The Brazen Shark

by David Lee Summers

  A moment later, dark objects plummeted toward the first ship. Several struck together near the bow, sending up a shower of sparks, metal, and wood in a great smoke plume.

  “This autumn, why am I aging so? To the clouds a bird.” The haiku by the poet Bashō captured Sanada’s melancholy over the destruction. The target tipped, bow downward. The captain didn’t need to watch any longer to know it would sink into the bay.

  They drifted inland and dropped another salvo on the naval base itself. The first officer shouted and Captain Sanada whirled around with his spyglass. The Bonchō’s first target ship had not sunk after all. They whirled a deck cannon toward them.

  “Drop ballast, give us some altitude!”

  “But, sir, what cannon can fire even this high?” asked the first officer.

  “Don’t argue, just do it!”

  The first officer turned to issue the commands, but too late. A smoke plume issued from the cannon. Soon after, a shell tore through the balloon above the captain’s head. Sanada ordered the engines revved up to full power, to try to get some distance from the naval base, but the ship plummeted as the gaping hole expelled helium. The captain dropped to his knees and grabbed the railing. “Try to steer out to sea. It’s our best chance to survive.”

  The captain wished he’d taken time to visit the temple and pray to the gods. He hoped they heard his prayer now. He wanted to make it home and see his wife and daughters again. He prayed this attack on Russia would not be in vain. Just then, the ship hit the water and all became a roar as darkness engulfed Captain Sanada.

  * * *

  A courier delivered a telegram to General Dragomirov in the map room of Army Headquarters in St. Petersburg. The general opened the telegram and read. As he did, the room’s temperature seemed to rise. “Major Zolnerowich!”

  The adjutant stood, marched to the general, and saluted.

  The general thrust the telegram at the adjutant’s chest. He read, eyes growing wide.

  “This news disturbs me on more levels than I care to think about.” The general wore a calm veneer as he spoke. “Why is it we had no intelligence of a Japanese attack on Vladivostok? For that matter, I never saw any reports the Japanese were developing airships much less had actually built any.”

  “There is some good news,” ventured Zolnerowich. “Our new high-elevation cannon have demonstrated their effectiveness.”

  “Yes. They shot down one airship.” Dragomirov spoke through tightened lips. “The other airship flew eastward, presumably on course for Japan.”

  “They fished prisoners from the water,” added the adjutant. “The captives will be interrogated.”

  “I expect so,” said the general. “Do we have a report from Sakhalin Island?”

  “The Nicholas Alexandrovich has not been found. Parties plan to go ashore today to question soldiers at the base garrisoned at Poronaysk. If necessary, they will march overland to look for signs of the airship or its wreckage.”

  “Very good.” The general frowned. The hand he clutched behind his back trembled with the rage he refused to express. “I want our intelligence agents in Japan recalled and… questioned. I want them replaced with new intelligence agents who can provide me information about their military capabilities. Am I understood?” He breathed those words close to Zolnerowich’s ear. The general could smell the adjutant’s sweat.

  “Yes… yes, sir.” He snapped a salute, turned, and left.

  A second courier arrived at the map room, looked around, and made for the general. He wore a court official’s finery—a red-breasted jacket with black sleeves and gold buttons. A large imperial crest and a tall metallic brush adorned his hat. At first glance, it would be easy to assume this courier outranked the general himself.

  The courier snapped a crisp salute. “Sir, His Excellency Czar Alexander II requires your presence. Please accompany me.”

  Dragomirov had expected this from the moment he read the telegram. He held out his hand indicating his readiness. As they reached the door, the general retrieved his hat and coat, then followed the courier across Palace Square and past the Alexander Column. The general looked to the ground as they passed, feeling he had not lived up to Russia’s greatness.

  Dark and heavily laden skies hung over St. Petersburg. Dragomirov suspected the first snowfall soon. He smiled. Things always got better for Russians in poor weather. The courier led Dragomirov inside the Winter Palace and through the corridors to an anteroom, just outside Czar Alexander’s beloved Amber Room.

