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

by Giles

  “Do you know what he has in mind Fred?” Jones asked.

  “Not a clue ol’ chap but that’s why Gaspe lost then and will lose again. Nobody ever has a clue as to what Jerry Phillips is up to!”

  Jerard strode into the nose section looking for Nichols. “What's the situation Lance?” he said as he ducked into the gunnery room.

  The engineer looked up from the trackway of the gun mount. “We’re all in one piece Captain, this fellow isn’t going to be fit for firing for a little while mind you, we’re lucky it didn’t shear off taking Jeremy with it when the pressure wave hit us.”

  “Remind me to drop Mr. Beardmore a note of thanks then.” Jerard drawled. “What's the status of the nose structure Lance. Any cracks or rips in the skin?”

  “Nothing visible so far Captain. Miss Tash’s replacement dope held up rather well to our toasting.”

  “She saved us again.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Very well, Lance how about the access door and the harpoon mount are they both still capable of being opened?”

  “I haven't checked Sir, why?”

  “No time to explain, Mr. Nichols just get to it. Forget the Maxim, we are finished with it.” No, what I have in mind for Gaspe involves a pistol, in a very up close and personal way, Phillips thought savagely.

  “We’ll get right on it Sir.” Lance saluted sensing this was no time to argue with the young man. The young soldier, Nichols suddenly thought as he looked at his Captain afresh.

  Jerard turned to leave the nose section “Keep me posted. I’ll be in the crew lounge with Mac. We have twenty minutes before William can catch us up to the Amerie. I need those hatches open by then or its all over.”

  “Yessir. Come on Geoff lets see what the fire left us.”

  Jerard stepped out of the nose section and down to the central access hall. Pausing by a speaking grill he announced “All hands except helm and engineering to the crew lounge, five minutes.” He declared without explanation.

  Gopal, Jeremy and Mac were already present when he entered the lounge a few minutes later. The big gunner was still looking a little crisped around the edges, his moustache and sideburns ruined but otherwise he seemed unhurt by the episode.

  Gopal's dark and brooding appearance startled Phillips as much as it had the others. The man was normally all but invisible and quietly in the background in his pale coloured clothes. Now he seemed to loom like a thundercloud just on the horizon; dark, ominous and promising ruin to the unwary caught in it.

  The rest of his officers and crew filtered in one by one. No one spoke much awaiting their captain’s pleasure. Howell strode into the room like an avalanche. He nodded appreciatively to Gopal and half opened his jacket displaying a brace of knives and a pistol lodged into the crook of his armpit. Gopal’s mouth nearly quirked into a smile and in a single sinuous motion he drew a three foot scimitar from the back of his black shirt, and casually picked his fingernails with it. Howell guffawed at the sight.

  “Thats enough Gentlemen,” Jerard began as deReuter limped in last of all. “I am pleased to see Gopal and Jon have anticipated me, but what I am going to ask of you now, is a hard thing. Any man that does not wish to participate in what we are about to do should say so directly.”

  “In about ten minutes we will be as close to the Amerie as we can possibly get. As most of you know, the French vessel is smaller and faster than the Discretion and only our A-K engine is letting us catch her right now. We have about a ten minute window to effect a rescue then she will get away from us. Our only other option would be to take the vessel down completely.”

  Jerard held his hand up to forestall the swell of angry objections over destroying the French ship with Tash aboard. “That option is not open to us.” He stated levelly trying to meet the eye of each man in turn. “Instead we must attempt something that to my knowledge has not been tried since Nelson’s day. A ship to ship boarding action.”

  Jaws fell open at the prospect of trying to leap from airship to airship. They were speeding hundreds of feet above the Danish countryside!

  “It is a desperate gamble gentlemen,” Jerard said, acknowledging the shock on many faces. “That is why I am calling for volunteers only. Gopal I take it from your apparel you are with me at least?” Gopal nodded curtly. “I realise not everyone can do this, Mr. deReuter your courage is not in doubt but with your arm you must stay behind to help pilot the ship.”

  “Reporting for duty, Sah!” Roger Landover bawled, and stepped forward stamping his feet as if on the parade ground. His brother slid in behind him mimicking the foot stamp with unshaken precision.

  “I’m in.” Fred stated.

  Howell looked uncomfortable. “Sir I’m very willing, but how much acrobatics are going to be involved here?”

  “A fair bit I suspect Mr. Howell. You are our reserve then, five should be sufficient. An airship of the Amerie’s size carries only ten crew at the best of times. Two spaces will be taken up by our captive friends, leaving eight of the enemy. At least two of those cannot be taken away from the task of flying the ship. So it should be a fairly even fight.”

