Strange Tales #39

Starring:

Fu Manchu	Dracula	Yellow Claw

After taking a circuitous route to avoid the Martian Tripods, the sextet of Lord Godalming, Edward Raven, John Bull, Fu Manchu, Yellow Claw, and Dracula finally arrived at the Yellow Claw’s secret base. The Claw said nothing as his guests marveled at the operation that was going on here. Even Fu Manchu was surprised with the very efficient design of the ships of the skyfleet. Dracula was disdainful of all of the technology. He longed for a simpler world where man took what was his due by force of his will, his arm, and his steel.

The Claw led the other five past the assembly line and into a parlor. He hurried them along through the assembly line. Although he had volunteered his base for the good of all, he was somewhat irate that he would have to move his operations from this place once the Martian threat was eliminated. That assumed that they actually could do so. The path of destruction that the Martians had cut through the English countryside had garnered the awe of the Claw.

Motioning his ‘guests’ to sit upon the pillows that lay on the floor of the Oriental-styled parlor, the Yellow Claw began the meeting. "As you could see," he began. "I’ve had been endeavoring to build a skyfleet of airships for my own schemes. I would put these at the disposal of our common effort to rid this land of the Martian invaders."

Godalming eyed Dracula warily. He was not comfortable at all finding common cause with the monster who had cost him so much. His beloved Lucy had been turned into an inhuman beast by the Transylvanian count. He found it reprehensible that such a monster could be nobility.

John Bull was also uncomfortable with this gathering. He had heard whispers about menaces like the Yellow Claw and Fu Manchu in the halls of the Royal Society mansions, but he had never thought that he would meet them face-to-face, much less find them as his allies. Still, he knew that he had to keep a stiff upper lip as befitted one of his station. The others might just see him as another member of the somewhat pretentious Royal Society, but underneath the makeup and the padding, he was also a member of the House of Lords and successor to the line of Union Jack.

Edward Raven, for his part, seemed to take the whole situation in a matter-of-fact manner. He tapped his raven-headed cane upon the floor as the Yellow Claw described the capabilities of his skyfleet for the benefit of the others.

Fu Manchu paid attention to the Yellow Claw’s words, but his longtime rival was careful not too give too much away regarding the construction and the weaponry of his skyfleet. It had been some years since their last encounter, but the memories of their continuing battle burned in his mind. As loathe as he was to admit it, the current conflict was beyond the powers of either of their genius, at least individually. By combining their resources, there was hope for victory. He did not put much faith in the potential contributions from these fellows from the Royal Society. They did not seem to be of the same caliber as other agents of the British Secret Service that had opposed him in the past.

"Feh!" Dracula interrupted the Yellow Claw’s speech. "Even if your armaments are as powerful as you assert them to be, it would seem unlikely that they would be able to penetrate the shells of those Martian walking machines. We need bigger and more powerful weapons than those mounted upon your airships."

"I quite agree," John Bull commented. "However, they’ve already been struck with Britain’s finest and escaped without a scratch."

"You are a fool to dress as your foppish imperial icon," the Claw retorted, "and you are a fool to think that those cannon at Horsell Common were more powerful than those of my design."

"Now see here …" Godalming objected.

"The Yellow Claw speaks truly," Fu Manchu said softly. "His weapons are of superior design, although not as powerful as what I might have devised. Still, by my observations, they would be of negligible use against the Martian armor."

The Claw sneered at Fu Manchu, but he knew that his nemesis was correct in his estimation.

"It seems apparent that we must build bigger guns then. With the brains on you two chaps, that should pose no problem," John Bull suggested.

"Why don’t you just send your vampires and wolves and rats against the Martians, Count Dracula?" Godalming proposed.

Dracula did not bother to look at the young English noble as he replied. "Those in my domain are having too much enjoyment reaping the spoils of the carnage that the Martians leave in their wake. They will not rise up against the aliens, even though a Martian conquest would likely mean the end for both the living and the undead. Only Dracula realizes that the Martians must be stopped for the undead to rule."

