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↑

Episode 40: A Raid, A Row, And A Run In The Dark

The team was ready to infiltrate the compound in which there was to be a meeting between a Worm Cult personage and the heads of the three largest trading families of Moerus Lacus.

A few sundries were obtained, and a quantity of what the American chaps might call “Mickey Finn” was brewed up by the ever resourceful Doctor Phipps. The plan was to dose the food for the night’s gathering (which was understood to be over dinner) with this concoction, then improvise once the major actors in this treasonous play were unconscious, with the possible kidnapping taking into custody of the Worm Cultists.

The plan was as sound as any plan made in complete ignorance of any but the grossest details of the evening’s agenda could be, and each member of the team worked well toward its end.

The adventurers dressed themselves as innocuously as they could to avoid undue interest in their comings and goings after dark, and made their way with a cart to a spot they had reconnoitered earlier.

Then they continued on foot to a small, dry drainage culvert that was guarded by a locked gate, which Halliwell made short work of with his trusty lockpicks.

The team observed some servants coming and going, then made their way to what seemed like a servant’s entrance which gave access to a cloakroom connected to a large kitchen, currently occupied by a sole elderly Martian, who was muttering to himself and clanging around in a manner common to chefs all over the solar system.

The team then attempted to sneak up on this worthy, but failed to allay his suspicions and a dreadful fracas ensued with the chef throwing knives and cleavers at the adventurers while they attempted to subdue him.

Which they did in the end, thanks to Phipps and his little black bag of tricks, and they stashed the now comatose chef in the cloakroom.

Then it was a matter of a few moments to dose all the visible dishes with Dr Phipps’ elixir of Lethe before there were sounds of others arriving in-theatre.

Our brave lads then took refuge inside the storage areas offered by the kitchen’s working surfaces while a Shadowy Figure in black searched for the source of all the commotion. Sniffing at the food bowls, he gave servants terse orders, then stormed out. The servants began tossing out all the food Dr Phipps had so carefully seasoned.

The kitchen emptied out and the team emerged, shaken but resolved. They eavesdropped on a Worm Cult Priest berating the three heads of family and exhorting them to join a plan to poison the city’s Red Devil population with a poison dust of which he happened to have a ready supply.

At this point someone in the room became aware of the team and a fight broke out between the Worm Cultists and the brave British lads, watched by a Shadowy Figure and alternately heckled and cheered on by the vacillating nobles sitting at a lavishly spread table.

The fight was. very uneven, and the team retreated to the kitchen where Phipps spilled oil on the floor to discommode the enemy while a strategic withdrawal took place. This was in part successful, though Hartwell took a drubbing from the Worm Cult Priest’s staff, which was emitting some sort of pain ray, and of course the Worm Cult’s High Martian priest could fly, which put a crimp in Phipps’ otherwise brilliant “oil ploy”.

The Shadowy Figure emerged into the kitchen, but seemed to be mostly ineffectual as his frantic pounding at his belt implied a failure of some sort of weapon, no doubt technological.

The team retreated to the cloakroom, where they were momentarily pinned down by fire from an unseen target in the garden.

It was Forsyth who finally voiced his concern that these figures clad in black were possibly assassins who once worked for the dread Brotherhood of Luxor, and that if that were the case the team was caught in a pretty dicey situation indeed, one which might only be resolved by resolute girding of one’s loins and putting one’s best foot forward, then one’s second best as rapidly as possible.

Retreating into gunfire was something even the bravest might have quailed before, but our plucky lads formed a stern intention to do just that and once more steely British courage under fire was demonstrated as the team charged at the then-unseen attacker, overwhelming that assassin and killing him.

More gunfire, along with the certain knowledge of a second like-minded assassin suggested that further withdrawal was called for, and the team escaped back across the grounds and into the culvert without further injury.

A report was made to the authorities, but without proof and without conspirators under citizen’s arrest scandal was almost sure to be the outcome, with the Colonial Office deploring the actions of an unknown group of fanatics dedicated to the erosion of relations between the British Empire and Mars.

Privately, the Colonial Office representative was livid, pointing out that this was an unsanctioned operation by private mercenaries whose reputation was once again to be dragged into the gutter and who very might find themselves the recipients of Martian retribution if British Justice didn’t do for them first.

The team would need to call in some favours to make this one “go away”.

Episode 39: An Altercation And New Friendships

The sight of the captured kite landing produced a scene of chaos, with militia both Martian and British demanding to know what was going on, and the habourmaster throwing a fit of apoplexy over demurrage and docking fees, all to the raucous accompaniment of the mixed Martian and human onlookers.

An official from the Colonial Office waded through the masses, put the harbourmaster at peace and led the ragged adventurers away for a quick bath, some new togs and a stern debriefing.

