An ongoing letter from Captain Henry Forsyth (Royal Engineers) to his brother.
The Most Damnable Hunting Trip
My Dear Clarence,
It’s been quite the whirlwind, so I may have to step through a few episodes with less than my usual attention to detail.
Having been relieved of command of Fort McMurray, I together with Professor Wilheim and the ever stoic Hartwell were ‘invited’ to take ship for Moerus Lacus. It was clearly not an option and both Wilheim and I were frustrated at not being allowed to hand things over, or indeed have any contact with our replacements. Given the trials we’ve had in the under croft and indeed at large, I fear something quite nasty could occur without this simple expediency.
Still the General clearly had orders, which doesn’t bode well.
Dr. Phipps was AWOL. What an earth had got into the man. I fear he might be off pursuing that brazen hussy!
As our ship steamed away and dusk descended, I caught a flash of light on the horizon. It could only be another ship and the only one that would have reflected that way, would be the German zeppelin of Count Overbearing.
I reported this to the watch, who were both complacent and indifferent, they claimed their usual vigil would be enough. So, us three determined to keep our own watch in turn.
Our equipment was taken from us and stowed. Naturally as an officer I was permitted to keep my sidearm. However, the good professor was most aggrieved and severely put out. After all, I was the only one travelling under sufferance, the others by more of a voluntary nature, although options had been in short supply. It was unclear whether the captain was acting under orders or had taken the action on his own authority.
I must advise Wilheim on the etiquette of command, especially aboard ship, where the captain’s word is law.
The question became a little overblown over dinner which was taken in the officer’s mess and the captain retired to dine alone.
Our vigil proved very necessary, as while I slept one of the others came down for a changing of the guard. Here he noticed a sentry placed on the door stores (sadly posted following Wilheim’s outburst) slumped and asleep at his post.
Waking me, it rapidly transpired that the whole crew, plus Jones and the captain were in some kind of deep sleep from which they could not be roused.
Only us gallant 3 and the 2 ships officers that remained to dine with us were conscious.
As we headed above decks, we heard Belltower and Le Blanc. By the time we were on deck they had made their escape by means of the same device I saw before at the frightful end of the Red Sands and were descending harmlessly to the ground below.
Strangely there were flares glued all about the sides with some substance we couldn’t budge. The flares were lit, so the ship must have looked like a birthday cake, but it was clearly lighting us up as a target.
The engine slowed and I raced down with a ships officer, it had been fatally sabotaged.
Sure enough, that darned zep appeared. We were a sitting duck, but had a quack or two left in us.
In confirmation of what I’d suspected, they fired a rocket at us. It was the same munitions that we’d got at the fort, long since captured, but these had fins and appeared to fly far truer.
We still had control of altitude and I ordered an immediate heart sinking drop of 30 feet.
It worked; the missile flew just overhead!
But they fired again and this time we were not so lucky and took a shot on the bows. Thankfully it was not fatal. But we were not idle either. Without crew the big guns take time to load, but now I’d got a Hotchkiss ready to go and returned fire. I doubt I did any damage of note, but we were fighting back.
Another rocket missed and our forward cannon fired, Wilheim at work, again a hit but to little effect.
Hartwell was showing some signs of understanding the ship and was assisting in keeping some semblance of control.
But it was clear the cowards had no stomach for a fight, we weren’t the lame ducks they were obviously expecting. They took off into the night. I’d have dearly loved to give them a parting shot, but without a crew the cannon took far too long to reload.
So, my dear brother, potentially we have an act of war. Deliberately and without warning, firing on one her Majesty’s warships going about its legal business. Witnessed by two naval officers.
Germany is either going to disown Count Overblown or we are at war!
We put the crippled ship down best we could in the wilderness. Thankfully the crew and Jones has just been drugged and all made a full recovery.
Unable to steer, we used the ships buoyancy and floated on the wind, a very strange sight to those on the ground, I’m sure.
We drifted very close to the canal. From there we three plus Jones were able to hire passage back to Moerus Lacus. The crew and officers chose to remain with their ship.
An encounter with river pirates, proved fatal to them. I don’t quite speak the language, but if I didn’t know better, I swear I heard traces of a Cornish accent.
That news seemed to be ahead of us, we were greeted with cheers at docking. But whisked off by ‘a guard of honour’, to seemingly house arrest.
