Captain Forsyth: A Letter

Captain Forsyth, Fort McMurray, Late December

My Dearest Brother,

I hope this reaches you as soon as possible and that you and the family are well.

McMurray remains a difficult command and I count myself fortunate to have gained such stalwarts in previous adventures by my side here. Indeed, but for the good doctor Phipps, the stoic Hartwell and now the indispensable services of the great professor Wilhelm, I’m not sure what state we’d be in.

Yesterday we woke to the most awful mess. The damned (excuse my language) Carter-Lloyd woman had absconded. Worse, the two-man detail on guard were found foully murdered in her wardrobe of all things.

I immediately ordered reports from the gates. The south gate was found open and the guard brutally murdered in the same fashion.

Two gashants and their tack was missing.

Worse was to follow. I was urgently summoned to the heliograph tower. There another two men had been murdered; their throats cut in the same savage way. But here their blood had been deliberately sprayed around. I’m not sure if it was intended as ritual of some kind or just designed to shock. Although having seen the depravities that these fanatics will go to, very little shocks or surprises me.

The Carter-Lloyd woman is heavily implicated in it all. Two murdered guards found in her wardrobe, the guard on the gate murdered. Strangely she left behind a pair of shoes with a broken heel in her room, the heel was missing.

It was found at the top of the heliograph tower, together with crumpled note decrying myself and the officers of the garrison.

Carter-Lloyd claims that a veiled mystery women released her took her to the stables and allowed her to ride out. It seems that she had strangely taken exception to being confined for her own good.

Which reminds me I must add theft to the charges against her. At least she has openly admitted that one!

Having ascertained all we could I naturally took a search party after the miscreants.

There were two tracks leading from the fort, both heading south. We followed.

After about two hours the tracks diverged. One was heading for the city, the other heading west, seeming nowhere in particular.

I guessed that Lloyd-Carter would make for the city. She didn’t seem like the mass murder type, although one never can tell.

I therefore felt that the main threat was from the other track and decided that should be our main objective. I recognised that Dr. Phipps was intent on catching the woman, so allowed him to pursue with a small party. I included my batman Jones in this. Jones has a good many faults, a nose for trouble and just as many ways to get out of it. He can act as a scout if required.

We rode hard and once again into trouble. Another Martian hill tribe ambush. Will they never learn? I’ve held out the olive branch time and again, but I fear there is some fanatic around who is whipping them against us.

It was hot and I can’t fault their courage. They lack tactics and leadership. We will have serious issues if they get modern weaponry.

We saw them off in short order, but each action costs a man or two. Men I can’t afford to lose.

I have to confess, that I’ve now been in command long enough to get to know some of the men. Occasionally they will speak their mind to me, which I welcome if done respectfully. But of course, I have to retain the aura of command. The garrison has remarkably good morale all things considered. I put this down to a comradeship forged in fire and the natural disposition of the British soldier.

We continued the pursuit, but very late into the afternoon, a Slapstash war kite came at us low down. I ordered men into cover, it came in fast and low and dropped incendiary devices.

Regrettably I was to lose another man to these.

But they were low enough that we could fire at their crew. A whole half dozen when down to our opening volley. As we were using the silenced rifles, I’m not sure they knew what direction the shots were coming from.

They turned faster than I thought possible and looked ready for another run.

Having seen these vessels before, I took a shot at the helmsman. To me he was key. If I could take him out of action, it might the cause the ship to mis-steer and miss their attacking run.

It’s possibly the most significant shot I’ve ever fired. I hit that enemy good and proper, with only his head and shoulders to aim at, I took him out in the most certain of fashions.

I saw him sump over the wheel. The trims man behind him desperately tried to address things but he couldn’t wipe the gore out of his face fast enough, or throw the corpse off the wheel.

It was as much I’d hoped for, more than expected. I knew they’d have trouble if the helmsman was hit. I’d like to say I’m crack shot, but I’m not. I’m a decent shot that got lucky.

The airship ploughed into the ground at high speed. No-one survived.

It’s quite an achievement to take down a war kite with small arms fire.

Maybe they’ll think twice of troubling us again aerially.

There was a bit of an understandable gleeful search of the wreckage. But it cost us too much time. Then again ghasants had to be rounded up too, many having bolted at the impact, from the subsequent explosions and fire of the ship. It all added up to much the same delay.

For all the satisfaction of taking this enemy out, there was something otherworldly about watching this ship burn. A little reminiscent of bonfire night. Burning liftwood floating into the sky. It was little surreal. I regret these fiends are so fanatical that they don’t appreciate good governance or good neighbours that avoid these scenes.

I still wished to pursue this foe, for surely it was our main chance at answers. The tracks of our quarry continued northwards. Playing my telescope across the horizon I could see nothing of our quarry. But a large party was heading in our direction, most likely a hill tribe responding to the explosion and subsequent smoke plume. Indeed, the explosion and combustion of the war kite must have been noted a great way off.

It would have been easy to ambush these and I so wanted to continue the pursuit. Therein lay the answers. But my duty is first and foremost to the garrison. With a heavy heart, we returned to the fort.

Regrettably the Germans had showed up again. As we arrived the Zeppelin was tethered to our mooring mast. It was early evening, Lt. Jacobs (who has my full trust) and the quartermaster had organised a feast for the visiting German sailors. Not much else they could do in the circumstances.

It was most tiresome. Count Overblast was his usual overbearing self, although I think he regretted patting my arm in what he thought would an ingratiating gesture only for a pile of trail dust to fly off and make him cough.

The overbearing lout tries my patience somewhat. Nevertheless, appearances have to be maintained. I accepted an invitation to dinner, how could I not. There was an unfortunate standoff when the good professor Wilhelm thought it would be useful to view the Zeppelin. The idea was largely to determine whether my own analysis was correct.

The Germans felt this was an easy ask, but wanted access to the under croft in return. There was some discussion on photography, they claimed some new technology that involved a red light to take low light photographs.

I don’t doubt it. But I also don’t doubt that access to the under croft is actually what they are after.

After all, why would a supposed diplomatic mission visit a remote British fort not once but twice.

Arrangements had already been made for the German crew to bivouac in the courtyard. I could hardly counter this as we’d also stated that enemy forces were expected to attack at dawn.

Those being the afore mentioned riders that caused us to leave the crash site. It’s unlikely they would attack, but gave good cause for the damned Germans to leave. Their neutrality was threatened if they stayed.

We had a convivial evening aboard. The Count having lost the previous bout of diplomatic one-upmanship, tried to up his game. The bockwurst and sauerkraut were excellent, but hardly the thing to turn the head of a true Englishman. Sadly, they catered for their own palate, so while making the right noises it was something of a disappointment rather than the triumph that the Count thought.

One interesting snippet that did come out of conversation, was when I questioned the Count on how he knew the history of the place, he mentioned discussions with a certain Martian scholar. None other than Queeleek if I recall his answer correctly.

So, we know that there was contact between the German delegation and the head of the Brotherhood at some time.

The Count was clearly pleased with the reception for his men. He praised the food that had been served. This was spiced Martian meat that we had bought from a caravan passing through. I hoped to use it to provide the garrison with a feast, but the troops didn’t like the taste of ‘the foreign muck’, so it was still in store. The Germans by contrast thought it wonderful.

I refused permission to tour the under croft. I knew it would look bad diplomatically, but justified it that I’d made it out of bounds and it would reflect badly on me if I made an exception. I pointed out the dangers, to which the Count had very reasonable counterarguments. Ultimately, I had to thwart their purpose, even if I didn’t know exactly what that was.

I’m hoping Professor Wilhelm can shed some light on it all that’s down there, but it’s rather a big ask for one man.

It was in early hours that things went wrong and played out badly. A large number of the German sailors infected with Red Sands attacked our guards.

I thought we’d defeated this evil, but it seems not.

I awoke to screams, years in the military means one knows to be fully awake in the instant. Seizing my revolver, which sleeps next to me, I was viewing the scene in seconds. A score of the German sailors were attacking our guards.

I’d ordered the guard detail doubled in case of Germen skulduggery but now it meant more targets for the Red Sands victims to attack. While it’s easy to just regard these as crazed Germans, they were just Red Sands crazy. From my previous correspondence you understand how deadly this condition is and how it transmits rapidly from man to man.

I’d hoped never to see this horror again. Thankfully I was in position fast enough to issue commands. I ordered our men to disengage and run to provide clear shots for the other guards. It placed those engaged in grave danger, but I believe the best way to deal with this threat is at arm’s length to prevent the spread of the disease.

I also had my esteemed colleagues firing into the fray. I believe they are decent shots all.

Thankfully the extra men on duty meant I had rifles to bear from the off. It was chaotic with my men trying to find cover or respite, while others took the shots that bought the demons down. Several of my men got infected during the assault and turned into assailants within seconds.

However, the discipline the men showed in firing upon the enemy rapidly proved decisive. It was undoubted difficult for the troops to face those few comrades who had turned but they understood the fight and stood up bravely. Indeed, I confess a great sadness overcame me when I realised our own troops were lost to this vile plague.

I knew there was only one solution. As commander it fell to me to try and put them out of their misery. In the event my marksmanship was not good enough on this occasion and in the ensuing volleys, I don’t think anyone know who accounted for our own men. I take that as a good thing, no man wants shooting a comrade on his conscious.

In all I lost 4 men. The Germans 20 sailors. We started cordoning the area, taking the necessary precautions against Red Sands infection.

Count Overbearing finally appeared, blast his presence. He misread the situation, ignored the state of his own men, ignored our own casualties and seemed to think we’d just gunned his men down, to what purpose he thought I have no idea.

There was a tense moment, where I thought he was actually going to and try shoot me with the pistol he had in hand. I think his adjutant managed to point out that I now had most of the garrison turned out and that would only end one way.

Shouting insults and threats the Count retreated to his ship and they flew into the night in short order. I’ve no doubt he will create a diplomatic incident and I’ll be facing questions.