At first it looked bad for the team, as the Colonial Office chap droned on about the financial loss of the barge and trade goods to piracy. The loss and possible defection of the crew was a matter of deep concern, as was the loss of the machine gun mounted on the now-lost barge. The amounts involved were not trivial.

But then the Colonial Office representative came to the matter of a prize Kite, the value of which in prize terms was many times that of the barge.

The crown would of course keep half that value and the kite itself (which might have to be returned to its rightful owner, subject to a few checks and some paperwork.

The remainder would be divided up into “shares” and distributed to the improvised crew. The Earthmen would take a share each, Forsyth as captain would receive an additional share and the rest would be paid at one share per human and one half-share per martian native. Entirely fair and equitable. Generous, even.

There was a small complication in that a number of the Martian natives had been identified as citizens or known agents of Shastapsh, and they and others with perhaps their own reasons for circumspection ion Moerus Lacus had simply vanished into the night and the city warrens.

It was, when all was said and done, a fine mess.

Clutching bankers’ draughts for their monies, the players set about getting accommodation, clothes, necessities (though it were probably best not to dwell on what Doctor Phipps considered “necessary”) and securing transport back to Syrtis Major.

It turned out that the best option was in fact to buy outright their own vessel and hire a crew, which is what the team ended up doing

Securing a crew turned out to be more difficult than one might think, as the adventurers were confronted in a small courtyard by genial yet bellicose Martian sailors and longshoremen, itching for a fight.

Surrounded as they were by cheering Martian non-combatants each plucky adventurer was momentarily taken back to their hellish experience on entering school for the first time, and each (for their own reasons) chose to accept the three-fingered gauntlet that had been tossed metaphorically at their feet.

And a fine bout of fisticuffs ensued, as gentlemanly as could be expected, with the Martians refraining from outnumbering our gallant team. No clear winner was to be had from this rather childish affair, but the friendships formed that day would serve as an example of Earth-Mars cooperation in days to come.

First of all, the team now had their crew, who would gladly take on employment by such fine examples of British behaviour.

Secondly, while sealing the deal in a nearby tavern, a bout of further but more serious trouble was averted when the brave lads were alerted by their new-found friends of the immanent danger of attack by a roving gang of Worm Cult fanatics, who started trouble in the tavern but most definitely did not end it, that proud distinction going once again to the British. Truly, one could see the advantages of joining the Empire that day!

However, all was not fun and games, and a plot was uncovered that would have the three major trading families of Moerus Lacus caught up in a nefarious plot to kill all the “Red Devils” in the city!

A quick recce was arranged that night to check out the compound at which the meeting between the Worm Cultists and the heads of the three families.

And a likely method for infiltration of the compound was discovered.

Episode 38: A Chance At Redemption?

The adventurers were in low spirits.

The attempted rescue had resulted in the deaths of both hostages; Dr Grant was a loss to the world of archeology of course, but the loss of the innocent Miss White in such dastardly circumstances hit the British lads very hard, triggering harsh introspection and short tempers.

Not only that, there were the consequences to follow the impetuous behaviour of Ssassafrash and his “Followers of Fogg” in declaring that they would henceforth take up residence in the Crocea-Gorlimsk swamplands and … well there was the rub. What would the band of Venusian Militia get up to, unhindered by the guiding hand of British influence?

And to top it off, Captain Forsyth was stricken by a bad case of Martian Canal Fever and forced to retire to a makeshift bed. No doubt his low spirits in the aftermath of the failed rescue were partially to blame for the virulence of the disease.

Informed by the two remaining Martian bargemen that it was a matter of urgency to take on more crew before attempting to return to Syrtis Major, it was decided to make for the small canal-side town of Parabansit, and there try to recruit sailors.

The journey was mercifully free of harassment by pirates, hostile fauna or bellicose Martian forces of any kind, and the barge docked without incident. There were a few formalities, easily disposed of with trade goods, and two new Martian crewmen were retained, though they would only sail as far as Crocea, having no wish to enter the Crown Colony¹. Arrangements were also made with a local ice-house to deliver sawdust, crates and ice to the barge so that the bodies of Dr Grant and Miss White could be preserved for the trip.

Although the team were now without the help of Forsyth or Jones, who was resolutely refusing to leave his captain’s side, they did haver the new-found help of one corporal Henry “Hank” Aldrich, late of the British Expeditionary Forces on Mars and sole survivor of a previous clandestine attempt at rescuing those same poor individuals now lying wrapped in sheets in the hold. Corporal Aldrich had recovered from his ordeal in the swamp and was eager to get back to his command structure.

The barge departed the next day and, after another peaceful day, arrived at the town of Samara. After the formalities had been dealt with, the team discussed options vis-a-vis the Crocea issue: whether to bypass Crocea and avoid any possible resentment toward British Earthmen, or whether to dock there and resupply as the two original Martian crewmen wanted.