  “You will outclass them Captain.” D’Arcey’s voice came raggedly from the back of the room. Holding himself up by willpower alone the Frenchman struggled to attention by the lounge door. “You forget, Major Gaspe has cast off good men he considered inferiors. There will be but three aircrew, himself, Lieutenant Corbin and that dog LeBlanc!”

  “Mr. D’Arcey your comments are noted and appreciated Sir but this is no longer your concern. Mac, please escort this man back to his bed.” In a softer tone he added. “Rest Jules, you have done enough.”

  “Very well this the plan gentlemen. Mr. Landover, I need you to fire that harpoon of ours right through the Amerie’s rudder assembly, missing her gas bags. We’ll slide down the anchor line to board them. Issue each man with a heavy knife Roger in case we have to cut our way into the Amerie’s outer skin. She has a dorsal observation dome, much like we do so, that is our targeted point of entry.”

  “Cap’in to the bridge, urgent Sir.” Squawked the speaking grill by the door. Wallace’s voice sounded strained.

  “Outfit the men Mr. Landover. I’ll meet you in the nose section in a minute.”

  Phillips, Jones and Howell dashed for the bridge as the others dispersed to their stations. “Report, Mr. Wallace.” Jerard declared as he stepped into the strangely empty bridge.

  “I think they’ve seen us Cap’in.” The helmsman said pointing to the forward window. A spiderweb of cracks ringed a fresh bullet hole in the thick glass.

  “Take us up William, get out of their arc of fire. The Amerie only has one heavy gun mounted in the nose.” Jerard stated calmly for the young man's benefit.

  “Lucky hit I’d say.” Jon Howell remarked calmly taking a closer look at the hole in the glass.

  “Get away from the window man!” Phillips shouted appalled at the man's bravado.

  “They couldn’t hit an elephant at this distance Captain and big as I am, I’m not an elephant.” Howell returned cockily.

  “The Discretion Sir, is bigger than a rugby team of elephants. Mr. Howell they will be hitting us have no doubt about that. Now get away from there and make yourself useful!”

  Jon Howell ducked away from the stricken window a thoughtful look on his face as he left the bridge.

  “Keep her steady William try and get above her at an angle of 40 to 60 degrees. That will make it as hard as possible for their crew to shoot up at us.”

  “Aye Sir. We’ll be on top o’ them in eight minutes.”

  “Very good Mr. Wallace. How much reserve have we left in the the boost engine?”

  Jones stepped over to the engineering console. “Looks like seventeen minutes left at maximum pressure Captain.”

  “So we will have nine minutes to secure the ship before the Discretion will fall behind. Very well that's the way it has to be. Mr. Jones have the attack party report when they are all ready
at the nose door. Then raise Mr. Nichols I need a status report on the repairs.”

  “On it sir.”

  “On second thoughts forget the report I’ll ask Lance myself. You have the Bridge Mr. Jones.” Jerard declared as he followed Howell out.

  “So wha’s happen’n Annie?” Wallace asked his coMr.ade.

  For once Aneurin Jones let the slight pass and simply shook his head. “Our Captain thinks he’s a buccaneer. An aerial Francis Drake, if ye like Willie. Randal was right he’s touched he is...” Quickly Jones filled the helmsman in on the captains insane plan. Insane but possibly the only chance to regain Miss Tash’s safety they both realized.

  Approx 10:12 am

  the Amerie’s cargo bay

  Approaching the Danish coast

  A sudden pitch in the deck sent Tash and Nordstrom sprawling on the floor. Sparks going off behind her eyes Tash regained her feet and held out a hand to the dazed and confused old man. He just sat there staring at her hand stupidly whatever wit remained to him was submerged under layers of drugs, hypnotism and now, probably a concussion as well. Tash wanted to cry; cry for her own short sightedness, cry for Everard, cry for the wanton murder of good men.

  But mostly she wanted to cry in rage at the swine that had visited these things upon her and her friends. The hatchway to the engine compartment opened at that point and Gaspe sauntered back onto the catwalk a few feet above her. “You! You odious little man what have you done!” she screamed up at him.

  “Really mademoiselle I thought I had made zat quite clear. Your beloved captain Phillips has gone up in ze puff of smoke. Now sit down and shut up vous arrogante vache and I shall have some breakfast sent to you. Something fried perhaps, you english love ze fried food, yes? Phillips just did!” Cackling like a mad man he made his way into the forward compartment and Tash heard the bulkhead door slam shut and bolt behind him.

  I have to get free. She thought, refusing to admit the possibility that anything could have happened to the Discretion. Gaspe thought her a helpless and ignorant secretary did he? Well he wasn’t the first man to make that mistake, a fact she had counted on for nearly ten years of business.