On the positive side I doubt he will back and his mission may be termed a failure.

We cleared up the aftermath. The only sure way with this is to burn everything, well away and well downwind. Dr. Phipps is well versed in these precautions.

I was interested in how Red Sands had got into the fort and the Germans. There were two possible explanations, either it was in what they’d eaten or arrived in some way on their ship.

Dr. Phipps did some examinations, not without personal risk I should add. In fact, I was so concerned that I requested he submit to quarantine after the examination, least he became contaminated. In the event all was well.

I believed he learnt a good deal about how red sands works on the human body and I wouldn’t put it past him to develop some antidote.

However, my worst suspicions were confirmed when the spiced meat was shown to contain red sands in the preparation. I can’t say the Germans were innocent, they have clearly been up to no good. But I’m not sure common sailors deserved that fate.

It was clearly intended to destroy the garrison, but we are still standing.

I am concerned that the merchant party continued on to the city. Who knows what they are peddling.

But I also recall a veiled woman with the caravan. Apparently travelling to get married in a matter of high Martian society. I have now harbour doubts.

Long live Her Majesty!

Your brother,

Henry

Episode 46: Encounters With Airships, An Old Threat Re-Emerges

Phipps and his small team rode back toward Fort McMurray with their captive, miss Carter-Lloyd bound, bootless and tied securely onto a gashant.

Meanwhile Forsyth's party rode hard after the mysterious second gashant rider, following the tracks left by what looked like a rider anxious to avoid being intercepted. After an hour or so, they sighted a kite and Forsyth ordered the men to spread out and seek cover.

This was sound tactics, for the kite altered course slightly to overrun them and reduced its altitude to a reckless 50 feet off the ground! The dastardly Martian was obviously going to bomb the party and seemed supremely confident in his crew's ability to manage this at nap-of-Mars.

A sad mistake.

Spotting a group of four soldiers to the west of the main group, the Martian came in for a bombing run unaware of the majority of the force lying in wait for him. As the kite overflew them the hidden troops opened fire, as did our brave adventurers, aiming to hit anything they could.

The bombs were dropped and were devastatingly effective, but a lucky and well-placed shot by Forsyth's sergeant took down the helmsman just as he put the kite into a very tight turn to port, intending to line up a second run on the now-revealed troops firing at them.

The helm of the kite swung wild, forcing the trimsman to frantically attempt to trim the craft - a task to which he brought inadequate skill.

And so it was that the kite keeled over and ploughed into the Martian steppe, smashing the hull and detonating the remaining bombs, which in turn ignited the magazine. The resulting explosion smashed the hull to matchwood. The non-lifting components of the unfortunate kite cartwheeled across the steppe in a swath of wreckage and destruction; cannon barrels, cannon balls, masts, steering gear all thrown up, out and along the path of devastation.

Phipps' party was just deciding whether to follow the tracks left by Forsyth or to return to Fort McMurray when the deafening roar of the explosion washed over them, and they turned to see a towering mushroom-shaped cloud of sooty smoke rising high over the steppe.

Fearing the worst, Phipps' party rode hard for the column of smoke, eventually rendezvousing with Forsyth and his men attempting to recover anything of value from the wreckage.

Managing to secure a few damaged planks of liftwood from the wrecked trimming equipment, which by some miracle had not broken free of their mountings and sailed up into the air like so much of the hull cladding had, the combined force decided to return to Fort McMurray as hostile Steppe Tribes would probably be rushing to the scene to see what they could grab, and previous encounters had instilled a healthy respect for the danger they posed.

Approaching the fort, Forsyth, Phipps and Hartwell were dismayed to see an airship at the mooring mast. The markings on it were those of the inconvenient Count Oberluft, obviously still out and about on his "diplomatic mission".

Wilhelm was undismayed only because he had not experienced the count's last visit, but he soon developed the appropriate levels of discomfort once the other heroes had explained matters.

The party was greeted at the gate by Lieutenant Jacobs, whom Forsyth had left in command. Jacobs explained that the Germans had arrived earlier that day and he had been placed in a difficult situation. The count was reporting more massing of Steppe Tribes and under the circumstances had requested that his men be billeted inside the walls rather than in a bivouac outside the fort as they had on their last visit.

The airship it seemed had developed a problem, some sort of engineering issue, and the count had "dropped in" to see if the fort could supply one or two essential components he might use.

Lt. Jacobs had granted this request, and the German ranks were as he spoke dining at trestle tables set up in the courtyard.

Forsyth was then approached by Count Oberluft and his aide-de-camp, Major Wilhelm (no relation to Professor Wilhelm). Greetings were exchanged and Professor Wilhelm requested a tour of the airship, which was granted with good humour.

Count Oberluft then requested a reciprocal visit to the undercroft, which Forsyth denied on the grounds that he had put the whole place off-limits due to fatalities suffered while exploring. The count was mildly offended, but Forsyth was adamant the danger was too great. The count expressed disappointment that he would not be able to examine this fascinating structure for himself before he was forced to continue on his way at dawn.

Professor Wilhelm toured the airship and examined the "special engine", but he could not decide whether the Germans were being truthful about its purpose (and its supposed off-centre mounting making it all-but useless until it could be re-aligned).

The Professor noticed that the frame of the airship had some odd modules attached at regular intervals along its length, along the dorsal centreline, the ventral centreline and along both the port and starboard centrelines. They were interconnected by thick wires of some sort. The German engineers explained they were instruments to detect leaks of he explosive monohydrogen used as the lifting fluid in the airship's gasbags.

Phipps used the time to dissect the boots miss Carter-Lloyd has stolen, along with sundry other items of clothing he suspected as harbouring tools of the assassin's trade. Forsyth had her incarcerated in a different room and ordered triple guards on the door.

Phipps' searches resulted in no items of skullduggery being discovered.

In the evening Count Oberluft has his cook arrange a German meal for the officers of his command and those of Forsyth's, along with the heroes and the count himself.

The German troops dine on the spiced Martian meat left by the caravan a few days ago. This was fortunate since Forsyth's own troops generally hated the spicy foreign stuff, and complained if served it in their mess.

The evening went as well as could be expected, with relations strained as they were by Forsyth's suspicions of the count's motives and the count out-of-sorts over Forsyth's refusal to bend to his request for a tour of the labyrinth. In any event, the meal was uneventful and officers and men retired well-fed.

Forsyth posted extra guards on the labyrinth with orders to watch the Germans carefully.

At 4am the fort erupted into a cacophony of gunfire and screams.

The German troops were savagely attacking the garrison, clawing and biting in a frenzy of insane violence. The garrison troops were fighting back and some were resorting to rifle fire, but were hopelessly disorganized until Forsyth and his officers arrived in theatre and began conducting things in a more military fashion.

In truth, Forsyth would admit later that he had been looking for an excuse to show those Hun swine the back of his hand.

The fighting was intense, and the danger quite severe, as it was now obvious that the Germans were infected with full-strength Red Sands, and were little more than mindless zombies who would fight until death, infecting anyone who was wounded in an alarmingly short time.

Three more British soldiers were lost in the action to th terrible disease, and another was killed by "friendly fire"

Count Oberluft, finally up and about, was livid, enraged at the slaughter. He refused to listen to trumped-up tales of disease and vowed to unleash the most dire consequences when he got to Syrtis Major. At the urging of Major Wilhelm, the count ordered the airship undocked and set on course for Syrtis Major.

Forsyth ordered the bodies burned, and after ascertaining that the Martian spiced meat was tainted with Red Sands had that destroyed, all but a small sample retained for evidence and "medical purposes".

Phipps autopsied the bodies and discovered organ and brain changes, changes that he had not seen in anyone but those infected by Red Sands. This confirmed an awful suspicion - someone had either a store of the original Red Sands poison or - infinitely worse - knew the secret of making the foul stuff.

Forsyth, dismayed at these developments and the conclusions of Dr Phipps, decided after consultation with Phipps, Hartwell and Wilhelm to dispatch a single rider to the nearest heliograph tower with an urgent message to be relayed, and a second to Moerus Lacus.

His thinking was that whereas a mass sortie would and had attracted the unwanted attentions of the Steppe Martian tribes, a single, careful rider might stand a decent chance of getting through.

Interlude: Fort McMurray Casualty Lists

Casualty Lists

Undercroft Exploration Sortie #1

Ephraim Burgess, 55810784, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Loyal (Missing in Action)
Squire Stuart, 55843707, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Richard Shaw, 55883645, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased

Lost Patrol

Lieutenant Keylokukrokloes (Deceased)

Klaekluela, 55828770, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Kraanlollua, 55551042, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Pedaishruyeok, 55888552, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Waipik, 55073260, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Wuoyoutais, 55431478, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased

Shastapsh Incursion Incident Circa Dec 27th 1891

Lieutenant Baker (Deceased)

Solomon Martin, 55007581, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased

Lieutenant Ph’sback (Deceased)

Naubi, 55434338, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)
Praemrujelik, 55634255, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)
Wekoishasa, 55640450, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)

Sortie in force to recover Miss Carter-Lloyd (circa Dec 28th 1891)

Search party 1, Forsyth commanding:

Hill Tribe ambush

Arthur Harris, 55524767, L.Cpl, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Samson Arkwright, 55880332, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison (Wounded, returned to duty)

Woshoakeloo, 55870673, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)

Search party 2, Phipps commanding:

Hill Tribe ambush

Griffith Boleyn, 55850450, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased
Alfred Harris, 55542675, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, Deceased

Other actions:

Klikriihres, 55534838, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)
Kokouhiak, 55350214, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)
Wisheutorio, 55303836, Pvt, Fort McMurray Garrison, (Deceased)

Episode 45: Phoebe Carter-Lloyd Makes More Trouble

Forsyth, Phipps, Hartwell, Wilhelm and the rest of the expeditionary force returned to Fort McMurray with a handful of prisoners, two dozen "silent Winchesters" and the bodies of their fallen.

