Chapter 12
The stairs led down into the earth. A cellar that seemed the same size as the building above, the walls of hard packed clay, the ceiling of thick wooden planks held up by a mixture of brick pillars and wooden struts.
The cellar was half filled with boxes and barrels, stacks of woven baskets falling apart and covered with dust. Some crudely marked, others dark with age and unidentifiable. Closest to the stairs were several crates of more modern style.
“General, I reckon these be lookin like rifle crates like what the quartermaster has.”
The first soldier down had stopped by the crates then moved deeper into the gloom as the others came down the steps. The pair of Ironsides waited till last, stairs were, interesting, for the lumbering steam powered suits.
Abdul was carrying a large lantern and he held it over the crates to allow the three officers to see them clearly.
Lieutenant Ambrose leaned closer and peered at a tattered sheet of paper glued to the lid of the uppermost crate. “Its German General, the writing is German.”
The general stepped closer and carefully peeled what remained of the sheet of paper from the wood it had been glued to. “Can you translate it Ambrose?”
The junior office took the paper and turned slightly so that the full light of the lamp fell on it. “Infanteriegewehr, Produkt von Potsdam Munitionsfabrik, enthält sechs, auf diese weise bis. Infantry rifle, made in Potsdam weapons factory, six in the case, keep this end up.”
General Summerby glanced down at the crates. “Four of these, that’s twenty four modern rifles. Explains some of our casualties. There may be some cases of shells for that cannon somewhere here as well.”
“Over ere general.” The call came from sergeant Troutman who had moved to the edge of the light from the single lantern. Three more o them rifle crates.” He lifted the lid of one. “Empty just like them you be lookin at sir.”
The general swore under his breath. “We haven’t found that many rifles, this means there are more of these rebels out there with modern rifles. Has anyone found any more German crates?”
The soldiers and junior officers spread out to check the piles that were hidden in the gloom. Abdul lifted the lantern above his head to cast the light as far as possible then walked a few steps further into the room as the Ironsides carefully made their way down the creaking and groaning wooden steps.
“Someat here general. I reckon there be more of them over here.” Private Green had moved to the very edge of the light and was standing by one of the brick pillars that held up the roof. He was pointing to a shape in the darkness beyond him, regular like boxes stacked one on top of the other.
Abdul started towards him then paused and turned to look at the general.
“Go ahead with the light, everyone follow and stay together.” The general matched his words with action by starting across the room.
Private green turned back towards the darkness then in a flash of movement he was thrown off his feet and into the air, flying towards the main group in a spray of blood and entrails. A claw like that of a giant cat had slashed through his tunic and his chest, the force of the blow throwing him away like a rag doll.
For a long second everyone stood stunned then rifle and pistol fire rang out as every man with a weapon opened fire at the shape that was now to be seen beside the pillar. Both Ironsides lumbered closer and the shape in the darkness roared like a lion then advanced into the light to meet them.
The body was that of a great lion, pelt like dirty sand now splattered with the soldier’s blood. But where the head of the lion should have been rose the upper half of a woman, the lions pelt ending just below her breasts. The creature roared again and the seeming woman’s mouth opened far too wide and was filled with teeth far too long and sharp to have ever been human.
Both Ironsides opened fire. The rounds from the maxim missing the creature as it moved or bouncing from its hide as if the creature were made of stone.
The two inch cannon boomed in the enclosed room, every man was staggered by the sound but all save one were seasoned soldiers and fought on, Abdul Rashid had never heard the like, the sound deafened him and left him staggering like a drunk but he managed by strength of will to keep his lantern high so that there was light to fight by.
The shell smashed into the torso of the creature and a spider web of deep cracks spread across the lion like chest and left shoulder. The creature hissed and leapt, a single bound that scrapped the ceiling of the room and slammed the half lion half woman into the cannon armed Ironside.
Both went down in a tangle of metal and creature, all four of the lions legs slashing at the steel and steam soldier.
Every man was firing and reloading but the bullets did nothing more than flake off pieces of the hide, exposing grey stone beneath. It was a statue but it looked real and moved like a living creature.
