For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) (4 page)

“Mr. Temperance, are you injured?”

“No, Ma’am, I’m okay, but our rifle assault didn’t amount to a hill of beans. Our bullets bounced off that ironclad colossus like it was wearing steel undies.”

“Pooh, drat our luck. A special morning edition of the Tuscaloosa Tattler gives
a remarkable account of our encounters, but also bears more ominous news. It seems that another meteor has crashed in Pennsylvania last night. Worse still, the Australians are reporting that they have lost control of the situation down under to giant, mechanical behemoths under the control of hideous monsters.”

“Listen, Miss Plumtartt, I can hear our adversary renewing his mechanical efforts. I think he is continuing work on the dangerous structure.”

“Look there, Mr. Temperance, Federal military units arrive. A fine unit of cavalry leads the way sporting their distinctive dark blue uniforms. These are followed by troops, ferried in by land-locomotive trolley.”

These boys are kit out in the finest weaponry available to the modern fighting man; repeating rifles, functional armor, helmets and mechanized walking suits. They are supported by artillery of fantastic design. Multi-barreled Gattling guns are drawn behind their caissons.

“There is a rumbling sensation rising up out the ground, Miss Plumtartt.”

“Perhaps this is caused by those great, steel behemoths moving in this direction, eh hem?”

Huge metal, self-propelled fortresses make their imposing appearance.

“Oh my Goodness, those fortresses propel themselves! Riding upon two treadmill conveyor belts of linked steel tracks, these belts lay a continual roadway for the steel monsters. They can steer the creation by means of stopping one set of belts or the other, the result being the machine turning in the stationary track’s direction.

“A terror unto themselves, are they not Mr. Temperance?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I’m glad they are on our side.”

“Welcome to Alabama, Mr. Yankee Soldier, sir. What do y’all call them double treadmill fortresses?”

“Tanks.”

“You’re welcome, but what are they called?”

“Come along, Mr. Temperance, I have established the officer in charge of this operation.”

“Well what do you know, this boy in blue is a girl. My Goodness, things are changing in this man’s army. Is it just me, or does she put you in mind of a stick-bodied, mean-spirited, female scarecrow?”

“I see what you mean. Her narrow face and hawkish nose form a shape that would work well to split wood, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Them black, beady, glaring eyes are more menacing than a hungry crow.”

“Ma’am, um, excuse me, I mean, Major, may I have a word with you, please? Your enemy has a weapon that will turn your men’s armaments against them.”

“Get this civilian out of here!”

“But Major, that rascal has got a weapon that will...”

“We are professionals, sonny. We know how to make war in proper fashion, you amateur.”

“But...!”

“But, nothing! Sergeant Turk, get this punk out of here.”

“Yes, sir, Ma’am!”

“I see that your presentation was not enthusiastically received, Mr. Temperance.”

“No Ma’am, it t’weren’t.”

“All artillery units are reporting to be in position and have plotted their trajectories, Major. We’re ready to open a big ol’ can of hurt on that tin bucket.”

“Open fire!”

~BOOMITY-BOOMITY-BOOMITY!~

~BOOMITY-BOOMITY-BOOMITY!~

“My Word, Mr. Temperance, these scores of cannon shock me in their deafening retorts!”

“Hunh? I can’t hear you Ma’am over the roar of the many Gatling guns pouring lead into that frightful structure.”

“Uh oh, the tower is rising up quickly this time, Miss Plumtartt.”

wuh-hooomm, wuh-hooomm

“Yes, and if I am not mistaken, the weapons arrangement is in a full and excited pulsation. The flashing lights that give the illusion of pursuing one another is in a rapid state of readiness.”

{{{SKRRR-
BZZZCK
-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}

Nerve-jangled soldiers are undone by the bone-rattling electric cackle. The distorted air of the crackling lavender beam sweeps around the Federal soldiers. Our brave forces are given the hot-foot by the pale purple ray. There is a lot of metal in the vicinity, and the metal melting beam finds it all. Gattling gun crews flee their deadly munitions as they discharge around them. The Major and her fellow metal fortress riding cohorts are forced to fly out of their mobile metal castles like startled bats from a cave. All the fancy new cannon, and repeating big guns are hurriedly fled. The munitions of the abandoned weapons blow their heated parts to smithereens.