I met a charming chap, who’s assigned to my defence, but it’s still unclear what the hell is happening. Darned Lloyd-Carter woman has made of bunch of accusations, all trumped up nonsense of course, but I’m not sure there is any military authority to her case.
Then there came this timely invite to Hartwell to go on a hunt, with friends. The establishment have been tying themselves in knots. It’s frankly tedious. It was a court martial, except it’s clear that the evidence was not there and it’d be very dangerous ground to allow a civilian to trigger one.
Now it’s an enquiry. I am confident I can defend my character, but regret that it may not go so well for my accuser. But if one will set themselves up as judge and jury, they may get what they deserve.
I confess I now find the woman quite detestable.
Hartwell, who is called ‘Steppe Tiger’ among the natives, received an invite to a hunt from a wealthy Martian prince who had heard of his reputation. I am sure I have told you before that Hartwell killed one of these legendary beasts, who are the primary hunters here on Mars, with a single shot, saving to a man the patrol he was leading.
An aide to the governor suggested this would be a good thing and get us out of the city, so the controversy over my ‘hearing’ could die down. I’d no idea what the man was talking about! He did try to explain that on the one hand I’m seen as some kind of hero for my defence of Fort McMurray and then that blasted journalist woman has painted me as villain for doing my duty.
He said tensions were running high and it would be good if I wasn’t about in the short term to allow matters to cool.
So, we accepted the invitation, Wilheim and I on the coattails of Hartwell.
The princes yacht whisked us of to his manor, a day from British territory.
He was most hospitable and the first hunt flew us to familiar planes.
He insisted we use black powder weapons, those belonging to his father, which I found a little excentric.
Hartwell had a bit of a moment, when having done well, his rument baer was fatally injured by the tiger we happened on and fell.
He used the downed beast as cover. But then left himself exposed in trying to get a decent shot.
Worse the tiger was not alone, it had a mate, which was charging in from cover.
I had to get my shot right. I’m most pleased to report that I did and downed the male tiger with a single shot even with the antique weapon I been handed.
The mate went a trifle rabid and attacked Wilhelms mount, only for the huge beast to trample it underfoot into a mush.
I had the honour of the kill and had I been able to reclaim it, which later events made difficult, a very fine pelt.
Next came a hunt for a ‘deadly’ serpent, in a swamp, one I’m familiar with. This time we had only spears. We tracked the thing to its lair and it came out threatening the Prince and Hartwell, at which point I marched up and lanced it through. It really was child’s play.
Again, I had the honour of the hunt. However, the prince’s demeanour was becoming increasingly bellicose. It was clear that he’d expected to triumph in the hunts and while superficially being gracious, it clearly irked him.
More however, his questioning directed at Hartwell was becoming odious. He asked many questions about local politics and situations which poor Hartwell was clearly at a loss about. Had I not been a guest, I believe I would have called the blighter out.
The next hunt and what was billed as the last, on the prince’s estate this time.
Again, we used black powder weapons, this time flintlock pistols. We did, at my insistence get a vest that allowed us to carry 6 of the things in a primed position.
What we were up against was some form of giant scorpion, the size of a horse, that could apparently turn invisible. The prince only told us the last of the information at the last minute, with an apparent confession, that he’d lured us to this point all along and that the creature was ravaging his estate. He seemed to imply that he had wanted help in dealing with it.
We descended a slope to be confronted with a couple of caves on the other side of the valley, the lair of the beast.
Clearly trying to beard the beast in its lair felt like a fatal action. Our advantage lay in the open.
I arranged for the prince’s bearers to bring dry scrub from the top of the escarpment we had descended and set a smoke heavy fire at the mouth of the most likely cave.
Sure enough, we smoked the monster out. This time it was as billed and more. I fired as true as possible, a shot I’m sure would have taken down a tiger. Yet the musket ball merely bounced off its caprice, as did others.
Then it disappeared! So, the description was true!
We’d clearly need different weapons to flintlock’s; I began backing up the party in an orderly retreat.
Wilheim had the technology that he knew where the monster was, ironically developed to counter Belltower. He was able to shout out its location.
Then, I do declare the most remarkable thing I have ever witnessed occurred. Hartwell, I can only assume goaded by the princes taunting, recklessly and in complete abandon charged the monsters location. It looked like certain death; I had momentary images of Waldmart, also charging recklessly to his doom.
Hartwell had drawn the short sword we were all armed with. He swung blind and wild. It was as I believe the modern expression goes ‘a shot to nothing’.
