Insect Insurrection
1.
“MISS SOMERSET, I must protest. I cannot allow you to go off on your own.”
Annabelle bit back her initial response. Lieutenant Bedford meant well, but he seemed to be forgetting, once more, that she was not one of his subordinates. She took a deep breath before answering. “Then assign one of your men to me, Lieutenant. Either way, I am going to follow Nathanial and Captain Folkard.”
“No doubt in the hope that they will lead you to your uncle?”
Annabelle met Bedford’s accusatory stare with one of steel. She would not be swayed in her decision. He was right, of course, there was little doubt that Captain Folkard and Nathanial were following her uncle’s trail. Tereshkov’s hold over Uncle Cyrus had to be severed.
Bedford let out a sigh. “Very well, Miss Somerset, but this is against my better judgement. Sending a woman into that battle is…”
“Are you suggesting I cannot handle myself, Lieutenant?” Annabelle asked, keeping her tone playful. In truth she knew he had only said such a thing to elicit a reaction from her, and so she would give him one, just not the reaction he had hoped for.
Bedford did not immediately reply, instead he attempted to keep his stare steady, and turned slightly before breaking into a smile, once he was sure that neither Miller nor Platt could see him.
“Able Seaman Platt,” he said, and waited for Platt to join them. “Would you accompany Miss Somerset in her foolhardy mission? Make sure no harm comes to her.”
Platt saluted. “Of course, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Annabelle said with a curt nod. “And perhaps a few Selenites?”
At this Bedford shook his head. “No, just you two alone will have a better chance of drawing near to that lift platform unseen. There’s plenty of Selenites in that skirmish over there, and you can be sure that any other Russians not immediately caught up in the battle will be on the lookout for Selenites. If you wish to succeed, then it would be best to limit the attention you may draw.”
Annabelle had already decided such a thing herself, and did not expect Bedford to agree otherwise, but she felt it was her duty to ask for more than she needed. A man like Bedford needed to know that a woman like Annabelle was not one to accept the first offer given her.
“Sound reasoning. Very well, then. Mister Platt, if you are ready?”
Able Seaman Platt checked his carbine, then nodded. “After you, Miss Somerset.”
Annabelle smiled; glad to see that Platt had already ascertained that she was not one to follow. Nodding to Bedford, she turned away, still smiling, and set off. She failed to notice Bedford smiling after her.
2.
“OKAY THEN, this is what we are going to do,” Bedford said, once Miss Annabelle and Able Seaman Platt were safely on their way. He turned to his small team, all of who were giant ants…and Mister Miller. Bedford sighed inwardly. If they succeeded in securing the compound it would be nothing short of a miracle.
He looked to Miller and K’ovib. “Since only Miller and I are trained in the usage of these weapons, we shall take point. The Russians in the compound, not to mention that commander centre beyond, will soon be alerted to the battle taking place on the other side of the reservoir, so I am relying on your Selenites to shoot without question, K’ovib. You can be sure that the Russians will not be taking any prisoners now.”
“Understand, friend Bedford,” K’ovib said, and he turned to the Selenites to explain.
Bedford wished he had an opportunity to train the Selenites, but he would just have to hope they had seen the rifles in use before. Otherwise they would be doomed. The Russian Imperial Army was a highly trained unit, its soldiers experts with firearms. He did not rate Miller up against a fully trained Russian soldier, let alone the giant ants.
As soon as K’ovib finished, the Selenites all cocked their weapons as if expertly trained. Bedford frowned and looked to K’ovib.
“I retainer of knowledge. I see and learn, and teach Selenites,” he explained.
Bedford was curious to learn more of this method of teaching, since he did not recall any such lessons during their short journey from the village to the current position on the edge of the reservoir cavern, but now was not the time. If this teaching worked, then that was good enough for him. For now.
“Very well. Let us proceed with caution; we want to retain the element of surprise for as long as we…”
Bedford’s words were cut off by a shrill cry from the Selenites. As one they stormed out of the tunnel and towards the compound. Bedford blinked, quite certain he had seen K’ovib shrug.
“They protect queen. Very motivated,” K’ovib said, at the same time sounding proud and sad.
“Well, the deed is done.” Bedford looked to Miller. “Time to join the fray!”