Forsyth interrogated the prisoners and was rewarded with the information that the Shatapsh militaryu were being equipped by Cairo Munitions. Clearly Shastapsh was preparing for a renewal of hostilities with The Crown Colony.

The hour being late, everyone thought they might retire with a sense of a job well-done, but a war kite bearing the colors of Shatapsh overflew the fort, turned, dropped to about 500 feet and made a bombing run that inflicted quite a bit of damage on the main building, the one that housed the officers' quarters, the infirmary and Miss Carter-Lloyd's prison. Forsyth's residence on the top floor was also damaged, but fortunately all the garrison personnel suffered were minor cuts and bruises, and a patch of angry complaining at the lack of a ship capable of carrying the fight to them.

After dusting themselves off, the officers and men of Fort McMurray settled back down for the rest of the night.

The next day dawned on a scene of carnage.

The guards outside Miss Carter-Lloyd's room were missing, the door was unlocked and open and the girl was gone. Phipps searched the room and found the bodies of the guards stuffed into the wardrobe with their throats slit. All miss Carter-Lloyd's clothes and effects were missing with the exception of a pair of shoes, one of which was missing a heel.

Forsyth sent men to question the guards on the North and South gates with a view to finding out if they had seen the fleeing woman, but the officer send to the South gate returned in a state of agitation to report that the guard had been killed, throat slit, and the gate was unbarred and ajar.

While Phipps conducted a hurried examination of the bodies of Miss Carter-Lloyd's guards, Forsyth and Hartwell hurried to the South Gate where they tried to ascertain from the tracks what had happened. Two laden gashants had been ridden away from the fort, in the direction of Moerus Lacus.

The bodies of the guards had been killed by someone right-handed, with a straight-edge blade, like a dagger, in Phipps opinion. They also had small puncture wounds on the backs of their necks, so he surmised they had been drugged, then killed. As for the means of escape, there were no signs of a picked lock, but one guard still had the key to the room's door in his pocket.

Phipps speculated on the nature of the missing heel. He theorized that it might have had a secret compartment containing drugs, lockpicks.

While walking back to the administration building, now the scene of busy activity as the company carpenter assessed the damage, Forysth was summoned to the heliograph tower, where the two duty signalmen had been murdered, throats slit, and the heliograph smashed to scrap lumber. There was blood everywhere.

Phipps joined the others and observed that the men here had been used to cover the whole tower in blood, in a show of deliberate brutality. A statement of some sort. Hartwell spotted a sledgehammer that had been dropped over the side of the tower, and the heel of a shoe wedged in the wreckage.

It was a match to the missing heel from the shoe, but to Phipps' consternation the nails were still in place and were too short to have been used as either lockpicks or murder weapons. Nor were there any secret compartments in it.

It had no blood on it either.

Nor was there any blood on the crumpled copy of the scurrilous heliograph message Miss Carter-Lloyd was attempting to send yesterday, the one containing such uncomplimentary accounts of life in Fort McMurray. But the heel and the paper were suggestive of murderous treachery on the part of Miss Carter-Lloyd.

Proceeding to the stables, two gashants were found to be missing, along with their tack.

Forsyth determined to retrieve miss Carter-Lloyd and immediately assembled a search party of a dozen men, plus our three heroes, and set out along the track left by the fugitive.

Around three hours later the tracks of the two gashants diverged, one continuing South-West toward Moerus Lacus, the other turning west toward the southern edge of the Isidis Desert and Syrtis Major.

Forsyth had a discussion with Phpps and Hartwell and decided to split the party. He would take most of the men and Hartwell and follow the tracks heading West. Phipps would take command of a small team of five men, including Corporal Jones¹ and head South-West after the other gashant.

Forsyth's party put on all speed to intercept what the tracks suggested was a skilled rider pushing their mount, but after a couple of hours of hard riding they were ambushed by a band of Hill Martian bandits and a pitched gunfight took place. The action was tense, and the soldiers were outnumbered, but the bandits were indifferent shots.

Bad shots, maybe, but their valour could not be questioned and they pressed their attack aggressively. Before the soldiers could put them to flight the bandits had taken down three of their comrades. Private Harris succombed to his wounds, as did private Woshoakeloo, but private Arkwright was declared "walking wounded" and was able to continue the chase with his comrades.

Phipps' team rode South-West for a couple of hours, then halted when ghey heard the distincive sound of Martian black powder long-arm fire. A small band of Hill Martians were stalking miss Carter-Lloyd, now kneeling among some rocks next to her dead gashant and returning fire with a "silent Winchester" - obviously stolen from the cache recovered from the Shatapsh incursion force.

Approaching stealthily, the small band of soldiers was able to put the "silent Winchesters" to good use, taking down three of the attackers before their own position was revealed by an unlucky miss and loud riccochet. The action after that was intense. These Hill Martians were capable fighters, and well-motivated when their prize looked to be stolen from under their noses.

Eventually Phipps' team was able to kill all the Hill Martians, and Phipps took charge of miss Carter-Lloyd. He had lost two men of his five man squad. Their bodies were wrapped and tied accross a gashant.

Phipps demanded miss Carter-Lloyd remove her (stolen) cavalry boots, which he searched for weapons, drugs or anything else the wretched woman might have hidden in them. He questioned her as to the events of the escape and her flight across the steppe.

Miss Carter-Lloyd insisted she had been rescued from durance vile by a mysterious veiled woman who had obtained the supplies, weapons and mounts and led the way for the first few hours, then, despite her pleas, the mysterious woman had departed, leaving miss Carter-Lloyd on her own.

Phipps snorted, had her restrained and put on a gashant.

He had heard enough of her tall tales.

1. Forsyth's personal batman↑

Captain Forsyth: a letter

My Dear Brother,

I remain in command in Fort McMurray. The incidence of the German visit was resolved but not to my satisfaction. Also, not without incident.

I was able to obtain an invitation to tour the Zeppelin. They had a plausible explanation for the strange device which I believe to be a weapon which discharged the diseased cloud over our troops. However, I found the explanation that this was some form of velocity booster tenuous. Mostly because it’s difficult to imagine a Zeppelin accelerating in the manner claimed.

The quid-pro-quo for this tour was to allow the adjutant, a German army major, to tour the under croft. This was a mistake. Despite having guards and using my own batman to escort him an incident occurred. There is an alien device in the under croft, which I had literally put under wraps.

Some kind of explosion occurred rendering my men unconscious. The German major carried them out, an apparent act of valour. But once I got a true account of things it was clear the timings were wrong. An hour or two is missing from the explosion to the supposed rescue.

My suspicion is that the German caused the explosion incapacitating my men. This gave him ample opportunity to study the device, which I believe was his intent. I do wonder if this was the entire objective of their visit here.

Sadly, there was little I could do other than allow them to leave with the best face on it. Maybe at a later date there will be a reckoning.

The under croft is a curious place, which we suspect is in some way controlled by this strange device. I had long intended to explore it more but time has not allowed. It became a matter of necessity when the miscreant under arrest for the appropriation of stores escaped. The evidence suggested that he had taken refuge in the under croft, where he had previously hidden his contraband.

The good doctor, Hartwell, half a dozen rank and file and myself, entered in search of the culprit. We found him down there in a chamber, but in the most surprising and shocking circumstances. The man’s body was mummified, his equipment rusted, it was as if he’d there dead for centuries. His throat had been cut and the small footprints I found alongside suggested a female assassin.

I’d also found substantial Martian footprints further back, not from our garrison, but for sure a large body of men, maybe as many as 50. This is extremely alarming as it may mean that the enemy have a secret entrance into the fort.

Off the chamber where we found the body were two passages. We investigated one, which became a rather strange experience. It seemed to go forever. One soldier commented we seemed to be walking on the ceiling. While I didn’t feel this, we had gone quite far enough so turned about to retrace our footsteps. The strangest thing, we must have walked twice as far and not reached the exit!

When we finally got out the place after just a few hours to us, it was late at night above ground. The discrepancy in time was rather disturbing. Even worse was the soldier who was missing who no-one had noted. The same man that had commented about walking on the ceiling.

The following day we returned to the investigation but took a different tunnel. Aside from searching for the missing man, I felt my duty was to investigate those Martian footprints. Things were to get even stranger. We came to a chamber about 100 feet above the surface with windows! On one side was a seascape, on the other desolate mud flats. Yet a breeze fitting the view came in at either window.

Again, passages led off. We started exploring one, but a soldier put his hand on the wall resulting in a pin prick, which immediately caused him to collapse and die in short order. He’d been poisoned and fast acting it was too. We carried his body out.

I feel I will have to call for volunteers for any future exploration. This has so far been delayed by military necessity.

The female reporter has gone from being a distraction to being a problem. She has been openly flirting with the men and resorted in openly kissed a rating in an effort to obtain illicit access to the heliograph. Really her behaviour is outrageous and seriously undermining the command. She is resorting to writing scandalous lies about the officers and distorting the truth in the most damaging manner to morale.

I confess it’s the most difficult challenge to deal with. The good doctor has declared her in a state of hysteria, which has compelled me to confine her to her quarters.

On a more positive note, as I was trying to deal with this difficult and irresponsible lady, a green light appeared. For a moment that strange weapon that killed the major came to mind and the alarm was sounded. Thankfully I recognised the individual that appeared out of thin air. It was none other than the esteemed Dr. Wilhelm. I first had the pleasure of meeting him on Venus, but he is a veteran of the fight against the Brotherhood and I can think of no-one whose talents will be of more use in the present situation.

His latest invention allows him to travel from place to place without a conveyance! I’ve had no time for discourse on his inventions or adventures so cannot enlighten you further.