Given that the new crew had agreed only to go as far as Crocea, the options were to loose the much-needed crew here in Samara and continue as best they could through waters already known to harbour canal pirates and very possibly Crocean privateers, or to dock in Crocea as honest traders, resupply from Crocean chandlers and attempt to recruit in that large port’s sailors’ establishments.

Crocea it was.

Once docked, the two original Martian crew hurried away to arrange supplies from a chandler, and Hartwell, Phipps and Aldrich went in search of crew, and were treated to the sight of a young human woman being accosted, nay, molested by two Martian ruffians in a dockside alleyway. They ran to the rescue, Phipps contemptuously knocking one bully almost senseless with the butt of his trusty pistol, and that was enough for the two assailants who fled into the alley, leaving our heroes to help the swooning young lady.

Once Phipps had applied smelling salts the young woman regained her senses and turned out to be French and very, very beautiful. This immediately caused a problem, for both Aldrich and Hartwell were smitten and began a jealous rivalry for her affections that was to be the cause of much friction. Phipps, ignoring the childish antics of his companions, ascertained that the poor woman, who introduced herself as Maxine LeBlanc, was in need of transport to her uncle in Syrtis Major, and offered to take her there. This offer was gratefully accepted.

Five new crewmen were obtained and the party, new hires, British worthies and Mlle Leblanc returned to the Krahnaanik’s Folly to await the return of their two crewmen from the chandlers. All afternoon Aldrich and Hartwell vied with each other to demonstrate their suitability as companions and the other’s lack of those very qualities. Phipps was more concerned with practical matters, such as the fact that their crewmen had not returned.

Finally, losing patience with the missing Martians and the ridiculous posturings of his two companions, Phipps led an expedition to the chandlers’ shops to find where the crewman had gone. It was not a quick business, but eventually he came to understand that the “loyal” crewmen had fled in a skiff, taking flight to the north for destination unknown.

Disgusted at the loss of a half day’s sailing, Phipps returned to the Krahaanik’s Folly where Mlle LeBlanc offered to make dinner as “poor consolation and to reward the brave British men for rescuing her”, an offer the heroes gratefully accepted.

Phipps, Hartwell, Aldrich, Jones and Forsyth were treated to a fish dish - “Lemon sole, or the nearest I can make with this Martian fish the name of which I am not acquainted but which has six eyes, though the taste is acceptable I am assured” - and tea, liberally seasoned with Bhutan Spices. All ate heartily.

Phipps detected a flatness in taste but could not sense any adulteration, though his suspicions were aroused by some sixth sense. And his wariness was well-founded, for soon his companions fell into a deep sleep from which he could not arouse them. Why he alone was unaffected was a mystery, but he was fully alert when the treacherous Mlle LeBlanc ran at him, leapt into the air, kicked him squarely in the chest with some force and, like some kind of demented French acrobat somehow retreated past him, and adopted a boxer’s stance, laughing at his expression of surprise.

Phipps attempted to counter attack the treacherous woman, but she was lightning-fast in her reflexes and tiger-like in her ferocity and in relatively short order his battered body sank into blesséd unconsciousness, not before the Frenchwoman announced this was revenge for her sister’s death.

The five woke briefly to find themselves chained in the brig of what must have been a flying vessel of some kind, and suffering tremendous hunger and ravening thirst. A martian guard appeared with food and water, but naturally it was drugged and the prisoners were once again sleeping when they were delivered to High Martian slavers.

The heroes woke to find themselves chained into a work team with a handful of Martian unfortunates in some sort of cavern. It wasn’t long before High Martian guards drove them out of a tunnel into an orchard of trees whose peculiar shape Phipps knew to be that of Liftwood trees! Only a handful of humans had ever seen these miraculous trees. Phipps might have been entranced had the circumstances been other than they were. The battered heroes looked around and saw he whole orchard was under a net canopy, obviously made to prevent loose branches floating up and revealing the position of the plantation.

Several work teams were being held in this cavern, and they worked shifts to tend the trees under the watchful eyes of the armed High Martian guards. One of the other teams proved to have the crew of the ill-fated Persephone in it.

One day, the work crew were taken through a different tunnel to a docking cradle where a small Kite waited at anchor for lading with goods stacked alongside. The work crew were organized into a bucket-brigade and made to load the cargo, and this gave Hartwell the chance to steal a pin dropped by a careless sailor. Once back in their cavern prison the heroes conspired with the other British prisoners to formulate a plan for escape.

The next time a ship docked, Hartwell picked the locks securing his, Phipps’ and Aldrich’s chains, and the heroes attacked and subdued the Martian guard, stealing the keys and releasing the rest of the chained prisoners. Then the now-free prisoners feigned being still chained and followed the inattentive High Martian guard into the tunnel to the docking cradle. Just before rounding the final curve of the tunnel they attacked and killed the guard then, en masse, the slaves charged screaming from the tunnel, attacking the Kite crew before they knew what was happening.

