by Jeffrey Cook
Sir James Coltrane,
newly made Baronet of the Realm, Defender of our Mother Country against the aggressions of the World in the recent war of all European nations, will be exhibiting his invention, the near miraculous Mechanical Battle Suit in Hyde Park, this Friday, Saturday, and Monday, so that the Citizens of England may see the Hero of Waterloo in Action!
~ Sir James has stated he will launch from his custom modified Airship, The Dame Fortuna, directly to the ground!
~ Watch this Giant, 9-foot, Steam-Powered behemoth Walk like a man, Run as fast as horse, and even Jump higher than houses.
~ Ladies be warned, he will exhibit the powerful rockets built into the suit, the overwhelming firepower he took to the enemy.
~ And one of our own brave veteran marksmen will fire at him, showing how bullets dare not pierce the suit.
~ See the pure strength of the metal man in person. Watch him bend iron rods, and sign autographs with the same hand.
~ Be there, dear reader, to see the talk of the town. Don't be the only member of your acquaintance to not see this Oxford wonder!
~ It is a day your children will tell their grandchildren about. Be there for history!
Editor's note:
Dear reader, I am quite certain that the concept of such an invention as the Coltrane steam-powered monster fills even the most educated modern mind with doubt, as nothing of the sort has ever been reproduced. However, as you can see from the photographic record included herein, as well as historical record of the Napoleonic wars with the continent, Coltrane's work, including the mechanical marvel described, is a matter of historical record.
Even should you doubt Mr. Watts's journalistic integrity, which I assure you, you should not, there is evidence from many reliable sources in the past to assure that at one time such a thing was a reality. Certainly, the world has advanced in leaps and bounds in recent decades. Steam-powered vehicles have become commonplace and machines of war have begun seeing ever greater advancement. But these leaps have their roots firmly entrenched in wonders past. While the world of 1815 was dark and primitive by today's standards, it had its wonders which even our most advanced science now struggles to explain.
– Dr. Cordelia Bentham-Watts
February 16th, 1815,
----shire, Southern England
Dear Sir,
As I have been instructed to do, I have begun my writing when encountering that which I consider extraordinary. Though I know the intent was to pen such correspondence upon reaching unknown shores and darkest reaches, I have encountered such an element as needs documenting within our very own home of England. As I am certain you are most curious about my traveling companions, or those whom I hope to travel with, I feel that I must document today's adventure.
With your trusted servant Mr. Toomes in attendance, we traveled to the location provided to us as to where we would find Sir James, himself. Though we found him not at the club for young men of station and monies, Mr. Toomes did entreat me to carefully look upon a small group of fellows gathered in one corner. At the time I was uncertain what concerned him, and he bade me not look too long, but he seemed quite certain they were up to some ill. In walking close to their table, I came to hear some hint of foreign accents, well disguised, but nonetheless present as the men spoke. I believe I picked out traces of both French and German. In this day and age, this is a poor sign. Though travel across the waters between ourselves and our mainland neighbors is watched quite closely there have nevertheless, been rumors for some time of men successfully breaching those defenses, as well as some natives of our own fair shores with sympathies for those who attempted to steal that which we have created through our own brightest minds and great labors.
When I assured Mr. Toomes that I had heard some hint of this, he agreed with my assessment and bade me follow them from some distance when they left. He was quite curious how such as they came to attend such an establishment, and he would remain behind to try to gain some understanding of who sponsored them to attend, for surely they were not men of society, but merely knew someone with the proper connections as to gain attendance. I fully admit to nervousness, but wishing to prove myself worthy of the tasks given to me and of the esteem granted me by assigning me such a task, I did as I was bade.
I am certain they were worried for being followed, for their path twisted and turned throughout the town, and I admit that I lost them entirely on not one, but three occasions, but each time found some hint solid enough to put me back on their trail, twice through my own device and doggedness, and once through sheer fortune. Indeed, the latter may be owed somewhat to my time with Mr. Toomes. His presence has so accustomed to me to certain scents that I was able to find the proper path by following the scent of a smoke not particularly common to this region, but which hung strongly upon one of these men. Without such experience as the past few days have provided, I am quite certain I would have taken no notice of such a thing.
In any case, as I should have guessed, their path led eventually to the local military supply depot. As you are well aware, while the country begins to prepare itself for the postwar era, many of these dirigible supply stations still exist, awaiting demolition or transition to a peacetime purpose. In this case, as in many, one of the decommissioned airships was in attendance. (3) It seems that these gentlemen had timed their raid with some foreknowledge, for the ship, while tethered to the ground, was amidst a test of its systems and looked fully inflated and ready to return to service. I am uncertain why we continue to test these vehicles. Perhaps it is simply some nostalgia among those who have recently served, continuing to tend these wondrous vehicles until such time as another purpose is found for them, or they are put out of service.
