Semaphore 21 stood beside the Mars Grand Trunk Canal at the town of Horst's Ferry. Rearing almost 200 feet into the air its vast bulk was covered with gears, lamps, cables and signalling devices, making it look a little like a Christmas tree during the day and a strange and ominous giant at night. The Drune called the Semaphore of the Royal Signal Corps 'Om - Nagi', which translates to 'silent watchers'.
The pre dawn wind was blowing in chill across the plains from the low line of the Mephisto Hills to the west, making the tower creak and sway. Not that this troubled Signaller 'Java' Thwaites in the slightest as he sipped at his fourteenth cup of tea that evening as he stood watch. What did trouble him was that with the exception of the Trunk Canal stations 20 and 22 to either side of him there were now no lights to be seen from the west. Well, signal lights that was. Every few minutes the horizon would light up as guns rumbled many miles away. They grew louder as the wind picked up.
He heard the heavy footsteps on the ladder of signaller Toby. He'd just been despached from central and was unused to the climb. He was puffed by the time he got to the top. "Sir, we've lost the last relay. Kitchener has fallen. That's as well as White Plains and Derby Canyon. There's nothing left between us and ..them now sir..."
"Sir...what now sir?"
His voice trailed off a bit as the fullness of this news sunk into his own brain. They stood in the darkness for a moment, the only sounds the rumble of artillery, the creaking of the tower and the sharp clink of bone china as signaller Thwaites set his cup onto his saucer.
"Corporal, there's always time for a cup of tea.."
The first refugees started arriving just as the sun was rising. Firstly they came in steam driven vehicles....cars, lorries... wheelbarrows. The settlers, wide eyes and frightened children, wounded soldiers strapped to limbers and groaning whenever they hit a bump. Horsemen pulled carts and carriages loaded with worldly possesions. The ferry had been running to the far shore on half hourly intervals. Now it was down to ten minutes. The docks were a mess of soldiers without officers, children trying to find loved ones, noise, smoke and confusion.
There was the sudden and deafening sound of a Gatling gun being fired. Corporal Wellard of the Guards surveyed the scene from atop the roof of the 'Painted Lady' wharf inn and wondered what strange crime he had committed to be put in charge of this lot. Not being a man of a great many words, the Corporal stood atop the sandbag pile and at the two hundred faces looking up at him who were suddenly all attention. Heroic speeches failed him.
'Right you lot!' he yelled in his 'special occasions' voice. 'I know you are tired and I know you want to get on that boat but by crikey I can 'it every one of your God fearin' bonces from up 'ere with my mate Mr Gatlin...so get in line!!'
Finally the mob became a queue of some description, thanks mainly to a squadron of well disciplined lancers who gently but forcefully herded the people.
Meanwhile Torvald Horst surveyed his domain. The float tree plantation had been built with the blood and sweat of his family for two generations and no-one was to take it from him. He loaded his 12 bore shotgun with pigshot and looked at his men. "They don't take our land. You fight them for it boys. You fight them dirty. You fight them hard. And when they bear down on you you look them in the eyes and you fight them some more". The float trees were glowing now as if on fire in the low rays of the sun. His men positioned themeselves around the farm, raised the sights on their Mauser rifles and waited.
The last boatload departing, Captain Shamrock and his Drune crew have landed one last time to pick up the last defending soldiers.
But wait! Another large refugee convoy is approaching from the west! And hot on their tails seems to be the entire Prussian aerial Navy who are bombing them as they flee! Shall we leave them to their fate? No sir..that is just not the done thing!
The lancers line up, the sunlight glinting on their steel tipped bamboo spears. And somewhere high up in Semaphore tower 21 was the sound of a kettle boiling...
To be continued..
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April 28, 2024, 07:52:27 PM
September 16, 2008, 08:02:13 AM