Norman stuck his head out of the rear sponson hatch. A rock smashed into the sponson, just missing him.
“Bloody hell, we’re under attack!” he yelped, ducking back in and slamming the hatch shut behind him. “It’s an ambush. Place is lousy with ’em. Buggers are throwing rocks at us. Reminds me of a show at the Leeds Empire. Bloody hell, they were a hard audience that night.”
The others did likewise, shutting the other hatches, their only illumination now the small electric festoon lamps.
“Language, Norman,” warned Reggie.
There was another round of bangs as more rocks rained down on the hull.
Jack and Norman manned their six pounders and peered out of the vertical gun port slits, looking for a target. Cecil and Reggie loaded the breaches then readied their machine guns, threading fresh belts into the mechanism.
“Where are they?” said Reggie, peering through a pistol port. “I can’t see anything. Where the deuce are they?”
“Above us.”
“Well, we can’t sit here,” said Mathers. “Carry on, Clegg. They can’t harm us.”
“Sir.”
The engine roared into life again and the Ivanhoe rumbled forwards for a minute before Wally raised his right fist. At the signal, Alfie threw his left track gear into neutral, disengaging his track. Frank pushed the right track gear into first speed. The tank began to swing right to avoid a large boulder the size of a terraced house before jerking to a halt. Another signal from Wally. Alfie pushed his gear into first speed too and the tank lurched straight ahead for another ten yards as it passed the boulder.
“I can’t see anything. Just rocks!” said Reggie, becoming agitated, his face pressed to a loophole.
They heard a succession of softer thuds on the roof followed by a scratching clatter above them.
“They’re on the roof.”
Another signal from Wally and Frank slipped his track gear into neutral while Alfie pushed his into first speed. Ivanhoe swung sharply to the left. There was a thud on the sponson and Reggie lurched back as something chitinous blocked the light.
“It’s outside!”
“Well, bloody shoot it!”
Reggie squeezed the Hotchkiss’ trigger and the belt feed zipped through a few feet, firing a hail of bullets. There was an anguished squeal and light flooded in from the pistol port again.
“Damn it!” Mathers stood up and squeezed back down the port gangway past Norman and Reggie, drew his pistol and opened the manhole hatch in the roof above the rear of the engine.
There were three Yredetti on top of the tank. Ugly buggers, reminiscent of beetles, with mottled green chitinous armour. They walked upright, like chatts, but they had better developed powerful middle limbs that they used for gripping, and were just as comfortable and fast on on all sixes. They were primitives, a race of carnivorous hunters. They had no weapons and didn’t need them. Their large saw-toothed mandibles were capable of decapitating a man. One was trying to wrench off the exhaust covers. Mathers fired, and it fell over the side with a squeal. Another turned and lunged at him. He got off a second shot, which raked down the carapace and sent it spinning from the roof to bounce off the starboard sponson.
More were emerging now from behind boulders and closing in on the tank.
They charged the Ivanhoe. One was crushed beneath the track, and a second was cut down by Wally with a burst from the forward facing machine gun. Half out of the hatch, Mathers wrestled with the creature. A third Yrredetti was using its mandibles to slice through the ropes holding the drums of spare fuel to the rear of the tank. There was a hearting-rending thung and a drum fell loose and bounced off the tank’s steering tail and back along the canyon, coming to rest against a couple of small rocks.
Mathers fired at the creature again. It hissed and he ducked down and grabbed the hatch, partially shutting it after him, and bellowed down into the cabin.
“Clegg, for Christ’s sake stop the tank. We’ve lost the spare fuel!”
The tank lurched to a halt, the engine still idling. Mathers thrust himself up, slamming the opening hatch into the facial carapace of the creature, crushing a mandible. He fired point blank into the stunned creature’s face and paused momentarily to watch the head explode in a myriad of colours, creating a rainbow of mist in the air. He looked back over the roof of the tank to where the fuel drum had come to rest. Several Yrredetti were gathered around it and were pounding it with stones. He boosted himself up onto the roof, ran down the rear of the track, leapt off the back and charged towards the insect-creatures, waving his pistol and bawling like a maniac.
“Bloody hell, the Sub’s blood is up,” said Jack as he followed the thumping footfalls over the roof and peered out of the sponson door loophole. “Better give him a hand, lads. Stick close to me, Cecil. Norman, Frank? Keep me covered. Wally, stay with Ivanhoe. You too, Reggie.”
“Really? Don’t mind if I do,” said Reggie with relief. “Most kind.”
Jack glanced dismissively at Alfie as he opened the sponson hatch and clambered down. It was a deliberate snub. They didn’t need him. They didn’t want him. Cecil followed Jack out, cocking his pistol as he went.
“Bloody hell!” Alfie muttered, clambering out and joining Cecil by the rear starboard track horn anyway.
A cry from high up on the canyon side preceded another boulder, bouncing down the rocky face, dislodging a tumble of smaller scree that chased it down the slope, like ragamuffins chasing an ice-cream cart. It bounced wide. Norman aimed his revolver and fired. The small figure of an Yrredetti tumbled forwards from its rocky perch to fall into a patch of the blue-green blisterous growths which burst under its impact.
By now Mathers had reached the drum and had shot the three Yrredetti beating it. He inspected the drum. There were several alarming dents, but it was still intact, thank God. Another group of Yrredetti shuffled warily nearby. Mathers roared at them. They scuttled back. Jack reached the drum, Cecil panting in his wake.
Jack nodded at the drum. “Better get this back on the Ivanhoe, sir.”
“What?” said Mathers, shaking his head and looking around as if suddenly realising where he was. He glanced around the canyon walls. More Yrredetti were beginning to rear their heads from behind boulders and were crawling down the scree slope towards them.
“Hmm? Yes, you’re right. Can you manage it, Tanner?”
“I can, sir.”
Mathers strode back to the tank, reloading his revolver from his belt pouch as he went. Frank and Alfie crouched by the tank, using the rear track horns and the steering tail as cover, keeping an eye on the creatures that seemed to be getting bolder by the minute, or more desperate.
Mathers thought he heard whispering. He scowled at Frank. “What did you say?”
Frank looked at him, startled. “Nothing, sir. Didn’t say a word.”
“Hmm.” Mathers held his gaze for a moment, then shook his head.
Jack rolled the drum back towards the Ivanhoe. Cecil, now dangerously exposed, was edging back towards the tank, revolver raised, wavering, switching targets indecisively. “I got you, Jack.”
“Get it stowed, quickly,” said Mathers, boarding through the port sponson hatch.
On the roof, Frank helped haul the drum into position on top of the other one while Jack, standing on the steering tail, strained as he lifted the drum above his head.
One Yrredetti flung a stone, cracking the retreating Cecil on the back of the skull. The lad stumbled and went down, clutching his head, and his revolver skittered away from him. From the cover of a nearby boulder a couple of Yrredetti darted forwards, urged on by the calls of others. A claw snapped down on Cecil’s foot and dragged him back towards the shelter of the rock.