An Atlantean Triumvirate

by C. Craig R. McNeil

  A sharp hiss made Riley turn round to see another one of the eyeless creatures a few yards away, claws clicking on the metal floor as it took a step towards him, all tense and poised to launch itself, back and tail straight and horizontal to the floor, neck pointed forward, jaws agape. Riley tried to raise his Sten in time but with a shriek it was on him knocking his gun aside, leaving him no time to do anything except raise an arm in defence.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Riley saw the cruel curved claws reach forward for his soft belly, saw the slavering jaws snap at his upraised arm, felt himself fall backwards helplessly under the strength of the attack. A moment of brief helplessness flickered through his consciousness before his military training clicked into action. As he fell backwards, he raised his legs and slammed both his feet into the creature’s stomach pushing it up into the air and over his head to smash into the wall behind him with a crack of bone. Leaping to his feet, Riley unsheathed the serrated dagger he carried in his boot and slashed at the Khadrae’s neck, slicing through the jugular vein and scraping against its spine. It was only instinct that made him do this and only after he had killed the animal did he remember with puzzlement that a report from the Ice Base Snowstorm had said that the Khadrae had been almost immune to medical scalpels. He shrugged this thought off quantifying the difference as being down to a heavy commando dagger being superior to a scalpel.

  A scatter of machine gun fire, some singular rifle shots and a shout of triumph told Riley that the last two Khadrae had finally been dealt with. But at what cost? The Khadrae were surrounded by dead or dying policemen. His small force had been decimated before they’d even stepped foot inside the Great Hall. He saw a gleam of triumph in the policemen’s eyes though. They’d taken on the fearsome alien intruders and won. The cost was high but the victory was significant. There was no turning back now.

  Grabbing up his fallen Sten, Riley gestured, telling the remains of his force to follow him. He could hear the crackle of rifle fire and the whistle of ricochets from inside the hall. Sergeant Paddock and his force were in there by themselves. He hoped Murdoch had roped together a passable resistance to assist his now depleted force.

  If Sergeant Paddock’s squad had been ambushed then it had survived magnificently and was currently arranged in two lines beating off an attack by several Khadrae. The Khadrae seemed totally disorganised, attacking at random while others fed on new or old kills. Riley could see the police station where Murdoch was. It was surrounded by a black horde of Khadrae throwing themselves at the door and windows with insane vigour. Policemen lined the roof, precariously balancing themselves on the edge as they took pot shots at the Khadrae milling about below. As Riley watched, a policeman slipped and fell but managed to grab the guttering before he fell to the ground along with his rifle. It wasn’t to any avail. Before his companions could pull him to safety three Khadrae made breathtaking leaps from the ground and grabbed the screaming policeman’s legs with their teeth pulling him down to the ground where his screams were rapidly cut short as the pack of Khadrae dived in to feed on him.

  Riley had had his fill of the Khadrae. All they ever seemed to do was kill unnecessarily, kill for the thrill, kill his men and fellow citizens. The thought disgusted Riley, a seasoned veteran soldier, who only killed when there was a need, when there was no other way and only for the good of the Empire. He’d never forgiven the Khadrae for Rafferty, Black, Miller and Philips. All good men, all who died unnecessarily. All with wives whom Riley had to write to and tell them that they would never see their husbands again, that they had died bravely in battle in the service of the Empire and that he offered his condolences.

  “Form ranks!” Riley yelled, Johnston looking over quizzical at the rage in his voice that ensured his order was obeyed in double quick time.

  “Johnston, take the left, I’ll take the right. Paddock needs help. Murdoch will have to wait for just now.”

  “Forward! Quick march!” Riley finished off, checking around him for threats other than the two main Khadrae hordes. There were plenty and a few were taking interest in the two ranks of men quick marching towards the battle.

