Ogilvy and the Rebel

Donatello tried once again to explain to the captain that he was setting his troops up much too close to the Martians' crater-base at Horsell Common, but, just like the first three times, his words went in one ear and out the other, apparently because there was no gray matter in the way to obstruct their path.

"Calm down, civilian," Captain Hallister, an ocelot man, told him, shoving him by his shell back behind the line of cannons.

"I am not some mere civilian!" the turtle protested, digging his heels into the sandy ground of the ridge. "I am a scientist! A scientist who has witnessed several batteries be burnt to ash because they wouldn't damn well listen to me!" he huffed.

Hallister stared at him with a cool look, then turned away. "Jones, take the civilian back behind the line, and make sure he stays there."

A dark-haired human youth missing his four upper front teeth hooked Donatello by his arm, leading him. "Cahm along, then, mayte," encouraged the young soldier, with an arrogant air that rankled Donatello immediately. "Sit yerself back 'ere an' let the so'jers tike care o' the big, bad Maa'shins!"

Don threw his three-fingered hands in the air. "Why is every person in this army an idiot?!"

"Wull, 'et's 'coz 'ey dain't needs folk wot thainks, 'ey?" the boy Cockneyed at him. " 'ey want folk wot'll stend in fronna kennons en' such 'thout thainkin' 'bout it tae much, roight? 'ey want paeple wot fallows o'ders!"

"That… makes a surprising amount of sense," Don conceded, then barbed, "Explains why you're here."

"Nah," Jones shot back a gapped smirk. "They got mae 'coz oy've got tellent!"

"Talent. Really." The turtle raised a brow skeptically.

The youth puffed his chest out and cocked a thumb toward himself. "Yep! Ain't naebody bettah 'an Casey Jones at makin' stuff explode!"

Don sighed. "You must be joking…"

"Oy'm not!" But he deflated a bit, looking back at the cordon. " 's just thet th' Cap'n hezzn't realoized it yit."

"Yes, well… He doesn't seem much like the realizing type, does he?"

Jones resumed his place at his cannon beside his fellows. "It'll heppen!" he said airily, sitting down and putting his feet up on the gun.

"Not if that parabolic plasma ray finds its way to us first…" the turtle retorted dismally.

"But it can't poss'bly raech us 'ere… En if it do, wo'll jes' lob a shell in th' pit, 'ey? Tike 'em roight aout!"

Don had to roll his eyes. "You say that as though the other divisions hadn't already tried that, and failed!"

"Yeh, but… 'ow come 'ey're all gone, an' you're still 'ere?"

"Because I've been clever enough to get out of their range! I suspect they've got something down there that snuffs the shells from properly detonating. Lord help us if they ever make it out of that crater…"

"Not much chance of that, I 'magine" said the young man at the next gun over. "They's clumsy things, can't crawl out on their tenty-cles, on account of Earth's gravity bein' too much for 'em."

The turtle's jaw dropped in disbelief. "What?! Where did you hear such a thing?"

"Newspaper," the sandy-haired young man said, reaching into his pocket and handing the folded single page to Donatello, who skimmed it quickly. His hand went straight to his face.

"All of this is wrong! They're printing misinformation just to sell papers!" he explained irately. "I've got to take this up with the Captain immediately…"

" 'old up," said another of the gunners, nodding his chin toward the far end of the cordon, which had suddenly erupted into blazing orange. "What's that?"

"Oh, no…" Donatello yelped. "Someone's gone and set them off again! The heat ray will be coming this way! We've got to go! Run!"

The whole line of gunners simply blinked at him.

"Go, move! We've got to get out of here!"

"Jones! You were supposed to be keeping the civvy back!" Hallister called from down the line.

"Oh… bollocks," the teen muttered under his breath, stumbling to his feet. "Yes, sah!" But as he moved to escort the scientist away, he caught sight of the encroaching fire, the lightning-like bolts leaping from person to person. One or two screams carried to them before being cut off in immediate death. Casey's eyes widened in horrified realization.

Donatello, meanwhile, sought around them for a solution to their plight. "Oh, shell…" he swore, and his eyes fixed on the cannons. His expression lifted as an idea hit. "Oh! Shell!" He glanced around at the cliffside behind them, then moved to swivel the barrel of one of the guns around. "Casey, can you aim this contraption?"

"Wot ah ye doing?!" he demanded lowly, shooting a glance at Hallister to see if his watchful eye was on him.

"Saving all of our lives, I hope. Good shot, are you?" he asked wryly.

"The bist!" Jones proclaimed, taking up position to fire.

Don pointed at the cliff. "Aim just below that little tussock of grass… see it?"

"Wossa tussock?"

The turtle let out a short, annoyed huff. There wasn't time for this. "It's a clump! The clump of grass!"

"Got it soighted!"

"Wait for it… this is gonna be close…"

Halliester spotted their shenanigans. "Jones! Don't you dare fire that gun, soldier!"

"Case, what're ye doin'?!" one of his comrades hissed at him, awed at the blatant act of rebellion, but did nothing further to stop him.

Casey winced, but held his position, waiting for Donatello's signal. "Sorry, Cap'n…" he mumbled, ready to touch off the fuse.

"Hold…" said Don, watching the approaching wave of heat.

"I'll see you court-marshalled, Jones! See if I won't!" Hallister hollered at him.

The electric flashes were nearly upon them…

"NOW!"

The shell shot into the side of the cliff and exploded, deafening them all and bringing the sandbank avalanching down on top of the entire battery, just as the beam of the heat ray passed over the top of them, but at the stillness of the apparently unoccupied area, swung around, its spotlight sending its searching eye to look for threats elsewhere.

A minute or more later, little humps started rising up in the sandy rubble, like a small fleet of dunes, forming from below, each taking a deep gasp as each occupant breached the surface for air..

Donatello's head popped out of one of them, peeking around furtively. "All right, we're in the clear!" he called to the troop. The handful of young men pushed their way out, sloughing sand and dirt off of themselves. "Quick, around the back of that hill!" he directed. Two boys acted as crutches for a third, who had taken a wide slash from a piece of shrapnel.

Casey took account of all of his fellows as they passed, going around the hill. "But whire's the cap'n?"

Don scanned the area where he'd last seen Hallister, and pointed to a small gout of flame. Both went to investigate it, finding the fire to be in the remnants of a pair of boots very like the captain's.

"I'm sorry. He must have been too far away."

Jones clapped him on the shell. "On'y so much te be dane whin ye goes 'ginst the scoience." He shook his uniform shirt out as they made their retreat. "God, but I haetes sand!"

Donatello brushed at the back of his neck, where it met his shell. "You have no idea…"