In short order the original crew of the Kite had been savagely dealt with, along with any High Martians foolish enough to get too close, and the former slaves flew the Kite out of the Kraal to freedom. The enraged High Martians gave chase, but were soon left far behind as the Kite ran east with a following wind with Hartwell at the helm. Once clear of pursuit, they Kite turned north and made for the Moeris Lacus-Shastapsh canal, where they turned west toward Moeris Lacus and British rule.

For a short time they were pursued by a Kite obviously of the Shastapsh navy, which went as far as to fire on them, but once again the piloting skills of Hartwell saved the day, and the astounded shipyard master of Moeris Lacus watched a ship full of battered, ragged Martians and Earthmen settle into a free cradle.

1. Syrtis Lapis↑

Episode 37: A Rescue Is Attempted

The pirate attack continued, with the Ssassafrash’s Followers of Fogg bringing havoc to the pirates in savage hand-to-hand combat while Phipps, Forsyth and Jones gave good account with their small arms and Hartwell fired the machine gun … to little effect it has to be said.

It took only a short while to dispatch the entire pirate fleet and capture their skiffs.

No sooner were the pirates turned into food for whatever swims in the swamp than the team heard moans coming from a small islet where they discovered a British soldier in very poor condition indeed. He had apparently given good account of himself; he was surrounded by the bodies of slain eight-legged lizards. Phipps took one look and identified the things as the dread Cissawaans, known to inhabit aquatic environments and to hunt in very large packs. This worthy was either very lucky or a tiger in combat.

Bringing the poor lad aboard the Krahaanik’s Folly, Phipps gave him whatever help he could and made him comfortable, and the team pressed on.

Not long after rescuing the soldier, the heroes found the wreckage of the bow-mounted steam Gatling gun from the Persephone, all-but submerged in the filthy waters of the swamp. It was clear that the gun had been smashed by heavy gun fire and torn from the deck.

The chart room was also found. It had also been torn from the hull of the Persephone by heavy gunfire. It was riddled by small arms impacts, suggesting a pitched battle had taken place. Broken trees suggested where to look for the rest of the ship.

The hull, when found, was badly damaged by cannon fire from both sides. Impacts from sweepers were also noticed. All surviving liftwood had been salvaged, as has every piece of metal, from the engine and boiler to the captain’s silver cruet. It was obvious to all that the Persephone had been ambushed by at least two aerial ships and enfiladed with cannon-fire - a typical pirate tactic.

While searching below decks in the knee-deep, filthy water, Forsyth was attacked by the dread Green Koko - a very large Martian constrictor, not unlike the giant anaconda rumoured to inhabit the upper reaches of the Amazon river! A desperate battle ensued as Forsyth was pushed face-first into the water and bound tightly in the coils of the monstrous snake. After what seemed an eternity, Forsyth was able to break free and gasp lung-fulls of life-giving air. Raising the alarm he was able to hold off the beast until Phipps and Hartwell could join the struggle, whereupon the Green Koko was dispatched and became a collection of preserved specimens in Dr Phipps’ growing collection of bottles and vials.

Suddenly, the air was split by a female scream.

Ssassafrash’s Lizardmen were able to ‘taste’ the air for human and martian scent and direct the team to the location of the hostages. Phipps, Hartwell, Forsyth and Jones along with Ssassafrash and several of his Followers of Fogg boarded the captured skiffs and made their way to the pirate base, with a token force left to guard the Krahaanik’s Folly.

A large island, covered in thick, impenetrable jungle featured a clearing in which had been set up a fortified camp. Guard towers loomed in the air. A wire fence served to keep swamp denizens out. In the clearing two large huts could be seen, and two pirates guarded the gate.

Inside, chained and helpless and looking much the worse for wear, were two hostages - Dr Grant and Miss White!

The team rowed ashore and made their way through the thick jungle. Some of the Venusian braves swam to the small harbour fronting the fenced compound. Then Jones was spotted and the guards fired on him with their black powder weapons but their aim was - luckily - bad. One of the guards in a tower spotted the amphibious assault team and fired on them, but missed. And battle proper was joined.

Fortunately for our heroes the Martian pirates were very poor marksmen indeed, missing with most of their shots. That isn’t to say the day went easily to the Earthmen and their Venusian allies, for the heat and humidity made poor shots of the Earthmen too, and lucky hits dealt Forsyth and Hartwell punishing wounds they could ill-afford. Several Followers of Fogg were also taken down in the heated hand-to-hand fighting between them and the Martians.