  The scene was surreal, Riley thought. The entire Great Hall was warmly lit by the great lamps that shone overhead and down the sides of the dome. The grey stone buildings were tinged a pleasant yellow from the light and were covered with brightly coloured banners. Union Jacks hung limply from flagpoles above the bank and the police station. It was a scene of serenity, like a picture postcard from Brighton. But the once tranquil air was cut and sliced and shredded by the screams, screeches and cries of the Khadrae, that black mass of demons that had ascended from Hell to attack this British haven, to cover it with blood

  “Halt!” cried Riley. They were only a few tens of yards from the Khadrae attacking Paddock’s squad. The Khadrae were oblivious to Riley’s squad of men and they paid for it as salvo after salvo from the massed rifles slammed into them decimating their ranks within scant seconds. A cheer rose up from the policemen.

  What the bloody hell is that great big fool doing? Playing bloody games like a tin pot dictator with his model soldiers. Didn’t he realise people were dying here? Murdoch had blood trickling from nasty cut on his forehead where a broken pane of glass had sliced the skin. Murdoch counted himself lucky. The Khadrae that had crashed through the window had slipped and impaled itself on a larger broken glass pane, conveniently blocking the window and preventing its peers from gaining immediate access. They’d had to abandon the ground floor of the police station after that though. It was too dangerous.

  The Khadrae had finally broken down the main door after the hinges gave way under the repeated battering of bodies against it. The stairway up to the first floor was blocked by broken desks and chairs that had been set alight. The smoke poured up through the police station causing eyes to sting and water but it was the only way to keep the Khadrae at bay even if it would only be for just a short while. The superintendent was dead, a victim of his own arrogance. He’d refused to believe the Khadrae could jump all the way up to the first floor and had put his head out the window to see for himself. There had a been a short, startled scream almost like a squeal and then his headless body had fallen back into the room.

  Murdoch was on the roof along with everyone else. A few men remained on the first floor to defend the staircase when the time came. The policemen were exhausted and stricken with terror. The Khadrae had long since stopped their gruesome feeding and were attacking everything that moved. They had limited ammunition so Murdoch had ordered them to stop taking random pot shots and only shoot when they were guaranteed a kill. They’d long since given even that up as there were just too many Khadrae. They’d watched helplessly as the Khadrae had broken into the nearby pub and brutally murdered everyone who had taken refuge in there. Bodies were dragged out into the street and set upon by the ravenous creatures, scattering blood and bone far and wide. They heard women screaming in pain, the barmaids, someone had said and Murdoch had had a hell of time stopping some of the policemen from running over to help the women. It had helped when the screaming stopped but it still rang in Murdoch’s ears, going on and on. Morale had dropped dramatically after that when the men had realised there was nothing they could do to stop the slaughter.

  The Khadrae milled about the police station like a black sea trying to erode away the stone walls of the building. If only I had a grenade, Murdoch wished, then that would even up the odds. He watched Riley manoeuvre his troops into place, two small squads of policemen armed with rifles. Murdoch prayed it would be enough. Riley seemed to be trying for a pincer movement, trying to catch the Khadrae in a crossfire to cause maximum casualties… What the hell…? A woman had just run out from a Nardini’s ice cream shop two doors up from the police station. She gave a frightened look at the Khadrae and ran as fast as she could towards Riley’s men.

  “No!” shouted Murdoch leaping to his feet and nearly slipping off the sloped roof as he waved frantically at
the woman. “Get back!”

  The woman either ignored him or didn’t hear him as she continued running, her long skirts flapping around her legs. Oh God, she’s got a baby with her, thought Murdoch as he saw the bundle that the woman was clutching to her chest.

  Some of the Khadrae heard the sound of running and turned towards the woman, tails erect, heads forward, screaming their heart stopping cries. And then they started to run in their long loping gait, sickle like claws clicking against the metal floor.

  “You men! Take those Khadrae down!” Murdoch ordered pointing towards the pack of creatures that were rapidly gaining on the terrified woman.

  Glad of something to do all the policemen took careful aim and squeezed off several rounds, each bringing down numerous squealing Khadrae but it wasn’t enough.

  “Riley!” Murdoch screamed at the distant figure. “Keep firing!” he added hoarsely to the policemen.

