The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (68 page)

“Very well,” Lance sighed, “if we lose sight of them we assume Hamburg and make best speed to there...”

“Wait up!” Wallace cried from the Helm “She’s slowin’ down ta 60 knots and droppin’ ev’n lower!”

Lance sat up straighter in the captain's chair. Had Phillips’ team assumed control?

All eyes stayed glued to the distant airship's flight as it passed by the small fishing village and over the coast of Prussia.

“What's that?!” Jones called as quite clearly something fell from the airships belly. Something metallic...

“Good god was that a bomb!?” Nichols exclaimed unbelieving.

“No detonation Sir” Jones replied looking down through the forward glass bubble. “We’ll be over it in a second.” A tense moment passed and Jones looked up from the observation point with a bemused look on his normally open face. “It was a motorbike Sir...” he observed obviously puzzled.

“The bomb bay doors are definitely open tho’” Wallace said. “Musta b'n what slowed 'em up so much.”

“Not just that...!” Nichols exclaimed pointing. He knew the wind resistance wouldn't have slashed the French ship's airspeed so much alone. “..there see the aft motors stopped! Our lads have them!”

The three of them strained forward to see what would happen next as the Amerie’s flight took them over one of the many small salt water lakes that dotted the coast. Suddenly something else dropped free of the still open bomb bay.

“What the deuce are they doing!” exclaimed Nichols.

“Dunno Sir, jettisoning stuff for speed, y’think?” Wallace offered tentatively.

“Possibly... god no! Thats a man!” Nichols exclaimed as a very human looking figure tumbled from the belly of the airship!”

“Na’ mon! Tha’s miss Tash!” Wallace cried and the whole ship lurched as the Helmsman shoved the Discretion into a power dive.

“Steady Will!” Nichols barked, but Wallace paid him scant heed. With a touch like a feather Wallace skimmed the damaged Discretion down low barely above the scrubby birches at the edge of the lake. As the French airship swept over the lake more figures dropped from the bomb bay doors and into the water.

“How many in the water!” Nichols cried.

“I count four!” Jones replied scanning the thrashing shapes in the water.

“Hover over the lake William!” Nichols ordered.

He next slapped the speaking grill switches. “Geoff you and deReuter get to the cargo bay, we have crew in the water drop them lines!” Toggling another switch he added “Mac, Howell to the Cargo bay! We’re retrieving survivors. Jon have your gun handy till we know who they are!” Jumping up Lance Nichols dashed from the bridge racing aft.

“Back with us Captain?”

Jerard clawed his way back to full wakefulness as the strangely accented voice broke through the fuzziness in his head. “Wha...what happened..?” he managed before breaking into a coughing fit. God! The taste in his mouth was awful!

“Steady Captain you swallowed some of the goop that passes for water in this place.” McPherson cradled Phillip's head and offered him a canteen of fresh water.

Gulping a long draught of the sweet water Jerard managed to sit up under his own strength as Mac released him. Wiping his mouth he looked about. The Discretion's shadow lay across from them its engines barely turning keeping the ship still against the sea breeze that brought the salt scent to his nostrils. Across from him he saw Gopal standing like a statue in front of Tash as she clung to the black swathed Indian like a frightened child. Roger Landover was actually sucking on a pipe with Jon Howell a few feet away. They had assembled on the edge of the bitter lake in a narrow cove partly shrouded in scrubby trees.

“Well old man how you feelin’?” Fred Randal squatted down next to him. The man's left arm was strapped up in a white linen sling. Its pristine whiteness at odds with the drere water stained condition of his uniform.

Jerard wanted to laugh but his ribs hurt too much. Only Fred had the brass to call him ‘old man’. Still coughing, he managed a mock scowl. “Mr. Randal may I remind you that according to the Queen's Regulations NCO’s are to address their superior officers with respect at all times. We’ll do things ‘by the book’ here Sir.” He finished with a wink.

Randal sucked at his teeth and looked at the smiling McPherson. “Yep he’s fine mate. Concussed, probably with cracked ribs and still bloody quoting the rule book!” Looking Phillips in the eye he added more respectfully “We aint in the Army no more Capt. Phillips remember, an’ the book aint been written for that stunt you just pulled off. So with the greatest respect, Sir. Stuff the rule books! I’m just glad to see you back with us!”

“What happened Fred, where is everyone else? Did they...?”

