The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (66 page)

“Correct Fred, the access to that is from a ramp about midships not far from that ladder well. With that guarded all we can do is take the long way around the inside of the ship and hope nobody spots us.”

“Once we drop down on the forward section we’ll search the crew quarters. Then move towards the ladder well and bridge. When we hear Fred and Roger make a racket from the bomb bay we’ll have the sniper down there trapped between us. Is that understood?”

Gopal merely nodded as the Landovers Yessir’d him with reassuring precision. Fred smiled then added “Got it!”

Jerard took out his watch. “Get going Fred...” He ordered pointing to the back wall of the observation area ”...you two have to get that engine out of action in less than eight minutes or the Discretion will have to cut us loose. Jeremy, Gopal and I will go first you stay here for five or six minutes and keep ‘matey boy’ down there think he has us pinned down. Got it?!”

“Yessir I’ll keep him occupied.”

LeBlanc slung the rifle over his shoulder and wrenched the bridge door open. “See to the Captain!” he ordered tossing a spare pistol to the nearest crewman.

“What is happening lieutenant?” One of the men blurted out as they filed out. Yves LeBlanc shrugged and replied simply. “We are at war, we are fighting, you are all soldiers yes? So fight!”

Gaspe pulled back as another bullet dropped out of the ladder well past his arm. A spent shell case tumbling a second or so after it. Dashing a pair of shots back up at the english pigs infesting his airship while they reloaded, did very little good he knew. But shooting at them relieved his tension very slightly. Then, seeing LeBlanc had armed the rest of the crew actually brought a smile to his face.

“This Phillips has more lives than a cat!” He snarled to LeBlanc as the men took up station about the contested ladder well.

“Then when we capture him we skin him to make sure he stays dead my Captain?” LeBlanc replied with an evil gleam in his eye.

Gaspe barked a laugh at the thought. “Oui, but first we need to get him and any of his friends he has brought along. I shot one of them but he had already brought down one of ours so our casualties remain even.”

“What are your orders Sir?”

Gaspe thrust the set of keys into LeBlancs hands. “Get the woman, we shall see if the British sense of honor is as strong as they claim. I shall have the pilot try and break us free of whatever they have used to foul our rudder.” Looking at the two remaining crew Gaspe thrust a finger at the first mans chest. “You stay here and keep them busy upstairs! You follow me.” he ordered the second.

Returning to the now almost empty bridge Gaspe left his man outside guarding the door. Stepping inside, he carefully locked the door behind him. Never one to take chances Gaspe planned for no one other than he to stay in control of this ship no matter how lucky they got.

“Pilot how is our maneuvering.?” He demanded.

“Limited Captain, we can dive and veer but we cannot climb except at a very slight angle, up ailerons are fouled the most.”

“Very well power dive! Take us down to a hundred feet full throttle!”

Concern visible on his face the terrified pilot fumbled to obey his captain. The hum of the engines escalated to a whining roar as windshear and exhaust combined into a sirens call drawing them towards the dark waves of the Baltic sea.

Tash felt the shudder of the impact of the Discretions achor on the Amerie.  Stumbling, she 
nearly pitched back off the catwalk and into the bomb bay floor. Below her Dr. Nordstrom let out a muffled “Oof!” as he was dashed against the curved wall of the lower bay. 

She had barely regained her balance when the aft Engineer stepped out of his nacelle, presumably looking for an explanation of the sudden impact. For a moment they stared at each other in bemused shock. Reacting first Tash launched herself at the man; one of her fists cracking him sharply on the chin. 
The blow was accurate but lacked the power to stop the wiry looking French engineer. Wiping his hand across his jaw the man smiled cruely at her, his off hand leaving a smear of oil across his lower lip like crude gallic war paint.

The man lunged to grab her.  As his hamfist sailed past her face she managed to land another weak punch.  She gave ground to avoid another grab and realized that by continuing in this vein she would run out of catwalk. There was no way she could match his strength so it was time to use cunning. She desperately needed him to do something foolish so she taunted, 
“Et je croyais que tu françaises étaient censés être bon à attraper les femmes!”

