Balsa had seen some fantastic things in recent days, things he would never have thought possible had he not witnessed them with his own eyes. He had seen a seemingly decrepit, albeit immense lump of inanimate clay rise to devastate one of the mightiest bastions on the planet, leaving tanks, planes, and ships in flaming ruin and veteran soldiers cowering in its presence. He had witnessed a dragon made of sand drive his elite forces back into the ocean with but a gust from its wings. Yet none of this compared to the city spread before him now, a massive municipality set within the heart of a mountain in the middle of an otherwise barren part of the world. It was proof positive of a potentially limitless power, one able to destroy as well as create, with devastating efficiency. Somewhere in this ancient metropolis lay the secrets that would enable the Commission to make this power its own and elevate it beyond the reckoning of any state, lesser or great, the plans to build an army as immune to time as it was to the measures of men, an immortal army, an invincible army – his army.

Balsa looked out over the city from his seat on the bridge, a fist under his chin, a half-smile on his face, indifferent to the occasional concussive blast that caused the tower's windows to rattle slightly.

"Kritzinger sacrificed everything, even his reputation, to prove the city exists," Balsa said to no one in particular, shaking his head. "The Commission would have rewarded him wealth and status befitting nobility for delivering it to them. But his treachery has cost him, and his foolishness persists by not accepting the First Secretary's offer for clemency. Fools will be fools." He rolled his smouldering cigar between his fingers and looked towards one of his men. "What's our status?"

"Districts two, three, and five have sustained minor damage. The intruders are reported to be advancing on this location."

"So, they're pinning their hopes on a direct assault," Balsa mused, feeling pleased. "Are the Crimson Commandos marshalled for deployment?"

"Ready and awaiting your orders, sir."

"I want them to begin their sweep from that palace at the city centre and proceed out from there. I want the city cleansed of this blight that would presume to deny us what is rightfully ours."

"Aye, sir. What about the girl?"

"What of her? We've found the city. She's of no further use to us. She has also aided and abetted the enemy on multiple occasions. Purge her along with the rest of them." Balsa gave his tactical officer a wry smile, his cigar hanging crookedly off his lips. "For the good of the world," he chuckled.

"Shall I send a detachment to intercept the intruders, sir?"

"And waste the perfectly good surprise we've arranged for those conceited enough to think they could surprise me? Certainly not." Balsa grinned. They hadn't the slightest idea what they were up against. Balsa had them caught, like so many fish, in his net. It was time to put an end to their writhing and he had brought just the tool for the job.

"Deploy the wolves."

******

Herrera led his people towards the centre of Fortress Six, where a giant archway connected two massive piers, a window-rimmed entablature at its summit. This was the central nervous system of Fortress Six, its bridge, and where the Brigade needed to be in order to execute their plan successfully. They moved in a tightly knit group, using what buildings they could for cover on the most direct route available. Their path led them into a district where four large workshops stood side by side, each two and a half storeys tall and with a lofty chimney alongside. Like much of the fortress, the workshops were made of dark, iron, riveted panelling. Piles of steel sheets and silver pipes were stacked outside the buildings, suggesting this was where parts and materials for the fortress were forged and repaired. The machines were all quiet today, with no sign of activity inside or out.

A mournful bestial cry broke the silence. The group halted and exchanged glances. Another howl followed.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump.

Whatever it was, it sounded enormous. Its steps grew louder and the fluidic hiss of flexing hydraulic pistons became audible.

At the far end of the district, through the clerestory of windows at its summit, something could be seen moving inside a workshop, something immense, that appeared to brush up against the slate and steel roof. The Brigade retreated out of sight, falling in behind a pile of long silver pipes.

"My father occasionally spoke of the terrors of ancient battlefields," Herrera said in a hushed tone, "the Six Great Fortresses, the Clockwork Kings of Kimone, the Agents of Rust and Tears, the terrible Eyes of Helios." He hesitated. "And then there were the howling menaces that were feared by those who fought in the last Great War, machines that tolled death and destruction wherever they walked." He stared apprehensively at the moving shape. "Those they called Storm Wolves."

The workshop's front doors flew open and steam rolled out like a blanket over the ground. A hulking, two-legged mechanism appeared that stood easily ten metres tall, the ground shaking with its weighty steps. The Storm Wolf bore the head of its namesake, with pointed ears, a snout, and a lipless maw filled with metal teeth, keen and black, but it stood upright, like a man. It had a shield in place of one paw that, gauging by the dents and scratches, had seen considerable use. Its other was a mighty rotary gun, with a gleaming chain of ammunition hanging from a feeder at its side. Plumes of pearly white steam gushed intermittently from an assembly of cylinders jutting out of the machine's back, like a giant pipe organ. With every gush of steam came the howling noise that had stopped the Brigade in its tracks.

Unlike the golem that had faced Fortress Five, mighty and intimidating, yet unremarkable in its expression and relatively restrained in its actions, the steam-spewing brute before them was a monster deliberately designed to inspire fear, not just in function but form as well. In its actions, dictated by the will of a soldier rather than the wishes of a civilian, restraint would play no part.

"I thought those things were ordered dismantled after the war," said Collin.

"Got a bigger question," Bastion said, "I thought they weren't supposed to know we were coming." Everyone turned to look at Vale.

"Kritzinger would never have betrayed us," Vale assured them. "He's as much against the Commission as we are."

"Focus, friends!" Herrera hissed.

The Storm Wolf abruptly unleashed a furore of bullets that hammered the pipes over their heads.