The sun sets on a defeated American army: their enemy, implacable.

---

“Miss Major, Ma’am! Oh my gosh, thank Goodness you’re all right, Ma’am!”

“What? Oh, it’s you. The little man and the girl in the red dress. Leave me alone, I’ve got enough troubles.”

“But we want to help, Ma’am!”

“I have the situation fully under control! I have already sent for a squadron of dirigible bombers. They will come in stealthily from above. That meteor monster will never know what hit him.”

“Gee, I sure hope you’re right, Major.”

“I say, look there. Here they come!”

“Ha, ha! A squadron of ‘Lincoln’ class Zeppelins! The invader is going to get his, now!”

“Golly, there’s four airships in a row, headed right for that steel-clad devil. They are like big ol’ whales, ain’t they?”

“Perhaps, Mr. Temperance. Prevailing winds provide a speedy and silent assault. In single file manner, the first Zeppelin makes her approach.”

“Eggs are dropping, y’all!”

“Dag-nabbit, the first Zeppelin missed! Now the creature is wise to us!”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Major, Ma’am, but now the other warships have the proper range! They’ll get him!”

“Oh dear, Mr. Temperance, our foe swings his lavender ray on the airfleet!”

“Eek! That dad-blasted metal-rator ray has caught the first ship! It bursts into flames!”

“Quite so, Major. The fiend now turns upon the remaining majestic airships. The same favourable winds that allowed for a swift approach, now leave the fleet unable to turn away. Dear, oh dear, one after another, the unfortunate ships are set ablaze by the deadly beam.”

“Them ships are going down! Escape gliders and umbrella harnesses are allowing the crews to escape with their lives.”

“Dear, oh, dear, the humanity of it, Mr. Temperance.”

---

“I say, the ‘Tattler’ is reporting that with another night’s passage, another large meteor has now struck in West Virginia.”

“Golly Miss Plumtartt, that makes three in Australia, and three in these United States. This is terrible!”

“Quite so, Mr. Temperance. Let us concentrate on the problem at hand. Do you have any advice for the Major, eh, hem?”

“Well, I suggest bombardment from a position outside of this creature’s line of sight. With our defeats of direct assault and air bombardment, this would appear to be our final option. Why don’t you employ mortars from concealed emplacements, Major?”

“Hmm, the little temperature guy might be onto something. Send word to have all rail mounted mortar units dispatched at once. We’ll be able to lob our ordnance from a distance so that the intervening hills will protect us from the purple metal melting beam.”

---

“There ain’t but one railroad line close enough to do us any good, Miss Plumtartt, but it’s lined with rail mounted siege mortar that has been moth-balled since the war. I heard that there are batteries from not only Alabama, but Mississippi and Tennessee, too.”

“The siege has begun, Mr. Temperance! The invader is indeed being pummeled by the heavy bombardment. He fires his dreadful ray but can find no target.”

“We got him this time, Ma’am!”

“Oh, I say, bad show. The fiend has located an exposed section of rail. Surmising this to connect with the artillery barrage he is under, the cruel monster concentrates all his weapons energies on that position.”

“The rail’s glowing red! Now they have burst into flame, Ma’am! The glow and the flames are racing out in parallel red wildfires!”

BAH-BAH-BUH-
BOOM!
BAH-BAH-BUH-
BOOM!
   BAH-BAH-BUH-BOOMITY-BOOMITY-
BOOM!

“Great Horny Toads, them mortar cars are exploding one after another!”

“Dear, oh, dear, the crews are running for their lives!Train engineers and soldiers flee their stricken vehicles as the munitions contained therein succumb to the unbearable heat with devastating and concussive explosions.”

“Golly, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, it ain’t stopping there. I can see where those rail tracks have transferred their killing heat to other tracks. This disaster will be spread for miles and miles.”

“Golly, Major, what do we do, now?”

“My forces have spent every option. We are pulling out. We now return control and responsibility to you stupid hicks.”

---

“What next, Mr. Temperance?”

“Some of these old Confederate veterans have their own plan in motion, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

“I say, these grizzled, gentlemen have a determined streak to be sure, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. I reckon they’re more stubborn than the stain of red clay. Speaking of which, that’s what they got in mind. They have gathered some hardened clay jars and packed them with explosives and sticky incendiaries. The plan is to burn this tripod of terror, like he’s been burning us.”

