetry, adding more support to the patently inadequate undergarments supplied by the Women’s Army Corps. The leather in place, she smoothed the rough linen of her uniform dress, marveling at its feel. On the one hand, it was the first new dress she’d ever owned. On the other, it was an ugly thing, all rough olive drab made for durability rather than fashion.

A junior officer strode from the building, his purpose obvious in every step, his bearing military and correct. His hair was cropped too close to tell its natural color, showing him to be a recent graduate of one of the academies. His shoulders bore the single gold bar of a junior lieutenant and the mailed fist of Mechanical command.

The lieutenant’s gaze met hers. He nodded with perfunctory respect, the greeting of a proper gentleman to a lady of unknown provenance but proper bearing. Silently, she thanked him for that small favor. A moment later, his gaze dropped away from her face, drawn like lodestone to a magnet. Leigh watched as he realized where his gaze had wandered and snapped it back to her eyes. He realized she knew he’d been staring and looked away, abashed. Then, as if against his will, his gaze crept back toward her.

The fact that he’d stopped walking entirely was an obvious sign of his distraction. He clearly thought of himself as a gentleman, as when he realized he’d begun staring again, he locked his gaze with Leigh’s once more. Then his eyes began to wander, beginning to show that familiar look of disbelief. Leigh’s dusky skin didn’t blush easily, but once it began, it was impossible to stop. She felt the warmth in the swell of her breast, knowing that within seconds it would crest her collar and rush across her face.

Desperate to distract him, she rustled the orders in her hands. Seemingly just as desperate for the distraction, the young would-be gentleman snapped his attention to the orders. Recognizing them instantly for what they were, he glanced at the tabs on her shoulders that mirrored his own, save hers bore the twin turreted castle of an Engineer.

Ma’am? Are you lost?

His voice matched the rest of him. Strong, confident, with just the faintest hint of affected ennui to give the impression that no matter what crisis lurked, he had seen worse. Her plight hadn’t moved him; he clearly realized she had caught him staring and was trying to find an excuse for his rudeness. Were she one of the Ladies she’d so often wished to be, his thin ruse would never have worked. Leigh, however, had no such claim to gentle heritage.

No, Sir, I am not. I have orders to report directly to General March at noon today.

His condescending chuckle sped the blush across her face. Between that, the heat of the day, and the constriction of her belts, she was rapidly becoming lightheaded.

Miss, your promptness does you credit. It’s only half-past eleven. However, you’re quite obviously inexperienced with how these things work. When you’re ordered to report to the commander, you report to the headquarters, not the commander’s office.

Oh? Really? I’m so thankful you were here to correct me, Sir. Could I perhaps impose upon you for directions, then?

The look of barely suppressed consternation on his face was worth the additional time spent in his company, Leigh decided.

Lieutenant Sebastian Cole at your service, Miss...?

"Lieutenant Leigh Abrams, Sir. You do, I suspect, have me by date of rank. That’s how these things are done, am I right?" His consternation might be her only compensation for the stares today, so she would enjoy it while it lasted.

AT THE SOUND OF LEATHER snapping, Cap reacted without thinking. She squeezed a friction grip with one hand, locking the Engines’ throttle in place and fixing her rudder on a straight course. With her other hand, she reached out for her crystal device; the rescue crews would need to be called up, and quickly. Crystal in hand, she crossed her arms across her chest as her port wing fragmented. She spiraled counterclockwise, the remains of the wing beginning to hammer at her back and legs. If she got out of this alive, she would have bruises tomorrow.

Cap gripped the handle for her port severing charges with both hands. The charge would drive a heavy blade through the port wing mount, leaving her only the starboard one, allowing her to bring herself in on one wing once the buffeting stopped. Landing would be difficult, but she could always try for the water. She grinned, thinking of the effect her figure always had on David. She certainly had the built-in flotation devices for extended swimming. Taking a deep breath, she leaned to starboard and yanked on the stiff handle with both hands.

An explosion rocked her right side. The starboard severing charges hammered her sideways, ripped her starboard wing from its moorings, and drove the severing blade into her side. Pain ripped through her, blood soaking the silk of her blouse.

Moving with the false clarity of one in shock, she reached around with her left hand. The blade was mostly free now. It might not have severed any arteries, but it had flayed a great deal of her back. The injury wouldn’t kill her directly, but the blood loss would knock her out shortly. That, though, would kill her - unconsciousness while aloft was a death sentence.

Her crystal device chimed. Relieved, she reached for it, a cry for help on her lips.

Momma? Are you there, momma? Hello, momma?

Kay’s voice shocked her from her fugue. In the moment she heard it, everything became clear. This hadn’t been an accident. David had sabotaged her. To ensure her death, he had brought Kay into the crystal room; he knew Capricious would never subject her daughter to hearing her mother dying this way. With superhuman effort, Cap steadied her voice and swallowed her cry for help unspoken.

Hallo, baby. Momma’s a little busy right now. Are you being good for the Padre?

Not a baby!