Securing the compound was an easier task than Bedford had expected. As soon as the Selenites inside the fence noticed their fellows, armed and firing away, they too made their move. The guards inside the compound did not know what hit them. They began to fire their rifles, taking down a couple of Selenites, but the drones outside also fired. It was true that a lot of bullets went wild, the power behind the guns a little bit too much for the spindly arms of the drones, but a few bullets did strike home.
At the far end of the compound, a lone Selenite was being cornered by three Russian guards, their rifles aimed. Bedford stopped in his tracks, ignoring the gun fire around him, and lifted his Lancaster pistol. He may not have been able to take out all three Russians before they fired at the lone Selenite, but he would surely remove two of them, thus evening the odds a little. Perhaps the sight of two of his fellows would be enough to distract the third soldier long enough to enable the rusty coloured Selenite to strike back.
Then something most remarkable, and unexpected, happened. The Selenite seemed to draw its lower and upper body together, as if flexing its muscles. Abruptly it exploded, and viscous liquid flew everywhere, covering the Russians soldiers from head to foot. The screams that followed curdled Bedford’s blood, but he could not remove his eyes from the sight of the three soldiers falling to the dusty ground, writhing in pain as the venom ate its way through their uniforms and skin.
Bedford looked over at K’ovib, who was, alongside Miller, rushing over to the gate of the compound to free the Selenites who were there waiting. He wondered if all the rusty Selenites, the retainers of knowledge, had the same defence. A final option, certainly, but a devastating one. Suddenly Bedford was very glad the Selenites were on his side. What other surprises did these giant ants have in store?
A siren blared, and Bedford was instantly on the alert again. The Russians in the compound were no longer a threat, but those in the command centre were now aware of the attack. What they really needed were some more trained personnel from the Sovereign. Surely Captain Folkard did not attack this camp without any reserves?
3.
MAKING THEIR way through the chaos of the battle was less of a problem than Annabelle had anticipated. Platt was a capable gunman, taking down Russians with but one shot at a time. Where he could he would wound them so that they would not be picking up their weapons again, but when that was not an option he did not hesitate to go for the head shot. For her own part Annabelle did not much care about wounding the soldiers around her. As far as it concerned her they were all equally to blame for her mistreatment and using her against her uncle. Each shot from the carbine in her hand killed.
She had failed her parents, and she had promised to never fail her uncle.
The elevator scaffold was not far away now. There appeared to be an unconscious Russian soldier on the platform, a fact Annabelle turned to point out to Platt, only to find him gone. She looked around. He was some distance away, engaging a Russian with his fists. Annabelle lifted her carbine, but she could not get a clear shot of the Russian. She lowered her gun again. Could she afford to go back and help Platt? He was a trained Navy man, she decided, he could look after himself. Thus decided, she turned back and continued on her way to the elevator.
She barely got ten feet when she espied a Russian soldier, rifle raised, all set to take a clean shot of a rusty looking Selenite’s head. Without pausing, Annabelle raised her own gun and fired. The Russian dropped. The Selenite turned.
“Friend Annabelle!”
Water almost filled her eyes as her old friend shuffled over to her. Not even considering the strangeness of it, she hugged K’chuk. “It is good to see you.” She looked around at the battle, which, she noted, was turning very much in the favour of the Selenites. It was as she thought. Much like the ants of Earth, when threatened the Selenites could become quite a formidable force. All they really needed was someone to show them how. Someone like…“Is this your doing?”
For a moment it seemed as if K’chuk did not understand, then he nodded slowly. “Friend Folkard plan. K’chuk make Selenite army.”
Annabelle smiled. “A good job you have done of it, too.” She looked over at the elevator scaffold. “Can you work that thing?”
“Yes, I see men work machine.”
“Brilliant. Would you care to join me? I have to find Nathanial, and free my uncle.”
At first K’chuk did not move, but when he did it appeared to be with great reluctance. “They go to Heart. This bad.”
Annabelle was still unsure what this Heart was, this holy relic of the Selenites, but as she suspected her uncle was up to his neck in it. Sometimes, she reflected, as she and K’chuk advanced on the elevator, Uncle Cyrus needed saving from his own curiosity.
4.
MILLER AND K’ovib drew closer to one of the tents, while Bedford and the rest of the Selenite army proceeded to storm the largest of the tents, gunning down Russians as they did so. A guard stood at the entrance of the tent, his rifle at the ready. He seemed to be itchy, as if unsure whether to join the battle or remain at his post. This, to Miller, indicated that he was guarding something important.