One crisis seems to follow another. A lone rider appeared on a wounded beast carrying his regimental standard in a rather desperate manner. A cavalry patrol out of the city had been ambushed by Slapstash regulars in territory rightly claimed in the name of the Queen. Seems they had some kind of silent guns, which had given them an element of surprise. The officer had ordered the trooper to ride for the fort and preserve the colours.

I ordered the strongest patrol I could mount to go to their relief, although there was little hope that the combat was anything but long since over. The good doctor volunteered in the event of wounded, Hartwell ever the stalwart came too. Although they cannot ride, they were able to travel behind men who could.

Guided by the trooper we headed for the ambush site at speed, a calculated risk, which backfired. We in turn were ambushed by opportunist hill Martians. We killed most and put the rest to flight but not without casualties. These are men I can ill afford to lose, both Human and Martian.

At the ambush scene our patrol was all dead. Looking at the site and terrain they never stood a chance.

We picked up the tracks of the Slapstash force, a couple of dozen strong, which outnumbered my own force. I therefore decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. We circled round ahead of them and laid our own ambush.

Given a superior force with advance weapons this was a difficult fight. The broken terrain gave cover to the enemy once the element of surprise was over. It was bloody and I lost yet more men that are sorely needed. Yet we prevailed, most of the enemy were killed and the remaining handful surrendered.

I’ve not long returned with the patrol. My report has been sent off. It is true that the enemy had silent rifles, a strange appendage on the mussel seemingly creating this. These we have captured. Once again, the mark of Cairo Munitions.

We have gained a good number of gashants, enough to replace those lost by the patrol and significantly increase the numbers at the fort. But we lost too many good men who are more difficult to replace. It was a necessity to bring these weapons into our possession.

What may assail next I have no idea. The under croft and the darned reporter remain to be dealt with. After that I feel we need to track and stop Cairo Munitions, not to mention what-ever dastardly scheme the Germans are up to.

Long live Her Majesty!

Your brother,

Henry

Episode 44: A Shastapsh Incursion, A Costly Battle

Fort McMurray appeared to be peaceful and in order, and our heroes rose on the 27th unaware they had missed the Christmas celebration arranged by the NCOs and the quartermaster for the men while feasting with the Caravan Master.

Phipps and Hartwell, out and about before Forsyth had finished messing about with uniforms and Shakos and Jones’ fussing, saw miss Carter-Lloyd speaking earnestly with a trooper just outside the heliograph tower. She seemed to be trying to persuade the private to do something, and passed him a piece of paper, then kissed him in a manner not explainable as familial affection.

Phipps was outraged and, with Hartwell in tow, hurried over to the tower where he confronted the private and demanded first, an explanation, then second, the paper miss Carter-Lloyd had given him.

The private’s stammered explanation did little to assuage Phipps’ outrage, and when the doctor read the contents of the paper his blood boiled and whatever warm feelings he had held for the Carter-Lloyd woman were driven from his soul and replaced with withering disdain:

Dateline: December 27th Fort McMurray

Scenes of debauchery and unrestrained fraternization at Fort McMurray.

Last night, during an impromptu feast provided by the wagonmaster of a caravan, your reporter was shocked to witness scenes of such licentious debauchery between certain members of the garrison of Fort McMurray and the Martian ladies of that caravan she almost swooned. This disgraceful breach of military discipline, common good manners and, dare one say it, public hygene went on in full view of the so-called "Heroes of Fort McMurray", particularly the commander pro-tem, Captain Forsyth, who seemed more interested in scoring points with the wagonmaster than in providing leadership and proper guidance to his men. One would have turned to Mr Hartwell, but that worthy has "gone native" in a disappointingly short time and was clearly hung over from the previous night, during which he had become extremely indisposed with what looked like the entire Martian contingent of the garrison, all with Captain Forsyth's implicit support I might add. The lauded Dr Phipps might have supplied some much-needed British backbone but he has been a complete boor in my dealings with him. One suspects some unwholesome habits of a medical nature. It is this reporter's opinion that the Empire would be best served by the immediate recall and cashiering of Captain Forsyth and the deportation of Dr Phipps and Mr Hartwell, and the urgent dispatch of a commander capable of turning this Martian Seraglio back into a military strongpoint before it is overrun by the forces of Shastapsh. Phoebe Carter-Lloyd.

Phipps had Forsyth summoned and, when that worthy appeared, handed him the would-be heliograph. Forsyth went many colours in the next few seconds, but masterfully brought his emotions under control and prepared to give the wretched woman a piece of his mind when she let out a cry and her face was lit by an awful green light as a loud crackling sound filled the air.

Fearing another attack by the emerald ray that had killed Major Langdale, Forsyth bravely leapt to one side but was able to recover his composure when it proved to be merely the perfectly normal corona discharge from a teleportation device operated by none other than Professor Wilhelm

A round of quick introductions was made, and then the business at hand resumed. Phipps declared that the Carter-Lloyd woman was obviously suffering from hysteria and ordered her confined to her quarters for her own safety. Forsyth was happy to concur and two beefy and trustworthy other ranks were detailed to escort the loudly protesting Miss Carter-Lloyd to said quarters, civilian women for the use of, lock her in and arrange a guard and meals and so forth.

Forsyth was announcing his agenda for the day when his plans were, once again, cast into a small pile, doused in lamp oil and set alight.

A very badly used standard bearer rode up to the fort on gashant-back and, when given entry and water, gasped out a terrible story of a cavalry patrol dispatched from Moerus Lacus had been ambushed by Shastapsh forces wielding silent rifles of some sort, which had enabled them to gain total and devastating surprise. The officer in command of the patrol had ordered the trooper now telling the sorry tale to ride for Fort McMurray, save the colours and summon help.

Forsyth assembled a force of mixed Martian and British troops, and with the standard bearer as a guide rode forth to render what aid he could, though privately, out of the hearing of the brave standard bearer, he expressed doubts that the patrol had survived. Matters were complicated slightly by the fact that neither Hartwell nor Phipps could ride, yet Forsyth could not let either stay behind. Phipps’ medical skills might be desperately needed, and Hartwell simply would not hear of being left behind. The newly-arrived Wilhelm also mounted-up, eager to bring aid and comfort to the stout British lads and as much refusal of aid and discomfort to the Shastapsh swine as was humany possible.

Arriving at the site of the ambush, Forsyth’s gloomy prediction was borne out. The patrol had been wiped out to a man.

Pausing only to arrange a sort service for the dead and cover the corpses as best they could, the relief force began tracking the Shastapsh incursion. Hartwell’s tracking skills turned out to be all the Martian contingent could expect from “The Steppe Tiger” and he was able to give Forsyth the tactical edge by predicting where the force was heading and how strong it was - approximately twice the numbers of Forsyth’s own force.

And thus Forsyth was able to engineer a classic ambush of his own, bringing down half the enemy before they had a chance to realize they had been handed a helping of their own medicine.

Such was the carnage that the Shastapsh soldiers were thrown into disorganized, dismayed, demoralized disarray. A few soldiers took up defensive positions and returned fire with the odd-looking rifles, but the silent nature of them was tactically moot as the air was full of the roar of massed Winchester repeater fire, for Forsyth had equipped his men with these marvels of modern weaponry.

The fight was savage even though disorganized on the part of the Shastapsh force, and most of Forsyth’s martians - including Lieutenant Ph’sback - were lost in the firefight after a brave flanking move which proved to be the pivotal maneuver which turned the tide, with the surviving Shastapsh soldiers surrendering and Forsyth’s men capturing two dozen silent rifles.

These seemed to be ordinary Winchester repeaters but for a large cylindrical structure mounted on the muzzle of the rifle. All bore the mark of Cairo Munitions. These were confiscated, of course, along with a couple of dozen gashants. Once they had been stripped of the garish Shastapsh accoutrements and re-trained the would be a valuable addition to the garrison stables.

Despite the victory, it was a sad group that returned to Fort McMurray, bearing their dead on travois.

Episode 43: More Guests and a Dungeon Dive

Forsyth's paranoia over the visiting Germans raged all night, as did Phipps intemperate passions for Miss Carter-Lloyd. Hartwell slept like a log, though his hangover would rage all the next morning.

The next day, Forsyth circumlocutiously attempted to broach the subject of getting a personal tour of the German airship which was making preparations to leave, and was somewhat taken aback when Count Oberluft cheerfully agreed. Forsyth's joy was short-lived however. Count Oberluft immediately requested a reciprocal tour of the undercroft labyrinth for his adjutant Major Wilhelm.

What could he do but agree? Two guards were detailed to cover the enigmatic, half-buried Crystal Device under a tarpaulin and then stand guard over the entrance to that chamber, and Corporal Jones was ordered to escort the Major while he toured the undercroft.

Phipps and the slightly disheveled Hartwell were given a tour, and when they reached the problematical cylinder in the tail, asked what it was for. The Count explained that it was a new kind of engine, a rocket, designed to allow ghe airship to escape ambushes from Martian sky pirates and privateers¹. He went on to explain how it worked using a compressor to activate the charge, and showed them the compressor. He also sadly admitted that it was mis-aligned and the airship would only fly in large circles, defeating the purpose as an escape method.

One of the team spotted the Cairo Munitions trademark etched into the cylinder, and Forsyth remarked that the device showed the usual high quality German engineering. The Count waved this away and told him the device had been manufactured by an American company, Cairo Munitions.

As the team were disembarking, a trooper ran up and said that there had been trouble in the undercroft, and that Major Wilhelm had saved three British soldiers and passed out.

Doctor Phipps ran to the scene and found all the British men unconscious, the Major barely awake. It looked like the effects of being gassed, and the Major haltingly confirmed this suspicion. Phipps worked fast and was able to stabilize all his patients. The Major recovered quickly. The witnesses eagerly proclaimed the Major a hero, dragging out the unconscious soldiers as he himself came close to passing out.

Major Wilhelm waved away this praise, and soon was able to stand, at which point he rejoined his ship. Within a quarter of an hour the airship slipped his moorings and flew off towards Moerus Lacus.