I ask how do hit something you hit can’t see? How do you face something considerably larger than you close up? How do you hurt something so heavily armoured?
It was entirely improbable. Yet somehow Hartwell’s wild lunge went home. The beast reappeared as it fell to the ground, killed outright.
As you know I’ve seen many remarkable acts of bravery and daring do. Fogg killing a raptor bare handed comes to mind. But this I do declare, tops anything I’ve ever seen. Most remarkable!
We were again feted by the prince that evening with a banquet in Hartwell’s honour.
The prince returned to his petty taunting of Hartwell, although I felt with not the same conviction. The staff were certainly in obvious awe of the man.
Then I regret to report that everything became rather different.
That evening we were drugged. We awoke in the bottom of what I took to be some sort of grain store with the merest undergarment to preserve modesty, but still in our boots. I imagine the latter being due to some imagined smell were they to be removed.
Our hands had all been entrapped within a claw, in such a way that we could not articulate our fingers. So basically, we could not use our hands as anything but claws.
It gave me a moment to pause. We use our hands for all things, it’s separates us from the beasts and to be denied their use was unsettling and immediately placed us at a huge disadvantage.
The gloating prince, from an elevated advantage, now declared us the hunted. He confessed to being a ground cleanser and had bought in a couple of cronies, clearly well to do, to join him.
A door opened, we were permitted a head start. Clearly this had been the purpose all along. For some reason, this deluded individual had to prove himself superior to everyone.
He stated that if we could reach beyond the limits of his estate, we’d be free to go. I didn’t believe him. I doubt there was any circumstance he which he could let us go given the hand he’d just played.
We were out in the jungle around the palace. We felt our best chance was to stay close to the palace with a view to getting back in there and our equipment.
We cut a path though with the ‘claws’ parallel to the wall. The Green Kobo snake dropped on us several times, but was relatively easy to deal with our ‘claws’.
We managed to avoid a deadly giant insect hive. But set up a trap, trying to look like we’d walked into it, in the hope that if the hunters followed us they would.
Meanwhile we carefully moved through the jungle to the side, trying to leave no trace.
We were circulating the palace wall looking for a weak point.
We didn’t initially spot one, but eventually our round about tour bought us to the ravines.
Here we set false trails leading down the escarpment in the hope of misleading our hunters.
We re-entered the jungle about the fort.
Then something rather unexpected happened.
A gentleman appeared out of the ground! Rather dishevelled he quickly called us into his little underground hide. He was an archaeologist that had become stranded on the estate, realised the true nature of the prince and managed to hide himself. It seems we were not the first to be hunted.
It was a remarkable feat of endurance and survival. Mr. Wiseman was able to remove our claws, but before we could we find out more or make plans, we heard beaters thrashing about nearby. I didn’t much like our odds if we were caught in a hole in the ground, so we burst forth, took the blighters by surprise and they met their deserved end, quickly and quietly.
After taking their weapons, we hid the bodies, but it seemed like they were not being followed by the main hunting party.
We improvised the claws into spears and made our way to the gate house as it started to go dark. There were two sentries posted on a ledge above the gate. Wilhelm, whom I must say is rather good at these things and I, improvised a grappling hook from a couple of the claws and a rope from the vines. Some large leaves were used to muffle any sound from the metallic claws.
After it was fully dark, I cast the grappling hook onto the ledge and ascended. Catching the sentries, as well as I hoped by surprise, I was able to launch a spear into one and be in close quarters with the other, before he knew what was happening.
Having cleared the ledge, the others were able to climb up safely.
We descended a staircase on the other side into the courtyard and entered the palace by a side door. This bought us into the kitchen where we startled a servant. Thankfully he was so in awe of Hartwell that he fed us and gave us some idea of the layout of the palace, although not that much.
We explored the rooms where we had stayed, but all our equipment had been taken. We found the guest quarters, where the princes cronies were staying in most lavish style. We found his antique weapons store, but with no ammunition it was useless to us.
Then we found the Major-domos’ rooms where Wilhelm discovered the large mirror had a catch revealing a secret closet behind it. Wherein a set of keys was found.
This gave us access to the princes’ quarters which we’d been unable to enter as they were locked. We discovered a secret tunnel, which led to a position behind a large mirror in the princess’s chamber from which the room could be observed and accessed. It then went up and did the same behind the guest rooms. As well as deranged, this so-called prince, was clearly perverted as well!