The second Ironside, seeing that his maxim was useless in this fight took two steps closer and using his steam enhanced arms he tried to smash the creature sideways and force it off the fallen Ironside. But it did not budge, stream screamed and pistons hissed but the creature was too heavy.
With a last slash of the creatures claws the Ironside under it thrashed and stopped as its side was caved in and the boiler torn from the frame. Then it spun and threw itself on the second suit that had dared to lay metal hands on it.
More movement at the edge of the light, Lieutenant Fowler bought his pistol to bear then turned quickly back to continue firing at the creature trying to tear its way into the struggling Ironside. He did not understand the how of it but he recognised the shape that was coming towards them, the missing Ironside had somehow arrived.
The two remaining soldiers had resorted to beating the creature with the butts of their rifles, bullets were useless but they were striking a statue of living stone and their efforts were futile.
The creature used its front claws to grab hold of the arms of the second Ironside pinning it in place, the creature lifted one of its human seeming arms and drew it back then punched forward. With the ringing and tearing of steel what looked so like a woman’s hand tore through the breastplate of the Ironside and blood poured around the ragged edges of the hole.
Then Trooper Delaney arrived, his boiler was dying as he ran it at full power, the last of his steam and water being used in this last charge. He had seen the fight and he had seen his fellow try to push the creature aside. He had seen the cannon hit and he could see the deep cracks across the creature’s chest as it reared up to hold and kill his fellow Ironside.
The creature heard the scream the boiler and the hiss of pistons and it tore its hand out from the chest of the Ironside it had just killed, it spun on all four feet to face this new threat.
Trooper Delaney did not slow down, instead he charged the creature and in a demonstration of piloting skill that the builders of the suit would have thought impossible he turned his last step into a kick. Several tons of Ironside, the full power of the boiler and the great metal plates that made up the Ironsides foot crashed into the creature’s chest. Right in the middle of the web of deep cracks from the cannon hit.
The lion’s torso shattered, the whole front end came apart and the human torso and rear suddenly became lifeless tone and collapsed to the dirt floor in a clatter of rubble.
Then with a dying hiss the one standing Ironside used the last of its steam and locked up, falling in a clatter of metal much louder than the stone statue,
#
Several of the men prodded the mass of stone or struck it with the butts of their rifles to make sure it was now nothing more than stone.
Then the silence was broken by the choking and heaving of a man suddenly overcome by the urge to vomit. Private Taylor fell to his knees as his stomach emptied itself and the room was suddenly rank with the stench of the man throwing up out of shock, fear or his first battle.
Once his stomach had finished and he was doing no more than gasping the Private looked up to find a battered army water bottle in front of his face, looking to the side he saw sergeant Troutman holding the bottle for him to drink, the cap already unscrewed.
The soldier gasped his thanks and drank quickly, almost choking himself again.
“Easy their lad, drink it slow. Wash some around ya mouth and spit it out.”
While the sergeant tended to the collapsed man the others stop guard in case anything else came out of the darkness. General Summerby used his right thumb to press the release on his pistol, opening the cylinder. One by one he worked the lever to eject each spent cartridge then once his pistol was empty he reached into the pocket of his jacket for the loose rounds he carried there.
He took the first round and started to load it into the cylinder then he noticed just how badly his hand was shaking. Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed he then clenched his hand into a tight fist until the shaking stopped and he was able to load the pistol properly.
Only Rashid was close enough to see what had happened, or to hear the Generals mutter words that he was getting too old for this.
Lieutenant Ambrose had taken a moment to check the three downed Ironsides.
“General, those two are both dead, the armour is wrecked. This chap is still alive though, it’s Delany, our missing trooper. I think we can get him out.”
It took several minutes and involved sending the one remaining private upstairs to bring a hammer and pick but the men were able to force open the top hatch of the battered Ironside and help trooper Delany to crawl out.
The man was exhausted and barely able to stand, he emptied two water bottles before he could speak and he was clearly not fit for any more fighting without a significant rest.