That did it, the man swept towards her and she side stepped bringing both her hands down hard on his neck as he passed her. Half stunned he nearly fell but to Tash’s surprise his foot came shooting out behind him and took her in the midriff. The blow knocked the air out of her and shoved her back to land on her rump in the middle of the catwalk.

The Frenchman recovered first and took a stumbling step towards where Tash still sat trying to drag air into her lungs. His hand swept back and slapped her hard across the face knocking her to the catwalk half stunned. The Frenchman straddled her and crushed her down against the decking. Pressing his grimy face next to hers he snarled, 
“Est-ce une bonne prise assez pour vous, putain!”

Hardly able to breath and with one hand half crushed against the deck Tash struggled to free herself. The Frenchman seemingly enjoying her struggles laughed as she squirmed. He even called out a mocking “bravo” as she finally got her hand free. His laughter turned to a scream of pain and rage as she drove the small screwdriver she had palmed from the tool kit into his arse! As he reflexively raised himself up and away from the source of pain Tash managed to struggle free, a swath of her skirts ripped as they remained pinned under the man's other leg. Holding the tiny screwdriver out like a dagger before her she slowly backed off towards the now vacant engine nacelle.

All trace of amusement was gone from the man's eye as he levered himself up from the ground. Dashing forward the man barreled into her. His left hand batted screwdriver away from his belly with little effort. His hands grasped her throat and Tash felt herself going faint from pain as his fingers ground into the still sore wounds on her neck. The blood thundered in her ears as the pressure increased, the throbbing from the engine room made a crashing counterpoint to her racing pulse. She shifted and squirmed with her remaining strength. Abruptly he threw her to the floor with a grunt of disdain.

“Maintenant encore, je n'aime pas les femmes meurtre!”

Tash stared back at he man as he gazed down on her sternly. She had lost, if only she had had a real knife he could never have got inside her guard like that.

“Now thats awfully decent of you old chap!” A fresh voice broke in from behind her. “Probably just saved your life that did! You don't murder women so I shan't murder you!”

Roger Landover bounded past Tash and planted his fist squarely on the man's nose. The shocked engineer pitched backwards as if hit by a locomotive and lay still.

Fred Randal dropped out of the rent in the Engine nacelle’s thin roof and knelt by Tash. “Sorry we’re late ma’am. Are you hurt?”

Tash gratefully took his outstretched hand. “Bruises, nothing more, how the devil did you get here Mr. Randal!” She demanded. “And whose flying my airship if you are here?”

“Long story Miss.” Fred offered lamely. “Let's just say the Captain was most insistent we get you back wasn’t he Roger?”

“Most insistent we pay the French a flying visit Miss Tash. I believe he is paying the Captain of this ship a courtesy call right about now. We should join him and tell him you're safe.”

“You go on Roger.” Tash ordered hoarsely rubbing her abused throat. “Mr. Randal and..”

“Fred miss. Its just Fred to me friends.”

“..Fred and I are going to slow this ship down a bit first.” She stated jerking a thumb to the engine behind them.

Roger Landover started to nod his agreement then staggered as the ship dove suddenly forward.

Lance Nichols gripped the edge of the captains chair as the ship lurched suddenly.

“She divin’ somethin’ fierce Mr. Nichols.” Wallace called as he shoved the flight yoke sharply down.

“Keep up man, the hawser won’t take much more strain!”

“Ah know it Sirr”

As Wallace bent to his task Lance’s eyes played over the engineering console. Perhaps five minutes of boost power remained in the Armstrong-Klein engines pressure tanks. If the French ship had not been subdued by then the strain would snap the landing cable like an elastic band.

Lance had been on a fishing trawler in his youth when the net line had shredded as they brought a catch in. The rebounding cable had taken a man's arm off and shattered equipment across the deck. What damage it would do to the much more fragile shells of a pair of air ships he didn’t want to consider but he doubted if either the Discretion
or
the Amerie would remain airworthy if that happened!

“What's our height Mr. Jones?”

“Twelve hundred feet and falling fast sir, airspeed is up to 90 knots.”

