Pat Kelleher - The Ironclad Prophecy

Atkins felt he was in some bizarre estaminet bad news contest. He told Everson about the ruined edifice of the Nazarrii and the tentacled creature, and their Kreothe. They both assumed it must have been the same shoal. Everson countered with the stampede.

Then Atkins produced the Bleeker Party’s bible and the journal from his haversack. Everson flicked through them with a wonder that transmuted to fear as the ramifications set in.

“Dear God,” he said. “We weren’t the first?”

“It doesn’t look like it, sir.”

“And they all died here?”

“As far as I can tell, yes, sir. They didn’t find a way back.”

Everson looked at him in alarm. “You’ve told your men to keep this a secret?”

“Yes, sir. And Miss Abbott. I thought you’d best know what to do with the information, sir.”

Everson ran his fingers across the battered journal, as if to make sure it was real. He was silent for a while, and then he looked up. “You did the right thing, Atkins. Leave this with me. At the moment, things round here are a powder keg. I’m not sure how the men might take the news. I’d prefer to have something positive to say to them. Anything positive, really.”

Finally, Atkins told him about the Ivanhoe .

“So it’s lost, then,” said Everson.

“No, sir. We know exactly where it is, we just can’t reach it. I believe the technical word is ditched, sir.”

“And where is it?” asked Everson. “Exactly.”

Atkins took a deep breath and dealt his trump card. “The Croatoan Crater, sir.”

Everson felt as if he had physically had the wind knocked from him. He sat back in his chair. “The Croatoan Crater?” He hardly dared voice his next thought. In the end, he didn’t have to.

Atkins fished about in his tunic top pocket and pulled out a blood-stained scrap of khaki. He tossed it onto the desk. Everson looked down at the button attached to it, and then up at Atkins, for an explanation. “We believe it belonged to Jeffries, sir. I believe he was at the Nazarrii edifice on his way to the crater. For what reason, we can only guess. But to my mind the name is a big clue. Along with this.” He produced the tattered paper with the Croatoan symbol and placed it face down, revealing the hastily copied symbols from the edifice.

“I’ve seen this before, or something like it,” said Everson, leafing through Jeffries’ coded journal. “Aha.” He stabbed a finger on a page and placed the book down next to the paper. The arrangement of symbols was identical.

“What do they mean?” asked Atkins.

Everson’s shoulders sagged. “I have no idea.” He looked up at Atkins in earnest. “But the chatt, Corporal, this Chandar. Did you find out anything more from that ?”

Atkins exhaled heavily. Where to start? “Half truths, prophecies and riddles, sir, but it seems there are factions who don’t agree with Sirigar’s urman culling policy, Chandar among them. Factions that might look on us favourably, especially since we’ve come back with some holy scent texts from Nazarr. Chandar seems very keen to return with them to Khungarr. Thinks they might start a revolution, sir.”

“In the meantime they’re ours, are they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right, well, let’s get them somewhere safe; keep them under guard until I find out what best to do with them.” Everson got up from his chair and began to escort Atkins to the dugout door. “Thank you, Atkins. It can’t have been easy, especially losing the tank. It wasn’t your fault.”

“About the tank, sir. We’ve left the tank crew, Miss Abbott and Napoo out there, trying to do what they can.”

“We’ll organise a salvage party and, while we’re at it, we’ll take a patrol to check out this mystery wall.”

“But how are we going to raise the tank, sir, even it is in one piece?”

Everson smiled. “Don’t worry about that, Atkins. We’ve got something that’ll do the job, believe me. Now go and get yourself some food and a rest. You and your men have earned it.”

Everson sat back in his chair, feeling strangely pleased with their new situation. Since they’d been here, they had done nothing but react to things. Now he had enough information to act, to do something here. The question was, what?

IN THE JUNGLE of the Croatoan Crater, half-buried by the torn and shredded undergrowth that caught and halted its headlong rush to destruction, the great ironclad ticked and creaked, like a wounded beast gone to ground, its monstrous roar, for the moment, silenced.

Battalion:Infantry Battalionsat full strength might be around a thousand men. Generally consisted of four companies .

Black Hand Gang:slang for party put together for a dangerous and hazardous mission, like a raiding party. Such was the nature of the tasks, it was chosen from volunteers, where possible.

Blighty:England, home. From the Hindustani Bilaiti meaning foreign land.

Blighty One:A wound bad enough to have you sent back to England.

Boojums:Nickname for tanks, also a Wibble Wobble, a Land Creeper, a Willie.

Bosche:Slang for German, generally used by officers.

Breastworks:Temporary, quickly-built fortifications, consisting of low earth walls usually about chest height.

Canteen:A water bottle.

Chatt:Parasitic lice that infested the clothing and were almost impossible to avoid while living in the trenches. Living in warm, moist clothing and laying eggs along the seams, they induced itching and skin complaints.

Chatting:De-lousing, either by running a fingernail along the seams and cracking the lice and eggs or else running a lighted candle along them to much the same effect.

Commotional Shock:Contemporary medical term referring to the physical short-term concussive effects or ‘shell-shock,’ from a shell blast and viewed as a physical injury, which qualified soldiers for ‘wound stripes,’ possible discharge from the army and a pension.

Communication Trench:Trench that ran perpendicularly to the fire trench , enabling movement of troops, supplies and messages to and from the Front Line, from the parallel support and reserve lines to the rear.

Company:One quarter of an infantry battalion, 227 men at full strength divided into four platoons.

Emotional Shock: Suffering from ‘nerves.’ Unlike commotional shock, those suffering from mental stress were merely seen as sick and not entitled to a ‘wound stripe.’

Enfilade:Flanking fire along the length of a trench as opposed to across it.

Estaminet:A French place of entertainment in villages and small towns frequented by soldiers; part bar, part cafe, part restaurant, generally run by women.

FANY:First Aid Nursing Yeomanry. The only service in which women could enlist and wear khaki, they drove ambulances, ran soup kitchens, mobile baths, etc. in forward areas.

Fire Bay:Part of a manned fire trench facing the enemy. Bays were usually separated by traverses .

Firestep:The floor of the trench was usually deep enough for soldiers to move about without being seen by the enemy. A firestep was a raised step that ran along the forward face of the fire trench from which soldiers could fire or keep watch.

Fire Trench:Forward trench facing the enemy that formed part of the Front Line.