General Summerby ordered him upstairs and sent private Taylor to help him, which removed the two weakest men from harm’s way. The company was now reduced six men.
#
Moving as a tight group, careful for any attack from the shadows, the six men slowly explored the limits of the room and found two ways out. One a crude corridor that ran level with the room towards the town, the other a tunnel that went down at a steep angle and curved round as if it ran under the hill.
Pointing at the corridor towards the town lieutenant Fowler spoke. “Delany came out of that one.”
Summerby looked down the corridor into the darkness beyond the lamps glow and grunted. “We will try the other one first, the evil we seek will, I think, be in the deepest darkest place it can find.”
General Summerby took the lead, the surprised officers followed him, then Rashid holding his oil lamp and finally the sergeant and remaining soldier watching the back.
The tunnel was barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side, the roof and walls of clay, ancient wooden beams and braces held back the dirt which still held the marks of the crude tools that had carved the tunnel many lifetimes ago.
It curved round and straightened then curved again, going downwards all the time. Then it turned sharply and opened into a small room. The general was in the lead and found himself stepping through the doorway before he even knew the room was there.
Along the back wall of the room were several crude wooden chairs flanking a single low table, both side walls held shelves, wooden planks sitting on struts that had been driven into the clay walls. The floor was bare clay, dry and dust but covered with an intricate pattern of what looked like coloured chalk. A circle, then inside that another circle, some sort of writing filling the gap between the two lines. Inside the inner circle a star and on his knees inside the star a figure, shapeless in a long leather coat.
The kneeling figure looked up. Summerby looked into a silver mask, saw his own face reflected, distorted, like a sideshow mirror at a carnival. All except the eyes, those were not his eyes. Black pits, no sign of life or feeling or mercy. Inhuman eyes, blinking, unfocused, blinking, focusing.
Summerby felt the weight of those eyes as the settled on him, a gasp escaped his lips as he felt crushed beneath that terrible gaze, his arms and legs turned to lead, he could not move. He felt something, pulling, tearing, inside his head and inside his chest, a cold was sweeping into his body and his warmth, his life, was being torn from him.
The first pistol shot was not heard, the flash came from behind the general as both lieutenants looked into the room and felt the evil of the gaze being directed at their commander. Both raised their revolvers and fired without as much as a word between them.
Fowler fired first, his round struck the figure which jerked a little but remained kneeling. The eyes moved, slowly, like death, from the general to Fowler.
Ambrose had fired a second later and his first round hit the leather coat, again it jerked slightly from the hit but still the figure would not not go down. Then Fowler, feeling the eyes fall upon him and the cold forcing itself into him fired again and again and again. His finger frantically pulling at the trigger long after he had fired his five shots. His second round struck the chest and did nothing, his third was higher, below the collar and still the figure knelt before them, his black eyes upon them.
Then his fourth and fifth shots rang out and both bullets struck the silver mask, the fourth in the mouth and the last on the forehead. There was sound like a great gong echoing through the room and the mask shattered like glass, suddenly everyone could hear again and more again. The figure in the leather coat was thrown backwards and fell out of the circle, his legs smudging the lines as he did so. A sound like a great sigh was heard as it faded away down the tunnel and into the darkness.
General Summerby could barely move, his heartbeat was slow and unsteady in his temples, his vision was blurred, his right arm was bound down with chains of iron, he fought to raise his hand and fire, his arm barely moved, his hand trembled. Then light flooded the room and suddenly he could move again. He fired and fired till his revolver clicked empty, every round shot from no more than ten feet and every round placed into the head and face of the man in the leather coat.
Slowly Summerby recovered, the cold would not leave him but his limbs became his own again and his vision returned to normal, his heart seemed to beat again as a flood of adrenaline set his heart to racing.
He looked around to find the rest of the group crowded into the room with him, sergeant Troutman was standing close by, his face betraying his concern. The two officers seemed to be searching the room, Rashid stood by the door as if on watch but holding the oil lamp high enough to light the small chamber.
Suddenly exhausted the generals head dropped and a long whistling breath escaped him.