  Another barrage of shots sounded out but the policemen weren’t soldiers and their fire wasn’t accurate and only a couple more of the Khadrae fell. They had nearly reached the terrified fugitive and the woman was too far from Riley for him to aid her even if he noticed.

  “I’m going down,” barked Murdoch. “You men stay here and keep firing. Don’t hit the woman for God’s sake.” And with that Murdoch leapt across the short gap onto the grocers roof, stumbled but caught himself and ran over to the gable end before jumping down on to the roof of the gaily coloured ice cream shop which was only a single storey high. Murdoch heard a shrill cry of terror from the woman and saw her weaving around overturned market stalls in a desperate attempt to throw off the nearing Khadrae. As Murdoch watched the creatures bounded over the stalls almost snagging their prey.

  The policemen were keeping up a good rate of fire, taking their time and not wasting bullets. Several more Khadrae had fallen but it was not going to be enough. It was going to be too late. Despair clasped a bony hand tightly around Murdoch’s heart as he leapt down to the ground and ran as fast as he had ever run, determined to catch the Khadrae and prevent another wasteful murder. He hoped Riley had noticed and was doing something about it. Riley could be cold hearted and put the needs of the many over the needs of the few.

  A bullet whistled past him ricocheting off the floor. Then he heard the screech behind him cut short as the policemen found their mark. Concentrate on the woman! Don’t mind me! Oh no… The Khadrae had stopped. There must be at least ten of them. Murdoch fired from the hip and two Khadrae fell as the Lee Enfield .303 calibre bullets crashed through their bodies. Murdoch pulled the trigger again but felt only a hollow empty soul destroying click. He’d run out of bullets. And he was too late - far far too late. Murdoch felt both sick and angry at the same time, felt the rage boil its way up from his stomach, up through his chest onto his face. He swung the rifle round butt first, using it as a club, shattering the jaw of one of the Khadrae, batting another one aside, breaking the skull of another. The Khadrae stepped back from the ferocious human, jaws agape hissing quietly, unused to being attacked by such a puny specimen.

  They stepped back from the bloody remains of the woman they’d caught so easily, her desperate run for survival doomed to failure from the moment she’d left the relative safety of the ice cream shop. She lay face down, her back a jumble of red blood, white cotton dress and deep crimson entrails. The baby was nowhere to be seen but a red smear nearby provided clues to its fate. The sharp iron smell of fresh blood filled Murdoch’s nostrils.

  Tears of rage spilled down Murdoch’s face as he viewed the scene. The Khadrae circled him warily, still unsure of what sort of enemy they faced. Without thinking, Murdoch leapt at the nearest one bringing his makeshift cudgel round so fast it whistled through the air. Despite his speed the Khadrae was faster, hopping backwards before lashing out at the off balance man slicing flesh on Murdoch’s thigh. Murdoch barely noticed, throwing a left hook that connected with satisfying solidness to the thing's jaw.

  A sudden jolt hurled Murdoch to the ground sending him sprawling and making him see stars as he banged his head on the ground. He could feel sharp claws digging deep into his back as he struggled to rise, blood filling his mouth causing him to choke painfully. A redness filled his vision and he couldn’t feel anything any more. A rushing noise filled his ears and the floor slowly rose to meet him. Murdoch marvelled at the detail he could see. The rivets on the rough metal stood out starkly. The scratches on them were so clear, so deep, like canyons in fact. Murdoch collapsed to the ground and over the rush of blood in his ears he heard the repeated cracks of rifle fire. He hoped the cavalry would be on time. His vision telescoped and he fell headlong into the canyon like scratches.

  Senator Donaghue was absolutely blazing with rage. The anger tangibly radiated from the man so that it filled the luxurious suite, creating a hostile and tense atmosphere that could be cut by a blunt knife. The senator had displayed his hostility to their British hosts with a directness that bordered on stupidity. It wasn’t a good idea to argue heatedly with a man like Captain Riley, especially when he was carrying a Sten sub machine gun and pointing it their way. Special Agent Connors didn’t fancy tangling with men like Riley and the Nightshade soldiers. He had no doubt who would win, of course, but the collateral damage would be high. In the end, it had taken the intervention of Connors and the British Governor, Mitchell, to calm the situation. Governor Mitchell was extremely apologetic and assured the senator that they were being confined to quarters for their own safety. The scowl on Riley’s face said otherwise but Donaghue had calmed down a bit, especially when he realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the granite like cliff that was Captain Riley.