"It knows we're here!" Herrera raised his machine gun. "Fire at will!" However, their machine guns lacked the calibre to do any real damage to the creature's thick armoured plating. Bastion had his six-shooters out, firing shot after shot, but was unable to identify any exploitable weaknesses. Although several pieces of the armour plating had fallen free, revealing an underlying musculature of mechanical intricacies, none were enough to leave the machine vulnerable. Vale pitched three grenades, which did little but scorch its legs and feet.

Collin drew the high-calibre sniper rifle he'd been carrying on his back and took aim. The moment he had his sights lined up through its large scope, he launched five slugs that struck the deadly colossus like hard fists to the chest. Each blow caused the giant to jerk, but left only shallow dents in its chassis. Vale raised a large rocket launcher to his shoulder and letting fly a missile that struck the Storm Wolf square in the chest. It stumbled back a step, its torso blackened, but the attack seemed to achieve little more than waste their very limited reserve of ammunition. Herrera tapped Vale and gestured at the workshop's towering chimney. Vale launched a second rocket, this one into the base of the brick chimney. They watched as the stack toppled down towards the Storm Wolf, like an arm set to crush a bug. Before the wolf could react, the crumbling pylon crashed down, burying it almost completely, leaving nothing but a partially exposed arm.

"Let us make haste, friends," Herrera said, coughing from the flurry of sediment that mushroomed into the air.

"No telling how many more of them there are," warned Bastion, as he reloaded his twin guns. "Or where."

"All the more reason to keep-"

The mound of rubble shifted slightly and began to shake. They watched, dismayed, as the monstrous machine rose up through the weight of its grave, howling a torrent of steam as it shrugged off its concrete shroud. It began firing again. The bullets shattered the chains holding the overhead stack of steel tubing. The group tried desperately to dive for cover as the wall of piping cascaded down upon them. Herrera shouted. Unhurt, he was trapped. The Brigade struggled to free him, hazardous work under the relentless barrage. The tumbled pipes provided the Brigade some cover, but the Storm Wolf was moving inexorably towards them.

"Leave me! Get out of here!"

Vale and Bastion grunted as they strained to lift a pipe. Collin reloaded his rifle, darting away from the group, and unloaded a clip into the Storm Wolf, hollering madly to draw the creature's attention away from the others. It worked. The Storm Wolf pivoted to face Collin and raised its gun barrel. Before Collin could react, an explosion rocked the Storm Wolf. The Tartaruga hovered directly above it. The Storm Wolf fell to its knees, only to regain its balance and rise up yet again. Shrugging off the scorched armour that had been blasted free of its frame, the Storm Wolf turned its attention skyward. Its barrelled arm spat a stream of lead from a flickering amber tongue. The Tartaruga endured the assault, the airship rocking in the sky like a ship caught in a storm.

With a final effort, Herrera was pulled free. They dashed towards the workshop ten metres away and veered into an adjacent alley. The mechanical brute swung around and lumbered after them. Unable to penetrate the narrow alley, its iron jaw split open five ways and a shimmering ember light began to grow within. A long tongue of livid flame gushed from its fanged jaws, filling the gap between the walls and blackening all it touched.

Herrera peered around the edge of the building. The rear corner of the workshop was charred black as pitch. He couldn't see their pursuer but it sounded like it was on the far side of the building. Herrera led them up a short flight of stairs, where a road led into a vacant district nearer the tower.

Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump.

A second Storm Wolf appeared at the end of the road, barring their way with its howling bulk and whirring armament. Herrera scanned their surroundings. There was no way to get around the war machine, and they lacked sufficient firepower to overcome it.

They were trapped.

******

From above, Angeline tracked the location of the Brigade members. "They're cut off!"

"What are you waiting for?" Gorso demanded. "Bomb the thing!"

"We've no more bombs left. We've used them all."

"They left with enough weapons to fend off a small army, not some gigantic mechanical nightmare from history. You need to hit it with something. Anything!"

"There isn't anything left!" she said, exasperated. "I've got spanners to spare, but I have doubts they'd be very effective." Gorso slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

"There must be something we can do."

Angeline disappeared into the cabin. Seconds later she reappeared, two leather straps in her hand. She tied one around Gorso's waist, cinching it tightly, and fastened it to the helm.

"We're going to fly into it."

"Fly into it? But we can't! We need the ship to escape."

She reached up and slid open a safety shutter off above their heads, revealing a large red lever. She grabbed the handle.

"Angeline, that's the manual balloon release. You wouldn't!"

She pulled the handle.

******

The Tartaruga dropped from the sky like a great iron boulder and struck the Storm Wolf's head. It landed with a thunderous crash, its crushing weight halving the size of the machine in an instant.

Its propeller still turning pitifully in the air, the Tartaruga's side door opened. Angeline appeared in the doorway and stepped out onto the broken remains of the Steam Wolf; using its conveniently positioned shield.

"Angeline, you marvellous woman," Herrera exclaimed merrily. "Where is Mr Gorso?"

She cocked her head back towards the ship where a faint retching sound could be heard. Moments later, a pale Gorso emerged.

"Our mechanic's a lunatic," he complained, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Angeline grinned. "Now I'm the one that's insane."

"Indeed, we all are!" said Herrera. "All of you, take the heaviest weapons you can find on the Tartaruga. Our enemy is far more aggressive than we expected. And there's at least one other Storm Wolf here." He glanced at the nearby tower. "I'd say whatever element of surprise we had is now most surely gone."