In any case, these brigands knew not only when this test would be taking place, but precisely the rotation of the guards, who after the considerable months which have passed since war's end, certainly saw no reason to suspect any such problem. As such, they quickly found their way through the defenses of this small station at the edge of town.
While I knew well I should cry out and warn the base, I found myself hesitating, for I had grown so close that such a deed would surely put them on me before the raiders could be dealt with. It was only when the last of them had disappeared from sight past the outermost perimeter that I found my voice and raised an alarm, shouting that intruders had entered the depot. This did not raise the attention I had originally hoped. A guard called 'Who goes there?' as one might imagine they have done far too many times, almost as if he was bored of it. I shouted my name, and repeated that intruders were within the base. It took precious seconds before he deigned answer me, only to ask if I was given to drinking.
At this point, there was some bustle deeper in the confines of the buildings, as I imagined soldiers began to concern themselves with the noise. When I attempted to rush in to make certain they understood the urgency of my words, I was quite quickly restrained and questioned repeatedly. I am certain that this opera could have gone on for considerable time longer, but a shot rang out from the building to which the airship was tethered. Moving along with a small crowd now, I rushed for that building without any further hesitation, hoping we would not be too late.
Tragically, we were just that, as one man in guardsman's uniform lay quite still, and another lay groaning, clutching at a wound which I have since been told would prove fatal. I still mourn for those young men, ashamed that I had not done more to save them in my own struggle to put voice to an alarm and my inability to explain myself in such a fashion as to not paint myself the villain.
The guardsmen and I rushed into the building to find flickers of light ascending a staircase. As the first bold man rushed after the hints of motion and sounds from above, he was shot at close range by one of the men I had been following. Happily, I understand that he will survive, but may never have the use of his left arm again. Regardless, eventually with some exchange of gunfire, we were able to give chase, only to find that the doorways to the roof had bee
n breached, and three men with guns had quite substantial cover and guns trained upon our small party – after all, no one in these days expects to come upon such dangers in England, and few would think anyone insane enough to attempt to raid one of our military institutions. It seems we may not be quite so safe as we thought, and perhaps I might venture to say this location was somewhat undermanned.
Amidst this stand off, I became aware of a great deal of noise outside, like nothing I had ever heard. Had some alert gone up, I'd have expected shouting or perhaps gunfire, but it was nothing of that sort. Rather, it was a tremendous crash, repeated time and again. The men we were facing off with picked up on it as well not long after I did. From my vantage point, I saw glances exchanged, and heard unintelligible but clearly urgent words. Had I not been so distracted by this new oddity, I might have gotten off a clean shot, but I, and the men with me, were as distracted and dumbstruck as the men breaking in.
We would not have to wait long for an answer. Before our opponents had quite gotten over their confusion long enough to break and run, a giant metallic fist tore through the wall very near to them. More of the thick wooden structure was pulled away to make room for the rest of the machine attached to the fist. I am certain that you are well-aware of Sir James Coltrane's wondrous machine-suit, but I feel no story I have yet heard does justice to seeing it in person.
After Sir James tore away sufficient wall, he pulled himself through the gap and into the room, though the suit had to stoop somewhat within the confines of the roof. The men we had chased this far panicked at that point, and opened fire upon it. I heard the sounds of the ricochets, with the shots slowing Coltrane's mechanical monster not in the least. As he reached their fortified position, he knocked the first man's hard cover aside as if the storage crates weighed nothing, and hefted the man in one hand and discarded him like a child might a doll. I have not inquired after the man's condition, for my own sanity perhaps, but am quite certain that if he somehow survived, he will never be the same. It is not easy to see in England that which one had become accustomed to on battlefields in France. One of the others surrendered straight away, while his fellow fled up the stairs.
Unable to follow directly, Coltrane lost some time in returning out the hole in the wall the giant had created and climbing the remains of the building. My courage bolstered by such reinforcement, or perhaps my curiosity getting the better part of my sense, I left the awestruck and huddled men in my company and raced up the stairs.
There I found that the remains of the company of brigands had found the means to ascend to the airship, and were engaged with the crew of that ship. They had secured the ladder and pulled it up, and it seemed for one heartbreaking moment it would be entirely up to the brave but likely surprised crew and a few engineers to protect one of England's military vessels and the secrets of flight with it.
This was not to be, however. For though he appeared thwarted, the metal monster pointed an arm skyward. There was a crack like thunder and a small flash of light from a barrel along one arm of Coltrane's creation. Something exploded above us, and two fellows I recognized from their garb as being among the would-be thieves fell from the dirigible. Unable to draw another safe line of fire, Coltrane crouched down. From the legs of the suit there were sudden rushes of steam and sparks, and a metallic groan as springs uncoiled. With these combined forces, the giant of iron and brass was launched upward, arcing over the side of the dirigible.
I saw no more, save for two more falling bodies, and a third which did not so much fall as travel some distance straight away from the ship before gravity overcame him, screaming all the while. Regardless, I am certain you heard some account of these events, likely in the headlines which always accompany Sir James's exploits. Even with the war behind us, he has again stepped in to protect those secrets that proved so decisive during the conflict, and which remain ours alone.