“I say, fair is fair, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am. We’ve got four jars prepared. They’re big and heavy, so each will be carried by a two-man team.”

“You have taken precautions against carrying any metals, I presume, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am. We ain’t gonna carry narry a knife nor pistol. Every rivet, grommet, and button has been replaced by twine. Even the tacks and brads of our boots are degraded to stitching.”

“You must assure me that you will exercise caution, Mr. Temperance.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

We wait until nightfall to make our move. Once again, our stealthy woodsman training pays dividends. All four teams make the approach on the metal monstrosity undetected. I hate to have to destroy this wonder of mechanics, but it is a weapon designed to conquer our fair land.

Everybody is in place around the berm. The tripod of our discontent is withdrawn within its crater.

One whip-poor-will call sends all four teams over the top!

It is just a couple of frantic seconds before we are all in position. One jar on each leg and one under the main body. Everybody nods and lights their matches. Another nod signals fuse ignition. Now we all scramble out!

“Uh oh, y’all, I think he’s onto us!”

{{{SKRRR-
BZZZCK
-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}

    “Ha, ha, that beam doesn’t hurt if you ain’t got no metal!Keep running, y’all, those fuses are short...

FUH
-WHOOSH!

“Hoo, whee! That there toadstool is a towering inferno!

Our enemy is entirely engulfed in flame. The fires of retribution burn high into the night sky dwarfing our meteoric menace.

Dripping with orange flames, the three legged menace sways, but does not fall.

“The structure is shaking itself free of the sticky fire! The fiend is still firing his purple beam.”

“Oh, Golly, y’all, our mission has failed.”

“The morning paper out of Tuscaloosa ain’t got no good news, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

“In what regard, Mr. Temperance?”

“Poland has reported a meteor strike.”

“Oh dear, how dreadful. One can only assume that it is another of these horrible monsters and their infernal contraptions.”

“Yes, Ma’am. This makes the seventh impact in as many nights: three in Australia, three in the United States and now one in Europe. Hunh, you know, that kind of sparks something in the back of my mind. A connection, as an electrician might establish to convey an electric current.”

“A metaphor was not necessary. Please continue.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Miss Plumtartt, was it not nine volcanic eruptions upon the surface of Mars that we were informed of a couple of months ago?”

“Yes, Mr. Temperance, I do believe it was.”

“And weren’t these staggered at twenty-four hour intervals, not unlike the pattern we are witnessing with our meteor shower?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Temperance. By Jove! I do believe you have hit upon a quite plausible explanation for our current distress. I say! Could this be thought of as an invasion of sorts from Mars? Planet Earth must awaken to the fact that we are in a war between our worlds! Planet Earth versus Planet Mars! My word! How are we to address  these dreadful invaders from the red planet? Are we to refer to them as Marsters? Marmen? Marsisians? Marsonians, perhaps? No, none of those are exactly right, are they? I know, let’s refer to them as Martians.”

“Yes Ma’am, sounds good to me. I ain’t got nothing better. I betcha Europe gets hit by two more meteors, whatcha think? Though I guess we can probably quit calling ‘em meteors, now. I suppose these are aether-carriages, voidal projectiles, or inter-planetary buggy bullets. What did you call these fellas? Martonians?”

“Martians, I think, will be the accepted terminology.”

“Martians is fine with me. The Australians have got their hands full with three of the buggers, and I can only imagine that our landings in Pennsylvania and West Virginia are gonna bear bitter fruit much like our Alabama model here. Poland and a couple more cousins across the pond are gonna be in for it.”

“I say, Mr. Temperance, there is not much left of the Grunt farm nor surrounding vicinities, eh hem?”

“No Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. There ain’t too many folks left to even keep an eye on this booger.”

“You and I do hereby deputize ourselves to be sentries on this foul invader, sir.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I say, the wind has been picking up all day. Menacing clouds roil across the sky. It appears we are in for some rough weather tonight, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt Ma’am. Golly, our festive and sunny outing of a few days ago has turned into the bleakest excursion of despair.”

“Tut, tut, Mr. Temperance, one cannot shirk the responsibilities that life offers. Oh, I say, I feel a few drops of rain on my face. It’s not raining, but these drops are being blown ahead of the storm to let us know it is soon to arrive.”

