CH303 · Rewrite
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Chapter 303: Preparation for the Air Raid

After a week of assembly and testing, Roland and Anna completed the impact detonator together.

The technical constraints were simpler than for artillery shells — no need to withstand the heat and pressure of a firing chamber, no high-G overload on leaving the barrel — but the engineering problem was its own kind of difficult. The firing pin and spring had to be calibrated within a precise tolerance: too light and the bomb would detonate on an accidental drop; too heavy and it might fail on impact entirely. There was no formula for where that line fell. They found it through repetition.

Each iteration meant adjusting the spring’s thickness and hardness by small increments, then testing again. Anna’s black flame shaped each new piece with a precision no ordinary forge could match, and Lucia’s material work meant Roland had better alloys on hand than he’d had any right to expect six months ago. In the end they settled on steel No. 1365 — high hardness, lower toughness, stiff enough that a one-meter drop wouldn’t compress the spring to its limit.

After that, the rest assembled quickly. Experience of a different kind: Roland had never seen a real detonator, but he’d spent enough time in an engineering workshop to reason through the geometry from first principles.

The finished detonator was cylindrical — twelve centimeters long, five centimeters across, with a threaded base that screwed into the bomb’s nose. Inside: a downward-facing conical groove, and a firing pin shaped to match it. In rest position, the spring held the pin a finger-width from the primer. A safety pin ran through the firing pin’s crown and locked to the ammunition casing; before any drop, you pulled the pin. After that, impact drove the striker home.

Crude by any modern standard. But for a bomb that weighed as much as five of Nightingale, it would do.


The simulation test ran on a sunny afternoon in the test field outside town.

Roland watched from three hundred meters back with an observation mirror, standing with Iron Axe and Carter Lannis. The bomb had been packed with gravel rather than gunpowder — a test of the detonator’s function, not its payload.

“You’re planning to drop explosive packages from a balloon into the heart of the imperial palace,” Carter said. He was not asking; he was confirming it aloud, as though the sentence needed to be said before he could finish processing it. After a year in Border Town, his sense of the possible had stretched in directions he’d never expected — but this still required a moment. “Two thousand meters up. Through the city walls. Without a single soldier on the ground.”

“If the targeting system holds, it’s achievable,” Roland said.

“Timothy is conscripting again,” Iron Axe said. “The letter from Theo confirms it. If we cannot stop him—”

“He’ll send another drugged army west,” Roland said. “And even if we turn them back, it costs us time and men we can’t spare. Every counterattack we win defensively is one we don’t win offensively.” He looked at the field. “A bomb on the palace roof changes the calculation entirely.”

Theo’s latest intelligence was troubling in one respect: Timothy had apparently pieced together enough of the black powder method to open a production workshop inside King’s City’s inner district. Roland had considered making that workshop the primary target — neutralize the ammunition supply before it could be used against him.

He’d decided against it.

King’s City, viewed from two thousand meters, would fit inside half a palm. Without a detailed map and a ground marker, there was no reliable way to describe a workshop’s location precisely enough to target it. The palace was different. The palace sat at the center of the inner district, ringed by a red tile wall, its roof covered in white stone — white against the city’s grey like a bull’s-eye drawn on a map.

Hit the visible target. The workshop could wait.

A white shape fell straight from above and struck the field two hundred meters out. A column of dirt rose, and a moment later the thud of impact reached them, delayed and muffled by distance.

“Looks like it hit,” Roland said, lowering the mirror. “Let’s take a look.”

Lightning had been working on her release technique all week. The gravel-packed bomb had struck the ground five meters from the target’s center — close enough, given the variables. It had drilled itself bodily into the earth, the outer casing buckled by the force. When Anna cut it open with her black flame, the soil around the detonator had been charred. The primer had fired. The gas they’d used in place of gunpowder had ignited.

A real nitrostarch payload would carve a crater four to six meters deep. Everyone within fifty meters, unsheltered, would not survive it.

Roland looked at the people gathered around him — Iron Axe, Carter, the witches — and then at the damaged casing in the earth.

“We execute the raid on King’s City next Monday,” he said. “Iron Axe: you’ll lead fifty rifles to escort the team as far as Silver City. There’s a ridge line to the east that offers cover. Make camp there.”

“I hear and obey, Your Highness.”

“Why not fly directly from Border Town?” Wendy asked.

“Distance.” Roland shook his head. “Border Town to King’s City is seven days at Cloud Gazer’s speed, two weeks round trip. With the drop mechanism installed, the basket holds two people at most — Nightingale can’t come. And I won’t ask the witches to spend six nights in open wilderness without her.” He let that settle. “Starting from Silver City cuts the flight to a single day. They can be back before dark.”

The witches assigned to the mission: Anna, Wendy, Lightning, Maggie, Nightingale, Sylvie. The last two would handle perimeter surveillance at the Silver City camp. The first four would run the bombing itself.

He looked at Lightning. “Whether we succeed falls on you.”

She put her hand over her heart. “Leave it to me.”

“Then the last thing I want to say — watch your safety.” He let his voice carry its actual weight, not just authority. “I’ll be waiting for you here.”


Four days later, the bomb code-named Easterly Wind No. 1 was loaded onto a cart and under the escort of the First Army, carried down to the Redwater River pier and onto a cargo ship bound for Silver City.

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