The Discretion, burnt, shot at, and now being stretched beyond even its most optimistic limits began to groan with the strain. The engineer imagined he could hear the bolts start to shear in the nose assembly as the landing winch was slowly dragged off its stanchion.

“Ca.. Mr. Nichols.” Aneurin Jones suddenly called out. “Collins needs you in engineering; he’s quite distressed!”

Fearing the worst Lance Nichols got to his feet unsteadily as the sharply pitched deck and the tortured vibrations running through the ship threatened to topple him over. “Tell him to do his best I’ll join him when I can, not before, Jones. Wallace! Keep us in tight as best you can for as long as you can. How long till we reach the Prussian coast?”

“Ahm slipstreaming her now Mr. Nichols, ‘bout eight nine minutes till we’re over the coast I’d guess, right Annie?”

“No seven minutes till landfall ‘
Wally
’” Jones snapped back as he closed the speaking grill to the engine room.

“Thanks.” The Scotsman hissed as he hauled back hard on the control yoke as the ocean rushed up to greet both of the contending airships. “Ah hell we’re not going to do it...”

Fighting to match the more agile French ship's course, the Discretion's tail dropped dangerously nearer and nearer to the water of the Baltic as she swung in behind her prey.

Seeing the horizon level gauge pitch wildly Lance knew exactly what was happening. The Discretion was twice the Amerie's length and could never survive a turn of such severity. Launching himself at the engineering controls he swung the central rotors around in a desperate attempt to get the ship level before she brushed the white flecked tops of the waves.

Aft in engineering, a sweating Edward Collins watched in disbelief as the clutches on two and four engines were remotely shifted to ascent mode. Geoff! Gus! Get in here!” he screamed at his crew. As they piled in he gestured hurriedly to a storage locker, “Geoff, number two is fit to smoke its bearings! Get a hose on it now before it burns up. Gus fire extinguisher over there have it ready!”

Collins wrestled valves and feed tubes open and shut in a frantic effort to keep the pressure on the four overtaxed engines in some kind of order. “Collins to the bridge!” He screamed into the speaking grill. “Jones tell the old man, number two is gonna seize any moment!”

Mr. Jones relayed the panicked message on and Lance Nichols slumped into the chair knowing the game was up. If the engine failed then the ship would lose speed and the line would recoil catastrophically back on them both. They had but one slim chance to save the ships' crippling damage.

“Mr. Wallace get ready to turn the ship, I’m going to cut the line.” Reaching past Jones, Nichols toggled the speaking grill to engineering. “Ed we’re done for one way or another unless you do exactly what I say. Tie in all the remaining A-K tanks into the central feed line and await my order!” He barked in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

Dashing from the bridge he scrambled up the access stair to the nose's section. Pausing by the nose speaking grill he again hailed the engine room. “Collins! Open the tap on the A-K booster open them all the way dump the entire reserves into it in one shot, do it now man!”

With shaking hands Edward Collins did as ordered. The Armstrong-Klein engine shook and howled as hundreds of pounds pressure of compressed steam was suddenly dumped into its turbines.

Feeling the ship lurch forward as the booster burned through its last reserves Lance saw what he hoped for. For just a moment the line was slack as the Discretion clawed its way forward even faster than the French airship. Slapping his hand down on the winch release Lance Nichols jettisoned the impromptu tow line.

“Wallace pull us away...” he barked. But there was no way the Helmsman could hear him he realized a split second later.

Jerard stalked forward pistol in hand. He and Gopal had dropped through the thin “roof” of the lower corridor a couple of minutes ago. The main crew bunk area had been deserted, as expected. As had the cramped captain's cabin to their surprise, and in some ways, relief. Now they moved as quietly as possible to the base of the dorsal ladder. Jerard calculated Jeremy must be about to abandon his sniping to follow them. Indeed the occasional bark of pistol fire had tailed off. No doubt the French were wondering if by some chance they had hit the shadow at the top of the ladder.

Suddenly the ships deck tilted severely. Jerard stumbled, his knee bashing the floor sharply. That can’t be good, he thought as he regained his feet. 
“Bridge ramp should be next.” Phillips whispered gesturing with his pistol to the approaching bend in the corridor. “Drops down five feet to the Gondola, watch your footing.”