"We’ll fight that battle some other time," Raven spoke up. "For now, we must deal with these invaders from the Red Planet. I would daresay that we could develop artillery, given sufficient time, that the Martian armor would not be proof against. However, I would not want to wager that we have the luxury of such time, and such a wager for the fate of the Earth would be a dangerous one to make."

"Then what do you propose?" John Bull asked. They had tried to make contact with other parts of the Royal Society as they made their way back from Horsell Common, but they had been unsuccessful with their attempts at communication. The telephone lines were down, the telegraph lines were down, and the wireless radio seemed ineffective as well. For all they knew, they were Britain’s last hope.

Raven brought his cane in front of him. "I think we are approaching the problem from the wrong direction. Bigger is not always better. I suggest we think smaller."

"Smaller? What are you babbling about?" Dracula said with annoyance.

"Germs, bacteria, the microscopic terrors that have laid many invaders low. Our colonial history is testament to the fact that a native people will have become resistant to the minuscule monsters in their midst, but that newcomers are rather susceptible to them," Raven explained.

"Very perceptive, Mr. Raven," Fu Manchu noted calmly. He was disappointed that he had not thought of it first, although he was secretly pleased that the Yellow Claw had not either.

"It has potential," the Claw noted. "However, how are we to know what type of life form these Martians are? Even if they do prove susceptible, do you propose to simply wait until they fall dead due to some germ that our world has to offer?"

"No," Raven replied. "I propose that we give Mother Nature a hand." Raven rose to his feet and began to twirl his cane. "It has come to my attention that both of you Oriental masterminds, and I use that term with all due respect, are quite knowledgeable in the field of transforming the natural into unnatural menaces. It is my proposal that we develop a bacterium of our own devising, one that will selectively and fatally attack the Martians."

"The idea has merit," Fu Manchu noted. His work in developing a plague to wipe out the non-Oriental races would be of much value in this endeavor. "I have had … some experience in developing selective viruses and bacteria."

"But how would we deliver it, assuming that we could develop it, and how would we know it would work?" Godalming asked in consternation.

"I believe that the Yellow Claw’s skyfleet will prove more than adequate to delivering the plague, once developed," Raven explained. "As to how we will guarantee its effectiveness, our course of action is simple. We will capture a Martian!"

Once night had fallen, John Bull, Lord Godalming, and Dracula set out on their appointed task. They were to bring back a Martian, alive if possible, dead if necessary. Neither Edward Raven, nor the Yellow Claw, nor Fu Manchu had any helpful suggestion as to accomplish the task. Raven, who had taken nominal command of the confederation, had issued the trio the directive. He intended to remain at the Yellow Claw’s base and assist the Oriental masterminds with their tasks.

The threesome walked through the ravaged English countryside. John Bull was amazed at how thorough the Martians were in their advance. He had heard about armies enacting a 'scorched earth' policy, but if the Martians continued with their activities, it would be a 'scorched Earth' once they were finished. The trees, the fields had all been burnt mercilessly by the Martians’ fierce heat ray. The few houses that had once stood in these outlying areas had been reduced to smoking cinders.

"This is quite a war in which we are engaged, eh, Holmwood?" Dracula commented. Even a seemingly innocent statement sounded sinister when it came out of the Lord of the Undead’s mouth.

Godalming just grunted. He did not take kindly to Dracula’s use of his family name. If the Count was as civilized as he claimed to be, he would know better.

"Either of you chaps have any brilliant ideas how we are to capture one of the Martian pilots without getting ourselves burnt to a crisp?" John Bull inquired. He was afraid that the Martians had made too much progress towards London such that they would never catch up to them. He was also afraid of what might happen if they did catch up.

"These invaders are being very methodical with their approach towards your capital," Dracula explained. "Even an army of my day could have made much more progress with as little opposition as your Britons are able to provide."

"Thank you for your evaluation," Godalming said with mock deference. "Do you have anything helpful to add?"

