A Dastardly Attack by the British!
The more he saw, the more sickened Sheridan became. Such bloodshed! Such senseless, monstrous taking of innocent life!
He would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own eyes. He took picture after picture as they proceeded slowly through the outskirts of the small village. Each hut held some further horror, and the smell, the smell!
“You see, Mister Sheridan,” said Kurt, holding a handkerchief to his nose, “what we Germans have to deal with in this inhospitable place. Not only the dangers of the planet, but the danger from those who should be our brothers, our friends, our allies.”
“I’m shocked indeed, and even more surprised.” Sheridan had run out of film and was busily scribbling in his notebook. “And to be perfectly honest, even with the evidence of the Enfield rifles and other things we’ve found, I am not convinced this is an act of the British. When I toured the colonies on the plateau, I saw no signs of such inhumanity. Why would they, why would anyone do such a horrible thing?”
“Greed, Mister Sheridan. Nothing but greed. You know the British as well as I do. They put on the image, the false façade of honourable, noble men, but in secret, in secret!” Kurt shook his head sadly and put his handkerchief back to his nose.
In the instant before the snowy linen covered his mouth, Sheridan thought he detected a slight smile. Surely he must be mistaken. Even Kurt could not smile at such destruction.
Could he? Yes. Of course he could. From all he’d seen of Kurt, that was exactly what the oberst could do. This was a dangerous, a deadly man.
What truly amazed him, what angered Sheridan the most, was that Kurt would think he’d believe such idiocy. Even with a hundred discarded British rifles, even with the poor slaughtered lizard-men, this was nothing more than a scene set for him, and him alone. Why?
They had entered the village proper now, and the three armed crewmen were alert. Kurt, Sheridan noticed, had not even drawn his own sidearm.
“It’s very quiet, isn’t it?” Sheridan said, not even having to pretend to be nervous. “Are you sure whoever did this is gone? I would feel happier if we had more armed men with us.” He tucked his notebook and pen in his pocket and pulled his own Colt Peacemaker out of its holster.
“Oh, I think we are quite safe, Mister Sheridan. The British are cowards. I am sure, as soon as they saw honest German soldiers here, they disappeared into the jungle like the jackals they are. Come, let us finish our tour.”
Sheridan decided to take a risk. “You keep saying British, as if it’s a foregone conclusion that they are the perpetrators of this madness. But consider, sir. Anyone could have planted a rifle here. Anyone could have dropped evidence pointing to them. There is no real proof. And remember. The greatest country on Earth has many enemies.”
He waited, his heart in his mouth, to see the result of his words.
Kurt dropped his handkerchief and turned to face Sheridan, his eyes blazing. “The greatest country is Germany, sir, as all men know! And this,” he waved his hand about, “this, sir, is the result of Germany allowing England to exist!”
“Allowing, Herr Oberst?” Sheridan began, but before he could go on, a piteous moan pierced the dank air.
Now, at long last, Kurt drew his pistol. “It came from that hut,” he said, and suddenly the oberst sounded worried. “Come, Mister Sheridan. That was no sound a lizard-man could make. Come and you shall have your proof, incontrovertible proof! Proof that anyone on any planet will accept, must accept.”
He headed for the hut, Sheridan on his heels. They burst through the open door at the same time.
Inside, a tall, dark-haired man lay on the dirt floor, his arms and legs tightly bound.
“You see, Mister Sheridan?” Kurt pointed his revolver at the man’s head. “This is an Englishman.”
The bound man shook his head. “I’m no…bloody Englishman. I’m Irish.” He gasped and blinked his eyes, and Sheridan saw calculation, calculation and fear in their bright blue depths. “Two Englishmen…I tried to stop them…they got away…vicious, savage…gone now, long gone…murderers. Murderers!”
“The poor fellow,” said Kurt, holstering his weapon. “He tried to stop this carnage, only to be taken down by the British.”
Sheridan dropped to his knees and began sawing through the man’s bonds with his pocketknife. “There, there, poor fellow, you’re safe now.”
The ropes fell way, and the man sat up. He gingerly laid a finger to the back of his head and winced.
“I thank you both indeed,” he said. “My name’s Simon O’Rourke. I tried to stop the slaughter, but they were too strong, too well-armed for me.”
“Who was it, Mister…O’Rourke, is it?” asked Kurt.
“British soldiers,” said O’Rourke. “Without a doubt. If you hurry, you may be able to capture them. But have a care. They will shoot first, and ask questions later.”
Sheridan was examining the back of O’Rourke’s head. He stood up, dusting his hands off. “No time for that now, I’m afraid. This man needs medical attention.”
“Of course,” Kurt said smoothly. “We shall take him back with us, and you can interview him for your paper. I’m sure he will confirm my worst suspicions, that the British were behind this dastardly attack.”
“Oh, never you fear, sir,” said the Irishman as Sheridan helped him back to his feet. “But if I were you, I’d send someone out after the fiends who did this.”
“Only two, you said, O’Rourke?” Sheridan asked as two of the crewmen took the burden of the wounded man, an arm over each shoulder. “That seems odd to me. Even in such a small village, surely they would suspect some sort of resistance. Two seems hardly enough.”
“Well, sir,” he said weakly as he was half dragged, half carried out of the hut, “that’s just like them. Arrogance is the middle name of the British.” Then O’Rourke went on hurriedly, “And perhaps there may have been more. All I can say is, shoot first if you see them, for they won’t hesitate to do the same.”
“Let’s get back to the ship,” Kurt ordered.
Sheridan asked nothing better. “I just hope we don’t run into danger on the way.”