Two very lucky shots early in the battle caught the guards at the gate as they were reloading their black powder muskets, igniting and exploding their powder in two spectacular explosions that demolished the gate itself and the guards too. The Lizardmen were quick to exploit this sudden development, invading the compound in a frenzy of close combat.

The heroes were slowly turning the tide of battle their way when the pirate leader emerged from hiding, taking Miss White as a personal prisoner and human shield. Placing his short sword at her throat he barked something at the attackers, which no-one understood. Whatever vile, debased Martian dialect this vile bounder was speaking, no-one on the side of law and order understood. As more Venusian warriors spilled into the compound, the pirate leader snarled and, in a move of sheer savage cruelty, cut the poor woman’s throat, throwing her lifeless body to the stinking ground!

This swine then made his way into combat with some Venusians near Dr Grant’s position, and, gaining a brief upper hand, with a vicious slash of his bloody sword, slew the helpless and unarmed Earthman too!

After that the Lizardmen and Earthmen made short work of the last of the pirates and cornered the pirate leader - who suddenly found the wherewithal to fight like a demon but was cut to ribbons by the Followers of Fogg for all that

But this was a Pyhrric victory at best. The hostages were both dead, vilely slaughtered by the cowardly Martian pirate swine. Fully half of Ssassafrash’s brave Lizardmen had journeyed from Venus to honour Fogg only to lose their lives under volleys of musket fire and savage hand-to-hand fighting in the Martian swamp.

Jones had narrowly avoided death after stopping a lucky - some might say “extremely unlucky” - round from a musket. Fortunately help was at hand and somehow Jones was able to rally enough for Phipps to stabilize him, though he would have been unable to rejoin hostilities had they not been brought to a close.

Forsyth, Phipps and Hartwell were devastated by their failure to save the hostages, and by Ssassafrash who declared his intention to remain at the pirate island base with the remainder of the Followers of Fogg, clearly implying he and his tribal brothers were under-whelmed by the Earthman tactics of firing from cover rather than engaging the enemy in close combat. Such tactics did not “honour Fogg” it seems.

The team returned to Krahaanik’s Folly with the bodies of Dr Grant and Miss White and the Followers of Fogg left to crew the barge left to join Ssassafrash’s band. The bodies were wrapped in sailcloth and stowed.

Under-crewed and heart-sore, the team began the journey home and wondered how they would explain events to the Governor.

Episode 36: A New Adventure With an Old Acquaintance

A new day dawned on Mars to the news that the Persephone had been lost in the Crocea-Gorlimsk Swamplands.

The Persephone had been chartered by Dr Grant for some sort of expedition to the swamplands. Not only were Dr Grant and the crew lost, but Grant had taken along is erstwhile assistant miss Elizabeth White.

It was quite the talk of the Explorer’s Club public lounge, in which Captain Forsyth and Dr Phipps had received the news that Waldmont would not be remaining on mars, but would be returning to Earth to take up the reins of his family business. Indeed, Forsyth and Phipps were talking about it to a new acquaintance, a former military chap by the name of Hartwell when they became aware of being avidly watched by a young woman scribbling in a notebook.

Forsyth intercepted her and learned she was the author of the newspaper article reporting the loss of the Persephone, and that she was looking for more information on the late Mr Waldmont and Professor Wilhelm, absent from the world of the Brotherhood of Luxor for many months now. Forsyth was polite but firm that neither he nor his friends could add anything of value to the story.

The next day Forsyth was presented with a letter signed by Assistant Deputy Commissioner Mandrake informing him that his presence was required at the Governor’s residence at 4pm where a garden party was being held. He was also informed that he was needed to resolve a … situation … and furthermore, that an “honour guard” would be provided “as a courtesy”. And indeed, at 3:45pm four burly soldiers in the uniform of the Parhoon Rifles arrived to “escort” Captain Forsyth to the party.

As he arrived at the Governor’s residence, Forsyth caught a strong smell of something he hadn’t smelled since he was on Venus. Before he could speculate he emerged into the garden where the sight of two dozen scantily-clad tribal Venusian Lizardmen greeted him. Before he could react, one lizardman, slightly more ornately clad than the rest (a matter of the number and type of feathers in his headband) stepped forward and demanded to know why Fogg was not present. Forsyth immediately recognized his acquaintance Ssassafrash! That very lizardman who had been so helpful on Venus and who had been so impressed by the pugilistic skills of the reverend Fogg. Ssassafrash and his fellow Venusians had come to “honour Fogg” he said, and at the mention of the name “Fogg” each lizardman exulted, hissing the name “Fogg” reverently. The Governor’s representative muttered “you see our problem, Captain Forsyth” and made himself scarce.