  Raised voices exploded from within. A few minutes later, the doors flew open. A Japanese man in a black suit and cravat appeared. A footman stood and presented the man’s top hat. Dragomirov assumed this must be the Japanese ambassador. The ambassador snatched the top hat from the footman, then gave a cursory bow to Dragomirov. The general resisted the urge to return the bow.

  “Is Dragomirov here?” bellowed the emperor from within.

  The general did not wait. He strode into the amber room’s eerie golden light, stopped a respectful distance from the emperor and fell to one knee, removing his hat.

  The emperor stepped over to him and eyed him as though he were a dead mouse on the floor before extending his hand with the imperial ring. Dragomirov kissed the ring and the emperor turned around, giving the general leave to stand. The footman closed the doors and Dragomirov’s mouth went dry.

  Czar Alexander spun on his heel. “I did not order an attack on Japan and if I did, I would certainly not order one on such an unimportant hunk of rock as Hokkaido. I see no strategic value in it.”

  “Quite right, Your Excellency,” said Dragomirov.

  “What I want to know is why the Japanese ambassador demanded an explanation for a Russian attack. I want to know why the Japanese sunk a Russian Imperial Battleship in retaliation for this fictional attack.”

  Two possibilities occurred to Dragomirov. He took a chance with the one least likely to incur the emperor’s wrath. “I suspect the Japanese have been planning this for some time. The invasion of Hokkaido is a fiction they invented as an excuse for their attack.”

  Czar Alexander snorted a laugh. “That sounds more like Russian than Japanese cunning. The ambassador claims there is photographic proof. I have demanded to see it, of course.”

  “Of course,” affirmed Dragomirov. “Photographic proof can be faked though. Using double exposures, a Russian airship could be superimposed on another photograph. Actors in facsimile uniforms may be positioned to resemble invaders.”

  “Can you prove such fakery is possible?”

  Dragomirov bowed at the waist. “Absolutely. I can have such proof within the day.”

  “Excellent. Have it sent here as soon as possible.” The emperor strode to his desk and sat down, then indicated a chair opposite. “I don’t think the Japanese would claim an attack if nothing happened, though. Do you have another theory?”

  “Someone aboard the airship—possibly Mendeleev himself—went mad. They have taken the ship in a misguided attempt at piracy. It would explain why they stole such trivial items as food and drink in Hokkaido.”

  “How do we lose an airship, Mikhail Ivanovich?” The czar reached into a box for a cigar. He lit it, but did not offer one to the general. Without waiting for a response the czar pressed on. “I presume you have men searching for the airship. If you had a report you would have already given it to me. I want updates every morning and afternoon until it’s found.” The czar leaned forward. “Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency. I understand perfectly.” Dragomirov wondered if a firing squad commander’s eyes would seem as icy as the emperor’s.

  * * *

  Shinriki tried to understand the strangers who trudged through the woods up the mountainside with him. He spoke little Japanese and they spoke no Russian or Ainu. The latter didn’t surprise him. No one aside from Ainu bothered to learn Ainu as far as he knew.

  Most of the strangers had no personal stake in helping him free Ipokash or
stopping the samurai bandits. As best as he could determine, the one who called himself a former samurai—Masuda Hoshi—knew the leader of the bandits who captured Ipokash, but facing the woman seemed to break his heart.

  A woman led the samurai bandits. Shinriki found the fact incredible, but not altogether surprising after his initial encounter with them. Something had seemed different about that warrior, but he hadn’t placed it at the time. Now he understood, though her strength still surprised him, not unlike the woman who accompanied them. She spoke almost as much Japanese as he did and had no problem matching the intensive pace he set.

  “We should wait until night to approach,” said Hoshi when they stopped for water. “Imagawa will have guards who can spot us. Also, I suspect Mendeleev’s distraction will work best when the samurai are tired. They’ll be more inclined to seek shelter and sleep than mill around watching for people to attack.”

  Shinriki nodded, though he didn’t understand how Mendeleev would know to create a distraction. He looked toward the sun, still high in the western sky. “Let’s go a little further, then we can pause until nightfall.”

  As they continued up the hillside, crows called to one another. Shinriki worried their cries might alert the samurai on the airship. Crows made noise at the slightest disturbance.

