by Pat Kelleher
The smell of the smoke had already alerted the Chatts in the Olfactory, where they worked their strange mixture of theology and alchemy. They were running hither and thither in great agitation as Jeffries shoved Bell and Chandar into the room. Jeffries casually surveyed the space and chose his target.
"No! You can not," wheezed Chandar.
"Dwyer, you're mad!" said Bell. It earned her a vicious slap across the face and she staggered back, stunned.
Taking the lit cigarette from his mouth and touching it to the oil-soaked wick, he watched the flame lick up the cloth before casting the bomb into a workshop beyond. It smashed in a spray of fire amongst the volatile distilling jars, prompting soft whooffs of combustion whose gentle sound belied their ferocity.
Waiting only long enough to watch the fire catch, Jeffries took a last drag and flicked the glowing Woodbine into the strengthening blaze, before pushing his hostages on.
In the chamber beyond, where the Chatts had stored the trench equipment, Jeffries reloaded his pistol and picked up a webbing belt of Mills bombs. Keeping a wary eye on Bell and Chandar he hastily emptied boxes of small arms ammunition into haversacks along with tins of Machonochies, Plum and Apple and bully beef. Using webbing, he tied them together with several rifles and, as gently but hastily as he could, lowered them out of a window opening on a length of rope. He could hear the rifles clatter against the face of the edifice below. Then the rope ran short and he had to drop his load to tumble down onto a midden heap far below. He could only hope it wasn't all damaged beyond use once he retrieved the items.
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."
"If you know who I am then you'll know I'm facing the drop. Call that a fair trial? Besides, if you kill me you'll never get home. You're here because of me. Did you know that? I brought you here. Without me, you'll never get back. Never. It's taken the deaths of thousands of men to achieve this. I worked for years to this end; do you think I'm going to let you stop me now?"
Atkins was shaken. A way home? Flora, oh dear God, please let it be true. But having to deal with a rogue like Jeffries to get back? Atkins began to lower his rifle.
"Don't believe him, Atkins," snapped Everson. "The man's a congenital liar, a fantasist." He appealed to Jeffries again. "Can't we talk about this like rational men?" he asked.
"Talk about what, Everson? Your ignorance, your fear of responsibility? Do you even realise what it is I've accomplished here? Do you realise that you've been party to the greatest occult undertaking of the age?"
"You can't be serious, Jeffries. Listen to yourself. That's utter humbug!"
"Is it? Look around you, Everson. Can your small provincial mind even conceive the scope of what has happened? No, don't bother. Only a handful of people would truly understand my achievement. Magi for centuries have failed where I have succeeded. Only death on a truly industrial scale could have been sufficient to invoke Croatoan. I saw to it that those pointless deaths on the Front weren't wasted. I harnessed them. Used them to charge a pentagram set into the very landscape itself."
"You're mad!"
"That's what that hedonistic mooncalf, Crowley, said and where is he now? Skulking in America, plying his lies to Colonial toadies and lickspittles."
"It's shell-shock. Jeffries, you're not well."
"You want to go home? You want to see Blighty again?" roared Jeffries. "Well I know the way. Kill me and you're stranded forever."
Everson faltered and his pistol arm slowly lowered.
"He's bluffing, sir," said Atkins. "Isn't he?"
"He's got some sort of map," said Nurse Bell. "He's gone to a lot of trouble to get it."
A grin slid onto Jeffries' face as he arched an eyebrow. "Tick, tock, Everson. The Captain's funked it, and you're Commanding Officer now. It's your call. Your responsibility. Do daddy proud. These men that survived? Nothing more than the dregs that Croatoan rejected. I have no more use for them. I commend them into your care. It may be that their deaths can return you the way they brought me!"
"The devil take you, Jeffries!"
"The name, Everson, is Dwyer!" he spat, and with that Jeffries opened his arm, threw Nurse Bell aside and fired.
Everson grunted as the impact of the bullet into his shoulder drove him back and spun him around.
Ketch fired back. Jeffries ducked behind a pile of trench supplies and returned fire.
Behind Jeffries, Bell hoisted up her ripped skirt and swung her foot between Jeffries' legs. It connected with a satisfying thud and he doubled over.
Tears filling his eyes and distorting his vision, Jeffries fired again. Atkins ducked only to hear tiny clangs as metal struck metal. He looked around for the source and saw hissing green gas escaping from two chlorine cylinders, almost buried under a pile of trench supplies.
"Gas! Gas! Gas!" he shouted.
Jeffries grabbed hold of Bell again. "That," he said, pulling her head back with a sharp jerk, "wasn't nice. Just for that you don't get to die quickly." He released her and punched her in the solar plexus, winding her, before flinging her across the floor towards the punctured gas cylinders.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"The Caterpillar Crawl..."
