His gaze engages everyone present one at a time.
“Will you, be able to face your wife, mother, or daughter, and be able to admit to having shirked your duty when Mother Earth needed you most?”
Many of those that partook of the day’s hard combat look down at their feet. They kick the ground in half hearted scuffs, remembering the long, tragic day and night, and the awful loss that was suffered.
“You have all fought bravely today, but is that all you’ve got? For those of us that have sworn to defeat these enemies of Man, a realization has come. Yonder foe believeth that Man is defeated. They slake their abominable thirst on our brethren. Now, whilst our enemies are least expectant, our plan is to strike!”
Skeptical murmurings pass through the assembled group.
“Nothing built of this Earth can stand against the monsters. Therefore, our plan is to capture one or more of their craft, and to turn it against its fellows.”
Optimistic murmurings pass through the assembled group.
“But this task requires the grit and tenacity of this fateful team of Earth’s final defenders.”
Sir Paul now stands. He slowly assumes his great height and magnificent stature. He radiates strength and vitality. This is a man that I and others would proudly follow into the worst kind of danger.
From beneath the shelf of a heavily knotted brow, he takes each man and woman’s measure.
“Will you be able to face the mirror’s knowing eyes, when this sacred planet required just a little more from you?”
Sir Paul takes a breath letting his words sink into the reluctant heroes. His dramatic timing is a beauty to behold.
“Or,” he hisses in a loud and vigorous whisper, “shall you grow the backbone that you have always hoped dwelt within? Now is the true time of reckoning. I ask, are you going to forsake your holy trust?”
“No!” return several of the fellows at hand.
So too, Miss Plumtartt. She gives me a purposeful jab in the ribs, and meaningfully jerks her head towards Sir Paul, when I fail to join in with the returning call.
“My fellow countrymen! These villains have taken that which we hold most dear! I ask again, are you the ones that shall fail in this time of need?”
“No!” I call in an especially loud voice, just to make sure Miss Plumtartt knows I am on board, and in full support of Sir Paul’s recruitment efforts.
Sir Paul beckons to a set of grungy dragoons.
“Will you fight one more battle tonight to save our dear planet?”
“Yes,” we rejoin! My mates are quite stirred up, now.
Sir Paul leaps to another set of bedraggled citizenry.
“Will you make your loved ones proud?”
“Yes!” Many of the fellows have been moved to an unexpected degree; tears run down their patriotic cheeks.
Holding his hands up high with fingers outstretched, Sir Paul spins in an all encompassing embrace of his brothers and sisters in arms.
“Will, ... you, … follow, ... muh-eeee!!!”
“Ye-e-e-e-essss!!!”
“I say, what was a few minutes ago, a ragtag rabble of weary and defeated troops, are now the emboldened force of an army to be reckoned with. We burn with the fire of retribution. We shall not fail in our chosen task.”
“No Ma’am.”
“Let our expeditionary force retake our Capital.”
“Everybody keep quiet as we select the fastest craft amongst the wreckage of the shoreline.”
“There ain’t no sign of our enemies, other than a few shadows from deep within our nation’s Capital.”
“Ah, then as our commando force makes land unopposed, we shall move stealthily toward the source of our discontent.”
“Oh my, on the Mall, on Madison Avenue, our Martian menace makes mean merriment.”
“To this point, our approach is surreptitious. Let us gain a position to make better observations, as so far, we remain unnoticed.”
“We have made visual contact with the enemy, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Two Martian war craft are standing. The other two have withdrawn their legs telescopically, bringing the central carriage low enough to the ground to employ the access ladders to the under works’ hatchway.”
“The standing towers are the sonic cannon mounted machines. The machines that are low to the ground with their legs retracted are the West Virginia, green blaster mounted models.”
“Looks like the two standing towers are on sentry duty. It is imperative that we go unseen.”
“I say, apparently, these boys have brought their own artificial campfire, eh hem? The pulsating, eerie green light adds an atmosphere of unreality to our rubble strewn environment. It is almost as if it is we who are on an alien planet.”
“Dang, y’all, that scary green light is casting frightening shadows on the broken walls of this once proud city.”
