Red Flares

It had become clear to Commander Fitzjames, the man holding the title of the Handsomest Man in the Royal Navy, that this expedition had turned to shit quite some time ago.

Frozen ships. A monstrous creature of unknown origin.

What really confirmed this fact for him was when he started showing signs of illness.

Fucking scurvy.

He was bleeding from his hair line, lost much weight, and to his horror the scar tissue from the gunshot wound that nearly killed him had turned black and started breaking apart allowing tiny prickles of blood to trickle from said injuries.

Injuries that had long since healed.

Six years ago.

That shot was fired six years ago.

How many dinners had he sat at tables, telling the fabled tale of how he almost died from a Chinese sniper during the battle of Zhenjiang;

Maybe he should have told Goodsir about the discovery of the blackened scar tissue.

No, the man had enough things burdening him.

He would be fine.

God dammit everything was so damn loud! Why was it so loud?!

All the gunfire was making him waver slightly on his feet, the sound felt like a shrill, ice splitting scream that echoed through his ears.

The rockets he carried in his arms felt unusual and foreign to him, he’d done this before six years ago, and he didn’t remember the improvised weapon being so heavy then.

This infernal fog! It was hard to see!

When he heard the loud roar of the creature several yards ahead of him followed by the fire of musket and shotgun, he bit back a groan, forcing himself to remain on his feet to start setting up the launcher.

He hated this thing! This creature! It had caused too much trouble, taken too much from them.

Sir John Franklin.

A man he had idolized as he served under him, who had made bad decision after bad decision until the great beast took him.

How he hated Franklin’s name at his point.

It was because of this man that they were in this mess to begin with!!!

The great fool, that infuriating hubris spewing fool.

Sir John should have listened to Francis. They all should have.

He understood that now.

… they all did.

James originally thought Francis Crozier was a difficult man. A melancholic, Irish drunkard. A man who hated authority to the utmost degree, a man who cares little for a discover of such a passage, didn’t see the glory in it. An insufferable, miserable, cruel man who was hard to love with his constant need to isolate himself.

It wasn’t until the Captain stood upon that box and addressed the men, all of them, the survivors of this forsaken expedition, but several minutes ago that he learned otherwise.

Francis wanted to get them all home, wanted them all to live, had been trying to keep them all alive only for one of the men who had served under his command, had killed two others in cold blood. For no purpose other to cause trouble, to rebel from the idea of having the Esquimaux help them.

It was no secret now that the native people to be found here, they would have helped them.

Crozier and Blanky could communicate with them to express what the needed. If only they would treat them with equal respect… and Hickey murdered six... one of them a little girl.

James understood now why he’d had Hickey lashed.

Francis had seen something in the Caulker’s Mate that was not to be tolerated.

Insubordination… yes, of course, but that’s not what James believed had alarmed Francis.

No it had been something else.

A challenge.

Crozier had felt Hickey’s mutinous fire all the way back then. Fitzjames, briefly pondered why the man hadn’t just killed the smaller man then?

Maybe the man had truly wanted to give Hickey a second chance, but before he’d be able to Hickey had to learn what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

Clearly the man learned nothing.

It was clear to the Captain of Erebus, now, that even while the man had been inebriated while he made those choices for the lashing, the man’s decisions still had been in sound mind as to the survival of the expedition.

A swelling of shame rose in his chest as he remembered how he’d criticized the man so harshly, claiming him unfit to be first.

Such a claim was so far from the truth, James saw that now.

Captain Francis Crozier was the only man who could get them home and it was clear that their captain didn’t like the idea of the need for a gallows being so necessary.

But necessary they had become.
As he slid the rocket into place on the launcher he fished the matchbox from his coat pocket, taking a couple out to stick them between his teeth before grabbing another.

He had enough of this creature always ruining every sound plan before it were to come to fruition, had enough sailors slaughtered by its presence.

There!

James could see it, a giant white mass of muscle, teeth, and claws, charging towards one of the sledges.

Growling he lit the match moving it to the fuse as shifted the launcher as he tried to follow it.

A fuse came to life with a loud crackling hiss and he gripped the wooden launcher tightly as he continued to steady his aim, squinting through pyrotechnic smoke down the sight.

WHOOSH

Damn it!

He missed!

God as his witness that would not happen again.

The beast roared to the heavens as it disappeared into the thick fog that covered Terror Camp.

Quick as his hands would allow he loaded the second rocket… his last rocket.

The last rocket from Zhenjiang.

A momentous moment this would be he mused, that a weapon obtained from a past war, was years later about to end another.

When an intense sharp pain shot up his side, he fought back a gasp as his teeth leg go of the two matches still held tightly between them.

One of the matches fell with the faintest of taps upon the shale, but he’d managed to snap his jaws shut fast enough to hold fast the other which he promptly plucked from between his teeth.

More muskets and a couple shotguns sounded and James heard the distinct sound of an unknown sailor’s agonized scream as his life was stolen.

James picked up the fallen spare match, putting it back between his teeth before turning back to the battlefield that had become of their camp.

‘Where is that abomination?’

Another deafening roar sounded this time from the mist in front of him and it was accompanied by the loud thunderous paws of the creature as it made its presence known.

The white triangular head of the beast came into his sight through the fog and the corner of his mouth twitched into the slightest of a smile.

“There you are.” he ground out around around the spare match.

He struck the match it came to life with a hiss that turned to a roar purr as it met with the tinder fuse of the rocket.

The creature spotted him, its black eyes glaring with the promise of death as it snarled continuing to run full speed at him as he steadied his aim.

“That’s right, come here.” he growled, gnawing on the wooden stem of the match.

An illuminated red flare lit up in front of James’s face as the rocket took off towards its intended target.

The sharp bang the flaming projectile made upon impact made Fitzjames’s head spin with a massive spell of vertigo and he placed a firm, insistent hand against his forehead as he tried to steady himself as a pained animistic bellow cut through the air.

He hit it!!

Snapping his gaze back to the creature he watched in awe, fury, and an unyielding hatred as the beast shrieked in pain and spun its body around to run off into the fog.

No! How could that thing.. how could it…?

Was it not killable!? Surely such a beast could not exist!!!

All at once, everything went quiet before a few cheers could be heard claiming that the beast had was gone, retreated.

James shifted on his knees, moving to get up but another searing pain tore through him, such pain tearing free a small pained whine from his lips.

Curious and at the same time terrified by what he may find he swallowed his nerves glancing down he began to undo the buttons on his coat. He pulled the heavy woolen fabric open and shifted the couple sweaters beneath so he peer at his undershirt.

What he saw just about made him swallow his own heart into his stomach.

No…

Fresh, dark crimson was soaking up the side of the white fabric, quite a bit of it.

Maybe he wouldn’t be fine.

Huffing he did up his coat forcing himself to stand he took a deep breath to calm himself, he had to find Francis, they had men they had to bury.