Dracula did not turn to address Godalming but rather continued marching at his own rapid pace. "I suggest that we use an old hunting trick. We’ll capture one of these Walkers in a pit."

John Bull mulled over the merits of the plan. A properly camouflaged pit would likely escape the notice of the gigantic machines and such a trap would have the potential to perhaps even bring the Tripod down. "Assuming that such a ploy would work, it raises two other questions?"

"Ah," Dracula said slowly. "The national symbol has a brain underneath his gaudy costume. And what would those questions be?"

"First, how could we ensure that one of the Tripods would fall for our trap. Second, what would we do once we brought the Tripod down? Based on our observations, I doubt that a fall would split the machine open."

"As to your first question, that will be Holmwood’s responsibility. As to your second question, that task will be mine," Dracula replied.

John Bull stopped abruptly. "Now hold on, sir. That does not address my question, nor does it describe what my part in this ploy would be!"

Dracula whirled around, his cape whipping about him as if a thing alive. "Your duty will be to dig. With your strong British back, I doubt that should be a problem. As to my portion, Dracula is not without powers of his own. I shall bring a Martian out from his vehicle. Holmwood’s part is the most crucial, but also the simplest."

Godalming scowled at the vampire. He would just as soon pierce Dracula’s heart, but he knew that they needed the vampire lord’s power. "And what is my part to be?"

"Your part, Holmwood," Dracula voiced coldly, "is to be bait."

Fu Manchu tossed a glass beaker to the ground where it shattered spectacularly. "Your equipment leaves much to be desired," he said derisively.

The Yellow Claw looked up from one of his airships’ weapons systems. "Perhaps the inadequacy is not so much with the material as with man."

"Gentlemen," Raven rose from to his feet. He had been assisting the Claw in developing a delivery system for the plague that Fu Manchu would hopefully deliver. "We must not be at odds. Old rivalries must be set aside for the nonce, else there will be no world for which you two could contend."

"You are a voice of reason, Mr. Raven," Fu Manchu said politely. "I offer my apologies, Claw. My frustrations stem from an inability to, as you English would say, ‘hit a bullseye’. At this point, I do not even have the dartboard." Up to now, Fu Manchu was working on cultivating as virulent a strain as he could that would also be harmless to humans. However, without Martian tissue samples, he had no idea how the strain should be designed.

"I have complete faith in the abilities of my associates, as well as Dracula, to procure the necessary biological material," Raven responded confidently.

"Those three are going to bring us a Martian when your own vaunted military could not fell one of the Walkers," the Claw sighed. "Perhaps this is all utter madness."

"I would offer that you dismiss the power of the British Empire too easily. Granted, we have not seen His Majesty’s forces defeat one of the Martian vehicles in open combat. That however, does not rule out the possibility that it has been accomplished elsewhere. Even if true, those living within the Empire upon which the sun never sets have many protectors beside His Majesty’s armed forces."

"Then were are these other ‘protectors’, Raven," the Claw snapped back.

"That, sadly, I do not know." Raven brushed some sweat that had collected beneath his dark tophat. "We have not been able to establish any communication with our fellows. I should point out that neither of you has been able to contact your associates, either here or in the Orient?" He stepped away from the airship and headed in the direction of the kitchen. "Might I suggest that we rest from our endeavors momentarily with a spot of tea?"

Raising his hand suddenly, Dracula motioned for his comrades to halt. His supernatural senses had detected something. With a thought, he shifted into bat form and rose quickly above the tree line. Once his view was unimpeded, he could see a truly awe-inspiring sight. There were dozens of the Martian Tripods converging upon the city. He could also just barely make out the formations of British armed forces arrayed around the city. It seemed that both sides were preparing for a fatal encounter.

Dracula could see that the Martians were still a few miles from the limits of the city. Based upon the speed of their progress so far, it would probably be a matter of a day or two before they would make their inevitable assault. That did not give him and his associates much time.