Cap reached into her gear belt and withdrew a small vial of powder. She had intended it for use in case she broke a limb on landing, killing her pain without dulling her senses. Her hope was that the crystal device would muffle her voice too much for Kay to recognize the detachment that came with it.

Of course you’re not, Kay, but you’ll always be Momma’s baby girl. Now, are you being good for the Padre?

Yes, Momma.

Excellent. Put your father on.

The signal cut out for a moment. Cap gripped the severing blade with her left hand and pulled sharply. By the time David’s voice sounded in her ear, she held the heavy, six-inch long blade in blood-slicked hands. Her head cleared by the restorative, she was slicing up the remains of the port wing when his voice sounded over the crystal device.

Capri? Are you well? Are your Engines functioning properly?

Yes, David.

Are you having any problems?

Nothing worth mentioning. Be sure to stay near the crystal device, I may need you later.

Of course, Capri.

The gloating in his voice was too much to bear. She broke the connection and kept cutting at the remains of the portside wing.

LEIGH LOOKED ABOUT the room, doing her best to ignore the tongue-lashing going on a few feet from her. Simple wooden desks and cheap typewriters filled the room. The office equipment clashed with the faded paper on the walls. Once pink, it had faded to dull coral, the formerly ornate scrollwork worn down by years and traffic. Now, only the stenciled ceiling border remained to show the room’s original purpose. Painted letters and numbers danced with animals and flowers to keep the child living in the room quiet and happy.

An explosive snort drew her attention back to the fuming colonel. Sebastian’s face remained still, accepting the brunt of the diatribe being leveled at him by the senior officer in the quartermaster’s office.

When the orders are to report to the command, you come here. When the orders are specifically to report to the commander’s office, you go there. You know how to read, I assume?

Yes, Sir!

Thank all the blessed saints. This last week I’ve had no less than three of you would-be cavalry commanders come through without even that to your credit. You did read the orders the young lady spoke of?

No, Sir!

Then I suggest you do so. Here.

The fiercely mustachioed visage of the quartermaster turned, and in an instant smiled paternally at Leigh. She covered her embarrassment with a smile and curtsey, the stiff linen of her uniform dress rough against her fingers as she did so. At his frown, she remembered herself and saluted, feeling her blush burning fiercely on her cheeks.

So, Miss...?

Abrams, Sir.

Funny, that. The building you are in is the manor of an older gentleman by that name.

I’m aware, Sir.

Any relation?

Yes, Sir.

The quartermaster’s eyes inquired, but Leigh was embarrassed enough by the situation. Leigh had always been easily molded, and her Army training had instilled Duty in her. That sense of Duty compelled her to avoid any familial patronage. She simply could not bring herself to trade on her family name.

The quartermaster still stared, age giving him the fortitude or disinterest to keep his eyes level, but beyond her fierce blush Leigh held firm. When the rustle of folding paper indicated that Cole had at long last completed reading her orders, the aging colonel shrugged and returned his attention to the unlucky lieutenant.

Now, do you see the difference, young man?

Yes, Sir!

Now, you will escort this young lady to the commander’s office, after which you will guide her to wherever she needs to go.

But Sir...

The lieutenant realized what he had just said, and for a moment frustration warred with confusion on his face. His hand darted into his jacket, emerging immediately with a folded set of orders similar to Leigh’s own.

I have been ordered to the front, effective immediately.

And you want to go, do you?

Yes, Sir!

Well, then, you can consider this a punishment detail if you wish, but you’re going to be this woman’s shadow until she is settled in at this base. Understand?

Yes, Sir!

Well then, get going. Miss Abrams, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.

Angry silence from her guide filled the walk through the château. The only change came when the muffled roar of an artillery volley drew a wistful glance to the northeast. As the pair left the efficient bustle of the quartermaster’s offices and entered the open central hall of the château, Leigh tried to make a peace offering.

I do apologize for this, Lieutenant. Had I thought it would do your posting a mischief, I would have found my own way.

So you’d paint me a cad as well as a coward?

She opened her mouth, a sharp retort on her lips, but his upraised hand stilled her tongue. With a curt wave of the same hand, he directed her to a large pair of folding double doors, the scrollwork decorating them faded yet intricate with a line scraped across them just below waist height. Leigh cocked her head, inquiring, but Sebastian had turned away from her to rap upon the door.

A muffled voice bade them enter, and Sebastian pulled at the right hand door. As it slid open on tracks and hinges oiled to noiselessness, Leigh tensed. A voice from within the room stirred nearly forgotten memories. Much as she remembered, David Abrams’ voice was strong and commanding. In its depths lurked something new; a frailty that hadn’t been there before. When she finally saw him, she understood why.

Blackened lenses in thin wire frames concealed his eyes. Beneath the darkened glasses a scar ran from one temple to the other. He sat in a heavy wheeled chair, unmistakable evidence of the damage done to his legs. His final handicap wasn’t obvious until he brought his hands up to rest his chin on them. White gloves covered unmoving fingers. She’d heard they were carved from teak to replace the hands that had been destroyed by his flawed Masterpiece.