Forsyth explained as best he could that Fogg had passed away, fighting bravely to the end, and had been buried in a secret place Fogg himself had forbidden anyone to visit (this because it occurred to Forsyth that even if he could locate the grave-site, it had been improvised with whatever rocks were to hand to form a cairn over Fogg’s body and that the elements and Martian scavengers might likely have disturbed the scene. Heaven alone knew what the reaction of this, this, Cult of Fogg would be to such a discovery. Forsyth waited a decent interval, then made his excuses and left to inform the others of this development.

The next day the Earthmen were contacted by yet another representative of the Governor’s office, a “Mr Smith”, with the news that Dr Grant and Miss White were being held by swamp pirates who were demanding an immense ransom for the hostages, a ransom so large the strategic reserves could not encompass the demand. Furthermore, all military assets were currently occupied with the Oenotrian menace, and an official rescue attempt into neutral Crocean territory would certainly push those neutral city states bordering the swamplands into the Oenotrian camp.

Smith suggested that were a private expedition mounted, a certain amount of funds could perhaps be made available to help equip it.

Forsyth, Phipps and Hartwell discussed the mater among themselves for a few minutes, discarded the idea of using a flying vessel and decided that a large canal barge of narrow draught would be ideal. It was also suggested that Forsyth approach Ssassafrash with a view to asking him and his fellow Venusians to join as extra muscle. Ssassafrash listened to the proposition, then announced it would seem to be the perfect way of honouring Fogg.

And so it was that on the 14th of September, the Krahaanik's Folly left the dockside of Syrtis Major, ostensibly on a scientific expedition mounted by Dr Phipps to search for a certain type of martian leech that would be invaluable in creating new medicines. The machine gun mounted on the bow was simply a precaution against Canal and Swamp Pirates, both of whom were known to interfere with peaceful folk going about their lawful business on the waterways of Mars. The many cases of ammunition were merely an expression of the nature of the hazard involved.

The crew were five loyal Martian boatmen, Ssassafrash and his two dozen spearmen, Forsyth and his batman Jones, Phipps and the new chap, Hartwell. It was quite a crowd, and their departure was watched carefully by several people including the young woman who had accosted Forsyth in the Explorer’s Club, some Martians and a sinister human who was taking pains not to be spotted.

The week long trip to the swamp was mostly uneventful, and each night the Krahaanik's Folly would dock at some canal-side town to trade minor items and gather information. The picture that emerged was grim, if speculative. The crew of the Persephone had, by all accounts, been sold as slaves to some High Martian “king”, while the unfortunate Dr Grant and Miss White were being held for ransom from the British - or whoever could pay it!

There was one encounter with canal pirates, which ended badly for the brave explorers but very badly indeed for the pirates. The Krahaanik's Folly was hailed by an approaching vessel and ordered to heave to for an “inspection”. Suspecting foul play, Forsyth and Phipps opened fire withtheir small arms while Hartwell attempted to fire the machine gun - but it jammed! The pirates returned fire with their sweeper and landed a very (un)lucky shot that dropped two Martian crew and poor Jones. A shot from Phipps aimed at the madly reloading gunner then ignited the pirate’s supply of powder and blew the bows completely off the vessel, sinking it with the loss of all aboard.

Jones was badly wounded, but alive thanks to his stout Welsh constitution. The two Martian crewmen were not so lucky.

Finally reaching the mouth of the swamp, the Krahaanik's Folly cautiously made its way into the network of channels and islets, like and yet unlike the swamps of Venus. On Venus the vegetation is varying shades of green. Here, it was of course varying shades of red. But barely had the crew begun to admire the screnery when a flotilla of swamp pirate skiffs, well prepared and crewed, sprang a classic swamp pirate ambush and surrounded the Krahaanik's Folly!

The Earthmen readied themselves. Hartwell, anxious to redeem himself, gave good account with the machine gun, dropping a pirate. Phipps and Forsyth also began firing, as did Jones. But all were astonished at the military precision of the Lizardmen as they leapt overboard at Ssassafrash’s urging, and in what seemed expert military fashion began attacking the pirates with their spears.

The pirates, desperate now their ruse was up, fired pistols. Rounds tore through Hartwell’s new safari jacket, ruining the tailored line, and struck the proud figure of Ssassafrash, standing in clear view and urging his cohorts on with sibilant commands in whatever Venusian language they all spoke. One lucky shot dropped a Lizardman.

And then … but you will have to wait until next month’s exciting episode to find out what happened then, dear reader.

We Are Going Back To Mars ... And The Rules Change Yet Again

We shall be returning to Mars and our heroes in early May, when our brave lads will have to face a menace so insidious and deadly that ... but I've said too much.

We shall also be undergoing a rules revision (again).

I'm not finding the SWADE rules very exciting for Space 1889, and there is a lot of work to edit the setting book into line with SWADE that I am unwilling to undertake, so we will start using a version of the rules similar to those in the Flash Gordon RPG - half arsed SWADE if you will.