“Gee whiz, Miss Plumtartt, I really feel bad about getting you into a bad situation. Things could get even nastier before they get better. I sure would feel a lot better about things if you would take Miss Clementine and Mr. Bolt back to Irondale for me.”

“I am terribly sorry for being uncooperative, but Bolt and I have decided that we are in this spot of trouble as much as you are, and we intend to do whatever is in our power to save this besieged planet.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I note the citizens of Big Sandy are a particularly tough grain of grit.”

“Yes, Ma’am, the original contingent of hunters and Civil War veterans is mostly intact. Just like us, they are determined to keep a watch on the Martian tower.”

“My word, with nightfall, I fail to be able to see our foe nor even the berm of his crater.”

“No Ma’am, this big old thunderstorm is shaping up to be a gully-washer. Them clouds are piled up so high and thick, they blot out the stars and moon.”

“The darkness is every bit as impenetrable as the gloom of the darkest cave, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I can’t see my hand in front of my face. Woah, that was a big gust of wind! It is really starting to whip!”

“Flashes of lightening within the storm reveal cloudbanks stacked into the stratosphere.”

“Yes, Ma’am, but it also showed a bunch of clouds running counter to the storm at ground level. That ain’t too good, Ma’am, we might be in for a tornado or two.”

“Delightful, Mr. Temperance. It is not as if we did not have enough excitement to keep us busy, eh hem?”

Alive with hyperactive electrical discharges Mother Nature reveals herself as a voluptuous, high-voltage vamp in a violent fit. The storms lightning provides light where all was dark. The broken landscape is now saturated in craven illumination.

With one more great bellow of wind the storm breaks over our camp. A wave of rain almost sweeps us away.

Visibility now comes in the fragmentary flash of rapidly occurring lightning strikes. Even with the torrential downpour, we maintain our vigil over the assumed ‘Martian’.

“I say, Mr. Temperance, am I wrong, or do you detect a noise from the direction of the infestation?”

“It’s hard to tell with the wind and rain and constant thunder and all, but I did hear just a hint of the Martian engine, humming.”

“Quite so, Mr. Temperance. I urge you to remain vigilant.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”

A flash of lightning provides an almost photographic like glimpse of the Grunt meadow.

“I think something is happening in the crater, Miss Plumtartt!”

The lightning show pauses, and falls completely black before one particularly illuminating jagged streak casts a white light across our plain. The stark, silhouette of the Martian tower standing over its protective berm is burned upon our retinas in the searing flash. The bleak image is chilling.

“Yes, Mr. Temperance, the tower has risen once again. I can attest to that. If I may add, the tower did seem to be standing taller, dare I say, with more confidence and swagger even, eh hem?”

“Gee, you know, I guess I thought so too.”

“There, sir, another brilliant crack of electricity through the stormy atmosphere reveals there
is
something a bit different. In that fractional second of clear vision, did the tower appear to be closer to the edge of the pit? Moreover, was its positioning slightly off kilter?

The storm hits us in full force. Wind and rain like a solid wall of water assault us. Our observational abilities are severely hampered by the heavy rain.

A solid ground strike of lightning plunges into the earth a few miles directly behind the tower from our position. The ground strike is held for a complete two count. In that time, we are given the impression that the tower is changing its position.

“Um, um, um, did I just see that thing move, Ma’am?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, Mr. Temperance.”

We await the next flash of lightning that will confirm our fears, or calm our hearts.

A flash of lightning provides a fraction of a second’s view. We see what we had hoped we would not. The three legged tower stands at an extreme limit of tilt, with two legs free of its crater.

Many run at the awful sight. Some of us stay where we are. I do not think any of us fail to flee the apparition because we are especially brave or courageous. In fact, I have the impression that some actually want to run but cannot. I think I am one of these. I am dumbstruck at the unreality of what I am seeing.

The flashes of lightning come faster and faster. So too does the light show artificially animate the monstrosity. Every blinding envelopment of blackness between blue/white crashing spears of lightning brings the creature one step closer to our position. It is as if the structure is being moved by the process of a series of photographs shown one after another, in order to approximate the illusion of movement.

