Pat Kelleher - The Ironclad Prophecy

Having said we’d found the tank, we lost it again. I don’t think Lieutenant Everson is going to be very pleased. Nothing to do now but go and face the music, if there’s any music left to face.

I don’t even know what I’ll find when I get back to camp. I have never been so far from it. The thought that it might have vanished and left me here tortures me.

All of us live in daily fear of that, whether we speak about it or not. But then, I suppose that’s selfish. Folks back home live in fear of their worlds vanishing, too. In many cases, theirs have. Too many good men have not returned from the trenches. I vow to you now, Flora, I will not be one of them.

ATKINS FELT NUMB.

He stared down into the crater, not sure what to do next, hardly able to believe that the tank had gone at all. Cecil, Norman and Nellie all tried calling out, for Mathers, for Alfie, hoping for some reply, some sign of life. They shouted until their voices were hoarse. There was no reply but the sound of the jungle.

The tank crew had an urgent whispered discussion, and finally pushed a reticent Reggie towards the Fusiliers. He straightened himself up, cleared his throat and marched over to Atkins. “We’ve had a talk and we’ve agreed, we have to get down there,” he informed him.

“How?” said Atkins, with a shrug. “We have little rope, certainly not enough to reach the bottom. And even if you do get to the bottom, what are you going to do? You can’t get the tank back up here again. There nothing we can do.”

Nellie strode up to him. “It’s not just a tank, there are people down there who might be alive, or had you forgotten?”

“No. Have you forgotten we’ve lost three of our mates for this bloody mob? Have you? Because I haven’t.”

Her face clouded over. “But you know yours are dead, Corporal. You saw them. We haven’t. Have you any idea what it’s like to have someone listed as ‘missing’?”

Her rebuke stung. Atkins thought of his brother, William, lost since the Big Push back in June. He thought of his mam and Flora and how they felt and his cheeks briefly flushed for shame. He tried again, in a more conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t change anything. We were sent to bring the tank back for a reason. I have my orders. I have to report back to Lieutenant Everson, if he’s still there to report to.” He cast a meaningful glance at Chandar, who hung well back from the crater’s edge, chittering to itself, and fiddling with its damn tassels.

“Oh well, orders!” Nellie gave up, threw her arms up in disgust and walked away.

Reggie coughed. “We’re staying here. There must be some way to help the Sub and Alfie. We were wrong about him. Stayed trying to save the Sub and the tank. More than any of us did.”

Atkins placed a hand on Reggie’s upper arm, an awkward gesture of comfort. “We’ll return with help. We’ll bring teams of sappers. If we can salvage the Ivanhoe , we will.”

“Then I’m staying here, too.” said Nellie belligerently. “Alfie could still be alive. They could be injured.”

Atkins was torn. He would do the same if it were his pals. Still, he had to get back to the trenches if he were to return with help. “Napoo, stay here with her. We’ll go back to the encampment, if it’s still there, and get what help we can. We can leave you a couple of rifles and a little ammo. Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

Hesitantly, Jack came over to Atkins. “Before you go, the Sub asked me to give you a message.”

Atkins looked at him blankly. “Message?”

“He saw Jeffries’ trail. Said it led to the crater. Said something about a place that doesn’t exist, that chatts is feared of? It didn’t make much sense to me, but he said you’d know what he meant.”

Atkins looked at the chatt again. This whole journey the damn thing had been talking in riddles. He went over to Chandar. “What is that place?” he demanded, waving an arm airily in the direction of the crater.

Chandar looked at him, its mouth parts knitting the words. “It is forbidden. It does not exist.”

He rounded on the chatt. “Yes, so you keep bloody saying, but why do you keep saying it? What is it you’re not telling me? Why is it forbidden? Answer me!”

Chandar hissed, torn between postures of threat and submission. “It… it is Nazhkadarr, the Scentless Place. The place that should not be. The Burri of the Fallen…”

Atkins shook his head slowly, his anger now a slow burning fuse. “Talk sense! For God’s sake, talk sense, just for once!” The discussion was attracting attention now; Gutsy moved in.

“It is the Crater of… Croatoan,” it hissed quietly. “That is why. That is why it is forbidden to us. It is heresy, a blasphemous stain on the world GarSuleth wove for his children. It should not exist.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

Chandar reared up on its legs, its mandibles scissoring. “Because the last time an urmen of the Tohmii asked about the fallen one, half of Khungarr was laid waste.” It noticed Gazette pointing his rifle at it and sank back down again. “Your capture of me was no accident. I was sent to seek out the intentions of the Tohmii.” Stung by the revelation, Atkins listened as Chandar carried on. “Your acts of Kurda have cast an anchor line of fate. Between this One and you something is being woven. The question remains, what?”

Atkins looked out across the vast jungle-choked depression. “The Croatoan Crater?” No wonder Jeffries had come this way. “What’s down there?”

Chandar became meek and evasive again. “Nothing must enter the crater, nothing must leave. That is the will of GarSuleth.”

Atkins could feel the short fuse of his anger burning down. He balled his fists. “Gutsy, get this… thing away from me until it decides to talk some bloody sense!”

Chandar turned as Gutsy escorted it away. “Nothing must enter, nothing must leave!”

“Yes, well it’s a bit bloody late for that!” snapped Atkins as he looked at the crumbled lip and the track marks left by the tank.

Mercy steered Atkins away. “We’re all a little tense, mate. I think we should just go. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back with help.”

Atkins’ eyes never left the chatt while Mercy spoke, but he nodded in agreement.

1 SECTION WAS ready to depart. They had made a litter and were carrying all the jars and amphorae of sacred scents they had managed to salvage from Nazarr before its collapse. There were more than they thought and less than Chandar would have liked. He fussed over them, adding torn crushed leaves to the roughly woven wattle frame that Napoo had constructed, as packing to prevent them from breaking on the long journey back. Atkins, still angry, avoided Chandar, although the chatt was coming back with them. Everson ought to hear what it had to say.

Atkins went over to where Jack and the other tank crew, Reggie, Cecil, Norman and Wally, waited with Napoo and Nellie. Atkins held out his hand. Jack took it. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Napoo’s a good man. Look after Nellie.”

Jack nodded. “We’ll be here.”

He stepped over to Nellie. “Look, I’m sorry. But we have to do this. We’ll be back in four or five days.”

Nellie nodded. “Tell Edith I’m fine.”

Atkins and the remains of his section set off. Pot Shot, his head swathed in bandages under his now-lucky battle bowler, insisted on making the journey with them, even though Nellie was just as adamant he should stay and rest. “I’m hard-headed,” he said, tapping his bandaged skull. “My place is with these reprobates. You don’t know the trouble they’d get into without me.”