Chandar lay curled up on its side, almost in a ball, like a woodlouse, a length of rope tying its ankle to a tree root, a formality to mollify the others. There had been several opportunities when Chandar could have escaped but had chosen not to do so. As harmless as the old Khungarrii duffer seemed to be, it was definitely hiding something, part of which involved him, and Atkins very much wanted to know what it was.
Porgy, Chalky and Pot Shot sat on watch by the fire, and Gazette, Gutsy and Prof lay sprawled out. Gutsy was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
Atkins watched as Porgy got out his deck of cards. It was no ordinary deck. Each card was a small photograph of a girl he claimed he had stepped out with, which was odd because there were at least two of the music hall sensation, Marie Lloyd, in there. When quizzed, Porgy just winked and called them ‘his jokers.’ He started showing them to Prof, trying to engage the depressed man’s interest, reeling off the stories of spooning attached to each one. Atkins grinned as Porgy slapped Prof’s hand away as he tried to have a closer look at a particular card. Porgy’s ambition was to collect enough to create a full deck of cards from them. Poor Porgy. He wondered how his mate would ever complete the set now.
Gazette turned over. “What’s up, Only, can’t sleep?”
“No, Gutsy’s farted.”
“Yeah, at least it’ll keep the beasts at bay.”
They watched the large Tommy roll over in his sleep smacking his lips contentedly, like a dog in front of a fire.
Goaded gently by the others, across the campfire, Chalky was in full flow. “The way I heard it, right,” he was saying in a low voice. Pot Shot leaned forwards conspiratorially and smiled encouragingly as he continued, “Only, Everson and Ketch had cornered Jeffries, right, and he was only in the chatts’ own temple planning to use it for his own black art. He had Nurse Bell tied to an altar and he was poised with a big knife, about to sacrifice her to the devil and it should have been a shoe-in ’cause Jeffries had no other weapons. So Lieutenant Everson tells Jeffries that the game’s up and that he was to give himself up and come with them, his silver dagger poised above Nurse Bell’s heart. But he laughs at them as he raises his hand, right? Like he was going to plunge the knife down, so the Lieutenant fires, right, and he shoots it right out of Jeffries’ hand. And he curses, but not in English like you or I—”
“Or an NCO,” said Porgy, winking at Gazette.
But Chalky was lost in his story now, conjuring his own retelling before the fire. “Aye, or a bloody NCO,” he acknowledged before plunging on. “He curses in a foul and ancient language what no one honest and God-fearing would understand, the language of devils, and he raises his arms like he was surrendering, like, but then there were this evil red glare in his eyes and he began chanting, and suddenly bolts of green lightning blasted out of his finger tips. The first blast got Corporal Ketch and he were, like, burnt to a crisp in an instant.”
Porgy nudged Prof. “Sends shivers down your spine don’t it? It’s like he was there.”
“Oh aye, and what happened next?”
“Well, then Only — that is, Corporal Atkins — takes a shot at Jeffries, but the mad magician just waves his hand and flings the bullets back at them through the air and one gives the Lieutenant a Blighty one, right in the shoulder. An’ then Jeffries starts saying as how if he can’t send Nurse Bell to hell then he’ll summon up summat to fetch her there. Then he starts to conjure a demon to kill them while he makes his escape and there’s a horrid green glow and a smell of sulphur as something from the inner circles of Hell begins to take shape…”
“Inner circles of Hell, I like that,” said Porgy, nodding with approval.
“…and Nurse Bell screams. And Only realises he has moments to act before the demon becomes as solid as you or I. So Corporal Atkins, not having no holy water or the Padre’s bible, decides he has to save the lieutenant the only way he can. That’s when he notices the magic circle Jeffries is stood in is made from salt, and he scuffs away the circle breaking the spell, like, before it’s complete. Enraged, the demon brings down the chamber before vanishing back into the Pit he came from. Then, with the chatts’ temple collapsing about him, the Corporal rescues Nurse Bell and the Lieutenant and pushes them down a shaft to safety. Then, he turns to Jeffries who is not best pleased at his evil plans being thwarted and all. The Corporal charges him with his bayonet but then Jeffries vanishes in a cloud of black smoke and a demonic laugh and Only — Corporal Atkins — vows: By blood and sand, we’ll find you and when we do we’ll make, you send us home you diabolical fiend!”
“It’s true,” said Porgy, wide-eyed and impressed. “He said them very words.”
“Blood and sand,” muttered Atkins. He hadn’t caught all of it, but he’d overheard enough. “Stop encouraging him, Porgy, that’s not how it happened and you know it,” he growled, turning his back to them and pulling his army blanket about him. Bloody hell, every time he overhead that story it got bigger with the retelling. He was pretty sure that soon his bloody bayonet would be Excalibur itself in disguise. If Chalky knew what kind of man his corporal really was he’d be severely disappointed.
SOFTLY, ALMOST IMPERCEPTIBLY, the nocturnal noises of the jungle segued into a dawn chorus as shrieks and cries and deep bass clicks gave way to bleary hoots, whistles, trilling and whoops, alerting the men to the slow, incremental creep of daylight.
Atkins woke, stiff and aching, to see Napoo squatting on his haunches over the fire. It appeared that the urman had already been up and caught breakfast, as he was cooking several small animals on skewers over the fire.
“Right, just off for me morning ablutions,” announced Gutsy, stepping into the undergrowth with his rifle.
“Keep an eye out for Jeffries!” came the usual riposte.
Atkins looked over at Mathers, still sat on top of the tank. He must have slept sitting up all night, his head lolling. Mathers’ head snapped up and turned to look at him through the eye slits.
Disconcerted, Atkins started like a guilty schoolboy and averted his gaze.
Chandar was silent. It hadn’t said much since their kidnapping. It was watching the tank crew pour the last of their petrol fruit fuel from the drums into the Ivanhoe’s petrol tanks in the two front track horns. Atkins wondered if Chandar was beginning to suss them out.
“It’s… an offering,” he suggested.
Chandar looked at him briefly then returned its gaze to the tank. It chittered to itself, and fingered the tassels on its shoulder robe, like the Padre telled his rosaries. It seemed to Atkins that the old chatt’s beliefs were being tested, though he couldn’t tell how. It seemed uneasy, and that made him nervous. If it were human, Atkins would have thought it windy. Even before their attempted abduction by the Zohtakarrii, something had agitated the chatt, something it was reluctant to share. Combine that with Mathers’ attitude, and Atkins felt this entire stunt was going to Hell in a handcart.
ATKINS PERFORMED HIS usual morning ritual. Every man on the Front Line had his little good luck ritual. Gutsy had his rabbit foot; Porgy had his deck of cards. Atkins had his letter. If he could still smell Flora’s perfume on her last letter, then he would be safe. However, for some days now, a week perhaps, the scent had been fading almost beyond his ability to sense it. Today he couldn’t smell it at all. He felt a rising panic before remembering that, back in the urmen’s ‘tank’ hut, Mathers had been drinking the petrol fruit, and claimed it heightened his senses; maybe he could sense any faint, lingering scent. As much as he loathed humbling himself before the tank commander, the appeal might go some way to appeasing him and smooth over the rift between them. It was worth a try. Besides, he had to know.