  They came to a small depression in the hillside, less a cave than a place they could huddle out of the wind and out of easy sight. They broke out rations. Shinriki and Resak shared dried fish. The strangers had a peppery dried beef and hard biscuits. Neither appealed to Shinriki. Resak tried the dried beef, then nearly drained a water skin to put out the fire in his mouth. They all laughed and Shinriki realized it was the first time he’d shared a genuine laugh since the samurai raid on his village.

  Shinriki stepped away from the group and said a short prayer of thanks to the sea god for sending these strangers to him in their odd boat which could be folded up and hidden away in a hut.

  The sun set and the skies grew dark. There would be no moon this night and clouds obscured the stars. They had a short distance to travel, but it would be slow going.

  They packed up and moved on, doing their best to avoid rustling lest there be a patrol. When Shinriki indicated they were near, Hoshi told them to wait. He ran ahead and scouted. By the time he returned, a few breaks appeared in the clouds and the wind eased.

  “The airship is there,” reported Hoshi. “I see one entrance and two guards stand at the bottom. I suspect someone patrols the camp’s perimeter, but I didn’t see them. If Mendeleev is to create a distraction, this is the time.”

  Ramon nodded after Fatemeh repeated the report in their language. He sat back and closed his eyes. His lips moved and for a moment, Shinriki thought he prayed. Another minute passed and Ramon’s eyes opened. Hoshi swore in Japanese and the strangers spoke among themselves.

  Shinriki tapped Hoshi on the shoulder. “What has happened?”

  “We hoped to entice Imagawa’s crew out,” explained the former samurai. “Imagawa doesn’t believe there’s a reason to leave. We must figure out another plan.”

  “Why not sneak aboard, free Ipokash and the Russian, then sabotage the airship?” suggested Resak.

  Hoshi and Fatemeh turned and looked at him. The solution was elegant and simple. Again the strangers spoke among themselves in their strange language.

  “We still must get past the guards.” At last Hoshi again spoke Japanese.

  “Leave that to me.” Fatemeh unslung her pack and removed two rags and a bottle. She instructed Hoshi in their other language.

  Hoshi looked up at Shinriki. “Which of you is the more silent tracker?”

  Shinriki pointed to Resak.

  Hoshi explained a cloth saturated with the bottle’s contents would suffice to knock out a guard with no noise. All they had to do was place the cloth over the guard’s mouth and nose.

  Resak nodded.

  The two disappeared in the dark. Shinriki moved forward to a tree where he could watch the airship. Although he had seen the craft during the day in Poronaysk and flying overhead, this was the closest he’d approached. Cold, wan starlight, illuminated the giant gray mass. It hovered over the clearing like a low, ominous cloud with ropes tied to the ground to keep it from floating away. Any lower, trees would puncture the airship’s rippling skin. Between the gentle movements and the undulating skin, Shinriki thought for a moment the enormous ship might be imbued with a life all its own.

  The men called Apodaca and Rodriguez came up behind him. One of them hissed words and touched himself on his head and shoulders, almost as though he drew a cross shape in the air. The other frowned and nodded. Shinriki motioned them over behind another tree.

  Long minutes ticked by and Shinriki’s heart pounded so loud he thought sure the guards must hear. Just as he thought Hoshi and Resak must have been captured, they appeared. Cloth went over the guards’ noses and the rogue samurai dropped to the ground.

  Hoshi waved. Apodaca and Rodriguez scurried from their hiding place and ran to the ladder. Shinriki gave a signal to Morales and Fatemeh, then moved forward himself. Hoshi and Resak wasted no time climbing up to the floating vessel.

  By the time Shinriki reached the ladder, Apodaca and Rodriguez were already halfway up. Ramon and Fatemeh ran across the field behind him. Following their lead, Shinriki did not wait, he started to climb. At the top, he found a strange room lined with windows and machines.

  Hoshi motioned to them and they fell into the shadows and waited for Ramon and Fatemeh to reach the strange room. Each creak and groan startled Shinriki and he looked around. He believed someone would appear and they would have to fight. He reached for his knife and felt the hilt’s reassuring solidity. He cast a glance toward the windows, glad it was dark outside. He didn’t want to think about how high off the ground they were, even if tethers held the airship.