The stairs led down into the earth. A cellar that seemed the same size as the building above, the walls of hard packed clay, the ceiling of thick wooden planks held up by a mixture of brick pillars and wooden struts.
The cellar was half filled with boxes and barrels, stacks of woven baskets falling apart and covered with dust. Some crudely marked, others dark with age and unidentifiable. Closest to the stairs were several crates of more modern style.
“General, I reckon these be lookin like rifle crates like what the quartermaster has.”
The first soldier down had stopped by the crates then moved deeper into the gloom as the others came down the steps. The pair of Ironsides waited till last, stairs were, interesting, for the lumbering steam powered suits.
Abdul was carrying a large lantern and he held it over the crates to allow the three officers to see them clearly.
Lieutenant Ambrose leaned closer and peered at a tattered sheet of paper glued to the lid of the uppermost crate. “Its German General, the writing is German.”
The general stepped closer and carefully peeled what remained of the sheet of paper from the wood it had been glued to. “Can you translate it Ambrose?”
The junior office took the paper and turned slightly so that the full light of the lamp fell on it. “Infanteriegewehr, Produkt von Potsdam Munitionsfabrik, enthält sechs, auf diese weise bis. Infantry rifle, made in Potsdam weapons factory, six in the case, keep this end up.”
General Summerby glanced down at the crates. “Four of these, that’s twenty four modern rifles. Explains some of our casualties. There may be some cases of shells for that cannon somewhere here as well.”
“Over ere general.” The call came from sergeant Troutman who had moved to the edge of the light from the single lantern. Three more o them rifle crates.” He lifted the lid of one. “Empty just like them you be lookin at sir.”
The general swore under his breath. “We haven’t found that many rifles, this means there are more of these rebels out there with modern rifles. Has anyone found any more German crates?”
The soldiers and junior officers spread out to check the piles that were hidden in the gloom. Abdul lifted the lantern above his head to cast the light as far as possible then walked a few steps further into the room as the Ironsides carefully made their way down the creaking and groaning wooden steps.
“Someat here general. I reckon there be more of them over here.” Private Green had moved to the very edge of the light and was standing by one of the brick pillars that held up the roof. He was pointing to a shape in the darkness beyond him, regular like boxes stacked one on top of the other.
Abdul started towards him then paused and turned to look at the general.
“Go ahead with the light, everyone follow and stay together.” The general matched his words with action by starting across the room.
Private green turned back towards the darkness then in a flash of movement he was thrown off his feet and into the air, flying towards the main group in a spray of blood and entrails. A claw like that of a giant cat had slashed through his tunic and his chest, the force of the blow throwing him away like a rag doll.
For a long second everyone stood stunned then rifle and pistol fire rang out as every man with a weapon opened fire at the shape that was now to be seen beside the pillar. Both Ironsides lumbered closer and the shape in the darkness roared like a lion then advanced into the light to meet them.
The body was that of a great lion, pelt like dirty sand now splattered with the soldier’s blood. But where the head of the lion should have been rose the upper half of a woman, the lions pelt ending just below her breasts. The creature roared again and the seeming woman’s mouth opened far too wide and was filled with teeth far too long and sharp to have ever been human.
Both Ironsides opened fire. The rounds from the maxim missing the creature as it moved or bouncing from its hide as if the creature were made of stone.
The two inch cannon boomed in the enclosed room, every man was staggered by the sound but all save one were seasoned soldiers and fought on, Abdul Rashid had never heard the like, the sound deafened him and left him staggering like a drunk but he managed by strength of will to keep his lantern high so that there was light to fight by.
The shell smashed into the torso of the creature and a spider web of deep cracks spread across the lion like chest and left shoulder. The creature hissed and leapt, a single bound that scrapped the ceiling of the room and slammed the half lion half woman into the cannon armed Ironside.
Both went down in a tangle of metal and creature, all four of the lions legs slashing at the steel and steam soldier.
Every man was firing and reloading but the bullets did nothing more than flake off pieces of the hide, exposing grey stone beneath. It was a statue but it looked real and moved like a living creature.