“The gruesome beasts do wear grotesque growths upon their backs. The feast from earlier tonight is quickly paying dividends for the reproductive processes of these inhuman monsters.”
“It don’t slow ’em down worth a lick, Sir Paul. They are cavorting around, stomping their feet and waving their three hands in the air, having a good old time. It’s like they stole our Fourth of July celebration.”
“You know, Icky, you’re right. If I did not know better, I’d say those ugly monsters were dancing around that artificial campfire of theirs.”
Stomp, stomp. Stomp, stomp. Stomp.
Stomp, stomp. Stomp, stomp. Stomp.
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
Stompity-stompity-stompity-stompity-stomp!
This is accompanied by:
Clap, clap. Clap, clap. Clap.
Clap, clap. Clap, clap. Clap.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Clappity-clappity-clappity-clappity-clap!
Over and over, the numbing mantra drones on.
“Sure is repetitious, ain’t it? I betcha they want some drums to accompany them, but they had to leave them back home on Mars.”
Left, right. Left, right. Rear.
Left, right. Left, right. Rear.
Rear! Rear! Rear!
Rear! Rear! Rear!
Tappity-tappity-tappity-tappity-rear!
“Oh, my, I hear their terrible voices lifted up in frightful song!”
“Gnarf, gnish. Gnarf, gnish. Gnash.”
“Gnish, gnash. Gnish, gnash. Gnarf.”
“Gnarf! Gnarf! Gnarf!”
“Gnash! Gnash! Gnash!”
“Gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnarfity-gnish!”
(Eat, flesh. Eat flesh. Feast.)
(Flesh, feast. Flesh, feast. Eat.)
(Eat! Eat! Eat!)
(Feast! Feast! Feast!)
(gobbling-flesh-gobbling-flesh-gobbling-flesh-gobbling-flesh-feast!)
“I’m kinda glad we can’t understand what they’re singing about, y’all.”
“I say, let us hastily devise a plan. I propose that we split our forces. We will need a strong diversion, if and when our main force achieves the two grounded targets of opportunity. I agree with Mr. Temperance’s assessment that once entry into the vehicle is made, that it is he who is the most likely to be able to operate the terrible device. As these tripods very likely require three limbs in their animation, two sets of two person teams shall be the order. Mr. Temperance and I in one, and Sir Paul, along with Valuria in the other.”
“The larger diversionary force shall need to gain the attention and hopefully pursuit of the two standing behemoths from Alabama. It is hoped that with everyone devoid of any metal upon their person, that the effects of the lavender ray shall be nullified. It is their sonic cannon that are the primary danger. It is to be hoped that Miss Nightingale’s song will keep the detrimental vibrations at bay.”
“How are we to cause this ‘diversion’?”
“You shall be required to improvise. Do try to avoid the tentacles. These devils may still be hungry.”
“No one enjoys the thought of gettin’ ‘ett, Ma’am.”
“Everyone move into position.”
“We shall get as close to the singing and stomping artificial camp fire lit monsters as we dare. I believe we have given our sister forces time to get into their places.”
A soft whippoorwill call comes to us across Madison Avenue.
I softly answer the call.
“Okay, our comrades know to be watching what transpires here at the campfire, and to react at the appropriate time. They will follow our cue.”
Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Bump.
Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Bump.
Bump! Bump! Bump!
Bump! Bump! Bump!
Bumpity-bumpity-bumpity-bumpity-bump!
“Ichabod, you and I must get in rhythm with the dancing Martians. We must be synchronous in our assault.”
“Yessir!”
Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Bump.
Bump, bump. Bump, bump. Bump.
Bump! Bump! Bump!
Bump! Bump! Bump!
Bumpity-bumpity-bumpity-bumpity-Strike!
...with expert timing does Earth’s counter-attack begin.
“Take that you vile violator, you! And that, and that, and that!”
“Suffer Earth’s retribution with this improvised club at the hand of Sir Paul Whitmore!”
“I’m gonna wail the tar outta you, Mr. Martian Man! Yee-haw, you sure can holler!”
“Flargle! Farfle Fuegin! Snarf!”
