Pat Kelleher - Black Hand Gang

He noted the trench mortar ‘Plum Puddings’ and smiled to himself. They should go up nicely. There would be little danger of pursuit after that. And after his sacrilegious arson a state of such enmity should exist between the Khungarrii and the Pennines that there would be no chance of a ceasefire. They would be locked in a cycle of mutual attack and counter attack. Everson and his men would have stepped from one war only to find themselves in another, leaving him free to follow his own path unchallenged. All he needed was that map.

“Take me to your Urman artefacts,” he ordered Chandar. Gripping an increasingly dishevelled Bell by the unravelling bun at the nape of her neck he dragged her along impatiently as Chandar led the way, leaving the sounds of explosions and dying Chatts in his wake.

Outside the artefact chamber he beckoned Chandar to open the plant door. Inside, Jeffries swung Bell around and flung her against the wall. She dropped to the floor, dazed by the impact. He jerked his chin and ushered Chandar over against the wall beside her. Bell felt the back of her head and examined her hand, blinking incomprehensibly at the blood she found there.

“You know, until I met you I’d begun to lose all hope,” said Jeffries, addressing Chandar, as he glanced around at the priceless archaeological treasures.

He strode straight to the niche containing the map, lifting it from its bark backing where it had been pinned like some entomological specimen. He folded it along well-worn creases and thrust it into his tunic.

Jeffries wheeled about, his eyes sweeping across the niches and exhibits of Chandar’s collection. He walked to the wall and swept several items into the open maw of his haversack.

“So you were aware of these things? They do have meaning?” said Chandar.

Jeffries had the feeling the Chatt was learning more about ‘Urmen’ now than it had done in all its studies and it didn’t like what it was seeing.

“Oh yes,” said Jeffries. “More than you can ever know. I will be eternally grateful to you. I’m sure you’ll be eager to know that you’ve served your part as an instrument of Croatoan.”

“You dare accuse me of heresy! This one serves only GarSuleth.”

“Only at the behest of Croatoan,” countered Jeffries, grabbing the wrists of the dazed nurse and ushering her out of the chamber. “And as an instrument of Croatoan, I shall spare your life, as it was you who showed me the next step on the road toward communion with Croatoan himself. But that is the only grace you have earned from me.”

Once outside the chamber Jeffries pulled the pin from a Mills bomb, before tossing the grenade into the room and ushering Chandar and Edith swiftly away. No one else would have access to the secrets he now possessed. The explosion brought the earthen walls crashing down behind them. Weakened, several chambers above collapsed, leaving a gaping breach in the side of the edifice through which they could just make out the jungle beyond.

A venomous hiss was the only warning Jeffries received before Chandar launched itself at them. Jeffries swung Bell into the creature’s path. She screamed as she collided with the Chatt, sending them both careening into the wall. He put the pistol against the bony chitin of Chandar’s head.

“Try that again, old thing, and I’ll break more than your antennae. I’ll blow your bally head off, hmm?”

Chandar hissed again, but this time in impotence, its mouthparts waving in frustration.

DAZED, EDITH CAUGHT sight of the folded parchment peeking out from inside Jeffries’ jacket as he bent over the insect. She was sure he would kill her but she wouldn’t die quietly like Elspeth and Cissy. She had finally faced her demon — and he was just a man. And what did men want? Power. That parchment had to mean a great deal to him if he’d gone to these lengths to obtain it. So if he wanted it, she wanted it. Maybe it would give her something with which to bargain. Before she even knew what she was doing she slipped her hand into his tunic and snatched the parchment. He lashed out with a howl of fury, grabbing the hem of her torn uniform. She kicked out, ripping it away from him. He stumbled. Edith darted back into the chamber where the trench equipment was held. Perhaps there she could find something with which to defend herself.

“Come back here, you bitch!”

Edith threw herself behind one of the piles of trench equipment, her heart pounding. What was it that was so important about this parchment? Fingers trembling, she unfolded it, desperately hoping its contents might give her more leverage. It was some sort of map but she could make nothing of the symbols and writing. Shaking her head she refolded the map and continued to search for a weapon.

She heard Jeffries enter the chamber. There was a crash as he lashed out at a pile of equipment. “Give me the map, girl. Give me the bloody map.”

There was a hiss and chatter. Peering out, Edith watched as Chandar attacked Jeffries again. Jeffries pistol-whipped the old Chatt and send it sprawling against the chamber wall, the last of its strength and anger dissipated. She let out an involuntary gasp. Hearing the sound, Jeffries turned. She ducked back out of sight, but too late. Jeffries strode round the pile, hauled her up by the hair, tore the map from her grasp and shoved it back into his tunic.

“I warned you,” he said.

AS EVERSON FOLLOWED the trail of death and destruction through the temple, a screaming, flaming apparition ran towards them. A Chatt ablaze, sheets of fire wrapping themselves about it as it stumbled. Startled, Atkins let off a shot. The screaming stopped and the shape tumbled to the floor.

Next they came upon the burning library and alchemical chambers. Scrolls were crisping, shrivelling and burning while jars cracked and exploded in adjoining galleries, Chatts flinging themselves on the flames in a vain attempt to extinguish them. They were so intent on saving whatever was stored there that they paid no heed to the three Tommies that hurried through their midst.

Racing down a short tunnel, the soldiers heard a scream and burst into a chamber containing large piles of trench equipment to see Edith struggling with Jeffries.

“Halt!” yelled Everson, his pistol aimed squarely at the man’s head. “Give yourself up, Jeffries.”

“Everson, what a surprise. I might have known it would be you. Ever the boy scout, hmm. However, I’m your commanding officer. You’re only a second Lieutenant. I think you’ll find I give the orders around here.”

“We both know that’s not true, don’t we?” said Everson. “You signed up as a private under a false name. You’re no officer.”

Atkins and Ketch covered Jeffries nervously as he held Nurse Bell to his chest, one arm around her throat. The injured Chatt lay crumpled against the wall, one arm seemingly broken, its antennae stumps twitching feebly.

“Let Nurse Bell go,” Everson said, calmly.

“No.”

“Let her go, Jeffries — or should I say, Dwyer?”

“Ah, so it’s come to that has it?”

“Look, we can talk about this.”

“Can we? I don’t think so. Let’s ask Nurse Bell, shall we?” Jeffries tightened his arm around her throat and her face began to turn purple as he applied more pressure.

“You’ve got nowhere to go, Jeffries.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, though I must admit for a while there, when we first arrived here, I was worried.”

Atkins, who had begun to edge along the wall, trying to flank Jeffries, found himself in Jeffries’ sights as the man pointed the pistol at him.

“I think you’d better stop right there, Atkins, yes?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t move, Atkins,” said Everson, taking a step forward. “Jeffries, for God’s sake man, give yourself up. It’s a court martial. I swear you’ll be dealt with fairly.”