Characters will build using the procedure in SWD but will combine CLIMB, SWIM and THROW into Athletics, and default GUTS to Spirit. Yes, this means that those oh-so valuable build points will stretch further. CLIMB, SWIM and THROW will still be in the game for specific Edge/Hindrance + circumstance modifiers but the rolls will be "Athletics".

No, it's easy dammit!

Power point allocations for weird science types are back to the lovely way they were before the daft SWADE homogenization took place. i.e. Weird Scientists will get number-of-devices * power points available, rather than number-of-devices / power points available. A starting weird scientist will have around four times the clout than they would under SWADE.

I'm changing how conviction counters are awarded - they don't exist in SWD, but I like the "blue fate chip"¹ mechanism. When a player draws a joker all players get conviction if they don't have any. Players can hold only one conviction counter per session. A player may spend their conviction token like a bennie to grant d6 to all their trait tests in that round of activity.

And I'm adding a mechanic from Savage Worlds Pathfinder: By spendng a benny a player may extend that conviction effect into a further round.

And all unused conviction is surrendered at the session end.

1. Previous edition Deadlands Reloaded thing↑

Interlude: A Short Break

The GM, who has had a wild and very enjoyable time watching the team fight and defeat the Brotherhood of Luxor, needs a break, a change of pace as it were, and so this group will be pausing their Victorian avdvenuring while they spend a few sessions at the other end of time, in the 31st century.

We will be playing Planet Mercenary RPG ¹, a game set in the blackly comedic SF world of the Hugo-nominated Schlock Mercenary webcomic²

I probably will not be publishing that game's log. The idea is that the PM game is a break for me too.

Rest assured that after this hiatus, we fully intend to return to the Victorian Era, Mars and Syrtis Major.

1. Planet Mercenary RPG↑
2. Schlock Mercenary Archives↑

Personal Letter from Capt. Henry Forsyth, RE (ret.) to his brother Clarence.

Letter from Capt. Henry Forsyth, RE (ret.) to his brother Clarence.

Mars, late evening following dinner with the governor (again).

Dear Brother,

I trust you are well and the gout is less troublesome. I am pleased to hear that you that have gone to the spa and are partaking of the waters. My good friend the doctor here tells me that, what he calls ‘the ammonia content’, will kill off any infection.

The back-brace you describe on the chair, while lowered into the pool, strikes me as rather reminiscent of some middle age contraptions. I can’t quite recall where I’ve the seen the like, perhaps ducking stools or I recall a similar device in the dungeon at the Tower of London. What a ruse that was, what! Pretending to be ensigns to gain entry. Oh wait, I was an ensign!

I have to tell you that things have gone rather well here on Mars. In my last correspondence, I told you about the events in Thoth and my good fortune to be ‘ennobled’, if only by a lowly Martian prince.

Following that, a threat was removed from the Kingdom, when their aggressive neighbours and foe of the empire, suffered a catastrophic loss. Seems their munitions store unexpectedly exploded. I’m afraid I can’t comment on rumours of a surprise attack from unassigned British personnel. It would be unprofessional and immodest.

Our return to the capital was much feted. Indeed, a play was held in our honour. Sadly, a Belgium affair, which is what may have aroused my suspicion. After all, one simply cannot put the words ‘Belgian’ and ‘Culture’ into the same sentence without sounding utterly ridiculous.

As I suspected, the affair was a sham. The later cocktail party turned into a violent free for all, with the lethal Red Sands being released in an attempt to assassinate all the British hierarchy.

It was horrific, people transformed to monsters in the blink of an eye. The perpetrators, foul villains that they are, had planned to watch. But I and my companions had other ideas. I don’t mind admitting privately, I’d carried a concealed revolver to the event.

I know how monstruous that must sound, but I was vindicated. The evils visited in that room are such that I cannot commit them to parchment. We escaped with our lives, with the Governor and many leading lights of society here. Some lost their lives in the most horrific of conditions.

As you have probably heard, the opera house, the jewel here on Mars, was burnt down in the chaos. It’s a sad loss, but I take comfort in that the loss could have far worse.

It is true that I directed the fire crews to damp down and preserve the surrounding buildings. I judged that the structure of the opera house was already lost to the flames and preventing the spread of the fire seemed to me to be the priority.

Naturally, we tracked and traced - I apologise for my poor use of language, not an expression I can ever imagine being used. In mean to say, that our enquiries led us to the house of a supposed scholar, previously employed, by the late lamented Reverent Fogg and I believe previously by either Waldorf or Stadler.

We managed to find the corner this traitorous dog called home. Within we found evidence of the dastardliest plot to destroy the British Army on Mars, with a cowardly attack planned to use this deplorable ‘Red Sands’. An evil that cannot be countenanced.