...and that is why, my dear General March, you will not be moving your command post.

The general, his desk opposite David Abrams’ and slightly askew to it, hid the heat in his voice well. The look on his face, on the other hand, displayed his fury at being ordered about.

"I appreciate your candor, Mister Abrams. All your points are relevant, and I will take them into consideration. However, I will not have you mistake your position here. You have graciously allowed the Expeditionary Force to use your grounds and facilities. In addition, you have put the defenses of your grounds at our disposal, which has assisted more than once to repel sallies in this area. This, as you might imagine, allows you some largesse when it comes to requests, be they of non-essential personnel, supplies, or other considerations. Yet this does not allow you to command my troops, nor to dictate essential personnel.

"Finally, while the American Expeditionary Force appreciates your contributions, we will not tolerate any further losses to that thing you keep chained in the back of your Mechanical garage. Do I make myself clear?"

As the finest crystal, my dear General March, and far be it for me to argue with you. There are, however, three items you seem to be forgetting.

General March’s voice remained controlled, but his clenched fists and hunched shoulders made his anger clear. They are?

First, ‘that thing’ as you call it, is, as you said, chained in the back of my Mechanical laboratory. If you have placed no men or material within reach, it cannot possibly harm them.

March’s limited his reply to a noncommittal grunt.

Since you allow me that point, my second point is that your Mechanical Men are, at best, two generations obsolete.

Now see here! For the first time, some of General March’s rage leaked into his voice. Where he couldn’t take umbrage at his host’s requests, he most certainly could and would defend the honor of his unit.

I am serious, General March. Will you tell me that, one for one, our Mechanical Men are the equal of their Central Powers counterparts?

Just because Pershing was overwhelmed...

General, General, General. Pershing was not ‘overwhelmed’. It is true the Central Powers have a greater number of Mechanical Men, as they did at the time. However, they were not concentrated at that battle. In fact, Pershing had his opponents outnumbered two to one. Am I correct?

Yes. The word was clipped and reluctant. Leigh shrunk back into herself, trying not to be noticed. For his part, the General seemed to have become so preoccupied with David that he had forgotten the existence of his visitors.

At the end of the day, more than half of the Central Powers’ Men remained fully operational. How many did our forces eventually reconsolidate with?

That information is classified.

Fine. I wager it was no more than one in five. As well, it is no great secret that my manor is the last Expeditionary Force repair facility left on the Continent. If it falls, it is simply a matter of time until England submits or is crushed beneath the heel of the Hun. Am I wrong on any point so far?

March remained silent. Back in Pennsylvania Leigh had heard the war was going badly but had no idea the situation was this dire. Outside, the guns sounded once more, and her blood ran cold as she realized that they might not be firing to train the crews, but at actual enemies within range of the long guns. She felt faint and reached for the folding fan secreted within her left tool belt. It eluded her faltering grasp.

Abrams launched into his diatribe once more. So. My Masterpiece has been chained, so any Mechanicals failing are doing so out of disrepair. Your Mechanicals are hopelessly outclassed by those of your enemies, and your only hope is that my Masterpiece outclasses them by an even greater factor, and that my heir possesses the skill to produce more like it. My final point is this: I have devoted my lands, my name, my fortune, and now my heir to your cause, when I might have easily joined with the Hun instead.

Treason!

Hardly! I simply point out to you that repaying my loyalty and sacrifice with dismissal when I offer you my finest work is ill done.

Fine. The words spilled out of March as if he chewed on ground glass. Your heir will be given a position on my maintenance crew and be allowed to work with that monstrosity in the back of your laboratory. Damn Pershing to Hell for getting himself killed.

Sebastian’s sharply indrawn breath brought the general’s attention back to his visitors. The general scowled but did not apologize for his profanity. Leigh’s fan, brought out to fend off her incipient faint, now became a feeble defense against the heat that once again rushed toward her face.

Cole! I thought you were ordered to the front with the latest batch of Men and supplies.

Sebastian’s response was instant, crisp, and certain. Yes, Sir! Apologies, Sir, but the Quartermaster directed me to bring her to you.

I hear my heir has arrived, then?

Cole is hardly your heir, Abrams. He’s no more a brilliant engineer than I am a charming hostess. You rea—

General March’s voice cut off in mid-word, his mouth hanging open. His head swiveled back from David to Leigh like it was on bearings, his eyes lining up on her like some horrid inset cannon. Those eyes narrowed, sweeping her up and down. Behind her fluttering fan she hid a curse; just when she desperately needed a distraction, she was confronted, finally, by a man who wasn’t distracted by her endowments.

March’s voice was flat and cold, You must be joking. Your son’s name is Leigh.

My heir’s name is Leigh. I have never said I have a son.

The rage the general had been containing spilled out all at once. "You expect me to let this woman, this trollop, this Negress to command my maintenance crews?"

Am I to take that to mean you will be relinquishing command of the 54th Massachusetts, then? Detaching them from your forces? Sending them home, perhaps?

At the mention of the