Lovely Buildings (this article certified as suitable for ladies)

As any reader with a fragment of intellect will know, it is not simply the goal of the Sons of Empire to thrash the upstart alien in battle – although by golly they are good at doing so. Once the garbling, tentacled foe has been sufficiently pummelled, he must be helped rise to civilisation, generally by having “his” land occupied and managed by decent, proper folk.

In order to carry out this important task, the borders of the Empire are protected by forts very much like the one you see below. This is Sons of Empire outpost 203. As can be seen, the outpost is made of solid brick and steel, and has lifting facilities, air filtration systems, an autocannon and a privy on the roof.



Inside, we can see that there is a workshop on the ground floor, where weapons and armour are prepared, and a restroom, where fellows can gather and swap stories of bold combat in a wholesome, manly atmosphere. Note the trophies, taken from a wide range of (now) obscure alien fauna. Ladies are of course not allowed.



Power for the outpost is provided by pumping stations like the one you see here. This station draws water and energy from the local well, and stores it ready for war, peace and even hygiene. Clean, modern and efficient, buildings like this stand out among – and often on top of – the rude huts and ugly concrete lumps that aliens create.

Dear Prudence

Our readers will no doubt recall the three-legged alien horror revealed in our previous instalment. How, one might ask, could such a terrible device be halted? Surely such a titanic war engine could stride through a human city at will, looting and wrecking with the ghastly abandon of a pauper looking for a "knees up"?

In which case, ladies and gentlemen, look no further. Be of good cheer and behold Prudence, the Leviathan-class main battle landship.

The Leviathan carries two twin-linked laser cannons on its side, which have already proved invaluable in destroying the poorly-constructed fortifications of the dastardly Moon-man. The roof turret sports a pair of large Maxim cannons, ideal for dishing out a bit of no good to Johnny Moonlander, should he choose to make a close attack. In addition, the Leviathan can seat ten stout-hearted soldiers, who can provide extra locomotion by pushing it should its highly-reliable atom engine fall becalmed.



Everywhere Prudence goes she is greeted with awe by our enemies and cheers of approval by our stalwart citizens. At her frontage aliens throw down their weapons and beg clemency. Behind her follows a stream of urchins, eager to seize the glowing atom-coals as they fall out of the reactor, to sell them off on their barrows later on. God bless the Empire!

Johnny Alien sighted!

We are pleased to be the first to announce the glimpsing of a new and apparently sentient form of life on Woking 4. The being we see to the right was photoscoped by our intrepid wildlife correspondent, Hadley Rickshaw, who intends to kill it and have it stuffed at the first opportunity.


We will provide updates as to this fascinating race as soon as possible. In the meantime, the Imperial Space Fleet stands ready to civilise them all.

It lives! Again!

Once again, our Science correspondent, Mycroft Ogilvy, writes the following - or, rather, raves it through an enormous metal funnel:

"Unlike others in this dark and forbidding age, the Sons of Empire believe firmly in the progress that technology brings. This means that a soldier can rely on bigger guns to wield and, should he fall, more enthusiastic and innovative surgeons to stitch him back together, usually during a thunderstorm.

"Take for instance marines Cartwright, Smedley and Hawkins. Hit by a plasma cannon, they were scattered so throughly as to form one jumbled pile. But did this deter our surgeons? Not one jot! Using gumption, pluck and string, Apothecary Moreau was able to amalgamate the best bits of the three bold fellows and create one superlative whole, as the pictograph shows, ennervating him with a blast of electricity through the tesla coils. So keen was the resulting creature to get back to battle that it punched through the laboratory wall and assaulted three technicians on the way out.



"So, citizens, fear not. Should an enemy injure you, Science will be there to make amends to you. Or amendments. A little off the top, Sir?"

An Alien Ruse Uncovered!

Good day, dear readers!

Here we see - or don't see - the depths of perfidiousness and bad sportsmanship to which the enemies of our beloved Space Empire are prepared to sink. Pictured below, rendered in high-definition Kinoscope, is an alien sharpshooter preparing to draw a bead on passing citizens.




But where? one might ask. Look again, dear readers, and marvel at the low cunning of the foreign blighter: he is actually crouched on the very branch, rifle raised. Is that not the very epitome of base conduct? This is a ruthless and crafty enemy who will stop at nothing; the sort of man who nails the bail to the stumps while everyone else is in the pavilion, taking tea.

Be assured that shortly after this picture was taken, one of our chaps crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back. That'll teach the bugger.

Salvos of Steam!