We set off in pursuit, it seems their airship had left our capital shortly before, to attack our gallant troops from behind. At the airship enclosure, we were near to dismay, our quarry was already on the horizon, how would we hunt it down?

Then there was our old friend the Wasp, building a head a steam. Seems she had been chartered by a group of hunters. By great good chance, I’d met them on Venus, exchanged a loyal toast and when I cried ‘for Queen and Country, I need this ship’, they waved their charter and joined us in the pursuit.

We were underway with minutes and managed to keep the smaller enemy vessel within sight for days. Indeed, with a combination of luck and some skill, we were able to close.

Then the unexpected happened. The accounts we’d read described a dread vessel as being invisible. Now we understood, as this vessel appeared from nowhere before our eyes. Its considerable arsenal fired, our vessel was shaken, but now stirred.

Although now facing a much larger vessel than our own, with a much larger crew, we lost no time in grappling. Indeed, had we not done so, we could have faced more horribly superior barrages than we had to endure anyway.

As we did so, the foul villains swung from their rigging to our decks. Meanwhile a pitiful few of my colleagues made it over the gunwale to the enemy deck, our advance checked by the threat to our own ship and the limited boarding point which meant we could only leap into the fray one at a time.

The heat of battle is always hard to remember. For sure the brave Wasp was in jeopardy and it fell mostly to the crew to deal with the foul boarders. For a long time it was touch and go, but eventually British pluck won the through.

It left those very few of us that crossed to the deck of enemy ship somewhat exposed to superior forces. Thankfully we had the covering fire of the original hunters, who had charted the vessel and now made sport on behalf of the empire, their great elephant guns at least keeping the enemy out of the open.

It soon became apparent, that all of the dastardly conspirators were aboard. All known to be skilled fighters and fanatics to boot. They employed many a fiendish device, strange occult weapons with deadly powers.

We were outnumbered and outgunned and although my revolver grew hot with the action, the situation seemed all but hopeless. We fought to a standstill.

Then the Wasp finally cleared its decks and her brave captain led the remainder of the crew over the side. Sadly, I have to report, he was cut down in short order.

With supporting fire from a machine gun regained by the marines, the tide turned in our favour.

I have to mention by batman, Jones. Despite my reservations as to his character, he does somehow manage to turn up with the unexpected. He can be trouble have no doubt about that, he has a knack of finding himself in difficulties, yet he has also found ways of getting us of scrapes. He gave admirable supporting fire on this occasion.

Moreso, it was he that realised one of the enemy cannons on a mid-deck was at liberty and prepared to fire into the Wasp at point blank range. The consequences would have been dire. He called attention to it and directed his fire there.

It was enough that the one shot they got off was so misdirected as to only be a glancing blow to the Wasp and another disaster was averted. Thereafter he fired on a powder keg, with resultant explosion dislodging the cannon.

Slowly we advanced across the deck on the enemy, a more lethal combat I’ve not experienced. These were all merciless killers with abilities the likes I’ve never seen. Their weapons were strange and monstrous, truth to tell, we were badly outmatched.

Yet we had the one truest weapon of all – hearts of oak. For surely nothing can withstand British courage and so we fought with all the conviction of rightness, for Queen, for Country, with ne’r a backward step.

The acts of bravery are too many to recall, everyman giving his all.

So it was that the enemy now depleted, showed his true colours, the last turned and fled.

We paused a moment; the deck was ours!

As I prepared to face and root out the enemy below decks, the good doctor realised the danger. Clearly beaten, what were the those remaining foul fiends doing below decks, with this mass of Red Sands a weapon more lethal than anything known.

Their ship would never reach it’s intended target, their plots, their plans were over.

The body of the gallant Captain Thurgood was recovered, most regrettably others were not. We made haste on the Wasp to be up and away from the inevitable.

We saw the last of villains, all but the leader that is, dive from the ship in strange costumes that seemed to control their fall. But then the great enemy ship convulsed and exploded. Its deadly cargo released harmlessly over a barren desert. The falling craft and its contents overwhelmed those villains with their strange descending apparatus. Fittingly, they became victims of their own plot.

It was heavy toll. We lost many good men and as I looked around my comrades, we all carried injuries. The doctor and to a lesser extent myself, were hard pressed to treat the wounded. But we had the satisfaction of victory.

So, dear brother, the course is run, the plot defeated and the empire saved.

Yet there is one small detail. The leader of this evil cabal, a Martian, had some strange device which allowed him to move anywhere in an instant. He disappeared from the deck using this device. So, I believe him still at large.

I write as I recover from these momentous events. Of course, such a small action, will never trouble the public consciousness and perhaps it’s best that way. I rely on your discretion as always when writing.

I believe I am well regarded by society here on Mars, but what the future holds I am uncertain.

But for now, the Empire and by extension, humanity, is safe.

Yours Respectfully,

Henry