Then came the worst of all discoveries, a secret chamber that held indescribable horror. It is what I would take to be the princes trophy room. Yet those trophies are human heads, male and female, it seems he does not discriminate. Worse of all there were corpses that had been embalmed and displayed like animals, a man and a woman indecently exposed.
It was little consolation that all our equipment had been dumped on a table in this room. Clearly, we were supposed to join this ‘collection’. Dressed again in uniform, I felt I could better deal with this horror. Wilhelm was once again a force to be reckoned with and Hartwell had already told the prince that he would be standing over his dead body.
One disadvantage was the prince had taken my Winchester.
Now we knew where the secrets might lie, we set about exploring the place again. We found another secret passage that allowed access to every guest room again behind a mirror.
Finally, a passage to the walkway above the grain silo, where the prince had taunted us less than a day before.
But we’d taken too long, an alarm was being sounded, guards were coming into the main hall. We headed out through the kitchen, blocking the door. Probably we’d have been better dealing with the small number and then creating a pinch point at the doorway.
But we didn’t know the numbers and if they’d burst in from the yard, then maybe that was empty. Giving us opportunity to escape.
It wasn’t.
We walked into a fire fight. The initial half dozen was enough to slow us down, then more arrived.
We were tired and rather unnerved about what we’d seen in the trophy room. We’d barely got our usual weapons and these guards proved a distinct cut above what we’ve faced before.
In short order Hartwell and I were seriously wounded, Wilhelm wounded and Jones was down. We’d taken a few of them in return, but only something miraculous was going to save us. That something was someone, Wilhelm, who was able to use his teleport device to haul us all out of there. We went to the prince’s chamber knowing the guards couldn’t access it and it would give us some temporary respite.
Wilhelm used his marvellous healing mask and Hartwell and I were back in rude health in no time. Jones however was an invalid but had at least survived.
Guards were stationed about the palace. We tried to ambush these coming out of different doors and using the secret passages to effect, while I think we whittled down the enemy, it wasn’t decisive. Clearly the prince had some good officers, who positioned their men to good effect.
Then the prince and his party returned. That would mean added firepower and of course he would know the secret passages so our advantage there was lost.
We were in danger of becoming entrapped. But Wilhelm still had a card to play. He could move us somewhere close again. We discussed exiting outside the palace, but that would have just started the hunt all over again. Plus, if the wind was anyway near right the princes’ yacht, granted just an airborne, sail ship could have tracked us and possibly attacked us from the air.
We decided that was the key, the yacht had bought us here and now we needed it to take us out. Which of course they weren’t going to do voluntarily.
We teleported to the deck, predictably a firefight broke out, which we were ready for. While we took a steady toll on the Martians, Wilhelm also got himself badly shot up. He looked like he was done for, serving as long I have you recognise these things.
Hartwell had rushed up to assist, but chose to deal with another Martian instead. At this point, after half his crew had gone down, the captain saw sense and gave in to my demands to surrender and take us back to civilisation.
Belatedly Hartwell tried to use Wilhelms’ own healing device on him, but none have us have any idea how it works. But the thing fizzed, sparked remarkably and smoked a lot, Wilhelms body jerked and as he gasped an unexcepted deep breath the machine sputtered, fizzed again, appeared to let out a moan and fell to his side.
But Wilhelm was alive. His miraculous device was no longer. I have no idea about this very modern and unusual school of science, but do wonder if Wilhelm had somehow invested a part of himself in the device, that somehow came back to him in his greatest hour of need.
We were sailing back calmly without incident, when the captain and crew decided to try and rebel. It was short and disastrous. My guess is that they ground cleansers too, they were certainly loyal to the prince. Perhaps they just didn’t believe my word, this branch of Martians doesn’t keep to theirs.
In the fallout we crashed. The Martian crew were all killed. We suffered various wounds, but most sadly I regret to inform you that Jones was killed in the crash. Jones was an exceptional character; he was a bit of a chancer and could go where gentlemen could not. He made himself useful, would attempt to use his language skills in my service for example.
He had a knack with many things and he’s the one that got us out of being prisoners in Sashtapsh.
A rogue to some extent, but utterly loyal. He will be much missed.
Now we are mountain territory, with still a long way to go.
Long live the Empress, here’s to ‘life on Mars’ and may our family prosper,
Yours Faithfully,
Henry