Soaring down through the air, Dracula returned to the side of John Bull and Lord Godalming and resumed his human form. "The enemy is very nearly at the gates of the city?"

"Good Lord!" John Bull exclaimed. "Are we too late?"

"I would say that we have a day, perhaps two at the most, before the Martians move upon the London," Dracula replied.

"Saints preserve us," Godalming said softly.

Dracula did not think kindly of Godalming’s religious intonation. "The machines are coming from many directions. I believe that Godalming can draw one away into our trap."

"Why can’t you perform the role of quarry?" Godalming asked impatiently. "With your occult abilities, you should be able to stay out of harm’s way as the Martian’s pursue you."

"My ‘occult abilities’ as you call them, are needed for my own tasks. I cannot afford to waste precious strength on being the object of pursuit." He paused. "Now, if there are no more objections, we must set to our task." He looked at John Bull. "You may commence digging." Looking at Godalming, he ordered, "It is time for you to become the hunted. Take care to only draw one Martian vehicle here. I doubt that we will have the ability to deal with more than one."

"Bloody demonic fiend!" Godalming mumbled as he walked away.

"Thank you ever so much for the compliment," Dracula called back.

Raven and the Claw were hunched over the helium supply system that provided the buoyancy to the Claw’s airships. Raven was looking closely at the nozzle that delivered the helium to the airships’ balloon flotation device.

"What would the flow rate through this nozzle be?" Raven asked.

The Claw thought for a moment. "Approximately five cubic feet per minute. Why do you ask?"

"And what is the volumetric capacity of each vehicle’s balloon?"

"A few thousand cubic feet. Again, I ask you, what is your interest in it?"

Raven poked at the side of a balloon with his cane. "I was developing a conjecture. Assuming that the good doctor can develop a bacterium that is inimical to the Martians, we will need to spread it in the most expeditious manner."

"Of course," the Claw replied with an annoyed tone. "That is why we are working on my skyfleet. They will deliver bombs laced with the biological agents upon the Martians."

"Right you are," Raven responded. "However, I was thinking of something even more beneficial. If we were to mix in the bacterium with the helium for the airships, we could deliver even more of the biological weapons."

"Ah," the Claw caught on to Raven’s line of thinking. "If the Martians happen to blast one of my ships out of the sky, it will only serve to spread the bacteria even wider."

Raven shook his head. "Actually I was thinking that your pilots could vent their bacteria-laced helium as they descend after they have completed their bombing sorties."

"Clever," the Claw commented. "That would work as well."

Fu Manchu looked up from his experimental work. The laboratory that the Claw had provided him was a hodge-podge of cultures, beakers, tubes, Bunsen burners, and filtration units. "Your ingenuity in designing delivery will all be for naught if our … associates do not return with Martian tissue."

"Oh they shall," Raven replied confidently. "My fellows are rather capable chaps, and Dracula is a survivor. They will survive and succeed."

Lord Godalming’s heart was pumping rapidly as he raced through the woods. Adrenaline was flowing through him, making his blood feel like it was on fire. He did not dare rest for even a split-second. He had accomplished the first part of his task. He had drawn the attention of one of the Martian Tripods. The pilot inside of the alien vehicle had not cared for Godalming’s silver laced bullets that he had peppered against the metallic hull with his pistol. The shots had, of course, done no damage but they had enticed the Martian to pursue him. He only hoped that John Bull would have the trap ready and that the damnable Dracula would be prepared for whatever the monster intended to do.

A half-mile farther out from the city. John Bull was putting the finishing touches on his trap. He had dug up a sizeable hole and covered it up with fallen branches. There were plenty of branches available as a result of the Martians’ previous march through the area. He slipped his coat back on. Without his coat, his dress shirt showed traces of the padding that he wore underneath. The padding served the dual purposes of disguise and protection. While it made him look much heavier than he truly was, it also hid the powerful muscles that his body sported. The padding had also stopped a few bullets and many a knife from injuring him seriously. With his coat donned again, he looked his ‘normal’ self once again. He brushed some sweat from his face and put his hat back on. He looked up at Dracula who was standing on a nearby hill. Apparently Dracula was preparing himself for something, but John Bull was darned if he knew what the vampire was planning. How was the bloodsucking monster going to get a Martian out of one of the Tripods?