It is difficult to get our minds to comprehend that what we are looking at is real. The impossibility of what our eyes are witnessing threatens our sanity.

Our enemy possesses a vehicle with the ability to walk.

With its round, flattened, carriage sixty feet in the air, its talent of balance boggles the mind. The three spidery legs that reach to the ground are sketchy in their movements. In the most awkward approximation of walking, the overgrown milk stool careens toward us. With a tangible conscious effort, the machine methodically picks up one leg at a time and tentatively places it forward. Despite its caution, the monster machine ends each step by plunging a sharpened blade deep into the ground as it receives the considerable weight. An ongoing lightning show illuminates its path. Light is also provided by its lavender beam and the fires it causes in front of the lurching menace.

Clementine has already fled as the structure looms close.

“Bolt, fetch Clementine and then find us again.”

Instantly, Bolt is after the runaway horse.

“This way,” I encourage Miss Plumtartt, snatching her out of the way of the colossal, rambling wreck just as one of its pointed tootsies plunges into the spot where we were just standing.

“Rather! I say! And now, this way, I should think, Mr. Temperance,” she replies, snatching me along to follow the path of destruction caused by our tottering tower.

“I would feel a lot better about your safety Ma’am, if you would learn to hang back a little in times of distress.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Temperance. We must stay after Earth’s invader.”

“I think Earth’s invader is drunk, Ma’am. Either that, or he is a novice at piloting the craft.”

“I think it is the latter, Mr. Temperance. Our chauffeur is gaining skill and subsequently speed. Our aggressor now easily outpaces us, Mr. Temperance.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. I sure wish we had Bolt and Clementine back.”

“Roof!”

“Mister Bolt, there you are, buddy! You found Clementine and brought her to us! Good boy!”

“Roof!”

“I say, our equestrian companion returns sans her wagon. I think she may have had her own adventures in the last few minutes, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Here you go, I’ll boost you up.”

“Very good, now then, I will assist you up, after me.”

“Golly, Miss Plumtartt, we will be riding awfully close together, Ma’am!”

“Under the circumstances, propriety will not mind you taking a rear seat.”

“Gee, this riding awfully close together stuff ain’t really all that awful.”

“I concur, Mr. Temperance.”

“I kind of wish terrible and dire circumstances would come around more often, now.”

“Mr. Temperance, there are bits of metal in the roadway. Be careful that Clementine does not harm herself.”

“Golly, those must be exploded bits of the rail-mounted mortars. I reckon that’s a hint that we ain’t out on a lark no more.”

“Mr. Temperance, look out into that field. If I am not mistaken, we have caught our foe.”

“Well how about that, Miss Plumtartt, it looks like our Martian walking buggy is bogged down in the mud.”

“What a miraculous and unexpected sight. The Martian, for I have decided to go ahead and accept the hypothesis that these are indeed invaders from Mars, and that is how we shall refer to them, appears to be experiencing difficulties. The more he struggles to lift his craft’s legs from the muck, the more stuck he becomes, eh hem?”

“I think this is a good opportunity to do a little reconnoitering, Ma’am. How about you, Bolt and Miss Clementine stay put, while I give the situation a once over.”

“We agree, Mr. Temperance, though we all encourage you to exercise caution.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I creep up on the Terran tethered titan.

The craft’s legs are sunk several feet into the rain soaked field.

The operator vainly attempts to dislodge his stuck limbs. All efforts to facilitate release are without reward. The walking machine strains to lift one leg at a time, or in conjunction with the other two. The chapped chauffeur makes frustrated attempts at jumping up out of the bog. These too prove fruitless. The legs of the tripod remain fixed. The sharpened, pointy-tip feet of the vehicle were not built for soft terrain.

The more the three-legged mechanical spider struggles, the worse off it is. I think the driver figures that out and stops his activity. Quickly creeping up while the engineer is otherwise engaged, I am able to get right up on the vessel. I can now get a better appreciation for the complexities of the conduits, the attention to the attenuators, and the function of the conjunctions. The rods and controlling levers are now there for me to see. The many complex joints of each telescoping leg are beginning to share their secrets with me.

There is a noise overhead.

Locks are disengaging from around a circular construct.

A hatchway is opening!

Hiding behind a mud-impaled leg, I keep an eye on that hatch.