Not long after the departure of the Germans, a dust cloud was seen rising from the distance in the direction of the Shastapsh border. Telescopic examination from the Heliograph tower showed about a dozen Ruummet Breehr drawing large wagons along the road to Shastapsh towards the fort, and some of the men suggested it might be a caravan. Caravans often traveled between Shastapsh and the remote cities of the Crown Colony, when the bellicosity between those two entities was cooled to the required levels.

The heraldry displayed on the howdahs and carts identified the caravan as one that had called at the fort in previous times, so Forsyth was somewhat relieved and he decided to offer the hospitality of the fort on the grounds that morale would be improved in the ranks, and intelligence on the Shastapsh situation might be had.

The caravan arrived and the wagons arrayed themselves around the fort courtyard as best they could.The wagons were soon opened to become a bazaar offering all manner of goods and services and the courtyard soon swarmed with off-duty troops looking for souvenirs and other offerings. Indeed, Forsyth, Phipps and Hartwell noted that the two carts that were obviously “hospitality suites” were doing what might be referred to in hushed tones as a stiff trade, and there were some dark looks from some of the men toward those who were not adverse to fraternizing with Martian women.

An opulently dressed Martian made himself known to Forsyth, introduced by his translator/factotum as Wagonmaster Pr’een, and invited the officers to a feast that evening. As the Wagonmaster spoke a mysterious female, completely concealed in a hooded garment and veiled, and attended by a small entourage wandered out into the courtyard on some errand. The translator offered that this was the Lady Pashnamaramundi, a noblewoman who was journeying to Moerus Lacus. Rumour had it she was betrothed to the head of one of the merchant families.

Dinner was an opulent affair, featuring many of the luxury foodstuffs the caravan was hauling as trade goods. Phipps was suspicious, but he managed to surreptitiously test the food and found it harmless. Forsyth asked the quartermaster to negotiate for some of the spiced meat, and the Wagonmaster was pleased to exchange half the caravan’s stock of meats, fruits and nuts for a promissory note redeemable in Moerus Lacus.

Throughout the dinner feast, off-duty other ranks were fraternizing, either buying from the armourer, or the jeweler, or from the hostesses.

Forsyth, Phipps, Hartwell and the Wagonmaster conferred via Pr’een’s translator and ad a fine time, but all good things must come to an end and eventually the dinner party was over, the various caravan emporia shuttered and dark, and the fort settled down into a more-or-less routing night watch.

It was shortly after this that Phipps was informed that Private Shaw, blackmailer and Black Marketeer, had escaped his confinement. A quick examination showed that the manacles used to secure him had likely been opened with a key. In any event, Shaw was at large.

A search of the immediate area showed Shaw had likely fled into the undercroft and so a search party consisting of Phipps, Hartwell, Forsyth and two other ranks was formed and, after Phipps had tested the cellars and found them to be absent any “gas” or “Phipps Syndrome” residues, an exploration of the labyrinthine undercroft began.

Many strange effects were experienced while exploring the passages. Corridors seemed to stretch on for hundreds of yards and sensation of the passage of time did not seem to match that shown on the Officers’ watches.

They exploration continued down another seemingly endless corridor, until the team emerged into a cavern containing the mummified body of a soldier in the disintegrating remains of a British uniform. The body was positively identified as private Shaw’s, somehow aged beyond reason. Then, Phipps added even more consternation by announcing that the man had been killed. His throat had been cut, quite savagely!

Two passages lay beyond the body.

Deciding to explore further in hopes of revealing the assassin, the party entered the left-hand corridor which seemed to be very long. One of the privates said he thought it was odd that the tunnel was upside-down, but no-one else was experiencing that. Forsyth called a halt after a while and ordered everyone to return, but no matter how long they walked the cavern containing Shaw’s body was not reached. Discussing matters among themselves, the Heroes decided they might as well return to the original direction as clearly there was some sort of strange spacial effect in force.

This was done, and after another interminable walk they emerged back into Shaw’s mausoleum from the other passageway, but now they were a man short. The private who was complaining of being upside-down was no longer in the party. Calling out provoked no answering cry, so it was decided to attempt to return to the surface.

It was fairly simple to backtrack, though distances involved were again deceptive.

The explorers carefully carried the body out of the deadly labyrinth and back to the relative sanity of the fort environs - except several hours seemed to have passed, and it was late in the night. Time was decidedly out of joint under the fort.

Forsyth set a guard with strict instructions for high vigilance for attacks from the depths of the undercroft and to permit no-one in without his express permission.

The next day the Caravan made ready and left, and Forsyth decided on a second foray into the undercroft. He organize a small party consisting of himself, Phipps, Hartwell and a couple of privates for bearers and once more they set out, his time investigating one of the other routes. Once again they experienced deceptive perception of distance and time, but this time they found themselves in a large hall-like space, well=lit from two ranks of windows, on on the right, one on the left.

Peering through one of the left-side windows revealed a daylight scene, viewed from an elevated position as if from a tower. The view was of an extensive mud flat, and the smell of the breeze was rife with moisture and the slight rot of the marine littoral.

The view from a right-side window was from a similar perspective, but showed an ocean under heavy swell. The air was redolent of salbleeper.

Shaken by these visions, the party nervously checked their watches. One of the privates leaned agains a wall, let out a muttered oath and looked at his hand, then collapsed, stone dead! The explorers were aghast at this turn of events. Clearly there was an extremely efficient assassin loose in the caverns and corridors of the undercroft!

No amount of searching would turn up the method to kill the soldier so, gathering up his corpse and making sure to keep well clear of the walls the party hurried back to the ramp to the upper world and sanity, where they anxiously checked the passage of time and discovered a discrepancy of a couple of hours between their watches and those of the garrison officers.

1. A jab at the British Crown Colony, which pays the Red Captains to perform such legalised piracy under letters or marque signed by The Governor↑

A letter from Captain Forsyth (no longer retired) to his brother Clarence.

A letter from Captain Forsyth (no longer retired) to his brother Clarence.

Fort McMurray 1891, in the heat.

Dear Brother,

Once again, I write in exceptional circumstances. I am pleased to relate that I am back in colours, having been pressed back into service in order to answer an imminent threat to Queen and Country.

My initial mission was merely the delivery of a dispatch, but I suspect that ‘the powers that be’ knew that the fort was short on officers and that I could fill the gap on a temporary basis. With me is the erstwhile Dr. Phipps, that most excellent physician whom I’ve commended to you previously.

It seems the fort was suffering some form of malady, which required the urgent attention of a competent medico. Phipps was all that was available and with due respect to his profession was duly enlisted at the rank of captain.

Owen Hartwell was kind enough to join us on official business as a civilian observer.

Things at the fort were not well. Almost the entire officer class, the resident doctor and countless others were affected by a serious form of what I can only describe as a plague. An unknown disease that had a fair proportion on the brink of death.

Worse the local hill tribes were nowhere to be seen. As the major commanding showed me round the fort, he imparted his belief that this was because they were gathering to attack. Certain rabble-rousers were known to be in the area.

The fort, which I should add, is a fascinating Martian construction with many interesting features, including a high tower at its centre. This was the final part of our tour. As we stood on this noble edifice, I noted a green luminous spot on the major’s chest. As he looked down his final words were ‘pon my soul’, which is so apt in hindsight.

He was killed on the spot by some strange weapon, fired from at least a mile away. A precision weapon from a mile! Doubt me not for I’ve measured the distance, as my profession decrees.

Thankfully we were able to turn this evil weapon on itself and destroy it utterly. In fact, so well I could not later obtain any clue as to its nature, which is regrettable.

But this clearly foretold an attack on the fort. By virtue of rank, I was now officer commanding. I arranged watches and dispositions best I could. I confess less than 24 hours before I could not have possibly envisioned this situation. But here I was with a handful of friends and thousands of the enemy at the door.

Thankfully we were blessed with 4 experienced sergeants, who excelled themselves in the conflict, holding steady and keeping the men at it. We were attacked in waves. First the North wall where the foe was easily repulsed.

I believe it a faint, because the enemy came on most strong at the west wall. This time they reached the wall and in places scaled it. The reinforcements were slow to arrive in theatre, hampered by the layout of the compound, which was not originally intended as a fort. Indeed, some speculation suggests it may have been a monastery.

Regardless it was a fierce set-to and a close-run thing. So close indeed that I needed to act as a sharpshooter to pick the enemy off the walls. It would seem those skills honed on hunts in India still have value. Hartwell too fired well from his post on the south wall. He’d been kind enough to accept a temporary commission and take commend of the south wall.

Never-the-less we took casualties at a steady rate. I saw men carried from the walls, men I thought would be confined to the infirmary. But no, I was truly amazed to see so many returned to the ranks in short order, bandaged but unbowed, eager to return to the fray. Such was the work of marvellous Doctor Phipps. It helped stop us being overwhelmed.

I could have stripped the men from the other walls and had we been breached; I would have been forced on that course. But I knew the foe had more men amassed ready to assault those walls and we’d have been overwhelmed in a twice.

Eventually the enemy bodies piled up and we repulsed the attack, forcing them off our walls, but at a regrettable butcher’s bill.

As soon as that relief was obtained, the action switched to the opposite wall. Another assault, but this time easily repulsed. Again, I suspected a feint.

The real and final attack came against the south wall. Hartwell distinguished himself by shooting down the Martian that that was advancing on the gate with a bomb. Then he took down a party with a battering ram using a hurled hand bomb that I’d previously improvised. It was one of many make-shift explosive devices that I’d deployed to help our cause.

Finally, sensing the desperation of the enemy I did strip the east wall to reinforce the south. It was the fastest way to add firepower to that section. The enemy threw themselves at us relentlessly and came dangerously close to gaining the walls. But our men were magnificent, our repeated volley fire taking its toll and culling the enemy.

