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.
No comments:
Post a Comment