The second Ironside, seeing that his maxim was useless in this fight took two steps closer and using his steam enhanced arms he tried to smash the creature sideways and force it off the fallen Ironside. But it did not budge, stream screamed and pistons hissed but the creature was too heavy.
With a last slash of the creatures claws the Ironside under it thrashed and stopped as its side was caved in and the boiler torn from the frame. Then it spun and threw itself on the second suit that had dared to lay metal hands on it.
More movement at the edge of the light, Lieutenant Fowler bought his pistol to bear then turned quickly back to continue firing at the creature trying to tear its way into the struggling Ironside. He did not understand the how of it but he recognised the shape that was coming towards them, the missing Ironside had somehow arrived.
The two remaining soldiers had resorted to beating the creature with the butts of their rifles, bullets were useless but they were striking a statue of living stone and their efforts were futile.
The creature used its front claws to grab hold of the arms of the second Ironside pinning it in place, the creature lifted one of its human seeming arms and drew it back then punched forward. With the ringing and tearing of steel what looked so like a woman’s hand tore through the breastplate of the Ironside and blood poured around the ragged edges of the hole.
Then Trooper Delaney arrived, his boiler was dying as he ran it at full power, the last of his steam and water being used in this last charge. He had seen the fight and he had seen his fellow try to push the creature aside. He had seen the cannon hit and he could see the deep cracks across the creature’s chest as it reared up to hold and kill his fellow Ironside.
The creature heard the scream the boiler and the hiss of pistons and it tore its hand out from the chest of the Ironside it had just killed, it spun on all four feet to face this new threat.
Trooper Delaney did not slow down, instead he charged the creature and in a demonstration of piloting skill that the builders of the suit would have thought impossible he turned his last step into a kick. Several tons of Ironside, the full power of the boiler and the great metal plates that made up the Ironsides foot crashed into the creature’s chest. Right in the middle of the web of deep cracks from the cannon hit.
The lion’s torso shattered, the whole front end came apart and the human torso and rear suddenly became lifeless tone and collapsed to the dirt floor in a clatter of rubble.
Then with a dying hiss the one standing Ironside used the last of its steam and locked up, falling in a clatter of metal much louder than the stone statue,
#
Several of the men prodded the mass of stone or struck it with the butts of their rifles to make sure it was now nothing more than stone.
Then the silence was broken by the choking and heaving of a man suddenly overcome by the urge to vomit. Private Taylor fell to his knees as his stomach emptied itself and the room was suddenly rank with the stench of the man throwing up out of shock, fear or his first battle.
Once his stomach had finished and he was doing no more than gasping the Private looked up to find a battered army water bottle in front of his face, looking to the side he saw sergeant Troutman holding the bottle for him to drink, the cap already unscrewed.
The soldier gasped his thanks and drank quickly, almost choking himself again.
“Easy their lad, drink it slow. Wash some around ya mouth and spit it out.”
While the sergeant tended to the collapsed man the others stop guard in case anything else came out of the darkness. General Summerby used his right thumb to press the release on his pistol, opening the cylinder. One by one he worked the lever to eject each spent cartridge then once his pistol was empty he reached into the pocket of his jacket for the loose rounds he carried there.
He took the first round and started to load it into the cylinder then he noticed just how badly his hand was shaking. Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed he then clenched his hand into a tight fist until the shaking stopped and he was able to load the pistol properly.
Only Rashid was close enough to see what had happened, or to hear the Generals mutter words that he was getting too old for this.
Lieutenant Ambrose had taken a moment to check the three downed Ironsides.
“General, those two are both dead, the armour is wrecked. This chap is still alive though, it’s Delany, our missing trooper. I think we can get him out.”
It took several minutes and involved sending the one remaining private upstairs to bring a hammer and pick but the men were able to force open the top hatch of the battered Ironside and help trooper Delany to crawl out.
The man was exhausted and barely able to stand, he emptied two water bottles before he could speak and he was clearly not fit for any more fighting without a significant rest.
