It was a sign of Raffles’ status and rank that he had been afforded the privilege of leading the Magna Britannian forces at Amiens into battle from atop his own personalised pachyderm-droid Hannibal. Before freedom-threatening war had come to the heartlands of Europe for a second time, he had served in India, where the vision of the monstrous robo-phant charging the gates of Bombay had sent many a revolutionary fleeing for his life.
The howdah shading Raffles and his batman from the weak rays of the milky sun – the commander-in-chief’s command post might have looked out of place, had it not been for the Magna Britannian iconography that had been worked into the ornate scrollwork of the giant droid’s flanks.
Raffles eased himself back into his chair. He could feel the comforting rumble of the boiler bubbling in the guts of the metal beast as its own engines were stoked with coke, ready for action. He was going to enjoy this. It was going to be a walk in the park, but he was looking forward to it anyway.