Meanwhile both Hartwell and I now noted the leaders at the back directing this foul action. There we trained our respective rifles and Hartwell struck a crucial blow. Bereft of leadership, unable to make ground and the casualties littering the ground. The enemy finally broke and ran.

We could scarce believe it. The troops all returned to station like a modern machine, but devoid of expression. As I surveyed the scene, it was clear that our assailants had been broken. I could stand my men down. Never have I given an order more gladly, but there was no joy in it or in the receiving of it. We were all too tired and too numb.

The doctor continued his work late and I believe saved a great many lives and limbs.

The aftermath has bought its own challenges. The paperwork is overwhelming. But more immediately we had to deal with a literal mound of corpses. We burnt those of the foe to avoid corruption, but counted their numbers.

Our own were buried with all due ceremony.

We found the remains of their strange and secret weapon, but it was so obliterated that no clue as to its substance remained. Their camps were uncovered, again allowing us to confirm their numbers.

Later the good doctor uncovered a bad one in the ranks. A foul individual running a contraband ring. He’s now in chains awaiting court-martial.

Hartwell tracked down an infamous steppe tiger that was preying on our native patrols and killed it on the charge with a single shot. He is now revered by the native troops and has taken part in a ceremony anointing him a hero. I was minded to forbid all this nonsense, especially as circumstances are again tense. However, the native troops were stalwart throughout, manning the walls and playing their part to the full. They deserve their celebration. Besides should not all races be given the opportunity to revere an Englishman.

So, I come to my current dilemma. A certain Miss Phoebe Carter-Lloyd, a journalist for Times Cormorant, has made her way to the fort. If you could enlighten on her pedigree that would be most useful.

In the interim having an attractive young woman suddenly appear in a fort of nearly 200 men has, well at the very least been a major burden in terms of distraction.

We have also had to play host to a German diplomatic delegation. Darned fellows arrived by Zeppelin. Damned if I’d let them run around the fort, they’ll have seen enough from their ship. It’s clear as day that they are scouting for the Martian misfits at Slapstash. I fear they may even be co-ordinating an attack.

I am sure that the Zeppelin released the cloud containing the disease that caused our officers to become sick. It’s a foul weapon that defiles honour. Part of the attack on the fort was conducted with repeating rifles. That’s one of the major reasons we suffered casualties. They were supplied by Cairo Munitions.

Now the Zeppelin carries aboard, I believe a Mr. Bill Badger, of Cairo Industries. As well as said weapon. Also, they have a Marconi device, so would potentially be able to talk to allies, perhaps giving advice on the forts disposition.

My dilemma is whether simply let all this pass and avoid a diplomatic incident.

However, in attacking a British column they have in effect conducted a de facto ‘act of war’. I’m not sure I can simply overlook this, especially as it was against officers and men of what is now, for the time being at least, ‘my’ command.

Other options might be to immediately impound the Germans and their ship. But unless overwhelming evidence is produced this could prove very controversial. Even with evidence, it would break the diplomatic norms.

I confess to dark thoughts of their ship meeting with an unfortunate accident, but that is not the British or honourable thing.

I feel a confrontation of some form is inevitable. Hopefully I can manage this in such a way as to pull the teeth from this threat, while avoiding a major incident. I doubt the Germans would start a war in Europe, but that has entered my thinking.

A mere army captain in a remote outpost, I have no experience of politics or diplomacy. Yet these are the things I have to balance. If you hear no more of this, then I have succeeded.

Your humble servant,

Henry

Episode 42: A Problem Solved, A Ghost Laid, And Unexpected Guests For Dinner

A new day dawned over Fort McMurray.

Forsyth was dismayed to discover how much paperwork was apparently involved in defending a fort against hordes of savage Hill Martians. Every time he filled in a form an adjutant dropped two more on his desk. Ammunition usage. Medical supplies usage. Damage to fortress fixtures and fittings. Fitness reports. There seemed no end to the blasted things.

Phipps began to notice an odd demeanor in some of the men. Furtiveness. Obvious signs of opiate use, even addiction.

Interest piqued, he made his way to the commissary and interviewed Commissary Pillbrook and his two assistants; Privates Shaw and Cole.

Shaw was hostile, tracking Phipps with a lizard-like stare and responding to his questions with a cocky, mocking evasiveness.

Cole was more scared than defensive, clearly trying to avoid answering but also telegraphing a fear of Shaw.

Phipps’ interview of Commissary Pillbrook convinced him that Pillbrook was essentially honest but overworked and perhaps too trusting of his help. He decided on a tactic of using medical examinations “In view of the recent spate of Phipps’ Syndrome” as a pretext for interrogation.

Pillbrook’s examination was unrevealing of anything beyond what Phipps had already surmised.

Cole’s examination showed he had been recently expertly beaten up. These were not the marks of honest brave combat suffered in the defense of the fort (though Cole had such wounds), but the punitive work of someone knowledgeable in the ways of how far one might go in such matters.

Cole was sedated by the ruse of giving an inoculation, whereupon he revealed that he was in thrall to Shaw due to some secret of Cole’s that Shaw had somehow found out and was holding over him. Cole, in his drugged euphoria revealed that Shaw had a secret stash of contraband that was available for purchase to the men of Fort McMurray. This stash was somewhere deep in the ruined building which was being used as a commissary.

Cole was allowed to recover and sent on his way, and Shaw was sent for. Meanwhile, Phipps prepared some Bhutan Tea (a very mild narcotic much used by the men of the garrison¹) but with a special “Phipps touch”, with the result that when the cocky Shaw, secure in his knowledge that officers were stupid and easily fooled, drank his tea he was rendered comatose, stripped of his clothing and secured to a bed pending whatever could be found.

In Shaw’s pockets Phipps discovered a key of ancient Martian pattern, obviously the key to one of the doors in the ruined building. But which one?

Grabbing Jones - the only reliable person available whom he could trust, Phipps made his way into the labyrinthine passages of the cellars under the ruined building, and embarked on a search in the cloying darkness for the vile Shaw’s “personal” storeroom.

Hartwell’s day had begun with his wandering over to a large group of martian soldiers making a terrific fuss despite Lieutenant Ph’sback’s attempts to restore order. The furore was taking place in Parhooni, but Hartwell was fluent² and was able to understand that “another” patrol was overdue, and that the general feeling was that they had been taken by, well, the translation was difficult but could be rendered as “The Stalking Ghost” or perhaps “The Ghost that Stalks”.

A quick conversation with the redoubtable lieutenant revealed that patrols had gone missing, no members of them had returned to tell why. Ph’sback was of the opinion until now that they had fallen victim to the massing tribes, but could not explain the latest disappearances. He was in no mood to entertain tales of “ghosts” though, and asked for volunteers to form a search party.

He was met with sullen silence.

Hartwell spoke up and announced he would go, if he could have a small party of men to assist him.

Again there were no takers, and Hartwell said disgustedly that he would seek his volunteer from the ranks of the British.

At this clear expression of superior British backbone Lieutenant Ph’sback flew into a rage and berated his men at length, then “volunteered” three of them with extreme prejudice to go forth with the Earthman and recover both the lost patrol and their own honour.

And so it was that Hartwell and three sullen Martian soldiers marched out of Fort McMurray, hot on the trail of the Lost Patrol.

Things started well when Hartwell was able to pick up the tracks of the patrol, and the small party followed them for about two hours, before the tracks were joined by those of some sort of animal. Careful questioning of the Martians suggested they might be the tracks of the dread steppe tiger³, an apex predator known to frequent the steppes of Mars. Worryingly, the tracks began to show a sudden and large increase in pace of both parties, and before long the remains of a bloody kill were found.

Three dismembered bodies were lying in the trampled grassland, a fourth had been dragged off into the tall grass. Enough remained for the martians to identify their lost comrades.

As Hartwell began to contemplate the situation and formulate a plan of action, he became aware that he too was being stalked. From some distance away he could make out the sounds of some large animal attempting stealthy approach, and could see the tall grass moving as it did so.

Realizing he could not run and survive should this prove to indeed be a steppe tiger, he rallied the quavering martians and deployed them in a line behind him. They were armed with captured Winchesters bearing the marks of Cairo Munitions⁴, Hartwell had his trusty military pattern rifle, an old and valued companion in his adventures.

The team made ready for the attack and suddenly … the creature burst out of the grass at full charge, snarling wetly at the prospect of another easy kill! The martians screamed and began to run but Hartwell steadied them with masterly calm, all the while sighting down the barrel of his rifle, and at the optimum moment let fly, sending the beast somersaulting over itself in a pinwheel of blood.

The Martians were amazed, babbling amongst themselves in Parhooni so fast Hartwell could barely make out their astonished glee at his prowess. They would not consent to dismembering the animal there and then, for Hartwell had wanted the head as a trophy, but insisted they make a travois and lug it back to Fort McMurray for some unspecified reason. Hartwell understood that this was because they needed to show the others the beast’s carcass and also that it would somehow be of benefit to him reputation-wise, and so it was that in the mid afternoon, they search party was within sight of the fort when they were overflown by a large Zeppelin.

Phipps had become lost in the corridors under the ruined building, but had eventually found the path again. He had begun by using the disturbed dust on the floor to track Shaw’s comings and goings, but had belatedly noticed a dab of white paint that blazed the trail to the door to which the key belonged.

Opening it, he discovered a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of contraband, food items swiped from the incoming supplies, luxury liquors intended for the officers’ table, Medical supplies intended for the infirmary stores, equipment requisitioned but seemingly never arrived. The list was almost endless. And in one corner, a cot and what was obviously an escape kit, complete with a roll of banknotes amounting to around 500 pounds! Shaw must have been working this shameful deception for years!

Grabbing a few choice items, Phipps made determinedly for the surface to report his findings to Captain Forsyth.