General Summerby ordered him upstairs and sent private Taylor to help him, which removed the two weakest men from harm’s way. The company was now reduced six men.
#
Moving as a tight group, careful for any attack from the shadows, the six men slowly explored the limits of the room and found two ways out. One a crude corridor that ran level with the room towards the town, the other a tunnel that went down at a steep angle and curved round as if it ran under the hill.
Pointing at the corridor towards the town lieutenant Fowler spoke. “Delany came out of that one.”
Summerby looked down the corridor into the darkness beyond the lamps glow and grunted. “We will try the other one first, the evil we seek will, I think, be in the deepest darkest place it can find.”
General Summerby took the lead, the surprised officers followed him, then Rashid holding his oil lamp and finally the sergeant and remaining soldier watching the back.
The tunnel was barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side, the roof and walls of clay, ancient wooden beams and braces held back the dirt which still held the marks of the crude tools that had carved the tunnel many lifetimes ago.
It curved round and straightened then curved again, going downwards all the time. Then it turned sharply and opened into a small room. The general was in the lead and found himself stepping through the doorway before he even knew the room was there.
Along the back wall of the room were several crude wooden chairs flanking a single low table, both side walls held shelves, wooden planks sitting on struts that had been driven into the clay walls. The floor was bare clay, dry and dust but covered with an intricate pattern of what looked like coloured chalk. A circle, then inside that another circle, some sort of writing filling the gap between the two lines. Inside the inner circle a star and on his knees inside the star a figure, shapeless in a long leather coat.
The kneeling figure looked up. Summerby looked into a silver mask, saw his own face reflected, distorted, like a sideshow mirror at a carnival. All except the eyes, those were not his eyes. Black pits, no sign of life or feeling or mercy. Inhuman eyes, blinking, unfocused, blinking, focusing.
Summerby felt the weight of those eyes as the settled on him, a gasp escaped his lips as he felt crushed beneath that terrible gaze, his arms and legs turned to lead, he could not move. He felt something, pulling, tearing, inside his head and inside his chest, a cold was sweeping into his body and his warmth, his life, was being torn from him.
The first pistol shot was not heard, the flash came from behind the general as both lieutenants looked into the room and felt the evil of the gaze being directed at their commander. Both raised their revolvers and fired without as much as a word between them.
Fowler fired first, his round struck the figure which jerked a little but remained kneeling. The eyes moved, slowly, like death, from the general to Fowler.
Ambrose had fired a second later and his first round hit the leather coat, again it jerked slightly from the hit but still the figure would not not go down. Then Fowler, feeling the eyes fall upon him and the cold forcing itself into him fired again and again and again. His finger frantically pulling at the trigger long after he had fired his five shots. His second round struck the chest and did nothing, his third was higher, below the collar and still the figure knelt before them, his black eyes upon them.
Then his fourth and fifth shots rang out and both bullets struck the silver mask, the fourth in the mouth and the last on the forehead. There was sound like a great gong echoing through the room and the mask shattered like glass, suddenly everyone could hear again and more again. The figure in the leather coat was thrown backwards and fell out of the circle, his legs smudging the lines as he did so. A sound like a great sigh was heard as it faded away down the tunnel and into the darkness.
General Summerby could barely move, his heartbeat was slow and unsteady in his temples, his vision was blurred, his right arm was bound down with chains of iron, he fought to raise his hand and fire, his arm barely moved, his hand trembled. Then light flooded the room and suddenly he could move again. He fired and fired till his revolver clicked empty, every round shot from no more than ten feet and every round placed into the head and face of the man in the leather coat.
Slowly Summerby recovered, the cold would not leave him but his limbs became his own again and his vision returned to normal, his heart seemed to beat again as a flood of adrenaline set his heart to racing.
He looked around to find the rest of the group crowded into the room with him, sergeant Troutman was standing close by, his face betraying his concern. The two officers seemed to be searching the room, Rashid stood by the door as if on watch but holding the oil lamp high enough to light the small chamber.
Suddenly exhausted the generals head dropped and a long whistling breath escaped him.