Part 2

A peculiar man in a black coat was leaning against the observation deck's aluminium railing, watching as the sun began to crest the horizon like a great sleepy eye. To the ensign on duty, it reminded him of the paintings in the old monastery in his village, paintings of God. Powerful and all seeing but kind.
As it rose, it illuminated the tortured shapes of the world below: a sprawling fissure in the earth itself, like Hell was forcing itself through the surface. The ground was scorched with the impacts of artillery and aerial bombs. Twisting around the craters were the trench lines, thin threads cast carelessly by some giant hand. There was no noise, the zeppelin was far too high for even the booming cannon to be heard. But they could pick out little pricks of light from the German walker battalions, buried into redoubts to shell the French lines. Of the French warbeasts, there were no obvious signs but occasionally the ensign would spot movement too large to be people.
"Ensign, could you inform our guest that we are ready to release the powder."
The boy turned to see the head of one of the airship's machine gunners poking out of the access hatch, a young man who had worked as an actor before the war.
"Yessir."
The gunner smiled and began descending the ladder to the main node, a small room in the centre of the gasbag with passages to the forward gunners' stations, engines, observation deck and main gondola.
"Sir?"
The man at the railing turned, his coat tails beginning to flap as the he faced into the wind.
"Yes?"
"We are ready to release the powder."
The man nodded and turned back to the railing. He pulled from his pocket a charm about the size and shape as a pocket watch. He played with it and it split, revealing a pair of photographs on the inside. The man seemed to notice the ensign's eyes and he smiled sadly.
"Come take a look."
The boy was nervous about approaching the man, who carried a bowler hat beneath his right arm, but curiosity got the better of him.
"This is my wife, Charlotte."
He showed one of the photographs, a blushing woman with plain looks and dark hair.
"And this is Isabelle, my daughter."
The girl was about five years old with her father's blonde hair. There was something odd about her posture though; it seemed artificial. The man looked at the ensign.
"Do you have family, back in Germany?"
The boy nodded.
"And would you do anything for them?"
The boy paused for a moment and then nodded.
"Anything," he agreed.
The boy's response seemed to ease the man's worries. He relaxed somewhat and carefully returned the charm to his coat.
"Tell Commander to start releasing the powder."

Captain James Christopher of the Household Cavalry watched in amazement as the huge airships descended from the grey rainclouds. He recognised some of them from the Western Front: at least a dozen Kondors Z-50s and a squadron of Albatross Assault Craft, the only airship capable of transporting walkers (albeit only lightly armoured Jägers). It was inconceivable. Clanker airships over London! And they were dropping troops without any resistance?
"Where are the bloody strafing hawks?"
"They can't fly, sir. The boffins say they are too sick."
"All of them?"
The private looked down at his boots.
"Yes."
Captain Christopher swore.
"What about guns? How many anti-aircraft guns have we got?"
"The main batteries are up by the airfields at Wormwood Scrubs. They are all portable so we should be able to set up positions to protect the Palace."
"Get me a line there then."
The private fiddled with the telephone (They were using barking Clanker equipment now all the messenger terns were incapacitated).
"Wormwood Scrubs? This is Captain Christopher of the Household Cavalry. We need anti-air guns in the city right now. Can you give me an estimate on... Exactly who am I talking to?"
The voice on the other side spoke English very well with only the faintest Prussian accent.
"Hauptmann Fauster, Second Company, 103rd Armoured Recon Division, German Army."
Captain Christopher stared in horror at the phone. Then he threw the thing across the makeshift outpost as if it was a military grade viperesque. The private watched it smash against the opposite wall.
"They have deployed troops at Wormwood Scrubs, possibly walkers. We won't be getting air-support any time soon."
A note was dutifully made on the tactical map. The thing was filling rapidly with red triangles and only the black of the Palace Guard and the blue of the Civil Police were anywhere near central London. The Army was spread out across the Southern Coast, waiting for the Clankers to try something. Now they were hours away and the city's beasties were all sick. Damn those Clankers!
"Contact, ten o'clock!"
Captain Christopher looked up just as a trio of Jäger Leichtpanzers burst through the trees around Green Park, their twin machineguns laying down a storm of suppressing fire on their positions. One of the Household Guards tried to clamber up to the Vickers emplacement they had set up atop a pile of sandbags. A stray bullet caught him in the arm and he fell screaming, his red uniform stained a deeper shade around his wound.
Captain Christopher swore again. The 'Infantry and Cavalry Guide to Anti-Armour Tactics' dictated that the two best ways to fight walkers were either specialist walker-hunting beasties or to hit them with artillery. But all the beasties were sick and Christopher doubted that there were any British artillery officers willing to fire into the middle of London. That left him with the third, least desirous option. From a crate beneath the desk, he pulled a long metal tube with a pistol grip and rudimentary sight.

The Shadow Dancer Rocket is the most advanced piece of man operated anti-walker technology ever to be produced by Darwinist Britain. The rocket is based on a Clanker design but the warhead contains the larvae of the titular Shadow Dancer Butterflies. These monstrous grubs can chew through anything, including sheet metal. Once they have penetrated the armour, the larvae pupate, a process that Fabricators have accelerated to mere seconds. Then the Shadow Dancers are born. They are tiny butterflies, their razor sharp wings tipped with the material which the larvae consumed. In the case of walkers, this would be material would be steel. A cloud of them can easily shred a Stormwalker's six man crew*.

A Jäger's two crewmen would not stand a chance.

The Jäger Leichtpanzer is the most recent bi-pedal walker design to come from the German Military. It was developed as a light reconnaissance vehicle: made from lightweight aluminium and fitted with a powerful Daimler engine, it can easily outrun a horse or even a tigeresque. It has seen heavy usage in the ruins of Verdun (where its low profile and flexible legs allows it navigate trenches) and in airship based missions where its lightweight aluminium chassis is invaluable, the entire walker weighing only around two and three quarter tons. Its main armaments are a pair of Spandau Maschinengewehr 08s that are staggered so as to reduce the MG08s unfortunate overheating problems. Despite those issues, each MG08 is still easily capable of firing 400 7.9mm rounds a minute.

More than enough to rip through the standard Household Cavalry cuirass and the person wearing it.

* Warning! Severe attention to detail issues ahead:
In the beginning of Leviathan it mentions a Stormwalker having a crew of five but there are six positions in the walker:
One commander (Volger/Alek)
One pilot (Alek/Klopp)
One main gunner (Bauer)
One loader (Hoffman)
Two machine gunners (Alek, Deryn, Klopp, Volger)
Just in case someone tries to correct me on that one. I hate being corrected on details. It shows that I am too ignorant of a piece of literature to try and write about it.
But feel free to correct me on spelling, grammar or style issues.
I won't bite. ; )