Magical Mechanications (2 page)

She shot her mechanic a wry grin. “Would you please stop calling me that? Bad enough I got this wild mane of red hair, I don’t need to be reminded of how it makes me stand out.”

Tink laughed. “Why do you think I do it? Only way I can get back at you for this,” she said, motioning to the battered plane. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get her up in the air before the end of tomorrow.”

The Scout was terribly outdated, alarmingly outgunned, and hardly worth the time and parts put into keeping her in the air; but for all of both Tink’s and Scarlett’s complaints, this was their only plane. It had been their only plane as it was expendable. That was the one word Scarlett hated using when it came to the Scout, but that was a painful truth about her assignment at Rang-du-Fliers. No one else wanted the assignment so close to the front. Everyone knew the risk. It was, though, how Scarlett could best serve. The intelligence she could gather would save countless lives.

“Just tell me it was worth it,” Tink insisted.

“We sent the film over to the War Office.” Scarlett shrugged. “No reply. No new orders. Not sure what to do here.”

“Well, you can’t fly and get your mind off things as is your wont, so you can always do what I do. Grab a bottle of wine, find the highest point you can, and watch the sunset.”

“What good will that do me?”

“It will give you some perspective.”

“You think I’m in need of it?”

“We all need it from time to time. Perspective,” and she shrugged before returning to work on the plane, “or just a really good bottle of wine.”

Scarlett gave her faithful mechanic a soft chuckle, and then walked out of the hangar, into the cloud-covered day. It was quiet without the sounds of patrols above. That baffled her as she half-expected the skies to be filled with British, French, or German planes. It had been two weeks since her encounter with that incredible flying machine and yet there was nothing in the sky to even indicate that anything out of the ordinary had happened. Whatever this machination was, it could very well be the advantage Jerry needed to take control of the skies.

She had written it up in her report, along with a description of the Mole-like device. So why had no one from the War Office contacted her yet? Why had there been no new orders?
They must have a good reason to maintain radio silence,
she thought as she crossed the open field to the small shed just opposite of the house.

Scarlett dialed in the sequence to the combination lock and then slid the door open. She threw the switch opposite the wooden platform underfoot and descended into the ground a few feet, squinting at the harsh lights of the Communications bunker.

“Do you always have to keep it so bright down here, Adams?”

“Considering I am out of the sun and living like a troll under Westminster Bridge, yes, Lieutenant Quinn,” Adams said, giving her a stiff smile. Even as fair as her own complexion was, Scarlett found Communications Specialist Alabaster Adams so pale that he was practically opaque. Add to the color of his skin the high, rigid cheekbones and his thin, lanky frame, and it would be believed he were a carved ivory statue come to life. “Scientists believe that the human body needs a certain amount of light daily as it can affect mood, attention spans, erotic desires…”

“You can stop there.” Scarlett glanced at the empty “In” box, then looked at the æthermessenger. “Still nothing?”

“As of ten minutes ago, and the ten minutes before that…” He checked his pocket watch and nodded. “Yes, and ten minutes before that…”

“Point taken.”

“Although I must confess this is the most interaction we have shared since my assignment.” Adams sniffed. “I think I preferred the occasional visitation schedule.”

“You are not a prisoner here. You can go on, stretch your legs, enjoy some
actual
French sunshine.”

“But that would mean…” He swallowed nervously. “…going outside.”

Scarlett blinked. “And the problem with that is…?”

“Lieutenant Quinn, there is a reason I am exceptional at what I do. Apart from understanding the nuances of atmospheric changes and how they affect æthersignals, and staying abreast on all manners of technological advancements, I tend to work best when in a
safe
environment.”

“Like this bomb shelter, for example?”

“Exactly. You see, there are risks involved when going…” The corners of his mouth twitched, and then he continued. “…outside. Unknown elements that could, at a moment’s notice, steal from your operation the best asset it possesses.”

Scarlett nodded. “I should warn Tink then. She may be in danger.”

Adams raised a single finger at her, then paused. Perhaps he thought better of what he was going to say. “To answer your original question, no. No message from Command or anyone else. Will that be all, Lieutenant?”

“At least for the next ten minutes, yes. I’ll see myself out.”

Scarlett usually did see herself out. Still, it was an understood acknowledgement between them that the conversation was done, and she would leave him to it. Whatever that “it” was in the time being.

Returning to the outside world, Scarlett looked up once more to the silent skies. A thought itched at the back of her brain, or not so much a thought as a memory. She should have heard the sound of this three-winged plane, but there had been only the snarl of her Scout.

And the pilot let her go. After taking down two of his own.

The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of engines, but these were not plane engines. These rumblings belonged to machinations more terrestrial. A car carrying three men led a large truck down the country road ending at their airfield. A muscle twitched slightly in her jaw as she looked at the Scout’s hangar, then back to the three uniformed men drawing closer. Even at this distance, she could see how neatly pressed their uniforms were.

Three years of secrecy, now all at risk because of these daft tossers.

The truck broke off to trundle towards the hangar while the officers continued to where she stood in front of the cottage.

When the car came to a stop, Scarlett took another look skyward. All was still and quiet. However, she was not at ease. Not after what she saw in the skies over the Front.

“Miss Scarlett Quinn?” one of the gentlemen sitting in the back seat asked. A major. The one next to him was a colonel.

“You can call me ‘Lieutenant’ as that was my rank last time I checked.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow. “That some right cheek you have there, Quinn.”

“Colonel, have you enjoyed the pleasure of a flight over Rang-du-Fliers?”

“I cannot say that I have.”