  Ramon and Fatemeh reached the control room and took in the scene. Without waiting for their comrades to emerge from the shadows, Ramon proceeded to the ladder near Shinriki’s hiding place. He pushed open a hatch and disappeared above.

  Without a word, Hoshi, who left his wooden geta behind, emerged from the shadows and followed Ramon and Fatemeh up the ladder in silence. Ramon passed several doors, as though he knew the way. He stopped before one and summoned Shinriki forward.

  Shinriki approached conscious of the plink-plinking his boots made on the metal deck. At that moment, he wished he wore soft tabi, like Hoshi’s. Ramon indicated Shinriki should enter the room in front of them.

  Heart pounding, Shinriki tried the door. It wooshed to the side. Snuggled under a blanket, Ipokash slept. Unable to restrain himself, he rushed forward and touched her shoulder. She rolled over and blinked a few times, then gasped.

  “Shinriki, you’re alive!” The words sounded loud in the quiet airship.

  Shinriki held his finger to his lips then sat down on the bed’s edge and hugged her close. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here.” Tears streamed down his cheeks into his beard. He sat back and brushed them aside, angry at his weakness, both in crying and in being unable to save Ipokash without help.

  “You’re here now and that’s what matters.” She hesitated and her brow furrowed as though the Ainu language had grown unfamiliar. Shinriki wondered if she’d had many opportunities to speak it.

  The six people with Shinriki crowded into the cramped little cabin. The deck canted just a little toward the window. Again, the fisherman’s heart pounded, certain they would be discovered.

  Rodriguez slid the door shut and Hoshi whispered something in their language. Ramon and Fatemeh each responded, but a bright light flashing through Ipokash’s cabin window interrupted them.

  An unnatural, loud voice boomed out in Russian. “We have this ship surrounded! Attempt to launch and we will open fire!”

  Shinriki dared to peek out the window. Russian soldiers emerged from the woods. They flashed strange, almost magical lights at the ship. Shouts in Japanese sounded
from the corridor outside.

  * * *

  On edge, ever since Mendeleev suggested a hydrogen leak, Imagawa pulled on her haori. She wondered why he tried to lure the crew outside. The ship listed ever so slightly to starboard and stayed there, as though extra weight had been added. A bright light shone from outside and a voice boomed in Russian just as she prepared to enter the corridor. Nanbu ran down the hall shouting, “Alarm!” Warriors clambered from bed and rushed to their posts.

  Imagawa whirled around and looked out the window. Russian soldiers had surrounded the airship. A small group rushed toward the ladder. Where were her guards? If they’d evacuated the ship, they would have been easy targets for this force. How did Mendeleev know?

  She rushed from her cabin, sprinted down the hall, and shot down the ladder into the gondola. “Marksmen on the door, now!”

  Two men with rifles ran to the door and aimed. “Hostiles on the way up,” called one of the riflemen.

  “Knock them off and raise the ladder,” called Imagawa.

  The marksmen did as commanded, then pulled the ladder up, beyond reach.

  A Russian officer stepped forward and shouted something through a megaphone.

  “Shall I get the Ainu woman?” asked Nanbu.

  “I don’t need her to know he’s calling for us to surrender.” Imagawa sneered. “Cut the mooring ropes. We need some distance. Stoke the engines, I want us under power as soon as possible.”

  “Mistress Imagawa, if we cut the ropes, we won’t be able to moor the ship at the next harbor,” said Nanbu.

  Imagawa planted her hands on her hips and stood straight. Even though Nanbu stood a full foot taller than her, he cowered. “If we don’t leave right now, we may not possess a ship to moor.”

  As if to emphasize her point, a lookout called, “Russian soldiers are climbing the mooring lines. They’ll try to breach the hatches.”

  Nanbu whirled around and grabbed the speaking tube. “Clear the mooring lines now. Engineering, stoke the boilers.” He nodded to the man at the ballast controls, who understood he should be ready to drop ballast as soon as possible.