“We all got out if thats what you mean Sir” Randal replied. “Dortsman is still out of it. Mac had him lifted up to the Discretion right away, when the cargo harness comes back down they’ll take you up next. You hit a bit closer to the lake's edge an' Roger and I found you face down taking a long drink. Till you woke up we didn’t want ta move yer.”

“Who else was hurt?” Phillips insisted as he tried to rise.

“Apart from this you mean?” Fred said waving his splinted arm and wincing as the maneuver cost him. “All of us have cuts and bruises galore. Miss Tash is in the best shape. She was clutching Mr. Dortsmorn on the way down and the old fella came to just as they hit and took the brunt of the fall for her. Can’t figure it out, him I mean Captain.”

Jerard said slowly, his wits fully returning as the thumping in his head dropped to a dull ache. “He did what any father would have done Fred. His real name is Doctor Everard Nordstrom, Fellow of the Royal Society for the Sciences. We were all played as fools. He’s been drugged and manipulated and made to think he was a common mechanic by that devil Gaspe. But he has a daughter Tash’s age and despite it all he tried to save her, as near as I can guess.”

“Poor bugger, lets hope he didn’t kill himself in the act. Make all this pretty pointless if he did.” Fred remarked standing up. Above them the winches of the Discretion's cargo loader engaged. A stretcher tied to the guide ropes, began to lower towards them.

With Mac and Randal’s help Phillips struggled to his feet. “I’m glad its finally over!” He declared.

“Incoming airships!” Landover cried breaking the mood and restarting Phillips’ headache with a vengeance.

Sure enough a pair of Zeppelins were surging towards them from across the Baltic, scarcely a couple of miles distant by the look of things.

“Get up to the Ship!” Phillips ground out.

“We can’t outrun them Captain.” Howell informed him as the Discretion lowered a rope ladder for the more ambulatory crew. “We have an engine out.”

“Not the point Jon.” He replied through gritted teeth. “Its what Tash showed us back in Inchinnan. Harder to arrest somebody floating above a country than standing on what is their soil. If that's who I think it is he might see reason.”

Howell looked doubtfully at Phillips then at the approaching ships. “Very good Captain.” Was all he said aloud.

Despite Mac’s protestations Phillips resumed his seat upon the bridge. Tash and Gopal had stayed with the unconscious Nordstrom for the moment. He meant to make sure Mac looked at Gopal's “flesh wound” as well but it was hard enough to think straight as it was.

“Well done Mr. Nichols, gentlemen, all.” He said approvingly as Nichols, Jones and Wallace welcomed him back to the bridge. “Distance to the lead ship Mr. Jones?”

“Half mile ahead she’s dropped to five hundred feet.”

“Alright lets see what they do. William take us up nice and slow to five hundred feet ourselves.”

The Discretion’s ascent provoked an immediate reaction from the two German built airships. The Higher one immediately increased speed and took up station roughly a thousand feet above them. The lower ship did something much more sinister.

From a pylon on the Zeppelin's bow a bright spark darted. The chemical rocket streaked past the Discretions bow like a fiery hornet. The horrified bridge crew watched the missile shoot past them its flight arcing slightly in the air but the missile travelled fast and steady rarely deviating from its trajectory.

“Congreve style missile Fred?” Phillips asked in fascinated horror at the device.

“Must be Captain. Heard our chaps were trying to adapt some of the field artillery rockets for more level flight against Airships. Looks like the Prussians have beaten us to it.”

“They’re signalling us Captain” Jones said pointing to the flickering shutters of a semaphore light on the lead Zeppelin.

“Hmm...pedestrian,” Phillips murmured rubbing his chin. “Mr. Jones I know that ship has a wireless telegraph. Von Ulric boasted about it the other night. Hopefully that’s him over there trying to impress us. Can you signal them wirelessly? Try it at least. Make them wonder what technical tricks we have.”

“I can try Sir, yes” the Welshman replied swallowing. “What should I say Sir?”

Jerard relaxed in his chair, letting a confidence he didn’t wholly feel suffuse his voice. “Thank them for the salute, and ask to speak to the officer in charge.”

In slightly halting German Jones did as he was bid. For long a moment neither ship moved. The slight sea breeze drifting them gently over the countryside together. Then the radio crackled to life and Jones shook his head and turned on the main speaker.