“Blast it, these fellows grow wise. Our blows of corporal punishment find fewer targets.”
“It’s those dang old third hands up on top. They got an edge on blocks.”
“The diversionary force is in action. They are successfully diverting the.. Hey!”
“Watch out Sir Paul, he’s got your club... Hey! Let go of my club, dang it! Ugh, now I gotta come to grips with grappling this green, grody, goblin. Gross!”
“Gag! I had forgotten how bad these awful monsters stink! Ee-eww, yuck, the texture of his skin is so sticky, yet he is so squirmy beneath the surface.”
“Conquer that beast, Ichabod!”
“Yessir, I’m trying, but he’s going berserk in an attempt to get a hold of me, um, to which he does. There ain’t no way I can hold this fiendish thrice armed foe that he cannot reach me from an unexpected angle. Quit trying to bite me, you hungry jerk!”
“If he bites you, you must return the favour, Ichabod.”
“Ee-ew, gross.”
“For Heaven’s sake, squirm your wiry frame into advantage, boy.”
“Yessir, I’m squirmy by nature and I done plenty of wrasslin’ with my pals. I’m pretty adept at working a painful joint manipulation technique. There we go; I’m able to gain leverage on him, despite the fact that I have to overcome his double, double elbows. Ah heck, as fast as I get one joint locked out, Mr. Bitey-face has locked onto me in some other devious manner. I think me and you are doing some kind of impromptu Martial tango, Mr. Martian. Ha! Gotcha! I’ve got your left arm with my arms, and on the other side of your disgusting back growth, I have your right arm trapped with my feet. That top hand can’t get to me well enough to do any harm.”
“I hear the diversionary group, Ichabod. They have successfully led the sentries away!”
“Oh my Goodness, I hear the sonic cannons powering up.”
Whumm-whumm. Whumm-whumm.
*{{{{AAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!}}}}}*
The clear note of Miss Clarabelle Nightingale fills the fallen city’s mall.
*{{{{ - - - - - - - - - - - - !!!!!!!}}}}}*
The clear note of silence en-wraps us.
“Hurry and defeat your foe, boy, time is of the essence!”
“Yessir. If my opponent was two legged, I would throw him to the back of his head. As it is, my his three legged, stance is completely immobile.”
“I can’t see you, Ichabod; you are on the wrong side.”
“Sorry, Sir Paul, I got both my arms wrapped around his left, and my legs grape-vined around his right. This rascal’s extra elbow makes the wrist into hammer lock/arm bar I have cinched in extra painful, but that is as far as I’ve gotten. I’m at a stand-off with this critter and that don’t do us nary no good, Sir Paul. We gotta hurry and defeat these guys so we can capture at least one of these walking boats!”
“Do something, boy; this ne’er do well is proving to be an obstinate fellow.”
“Yessir, I’m trying. I am stretched out across his back and over the large disgusting growth. I feel it squirming desperately under my tummy. I know it would rip through and get me if it could. I know this because that is what it is trying to do. I can feel the interior monster scrabbling to get at me. I can feel his mouth, gnawing its way through the skin.”
“Maybe I can encourage my stallion to turn so I can get a better look at how you are faring. Oh, I see, you ain’t faring too well, are you?”
“No, you silly fool!”
“You all are like two gigantic Nipponese wrasstlers. Whatcha call ‘em, Tsumers? Y’all are locked together like battling billy goat gruffs, in a big ol’ bear hug!”
“Fall before the wrath of Whitmore!”
“Gee, each of y’all is a monster in his own right, Sir Paul. You better keep your head ducked beneath that arm, Sir Paul. That sucker is snapping away with all he’s got to bite into you with his rows of long, vicious teeth.”
“Of course, you silly twit!”
“Eep. Sorry. Can you throw him?”
“What do you think I’m trying to do? The blasted creature’s three legged stance confounds my efforts! Never has a foe enjoyed such a wide and stable base. The devil enjoys an incredible advantage in leverage over my two-legged terran stance. Blast it, now the devil means to throw mmm-eeeeeeeeee!”