Phipps’ conference with Forsyth was interrupted by an anxious messenger bearing a missive from the Heliograph Tower. Apparently a Zeppelin claiming to be a German party on a diplomatic mission was about an hour away and was requesting permission to dock at the fort’s mast. Forsyth and Phipps looked at one another. Could it be the same airship that had dogged their trip from Moerus Lacus? Forsyth articulated a concern that even were he to assume the worse, that German spies were aboard and that the so-called “diplomatic” misison was in fact simply on a fact-finding tour in order to inform their Shastapsh friends of any weaknesses in the fort defenses, that refusing permission would cause a diplomatic incident to the crown colony’s detriment.

While Forsyth was pondering his options, a second messenger arrived, breathlessly informing our heroes that Captain Barnaby⁵ was a half-hour away in his screw galley Penelope and was requesting permission to dock briefly at the mast to disembark a passenger.

Fulminating on his day becoming more complicated, by the minute, Forsyth agreed to allow both vessels to dock⁶ and quickly made arrangements to confine the crew of the Zeppelin with a tale of Medical Quarantine.

Hartwell appeared at the north gate to a tumultuous welcome by the Martian soldiery. They made a great deal of him as the three Martians who had accompanied him told of how he had dropped the fearsome “Stalking Ghost” with one shot. He was pummeled and cheered and daubed with the blood of the kill, lieutenant Ph’sback explaining to him the purpose of the ritualistic goings-on. Hartwell was being celebrated and given great honour by the soldiers, among whom were a few devotees of some sort of hunting cult who saw in Hartwell’s kill an almost mythical significance. Hartwell would remain daubed in his ceremonial blood markings until evening, when he would be the guest of honour at a ceremony to which only he of all Earthmen present, would be invited. His rifle was reverently taken by someone, and a canteen of pure Fort McMurray water placed in his hand, though when he suggested he might get a fresh shirt lieutenant Ph’sback explained that this would be a grave insult, a rejection of the high honour being accorded him by the soldiers.

Lieutenant Ph’sback sought and gained permission to bury the remains of the dead patrol inside the fort, and personally led a party on gashants to recover those remains, returning a couple of hours later with three carefully bundled rolls of canvass, each lashed to a travois and pulled slowly by the gashants. A solemn burial detail had been at work while they were gone, and the bodies were laid in heir graves with quiet ceremony. Hartwell was present, and participated in the burial ritual.

The Penelope docked and although Forsyth was anxious to cultivate an acquaintanceship with Captain Barnaby, the latter was quite brusque and announced he had to leave immediately his passenger had disembarked. And so it was in a flurry of activity a young woman and her bag were unloaded from the screw galley Penelope and she slipped her moorings and flew off into the afternoon sky.

The newly-arrived visitor was a very attractive young woman who introduced herself as Phoebe Carter-Lloyd of the Times-Courant. She wasted no time in whipping out a notebook and a pencil and began pressing Forsyth for details of the recent battle in a breathless barrage of questions accompanied by as much charm as she could muster.

The results were only what might be expected in a remote outpost manned entirely by male soldiers far from civilization. Within minutes general discipline in the fort was ripped to shreds as men from lowly privates to the most venerable sergeants found excuses to encounter the lady or cluster anywhere they could see her. Phipps found himself quite smitten by her charms, though Forsyth remained somewhat aloof and immune. The same could not be said for Miss Carter-Lloyd, who was obviously quite taken by the gallant captain.

But social niceties would have to wait, for no sooner was the Penelope a dot in the distance, the great silver airship hove into close proximity and, with admirable precision, docked at the mast. A disembarkation ramp was extended from the envelope and two figures emerged. Both were attired as German army officers. The lead figure was adorned with so many medals of such size that one might wonder at his ability to walk unaided under the weight of them. The other walked some paces behind, and was less ostentatious in his medal display, while still conveying a military career at once significant and dangerous.

The leader announced himself as Count Heinrick Oberluft charged with a diplomatic tour at the behest of Kaiser Wilhelm. The other was introduced as Major Kurt Wilhelm, adjutant to the Count.

A lengthy discussion then took place between Count Oberluft and Forsyth as to the possibility of the disembarkation of the Zeppelin crew and their temporary quartering inside the fort. Forsyth was regretful but an outbreak of a mysterious Martian Fever had prompted a quarantine, and although he, Forsyth, would be glad to host the officers for dinner the quartering of large numbers of men was quite impossible given the risk of infection.

The Count was disappointed, but suggested perhaps his men could bivouac outside the walls, if Captain Forsyth could provide a few ten-man tents? Forsyth had been unprepared for this, but could see no immediate danger in the suggestion and so he agreed after checking with Commissary Pillbrook as to the availability of such tents.

The men would disembark from the Zeppelin, march in good order along the inside wall, sortie through the south gate and camp for the night, the officers would dine with Forsyth and return to the Zeppelin for the evening.

It was then that the Count became aware of Miss Carter-Lloyd, who was taking notes in the background. He was struck by her beauty and hurried to make her acquaintance, to the annoyance of Phipps. The Count was charm itself to the young woman, who found herself invited for a tour of the airship, a special treat to which she readily agreed. The Count was momentarily distracted by the hullabaloo at the north gate, but at seeing it was merely some Martians in high spirits he returned his attention to the young woman batting her eyelashes at him so charmingly. The Count turned to lead Miss Carter-Lloyd to the Zeppelin, then added that it would be his pleasure to present the Captain with a bottle of schnapps from his own cellar at the dinner this evening.

Phipps muttered darkly that he would not be drinking any schnapps that the Germans provided, and Forsyth nodded, worrying how he might respond when it struck him that if he accepted the schnapps as a gift while providing adequate refreshments during dinner, a robust selection of wines and a decent port, say, no-one would be placed in the position of having to drink or lose face. Then Phipps remembered that there were many bottles of excellent liquor in Shaw’s secret hideaway, and the ruse was complete. Forsyth would accept the schnapps as a diplomatic gift, presenting the Count with a bottle of 15 year old single malt scotch whisky in return. No-one would drink from either bottle.

And so it came to pass that the German crew, consisting of what looked like a naval and an army contingent, made their way outside where Forsyth’s had provided them with a do-it-yourself encampment kit rather than have a work party provide tents per-se. He might have felt more smug with his casual insult had the Germans not used it as an excuse to arm every man sleeping outside the walls that night, requiring an extra guard be set to watch for treacherous hunnish backstabbery.

As if things could not get any worse, the corporal manning the heliograph tower requested permission to speak, and when granted it pointed out that the Zeppelin was equipped with a Marconi apparatus, something with which Fort McMurray was unequipped. Now Forsyth understood the Germans had a communications device that could be used without fear of being overheard despite that machine's shortcomings⁷.

Dinner was served, being a main course of brisket (the best the cook could provide from fort supplies) augmented with items from Shaw’s collection of luxury items. The wine flowed, the port was sipped and the German officers eventually returned to their Zeppelin. There were some minor scuffings of sensibilities between Phipps and the Count over the attentions of Miss Carter-Lloyd, who only had eyes for Forsyth, but the veneer of civilization was preserved. The Count was eager to hear of the battle, which he characterized as regrettable, but inevitable given the provocative placement of the fort. When pressed for information on his visit to Shastapsh he waxed lyrical on the virtues of the Martians of that city-state, deploring their situation and the hostility to which the British armed forces had subjected them. At Forsyth’s bridling the Count waved a hand and said that he and Forsyth were only tools of their respective countries’ leaders’ wishes.

Hartwell, on the other hand, was not forced to dance to civilization’s expectations. His evening involved being feted, involved in a touching ceremony wherein each Martian soldier took it upon themselves to bow before him, was presented to the graves of the three dead soldiers recovered from the site of the steppe tiger’s ambush, and finally being draped with a cloak made from the steppe tiger’s pelt and head, which was contrived to sit helmet-like atop his head. Lieutenant Ph’sback explained quietly that the skin had only been temporarily cured, but that a more lasting job would be done in the days to come. Everyone got roaring drunk on Martian Bhutan Spice Beer. As he reeled uncertainly in the ring of admiring Martian soldiers, Hartwell saw that the skull of the steppe tiger had been mounted on the wall above the north gate, along with a lengthy inscription telling of its provenance.

As the evening drew to a close, Forsyth tried to interrogate Miss Carter-Lloyd as to the contents of the Zeppelin. She said she had seen a large tube-like thing in the rear gondola bearing the same trademark as the rifles recovered from the attacking tribesmen, the mark Forsyth had tentatively linked with Cairo Munitions, that firm which had played such a large role in helping The Brotherhood of Luxor with its vile plan for world domination and extermination.

Asked about people on board, she had seen one character who spoke with an American accent. Forsyth demanded a description, and became certain when obliged with that information that the young woman had seen none other than Bruce Badger, salesman for Cairo Munitions and Brotherhood minion!

As Fort McMurray lapsed into its watchful night-time routine, Forsyth fretted on the meaning of Miss Carter-Lloyd’s observations, Phipps fretted the distance between him and his beloved sweetheart, Phoebe Carter-Lloyd. Hartwell alone slept the sleep of the unworried, dead to the world after hours of drinking, feasting, dancing and singing.

What would the morrow bring?

1. And, it must be said, by Hartwell, Phipps and Forsyth too. In point of fact, almost every British person on Mars who can afford it takes Bhutan Spice Tea as a relaxant and social diversion from the everyday drudge of life on Mars↑
2. As fluent as any Earthman could be, at any rate↑
3. Not to be confused with the Steppe Tiger, a kite under the service of Syrtis Lapis and the ship that brought the brave heroes to Fort McMurray↑
4. See: Episodes 26 and 27↑
5. Barnaby is perhaps the most famous of the so-called “Red Captains”, a privateer of great esteem to Those in Power in the crown colony↑
6. obviously not at the same time↑
7. A Marconi Apparatus can transmit Morse Code, but it does so radially and anyone with a receiver can hear what is sent. Though work is being done on “harmonic” Marconi transmissions, the work is in the experimental stage and not available on Mars⁸. The range of a Marconi Apparatus can be quite short or surprisingly long depending on atmospheric conditions, but geographically adjacent sets will talk over each other and garble both messages↑
8. Or is it?↑

Interlude: What The Newspapers Say About Episode 41

Episode 41: Trouble at Fort McMurray

Calling in every favour they had, Hartwell, Phipps and Forsyth managed to salvage their reputations after the events of the previous days.