On the hilltop, Dracula was enjoying the feel of the wind on his undead face. He was allowing his undead power to well up within himself. Once the Martian vehicle was down, he would strike. He hoped that he would have enough strength left after the initial assault in order to bring back the true prize – a living Martian. He wondered what sort of blood coursed through Martian veins. It was obvious to him that the Martian’s must have blood – blood was life, after all. However, he would forego taking a taste of the aliens until after victory had been won.

John Bull waited at the near end of the pit. That would give Godalming an indication of where to lead the Martian vehicle. He hoped that the trap was hidden well enough. His thoughts strayed back to his family. Were his sons John and Montgomery still alive? He prayed to God they were.

Dracula called out from his vantage point. "A Martian vehicle approaches from the north, likely in pursuit of Holmwood. Stand ready!"

John Bull could see the titanic Martian machine before he could see his fellow Royal Society member. It certainly was an awesome sight. Trees crashed around the Tripod as it continued its chase. Then John Bull saw the racing form of Godalming coming out of the woods.

"Over here, man!" John Bull called out and waved his hands furiously. "Bring it over here!" Once he could tell that Godalming had seen him, John Bull raced over towards Dracula’s side. The sky was getting very dark and windy near the vampire.

Godalming’s lungs were aching so much that he could not verbally acknowledge his comrade’s instructions, but he could tell where the trap had been laid. He reached down for his last strength and sped towards the trap. He would have been terrified if he had looked behind himself to see how close the Martian was now. Its heat-ray was poised to fire.

At the last moment, Godalming veered away from the trap. The Tripod was unable to change course quickly enough. Whether it had noticed the trap or not was unimportant since one of its legs stepped on the top of trap and broke through the camouflaging to the hole underneath. Its massive body lurched as its support was compromised. It collapsed to the ground with a loud crash.

"Now," Dracula cried. "Let the Martians feel the power of Dracula." The dark clouds and winds that had gathered around Dracula now swirled with a feverish pitch. Sparks of lightning began erupting until a massive bolt lashed out of Dracula’s upraised hands and buffeted the downed Martian vehicle. Whatever electrical systems that were housed inside were completely overloaded by the electrical fury.

Smoke began to sizzle out of the Tripod’s cylindrical unit. Dracula slowly let his hands drop to his side. The fury that he had delivered had drained him, but not so much as to incapacitate him. He noted with a devilish smile the smoke that rose from the vehicle. If smoke could get out, he could get in.

"What now?" John Bull asked. He looked over to see Godalming hunched over trying to catch his breath. When he turned back, Dracula was gone, but a sinister mist was floating down towards the Tripod.

The mist flowed around the cylindrical section that then seeped inside of it. John Bull went over to Godalming’s side. "Are you all right, man?"

"I … think … so," Godalming huffed. "I’ve … never … been … so scared … in my life." He took a series of deep breaths. "I should have … timed myself. I think … I broke … the unbreakable … four minute mile." He looked up a smiled.

"Good show, old man!" John Bull patted him on the back.

A panel suddenly popped off of the side of the Tripod’s cylindrical section. Dracula’s inhuman head emerged and then the rest of his cloaked body. With his right hand, he lifted up the injured yet alive form of the Martian pilot. "I have captured a Martian, vile creature that he is!"

John Bull and Lord Godalming looked with disgust upon the Martian. It was a pinkish slug-like creature about two feet and height and four feet in length. It had large red eyes and a large mouth full of sharp teeth. A tentacle on either side of its body served as its appendages.

"Ghastly creature!" John Bull exclaimed.

"Beastly," Godalming added. "Positively revolting!"

Dracula dragged the Martian out of the Tripod. "We must return to our allies. There might yet be hope for our world."