“Oh my goodness, you have thrown mighty Sir Paul to the ground! Eep! Look out, Sir Paul, he means to stomp you!”
“Yay, though the terrible, non-terran toad attempts to tromp my great head, your hero narrowly rolls out of the way.”
“Hooray, that’s the way to come up swinging! Those wild, roundhouse haymakers are finding their mark! If this were boxing, a commentator might be heard to remark that: “Sir Paul’s mighty blows drive the monster back! He’s got him on the ropes! Ooh, until that damnable top hand grabs Sir Paul on top of the head! What an unfortunate turn of events this is. As Marvin ‘the Marvelous’ Martian holds Sir Paul at bay by the top of his head, the ‘Marvelous One’ reigns, with left and right arms raining a torrential downpour of pummeling punches into the plucky, pugilistic, protagonist, whilst the poor man must use his own arms to hold the eager, big sharp tooth-laden mouth away.”
“Shut up, you fool, unless you can say something helpful!”
“Sir Paul! Hold and spin! His hand! Hold it in place and spin! The wrist lock will protect you from the teeth!”
“The light of understanding dawns as I take your meaning.”
The combative thespian releases one hand from holding the monster at bay. Resorting to using a single arm as a post of safety, the other holds the creature’s grip in place on his head. Putting all the leverage of the move upon the fully engaged wrist of the monster, Sir Paul spins quickly in place, maintaining the point of contact on his forehead as the axis of the rotation. The monster has no choice but to follow with desperate velocity to forebear ruined joints in an involuntary exercise of self preservation.
“Flargle!”
“What ho! Ha, ha! A most satisfying scream doth our creature cry, as he performs an admirable three hundred and sixty degree turn high in the air before landing heavily in a heap. Verily, it must have been a rough landing indeed, forsooth the Martian appears to be knocked out cold.”
“Gosh, Sir Paul, you sure do wear an aura of invincibility.”
“Agreed.”
“I think I saw a small device on the bottom of the warcraft’s fuselage turn toward you, Sir Paul. I get the impression that it is a camera, of some kind.”
“I have no time fo
r the paparazzi now, for as you have our smiley friend stretched out for me, I wish to grant him my blessings.”
“Dang, Sir Paul, you sure did reply with one big heaping helping of Earth’s hospitality.”
“Ichabod! Sir Paul! Help!”
“Oh my goodness, Miss Plumtartt and Miss Englehart! The first Martian has recovered from his blows and is climbing the ladder of his war craft! You girls ran in to grab and thus dangle from two of his three legs where you have tried to forestall the creature’s untimely escape by clinging to his grotesque weight!”
“Do something, Mr. Temperance!”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
“Hah! I arrive before you, Ichabod, to take the third leg! Good thing, that since you look as if you barely outweigh a sack of sugar, where I on the other hand, without an ounce of fat on my thickly built thespian frame, tip the scales at closer to three bills, than two.”
“Yessir! You are a lot of ham to have hanging off that leg.”
“Hey!”
“Oops! I mean, you’re the better man for the job. Poor old Miss Plumtartt and Valuria are just flapping in the wind, while you hold your leg nice and taut.”
“Mr. Temperance?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, can I help you? By the way, I am relieved to see that you are wearing your over-the-elbow gloves as is your wont, and are spared the distasteful pleasure of contact with the Martian’s repulsive and foul skin.”
“I say, being snapped and shaken about, several feet up in the air, is not normally within my parameter of experience.”
“No Ma’am, you maintain your composure remarkably well.”
“Er, thank you, though, if I may be so bold as to suggest, you would do well, sir, to secure the other vessel while we are otherwise occupied.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
*danger!*
The ‘sense’ of ‘danger’, not the word, flashes through my mind like a fireworks starburst.
My heart is clutched in a nameless sense of dread.
*listen. danger. coming.*
It’s Bolt! In a psychic connection, Bolt is trying to warn not just me, but everybody, that something bad is coming.
Bolt lets loose a few warning barks, and then falls silent.
I am just reaching the foot of the ladder to the alien war machine. I pause to listen. Faintly, but growing stronger, I hear something.
For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) Page 13