Jeffries fled the way he had come, diving out past Chandar under a fusillade of bullets from Atkins. Seconds later, there was an explosion as he set a off a grenade bringing the entrance down and cutting off any pursuit. Clouds of dust and debris billowed into the room, mixing with the rising gas and blocking the doorway. The fires they passed had spread and the entrance they came in by was now ablaze and impassable. Everson and the others were trapped.
To Atkins it smelt just like the trenches again and he almost gagged. Shouldering his rifle, he dashed over to Edith who was on all fours, gasping for breath, a deadly green tide lapping about her hands and feet. Atkins pulled her to her feet before rifling through the pile of equipment. The Chatts must have taken a gas hood or two, but try as he might he couldn't find one. He turned around in a panic to see her giving him a pleading look as the gas, still pouring from the cylinders, began to rise around them. There was nothing else for it. He undid the bag around his neck, took out his own gas hood and pushed the stiffened flannel into her hands.
"Mouthpiece between your teeth. Tuck it into your collar and remember, in through the nose, out through the mouth," Atkins explained as he guided her to the wall where Lieutenant Everson lay slumped. His eyes scanned the room. The only way out was a vent hole in the wall.
The stench of chlorine began to sting his nostrils and he coughed thickly as he levered the Lieutenant to his feet.
"It's all right, Atkins. He just got me in the shoulder," said Everson through a grimace, a dark stain spreading over the arm of his tunic.
"Gas, sir. You need to get your hood on," he said, unbuckling the officer's canvas bag and pulling out the contraption. Everson pulled it over his head with his good arm.
"The air shaft looks to be our only way out," said Atkins. Linking his fingers, he boosted Everson up to the hole. Once he was in, Atkins was about to do the same for Edith, when he noticed the state of her now torn and ripped uniform. Embarrassed at the sight of her stockings he averted his eyes and caught sight of a pair of part-worn khaki trousers that he had scattered from one of the piles. He picked them up and offered them to her. She took them and he turned away as she stepped into them and tore a strip from the remains of her dress to use as a belt. "I'm ready," she enunciated from inside her gas hood, tapping him on the shoulder.
He boosted her up on his hands and she disappeared into the vent.
The gas was thickening rapidly now, swirling in the rising currents of heated air from the blazing chamber next door. Atkins began to cough. Christ. This was no way to die. Something sprang into his mind from his early days in training. He pulled out his handkerchief, unbuttoned his fly and fished about inside. Thank God he was scared enough. After a brief moment when he thought he couldn't, he managed to pee on the cloth, rung it out and, blanching slightly, tied it over his nose and mouth as he went back to look for Ketch in the rapidly thickening lethal mist.
"Ketch!" he cried.
He began wafting an arm about in front of him, disturbing the gas, creating eddies that swirled sullenly apart. He spied Ketch slumped awkwardly on the floor by the chlorine cylinders, a broadening stain on his tunic, one hand clutching weakly at his throat, Atkins knelt beside him. Ketch attempted to smile when he saw him, but produced nothing more than an ugly snarl, as if it were sheer vitriol that was keeping him alive.
"Basta
rd's done for me," he gasped. "You could let me die here with our secret. Nobody else would know. But you can't, can you? That would mean you were really were a bad person. And you're desperate to prove yourself otherwise, aren't you?"
"Let me help you."
Ketch coughed again and grinned through the blood and the green foam that began to froth at the corners of his mouth. "You can't help me now, Atkins."
"I can! We can get out of here." He put his arms under Ketch's armpits and began to lift him but the corporal retched and coughed, his face beginning to blacken from exposure to the gas. "Ketch!"
The corporal clawed at his throat as the chlorine reacted with the moisture inside his lungs. His eyes widened with terror. He began to kick and thrash, reeling around the floor, gasping for a life-saving breath that would never come. It was all Atkins could do to hold him.
"Atkins..." he gurgled, "one... thing..."
"What?"
"...She's... pregnant..."
"Who?' he asked, before he realised. Flora.
"S'you in hlll..." gurgled Ketch, his back arching as he patted his tunic pocket and his last breath bubbled up out of him, leaving a satisfied sneer etched on his face.
"Ketch! Ketch!"
Coughing and spluttering now, his own eyes watering, Atkins shook the corporal's body. Unbidden he felt Flora's lips on his; insistent, soft, yielding. He could taste the salt of her tears as they lost themselves in a rising urgency that, for a moment, washed away the grief; fingers fumbling at buttons and petticoats by the light of the parlour fire. Even as he recalled the moment, he tore open Ketch's tunic and rummaged through the pockets. Inside Ketch's pay book, he found a letter, addressed to himself in Flora's own hand. It had been opened. The bastard! How long had he had it? He quickly shoved it inside his own tunic. Please God, let him not have told anyone else.