“..repeat. - Soul – of – Discretion – stand – to – and – prepare – to – be - boarded. -You – are – on – Prussian – soil – and – your – purpose – will – be – made – known – to – me - directly!” The strident voice paused for a second and then said: “Phillips – you – crazy – man – what - have- you - been – up – to - now?” Ritermeister Von Ulrics' tone was angry but still held a note of sour humor even through the tinny speaker’s grill.

Jerard stood and unsteadily stumbled to the communication board.  Mr. Jones jumped out of his way as he indicated he'd reply personally. “Hello Moritz, as I am most demonstrably not
on
German soil you have no right to board me for inspection. But, I respectfully invite you and your officers aboard for lunch and a discussion that you will find enlightening. How’s that sound old chap?” Jerard felt proud he remembered to toggle the speaking grill back to receive before Jones could correct him once more.

“Nice – try – Jerard – but – you – are – wanted – for – questioning – about – the – death – of – a - Danish – citizen – and – destruction – of – property – in – Denmark, - and – I – shall – be – coming – aboard - for- more- than – just – lunch - regardless.”

“Hmm that does sound serious Moritz. But I would have thought you fellows would have been more interested in the French airship currently en route to Hamburg with the blaggards that wreaked havoc in Maribo. We tried to get them but we’re not a warship like yourselves.”

“What! - What – french – airship – Phillips? - This – had – better – not – be – a – joke, - Frenchmen – spying – over – Germany – is – not – funny – mein - freund.”

“As I said, send your fellow off to Hamburg and you might just catch them Herr Rittmeister. My invitation stands. If you think better of it come down on our dorsal platform. If your helmsman’s up for that. If not, I am sure our Mr. Wallace can set us upon yours. Thats fine isn't it William?” This time he did not toggle the wireless back to receive but waved Wallace to speak.

Surprised the young scots managed to speak up for himself. “Aye ah c’n set us on top o' them na problem Captain!”

“Second ship's moving off Captain.” Jones stated from the navigation bubble.

Phillips released the speaking button, and Von Ulric’s voice again rang in the Discretion's bridge. “Well – played – Jerard. - Ritmeister – Braunsberg – will – look – for – your – supposed – Frenchman – and – we – shall – have – tea – yes? - Remain – where – you – are – Soul – Of – Discretion – we – will – boa...come – to - you!”

“Hold us steady William, and I mean like a rock Sir. Mr. Jones tell Palo we have guests for an early Lunch in about half an hour.” He got to his feet slowly but with growing strength. “On your best behavior gentlemen, best uniforms and say nothing. Leave the talking to me.”

From the elagant polished wood and glass observation cabin Phillips and Nichols nervously watched the Zeppelin edge closer.  Outside the enclosed cabin, out on the short open deck, Roger Landover and Geoff Adams stood ready by the temporary mooring winch. Jerard surreptitiously leaned on the rails around the promenade deck's telescope. He wished he didn't feel so sore and exhausted. 
The long climb up to the Discretion's observation platform had been quite taxing to Jerard's bruised and aching body. A part of him wished that he had got Nichols to do this alone, but that wouldn’t have made the right impression he was sure. Von Ulric was a decent enough fellow but he was still a serving soldier with a country on the edge of war. With that sort of thing hanging over the man Phillips couldn’t assume he’d be all friendly and pally wally when they met this time.

“Are they going to be able to do this Captain?” Nichols observed sourly as the Zeppelin suddenly pulled up and away, aborting its attempt to drop a line to the upper deck.

“Oh yes, that was for show Lance.” Phillips replied. “Trying to spook us into landing I’d guess with a near miss. Any moment now we’ll be hearing from Mr. Jones...” He trailed off and looked expectantly at the speaking grill.

As if on cue the thing chimed and Jones’s voice echoed tinnily in the small cabin. “Bridge to the Captain.”

Phillips toggled the switch “Phillips here, let me guess Aneurin, is it crosswinds or Engine trouble or something we’ve supposedly done?” He asked cryptically.

Jones’ voice came back surprised. “Crosswinds Sir, Herr Von Ulric says he has a top wind that's making a mid air dock impracticable. He suggests we set down on the lake if we hate German soil so much and we can ‘talk’ then.”

“Not a bad try, don’t you think Mr. Jones? Tell him no dice, and to stop playing about. I am not impressed, merely disappointed he couldn’t whip his new ship into the same form he had his Falkonne in a few months ago.”