Lieutenant Bedford had not said so, but it was clear his opinion of Miller was incredibly low. Not that Miller could blame his commanding officer. So far he had performed miserably. He had done his best, but he was beginning to realise that he was simply not cut out to be in the Navy. He had wanted to be, to make his parents proud, but he had no stomach for this kind of life.
He could still hear his father, as they visited Camden Market, looking for cheap paints, that a career in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy was something to be proud of. Father would have loved to serve the British Empire, but his gammy leg prevented this. Young Joseph Miller could do all the things his father never could. It was such an imploring speech that Miller had enlisted the next day.
He was determined to prove his worth, at least until this mission was over, then he would seek to be discharged from active duty.
Whatever the guard was protecting, Miller felt sure Bedford would want to know about it.
He and K’ovib now stood at the edge of the tent, hidden from the guard’s line of sight. Beside him the Selenite was making some strange noises. He turned to look, his eyes widening in horror. K’ovib was tensing himself, just like Miller had seen that Selenite in the compound do.
“No!” he hissed quietly. “K’ovib, no. Self sacrifice will not be necessary. I can handle this one man quite efficiently.” At least, he hoped he could.
He peered around the corner. The guard was looking away. Careful not to make any sound on the gravelly ground, Miller edged along the tent, his rifle ready. Just then the guard turned. His mouth dropped open in surprise at the site of the barrel aimed directly at him. The surprise lasted but seconds. The guard quickly brought his own rifle up, but Miller pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Cursing his own stupidity, Miller realised he had forgot to reload his rifle. The Russian started laughing, keeping his own gun trained on Miller’s heart.
Miller just saw red, remembering all those who had laughed at him on the streets of Camden, mocking him because of what he did. As soon as the guard threw back his head in laughter once again, Miller cast his weapon aside, grabbed the barrel of the Russian’s rifle with one hand and struck out with his other. The guard, clearly not expecting a fist in his face, staggered backwards. It was the momentary distraction Miller needed. A second later both men were on the floor, rolling about in the dust and trading blows, the discarded rifles momentarily forgotten.
Unseen by either man the flap of the tent opened and a man in full Navy uniform stepped out. He stood there for a second, three other men emerging behind him, all wearing similar smiles. He glanced back. “Time to repay a few bruises, chaps.”
Two of the men picked up the discarded rifles, reloading Miller’s, while the other two parted the scrapping men on the dusty ground. Miller looked up in surprise, the guard in anger, the barrel of his own rifle, now in the hands of a Navy officer, pressed roughly against his temple. “I advise you to be quiet.”
Miller was helped to his feet.
“Good rescue, Mister Miller,” said the lead officer.
“Uh, thanks, Brooker” Miller said, all sense of formality washed away by the surprise he felt.
“I am assuming you are not leading this rescue?”
“No, Lieutenant Bedford is.”
“Splendid.” Brooker turned to his men. “Tie this one up,” he said, “then we’ll join Lieutenant Bedford in the liberation of this little moon.”
It was at that point that K’ovib emerged from his hiding place. All heads turned to him, the two rifles being raised in unison. Miller stepped in front of them, his hands out.
“No, wait! He’s a friend.”
“A…friend?”
“Well,” Miller clarified, enjoying the look of puzzlement on the faces of his superiors, “a member of Lieutenant Bedford’s army actually.”
5.
BEDFORD LOOKED around. All the men from the command tent, those not dead, were kneeling in a line before him, guns trained on them by the Selenites. On the other side of the reservoir the Selenites also had the upper hand, and the remaining Russian soldiers were being herded together by Platt and the Selenites there.
Bedford could not help but feel a little pride at the way the Selenites had performed. It was little to do with him, of course, but they had proved to be quite an effective army indeed.
A sound alerted him to movement. He turned sharply. There was something in the nearby tunnel. There were no other men to call on, even Miller was off somewhere else, so he had no choice but to check himself. He looked at the Selenites one more time. They did not waver; clearly their Russians captives were going nowhere.
Pulling his Lancaster out of its holster, Bedford advanced on the tunnel carefully. He entered the darkened area, slowly putting one foot in front of the other while his eyes readjusted to the low light. If there was an enemy in there he had no intention of making things easy for…
The cold barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his head.
“Bros orujie,” said a husky voice.
Bedford considered his options. Drop the weapon or attempt something clever and no doubt end up with a bullet in his brain. He released the grip on his pistol and allowed it to fall to the dusty ground. A booted foot came out of the shadow and kicked the gun away.