Needless to say, I did not have occasion to speak with Sir James Coltrane that evening beyond a few words to the suit. Words he apparently heard, for a deep and echoing voice responded that he had been told of our presence, but was busy that evening – clearly. And myself and my companion should attend him in better surroundings, perhaps for tea the following day at his country home. The rest of the evening I spent somewhere between shock and giving my account of events over and over again.
By the time I returned to our temporary lodging, Mr. Toomes had tracked down the fellow who had been given bribe enough to betray his homeland. He had granted the saboteurs access to a room where they could make their plans, while watching the depot and its officers. This also allowed them to establish themselves among the locals. How Mr. Toomes managed to bring the man in, I remain uncertain, though likely simply notifying the authorities and informing them who he worked for was enough to establish him as good to his word. I can only hope that the traitor is dealt with in a matter befitting the murderer of those two brave young men and who knows how many others.
I am quite certain, Lord Donovan, that I will write you again to report success in recruiting Sir James Coltrane to our mission, and now having seen him and his wondrous creation in action, I am quite excited at the notion that he, and it, should be providing security for this trip. Surely a good omen of success, and a guarantee that the best wishes of England go with us.
Yours,
Gregory Conan Watts
(3) Modern readers familiar with the wonders of air travel would do well to note that the standard architecture of a dirigible terminal was selected to disguise their origins as storage depots. This would explain the phenomenon in which, while great effort is being made to make everyone feel quite comfortable, one cannot help but feel a bit like one is being stored in between legs on one's journey. Such quirks of modern life... – C B-W
From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,
February 17th, 1815
----shire, Southern England
I am unsure to whom this information should be reported, but feel I must document my early experiences. Besides, I have had such extraordinary experiences today as to make me feel that I must record my thoughts to bring them to perspective and have a clear head for tomorrow. It promises to be a most unusual day.
The morning was spent as every other one in recent memory. Breakfast at an inn of sufficient quality as to not embarrass those funding our expeditions and show their esteem for our mission. A simple affair, particularly for my companion, who insists on nothing more than strong tea and a biscuit with jam to sustain him until a more substantial lunch. I can little question how he became so rail thin now when he eats like this, and with so little flavor or variation, but as I learned whilst on the front of the war, a soldier cannot be overly picky about what he is provided, and often goes many months without any change in the menu afforded him. It seems that Mr. Toomes, for good or ill, has never escaped whatever service he so dedicated himself to, and continues to treat himself as if he were on such a front.
Personally, I am quite happy to have escaped that aspect of the service, for while many of my experiences were quite amazing, including whom I served with, I find myself loath to forgo sausages and fresh eggs when they are available. Of course, when he has finished his coffee and biscuit, as I have but begun to consume my morning meal, he brings out one of his pipes and finds amidst his pockets and pouches some mix of tobacco and herbage to suit him.
We spent the first portion of the day in travel, heading towards the country home of Sir James Coltrane, knowing we dared not be late for such a prestigious invitation as this. I found myself disposed to flutters in my stomach a number of times. After all, soon I was to meet not only the man who many said would nearly deliver England to victory alone, but also the pilot of that monstrous wonder of artifice I had the fortune of observing in action only the night before.
We were delayed some bit by the local constabulary, asking us questions regarding those of the saboteurs whom were captured rather than killed, our testimony duly recorded. Indeed, they initially
requested we report as witnesses, but Mr. Toomes had a few words with the officers, giving his credentials and assuring them that we were on a mission which could not be delayed. It was agreed that our sworn information would be sufficient, as there was little question as to their guilt. Given that our nation was recently engaged in a war with much of the European continent, it is little wonder that the law is not kind to foreigners suspected of sabotage.
And so we were off, this time in a carriage drawn by four horses, that we could make a proper impression upon our entrance to the Coltrane estate. I have certainly traveled in this fashion before, but most often it was little more than a rough wooden box with similarly rough seating, and the rider quickly grows sore enough as to almost volunteer to put in the extra days so that he could be allowed to walk instead. This carriage was luxury by comparison. I almost found myself drifting off into a post-breakfast sleep a time or two amidst the cushioned ride, with only the occasional jarring motion from the uneven roads waking me.
Certainly Mr. Toomes's conversation did nothing to discourage slumber. I have learned that he can make quite the impression through speech and stern glance when he feels the need, such as when speaking to the local authorities, but he seems almost bored by having to go to the effort of being social when he is not at important business. I think we would both prefer it if we did not need to make these extensive trips, that he could move from one business dealing of import to another, and I would not need to suffer these long stretches of what seems to me the same conversation, though he seems assured that discussing the clays on the banks of one region of France are quite entirely a different subject that the clays to be found on the banks of another, and they seem to him to produce a miraculously different smoking experience.