“Well then, Colonel, please allow me to tell you what you would see. From the air, my hangar would have looked like a barn. Nothing overtly fancy. Just a large barn. Our communications bunker would have looked like a shed, and our barracks a farmer’s humble cottage. We’re hidden in plain sight, sir. The Kaiser has no idea we’re operating out of this location for well on to three years now.” She walked up to the car and opened their door, sweeping her free hand in the direction of the cottage. “Three years of cover you lot are jeopardizing as you did not have the wherewithal to disguise yourselves. Park in the garage, if you can manage such a simple feat. Should be enough room for you.”

The driver looked back at his superiors. The Major shrugged, picked up a large folder propped up by his feet, and slid out of the car. “You heard the lieutenant. Park in the garage and stay with the car.”

Scarlett watched the car rumble its way around the back of the cottage before turning back to the two officers. “I have worked very hard with what the RAC graciously parted with, and I’ve managed to keep my operations secret and my intelligence reliable, all while staying alive. Next time you come unannounced, you may as well invite a marching band to herald your arrival.”

“Now see here, lieutenant—”

“If I may speak freely, Colonel Barnswallow, Quinn here does have a point. We should have shown more caution.”

The colonel kept an icy stare on his counterpart as they entered the barracks. It did not have to work too hard to pretend to be a cottage, because that was essentially what it was. The house had a small parlor for receiving and entertaining guests, a kitchen in the back promising a fine lunch, and a single staircase leading upstairs to where she and her crew would tuck in for the night.

“Would you gentlemen care for a coffee?” Scarlett asked.

“I would prefer tea, if you have it,” Barnswallow said, tucking his hat under the crook of his arm.

“Coffee, thank you,” the Major replied.

Scarlett nodded before calling out, “René!”

“Oui?”
a gruff voice replied from the kitchen.

“Be a dear, and fix a coffee and tea for our guests.”

“Anything for you,
mademoiselle
?”

“No, I’m fine.” Scarlett motioned to the couch as she took a chair opposite of them. “So, Colonel Barnswallow. And Major…?”

“Oh, sorry, Major Harold Hemsworth,” he said, offering his hand.

Scarlett brazenly accepted the offer. “Quite a handshake you have there, Major.”

Hemsworth chuckled. “Before the war, I was a country lad. Spent my formative years chopping wood, hunting, that sort of thing.”

“How does a woodsman like yourself rise in the ranks of the military?”

“Turns out I have a penchant for tank warfare.” He blushed slightly. A rather endearing quality considering the man’s standing. “Bit of a surprise, even to me.”

Barnswallow cleared his throat. “Would you care to skip the pleasantries, Major, or must I remind you there is a war going on at present?”

“Ah, yes,” and Hemsworth opened up the file he had been carrying.

Scarlett immediately recognized photographs pulled from her film.
Finally,
she thought.

“We have been reviewing your reconnaissance footage,” Hemsworth began, “and what you presented us was exceptional, as always.”

“Thank you,” Scarlett said.

“In fact, that is why we are here. We need to discuss with you in detail about what you’ve captured here.”

Her brow furrowed. “You came all the way out to Rang-du-Fliers to review my footage? We could have easily done that over encrypted æthermissives.”

“No, lieutenant,” Barnswallow said. “What you captured on film goes well beyond normal operations. Your footage went on a rather jolly jaunt between RAC Command to the War Office, and then…elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

Barnswallow took in a deep breath. “2 Whitehall Court.”

A chill crept under Scarlett’s skin. “The Secret Service Bureau?”

“Hence why there was a delay in responding to you,” Hemsworth said, flipping through the photos as he continued. “There was a bit of a debate between the Foreign Section and a Ministry office that, quite frankly, I’ve never heard of vying for jurisdiction over something like this. The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences does indeed have an extensive background in investigating the unusual and bizarre, but Cumming was adamant that this was to be a Bureau matter.”

“I don’t understand. I got a shot of what looks like a Manchester Mole. 
Two weeks ago.
That digger technology is in Jerry’s hands. At the rate they were digging—”

“We’ve notified the War Office about the digger,” Hemsworth stated. “They have already intercepted the Mole. Quite the capture.” 

Scarlett tipped her head to one side. “Then why are you lot here?”

Hemsworth slipped a photo out of the stack. “This is why.”

The photograph appeared as a white canvas with three objects imprinted in the upper-right quadrant. Unlike the images she had taken of the trenches, no details of these three objects were visible save for the fact that the center object was a plane with three wings, flanked by two other planes with a common, easily recognizable design.

“I…took this?” Scarlett managed to say.

“And you’re still alive,” Hemsworth said. “Well done.”

Three

René had left two coffees and a tea. He mentioned something about how Scarlett would eventually ask for a coffee, so he took that extra step forward. He also eluded to the risk of Scarlett allowing her drink to go cold. Something to that effect. Scarlett could not be sure. Her attention never left the photograph of the three planes, one of which no one knew anything concrete about.

“I’m the only pilot who has seen this plane, captured it on film, and made it back to base?”

“Yes,” Barnswallow said, taking a sip of his tea. “We have attempted several reconnaissance missions to confirm the rather dubious intelligence on this new plane design, only to have it fail miserably.”

“The Fokker Driedecker or Dr.1,” Hemsworth said, tapping his finger against the silhouette of the triple-winged plane, “and that is all we know about the plane at present that is not based on conjecture or wild rumor. So, yes, we are here to find out what you know. Perhaps confirm or deny what Jerry has up in the air.”

“Were there any distinct markings or features of the aircraft, apart from that stacked wing design?”