  Connors watched Donaghue stalk around the suite from the mahogany door of the bathroom, across the red carpet past the huge plush brown leather couch, past the ceiling high bookcases full of beautiful leather bound novels and over to the double doors leading to the master bedroom, before retracing his path back to the bathroom door.

  The rest of the American party had been confined to their own quarters so there was no one for Donaghue to talk to. Secret Service agents didn’t really count as someone to talk to. They were background features, nothing more, there to protect important people from America’s enemies and there were enough of them.

  Connors still had his radio link to the other members of the Secret Service team and had taken some time to discuss the situation with them. Agent Greene had overheard talk of a massacre in the Great Hall. This tallied with Governor Mitchell saying they were locked up for their own safety but Agent Simmons was sure the blame was being put on the American party for the massacre. No one had been able to contact the USS Abraham Lincoln, which was hardly surprising considering several hundreds of fathoms of water separated it from New Atlantis. Connors wondered how the lone battleship was faring against the massed British dreadnaughts.

  Connors pondered over his escape plan. Who would they leave behind? Senators Donaghue and Polanksi were the number one people here. General Bartlett was part of the military attaché so officially Connors didn’t have to deal with him but he doubted the folks back home would see it that way though so Bartlett would have to come too. Everyone else was expendable.

  The door to the suite was a steel airlock with a mahogany veneer locked shut from outside. It was the only sensible way out. Connors doubted that Donaghue would fit into the ventilation shaft. Connors wondered how long it would take him to punch though the door if he had to.

  Donaghue finally noticed Connors and realised he had someone to vent his impatience on to.

  “How can you just sit there so goddamn patiently?” Donaghue asked irritatedly.

  Connors cleared his throat before answering. “There’s nothing we can do at this moment in time sir. There’s no point getting worked up about things.”

  Donaghue huffed at that, recognising the common sense in the Secret Service man’s approach but refusing to have anything to do with it.

  “This is a typical back stabbing
British tactic. They’re trying to put the frighteners on us, trying to bully us until we accede to their demands. Well we won’t be bullied, we won’t give in, we’ll fight them all the way.” Donaghue’s voice was getting higher and higher as he ranted on and on.

  This coming from the man who has been ordered to concede to all of Britain’s demands and make peace as quickly as possible. Connors might have to have a word with Senator Polanski. The Brits had made a serious mistake if they thought the hard approach would make Donaghue give more away.

  “There is the possibility that the British have a genuine security alert. If that is the case then the best place for us is in our rooms where we are safe and out of the way. That’s what I would do.”

  “Oh, that’s what you would do is it? This is the world of politics, son. You mind your own business and leave the thinking to me.”

  What an ungrateful prick, Connors thought being careful to maintain a neutral expression.

  Donaghue stopped his pacing and looked at the agent thoughtfully as it dawned on him that Connors still had his radio link to the other agents.

  “Do you know something?” Donaghue asked.

  “Only speculation sir.”

  Donaghue waited briefly until it was clear Connors wasn’t going to be more forthcoming.

  “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “You only had to ask sir,” replied Connors as Donaghue searched his face suspiciously looking for a sign that Connors was taking the piss out of him.

  Connors explained, “Agent Greene overheard two of the British policemen saying that a massacre had taken place in the Great Hall of New Atlantis. As I said, there’s a good chance we’re only here for our own safety. However, Agent Simmons has reason to think that the USA is being blamed for the events. At this stage we are not yet sure why this is the case.”

  “Because the Limeys are egoistical bigots that’s why,” said Donaghue picking up a book and flopping heavily onto a well padded leather seat.