After a brief trip away to take the waters and have his choler ventilated, your narrator is pleased to rejoin you once again in order to reveal yet another miracle of our electric age.

We cannot profess any particular expertise in the design of his Majesty's landships, but it seems clear that armour + cannons + big chimneys can only equate to glorious success and the enlargement of the Empire. Consequentially we predict only glory for the mighty instrument reproduced below: the "Whirlwind" self-propelled multiple cannonet.



The large steam chimneys enable it to be spotted from afar, filling the devious heart of Johnny Alien with fear before combat begins. The rack of light artillery-pieces mounted on the roof enable closely-packed hordes of gibbering infantry to be civilised en masse before they have the chance to close and do any funny business with their primitive weaponry. All that's currently missing from this fine machine is a selection of captured aliens stuck to the front.



Those readers particularly enamoured of armoured vehicles will be pleased to note that the entire Sons of Empire landship collection is now available as a series of cigarette cards available in packs of Stalwart filter-tips, price 2 bob. These make an ideal present for any red-blooded boy, and the cards are quite pleasant too.

He Got (Big) Game.

"Hullo. I’m Hadley Rickshaw, and I’d like to talk to you about nature. You’d have to be insane or some sort of heartless Prussian to deny the splendour and variety of the world around us, and these days, with interstellar travel and whatnot, Mother Nature’s fecundity lies wide open to any passing gentleman overcome by wanderlust.

"And what better way to enjoy nature than in the privacy of one’s drawing room, stuffed? Here, in this brief summary, I hope to introduce my readers to some of the galaxy’s most remarkable, and now rarest, creatures.

"First, the feller you see here. I caught him on the planet of Narapoor, late one evening. I had just stepped out of my house with a stout stick in my hand in order to discover where the devil the servant had gone with my G&T, when I caught sight of this fearsome beast stamping on the remnants of my man. Overcome by the beauty of such a majestic creature, I seized my rifle and tracked it through the bush without food or shelter for six days, stopping only to refresh myself with whisky ever half-hour. I am told that I was found nude and singing by its corpse some days later with my empty hip-flask on my head, obviously a victim of heatstroke.

"Next, we turn to the festering jungles of Upper Margani Province. One night, I was informed that a monster had gone on the rampage, killing scores of native aliens and, appallingly, bending one of His Imperial Majesty’s lamp-posts. I resolved to destroy the beast. To begin with, my shots rang off its armoured hide, and I realised more cunning tactics were required. I approached from the rear with a large thermos flask packed with explosive, and was able to thrust the charge home like a true vet. The being now serves the Empire as a coat-stand.

"One, final memoir. Last spring, on Verdigris, I managed to bag a fine dromaeosaur, and, having no bearers, was dragging the carcass back home when I heard the sound of vast creatures before me. I parted the bushes, and was able to take this small photograph before I dropped my load in shock.


"I believe it to show the native Eldar using enormous lizards as beasts of burden. An astonishing phenomenon, I’m sure you will agree. I shall report back with further news from the field presently: but until then, happy hunting."

Salt of the Earth working types.

“The poor? Huh! What are they good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again!”

Such thoughts, no doubt, will have crossed the mind of many a genteel reader as he observes the working classes indulging in their natural habits of shirking, lewdness and consuming cheap gin. (If you are not genteel, then get back to work, you idling scrounger.) Actually, as anyone who’s visited the docks looking to “trade” with sailors or “buy flowers” from a “flower girl” knows, the common folk can come in quite handy. Still, the general perception is that they smell because they're lazy, and quite right too.

A refreshing surprise, then, to visit the forges of the Sons of Empire. In our last missive, our science correspondent remarked on the vast new Dreadnought Isembard: responsible for the construction were technical servitors like the fellow on the left: doughty, hard-working labourers fond of steel, rivets and tutting.

These chaps live entirely within the forges, and their conveniently narrow gene-pool has made them as strong as you or I, yet small enough to fit into places where a child or disposable robot would normally have to be used. Their skill in engineering has enabled them to devise many instruments of war, with which to take civilisation to our enemies, and to assist the Chapter's techmarines on the battlefield, carrying out running repairs and giving foreign types a bit of boot leather where required.

The use of these stout fellows is merely another instance of progress improving the lot of all. Despite having their own union and grumbling when they don't get enough tea, these are loyal subjects, eager to defend the Empire and press on against the forces of darkness in our perpetual quest to drag mankind into the future! Carry on, working chappie!

"A raise? What do you mean, you want a raise?"