“Vas Britantsev slishkom legko otvelch. Nemnogo shuma i vas vimanili.” A man walked around him, laughing, the pistol held out steadily. He was about the same height as Bedford, although a slimmer build. There was a scar down the side of his left cheek, emerging from under a black eye patch. “Ti ne vstanesh na puti moyey slavnoy imperii! Mats Rossiya snovo budet velikoy, i ya sdelayu eto vozmojnim!”
Bedford shook his head. “Forgive me, but I simply have no idea what it is you are saying. Russian was not at the top of my list of things to learn,” he pointed out, although he did recognise the insignia on the soldier’s uniform meant he was a poruchik, a lieutenant.
The poruchik lifted the gun so it was pointing directly at Bedford’s head. “Vse Britantsi pogibnut ot ruki Doktor Vladimir Tereshkov!”
Again Bedford shook his head, and this time he smiled with it. “Perhaps not,” he said, and nodded behind the soldier, who just laughed.
“Akh! Ti dumayesh ya tupaya Britanskaya svinya?”
The laughter ceased at the sound of multiple weapons locking into place. This time the poruchik did glance back. It was enough of a mistake for Bedford to take advantage of. He slapped the pistol away from his head, and with his right hand he slammed his fist directly into the man’s face. He fell backwards, dropping the pistol as he did so.
Fifteen carbines were directed at the Russian poruchik.
“Lieutenant Bedford,” Major Larkins of the Royal Marines said with a smile, “we were coming to give Captain Folkard a hand.”
Bedford nodded, noticing with some confusion that Able Seaman Ainsworth stood with the marine compliment. “Well, now you are here, your team can help me clean up the mess in the Russian camp,” Bedford said, and looked down at the Russian. “You lost, old chap, accept it.”
6.
MISTER BROOKER had explained that his men had been captured by the Russians who had outgunned the cutter with their ironclad. He further explained Miller’s marvellous rescue attempt. Bedford was suitably impressed; perhaps the young man would make a good naval officer one day after all.
“Very well, Petty Officer Brooker,” Bedford said, once the report was finished. He turned to Major Larkins. “Major, take your marines, and these men here,” Bedford indicated the cutter crew, “and secure the bottom of that gorge. I believe between myself, Mister Platt and K’ovib we can keep things under control here. We have our Selenite army.”
Larkins smiled at that, saluted, and turned to his men. Orders were given, and the twenty-strong, fully armed garrison from the Sovereign set off in the direction of the gorge.
A shot echoed.
Bedford set off at a run, knowing exactly where the shot had originated. It seemed clear that as the highest ranking soldier, Poruchik Kondrashov was in charge of the Russian okhrana, no doubt ordered to report directly to Tereshkov, and as such it seemed prudent to keep him separated from the rest of the Russians.
Bedford stopped within a foot of the wounded man.
It was as he feared. Bedford truly wanted to believe that young Mister Miller was up to the task of standing guard of a tent. Alas no.
Miller now lay on the dusty ground, the flap of the tent behind him now splattered with his blood. Bedford crouched down, inspecting the gaping wound in Miller’s chest.
Miller coughed, spaying blood in Bedford’s face. “Sorry, sir. Took me by surprise…he…”
“Do not be sorry, Mister Miller, I am certain you did your best.”
Miller shook his head. “No…never wanted this. Wanted to be…” He gasped, more bloody spittle dripping out of his mouth. “Painter,” he finally said, and breathed his last.
7.
BEDFORD SEARCHED for Poruchik Kondrashov, but the lieutenant knew the camp better than he. He eventually stopped by the bore drill, which was no longer active, and watched the Selenites herd more Russians away.
Bedford looked up at the whirring sound. One of the small, one-man aerial flyers was powering up. Bedford smiled and removed his Lancaster, walking forward slowly. He aimed the gun at the man in the flyer cockpit.
Just where did Kondrashov think he was going to go? By now the marines would have secured the gorge. Even the Russian ironclad was trapped, the Sovereign would make sure of that.
“Poruchik!” Bedford shouted above the noise.
As expected Kondrashov looked back, all ready to gloat. The smile never left his face, not even when the bullet smashed through his forehead, dead centre. His body slumped over the controls and the flyer took off, heading straight for the black rocky wall.
“That was for you, Mister Miller. Every shot counts,” Bedford said, as he holstered his gun.