They had resolved to keep a low profile until an opportunity to return to Syrtis Major presented itself, but before that happened a courier appeared at their lodgings with an official request to visit the Colonial Office at their earliest convenience to discuss a matter of great importance.

On attending the meeting with their Colonial Office representative, Forsyth was informed that he could be of the greatest service to the Empire should he consent - which he did straight away.

No sooner was the handshake completed than Forsyth was informed that his commission had been re-activated for the duration.

Not only that, there was a desperate need for a doctor that could be answered by Phipps’ accompanying Forsyth and using his well-known - if unconventional - medical skills in the service of the Empire. Phipps agreed and was told that he would henceforth bear a temporary commissioned rank of Captain in order to convey the authority he will need.

The trip would begin the next evening when the Kite Steppe Tiger would run under cover of darkness for the Shastapsh border and Fort McMurray.

The team did a bit of pre-trip shopping and the next evening they met the ship at the dockside. There, Fortsyth received his dispatch pouch and the supplies were loaded.

Hartwell, lounging on the rail of the ship, spotted Maxine LeBlanc give something to one of the human crewmembers (the crew were mostly Martian, but there were half a dozen humans who seemed rather shy around the adventurers, conversing among themselves only in what Hartwell spotted as Gaelic when they were near. Hartwell confronted the man who had spoken with the LeBlanc woman, but he was all charm and claimed that she had asked directions to The Thirsty Rhummet Breehr and had given him a shiny new Victoria crown piece (worth 5 shillings!) for the information. She was indeed a princess among men, whose largesse was formidable.

Forsyth was scanning the port crowd and spotted several different types watching the lading with interest, some seemingly innocent boredom-fillers, some more vigilant. Also, a few hundred yards away, a German airship Seemed to have an observer on board whose interest in Steppe Tiger was more than casual.

Fearing treachery, Forsyth sent their Colonial Office contact a note in Urdu with his suspicions about LeBlanc, reasoning that as both of them had served in India perhaps this would be an effective courier-proof code.

Phipps had spent his time making absolutely sure the medical supplies he had ordered were delivered and stored without incident. He had been informed that there was an infection loose in Fort McMurray, some sort of Malaria-like disease but one of Martian origin, and that his “unique” approach to native medicine might just be what was required. In any event, there had not been anyone else willing or able to go.

And eventually Steppe Tiger slipped her moorings and rose silently into the night, the crew working efficiently and quietly as they climbed into the black sky of Mars.

The adventurers agreed that one of them should join the night watches, and it was during Hartwell’s watch that he became aware of multiple steam engine sounds off the starboard aft quarter. He alerted the captain.

The sounds were eventually seen to be an airship, paralleling their course approximately one mile away, but dropping further away as time went by on account of the favourable winds sweeping the Steppe Tiger on her way.

The captain shared the wry opinion that it was indeed a feat of navigation to have found and tracked the Steppe Tiger against a night sky, especially given the high ambient noise pertaining aboard the average steam-powered airship. Forsyth fretted about armaments, and was frustrated by the limited range of the Steppe Tiger’s guns and by the captain’s obdurate stance that he had no orders to fire upon a German vessel and could not engage in hostilities unless first fired upon.

It wasn’t as if the German’s were unaware of the position of Fort McMurray or the need to keep it resupplied, and they were on their best behaviour in British-controlled airspace it seemed. Forsyth was aware there had been a German diplomatic mission in Moerus Lacus, and this could be simply the Germans paying a visit to Shastapsh, which was disturbing on many levels but could not be prevented unless war were openly declared, as the airship was undoubtedly traveling under diplomatic immunity.

The Great Game went on, no matter where one stood to watch, it seemed.

The Steppe Tiger docked at Fort McMurray in mid morning the next day. The fort was a repurposed Martian compound of great antiquity it turned out. No-one was sure what purpose it had originally served, nor exactly when it had been completed in its current form.

Upon disembarking, Forsyth, Phipps and Hartwell made their introductions to Major Langdale, the commander of Fort McMurray. He was glad to see the supplies, concerned by the contents of the diplomatic pouch and perturbed by the suspicions of the adventurers concerning one human crewman and a certain femme fatale.

Phipps made his way to the infirmary and began the anxious search for a cure for this mysterious Martian Malaria. None of his experience had exposed him to this particular infection, but he soon surmised that it was parasitical in nature. Perhaps something in his inventory of Martian remedies would be effective in treating it.

Meanwhile Hartwell attempted to find the crewman he had seen speaking with the LeBlanc woman, with little success. The blasted man had disappeared into the crowds of soldiers milling about the place on military matters or loafing in that way soldiers do when not under direct orders to the contrary.

The team and the captain of the Steppe Tiger attended dinner with the Major, and lively was the conversation, ranging from the mysterious origins of the fort, the politics of the area and the tactical situation currently pertaining. Phipps also found that all the affected soldiers had been on patrol when overrun by a dust storm, seemingly initiated by an over-flying kite.

After dinner, Phipps returned to his sick soldiers and Forsyth and Hartwell allowed the Major to conduct them on a walking tour of the fort, culminating in a climb up the central tower.

This structure loomed over the fort, providing a splendid platform for observation and heliography. To permit the latter, a large parabolic heliograph mirror apparatus was installed, manned during daylight hours but standing unused in the moonlight. They watched the Steppe Tiger slip off into the night, though it was suspected that there was one crewman less on the outbound trip than had been on the inbound voyage.

It was while conversing on various military matters that Forsyth noticed a glowing green spot, about an inch across, on the Major’s chest and drew attention to it. The Major had just about enough time to exclaim “‘pon my word” before he was thrown backward, a sun-bright beam of intense green light punching a hold right through him.

Forsyth was also targeted by this fiendish green light, but had the presence of mind to dive for cover before it could inflict harm on his person. A trooper, lax about following Forsyth’s shouted command to take cover, was less fortunate, his head being targeted and punched through with gruesome efficiency.

The green beam swept hither and yon over the fort as Forsyth, Phipps (newly in-theatre but unable to do anything for the unfortunate major) and Hartwell urgently conferred as to how to counter this new menace. All that could be determined was that the source was maybe a mile or more off in the distance, somewhere in the dark.

It seemed all would be lost, when one of the heliograph crew mentioned that it was common for the heliograph to be used to send light back down the path it was received on, that being the basis of heliography.

In a trice a plan was formed. A spare uniform was quickly placed on a makeshift dummy, which was arranged on a jury-rigged scaffold in front of the mirror. A pantomime then took place with the mirror being used to animate this puppet, until finally the fire of the dreadful weapon was drawn and reflected back, resulting in a bright flash and a loud explosion off in the darkness.

No more was seen of the terrible Green Ray of Certain Death.

But to be sure, this was a clarion call to arms, and Forsyth was not to be found wanting. He immediately took command of the fort and disposed his forces in position ready for an expected attack in force.

And that is what happened.

Wave upon wave of screaming Hill Martian tribesmen attacked the fort walls as though maddened, urged on by notable figures armed with modern, Earth weaponry! Winchester repeating rifles were to be seen in the hands of a few - thankfully a mere fraction of the whole force, but still enough to pose a serious threat given the sheer numbers of combatants.

The fight was desperate, with neither side giving or receiving quarter. The Martian battle cries were rage-inflamed things of terror to hear, and only the strict military discipling of the troops and the steadfastness of their NCOs held the line.

The heroes of course were in the thick of things.

Phipps worked frantically to save lives and return men to the battlements. Hartwell acted as sharpshooter, picking off obvious leaders from his position on the south wall of the fort, yet the morale of the attackers was stubbornly strong and unshakable for all the casualties they took. Forsyth also used his own rifle to good effect, positioned as he was on the roof of the command post, though his main concern was dispatching and receiving runners carrying new orders or requests for aid.

An attempt to force the south gate was repulsed by Hartwell, who used his rifle along with improvised grenades to drop the team wielding the battering ram. Forsyth had buried mines in that same area and now had them detonated, shredding tribesmen in an horrific maelstrom of fire and thunder. Hell itself could scarce rival the south approach to Fort McMurray that day.

Eventually, the combined efforts of Hartwell and Forsyth served to kill what looked to be the overall commander, and finally the Hill Tribes’ morale broke and the survivors ran for the safety of the plain.

Hundreds of Martians were dead. Almost every soldier was wounded in some way. Once proud soldiers in neat uniforms now limped or slouched exhausted, darker red stains on their red jackets, now rent and ragged with battle’s badges of courage. Once again, Britannia had been victorious over the forces of ignorance and tyranny.

Forsyth saw to the organization of a sortie and rode in search of the strange weapon that had taken the life of the major, and of any signs of Hill Martian gatherings. He found only a huge crater with scattered scraps of metal and glass, and old, cold campfires, carefully concealed in small gullies. Whatever one thought of Hill Martians, they were expert commando raiders. Not one flicker of these fires had been seen at the fort.

Whoever had forged the various disparate tribes into a cohesive force had been (and possibly still was) a formidable leader.

Forsyth ordered the rifles collected and the bodies of the Martians burned. A study of the Winchesters showed they were marked on the stock with a stylized “CM”, and an ugly suspicion formed that Cairo Munitions¹ were involved in some way.

Phipps had also brought good news: he had managed to formulate a cure for the dread new “Phipps’ Syndrome” and was able to save everyone except the fort’s surgeon, who had died during the battle.

1. Last seen in the Red Sands adventures beginning here↑