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?