  Tash surveyed her situation once more. Clearly Everard was of little help to her, whatever combination of drugs they had him on was clouding his conscious mind to the point that he was but a puppet. She looked around the nearly empty space for inspiration and her eyes lit on the gently swaying motorcycle. I wonder, she thought, had they searched the motorcycle before they loaded it? She moved to stand right beneath it. Even on the tips of her toes she couldn’t quite reach it.

  “Everard I need you.” Tash coaxed the befuddled man. Everard Nordstrom just stared back at her mouthing what could have been ‘Millie?’ at her words. Wait a minute they had somehow made him forget who he was but he had by all accounts functioned passably well as an engineer aboard the Discretion for the last few days. Changing her tone she put her hands on her hips and shouted at the man.

  “Mr. Dortsmorn! On your feet I need your help with this cargo!” she snapped out.

  Immediately ‘Mr. Dortsmorn’ struggled to his feet and mimicked a salute “Yes Ma’am what do you want me to do?” he asked plaintively.

  “I can’t reach it Sir, can you?”

  Everard Nordstrom stepped up to the suspended motorbike and grabbed its lower wheel. Having done exactly as he was told he just stood there aimlessly holding onto the thing’s drive wheel. Tash again felt a pang at what had been done to him but this might just be enough. “Very good sir, now grip it with both hands and don’t let go!” she ordered.

  As carefully as she could Tash jumped onto the man’s back. From this height she could grasp the machine's framework and haul herself further up, putting her feet lightly on Everard's shoulders for balance. It only took moments before her questing fingers found the release for the saddle compartment. The emergency tool kit popped free and tumbled noisily to the deck of the bomb bay. Tash froze at the sound but it would have been nearly impossible for anyone to have heard the small noise over the drone of the rear engine. Still it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. Flipping her skirts out of the way of the doctor’s face she leaped backwards to land on the deck once more.

  Gathering the small selection of tools she realised Everard was still standing there gripping the motorbike’s wheel. “Thank you Mr. Dortsmorn you can let go now. Take a seat and I’ll call you if I need you again.” She said firmly. Like an automaton ‘Dortsmorn’ let go and went to a corner of the room and sat down.

  Now at least she had something to work with. The catwalk was some six feet above the floor of the bay. She might be able to jump for it but the guard rails looked too narrow for even her slim figure to fit through. If she got back on the motorbike she might be able to leap for the catwalk she thought, though that would hardly be easy in these skirts.

  Approaching the access ladder bolted to the wall Tash looked up at the underside of the catwalk. The securing hatch had been closed across the ladder well. But she thought she could just make out the edge of the locking bolt through the pierced duralium of the catwalk itself. Selecting a pair of needle nosed pliers she climbed the first few rungs and wormed the pointy tool through the nearest hole in the catwalk to the bolt.

  It took several goes and some skinned knuckles but finally the hatch bolt slid back. With a small cry of victory she raised the trapdoor and gained the catwalk itself.

  Tash cautiously approached the door she had mentally tagged as the entry to the bridge or the main section of the ship. A small adjustable spanner was able to serve as a pin to prevent the hatchways handle from being opened easily. It probably wouldn’t slow down a determined effort for long but the delay might be all she needed.

  If she could free the motorcycle and crack open the bomb doors right as the airship landed, Tash reasoned; there might just be a chance for her and Everard to escape before the crew forced the now jammed door. Obviously the odds of this working exactly like that were pretty small but, the actual gamble here was that they would try to chase them down rather than simply shoot the valuable Everard Nordstrom.

  The clamp’s winch control was simple enough to work out. Each of the main winches, six in all, had an independent up/down chain attached to a block and tackle array on the roof of the bay. For transit they had been tied back against the rail of the catwalk with leather straps. Going to the one that held her motorbike she unhitched it and began lowering the vehicle to the bomb bay door. It was slow going and the ache in her arms matched the ache in her head by the time she had got it to the floor. Unhooking the chains from the motorbike was a simple matter and within minutes she had the machine ready to go. Fortunately they had not drained the petrol tank.

  Now it was time for the most dangerous part of her plan, forcing them to land the airship. Tash had never been in a ship of this design before. But one would have to have been deaf not to recognise the rhythmic thrumming of an engine right behind the wall. This second door should lead to the engine room, she reasoned. Cripple the engines and the ship would have to land; logically anyway.

  Tash slowly opened the door and was gratified to see that this was indeed an engine room. Unfortunately, standing not ten feet from her was a french engineer peering steadily at a bank of gauges! Surprised Tash thanked the lord that the man hadn’t heard her open the door over the engine’s noise. Risking a further look she eased a step into the room just far enough inside to see that there were two small windows either side of the roughly triangular shaped room. As she suspected the view was of nothing but blue sky. Clearly they were too high for her to risk dropping out of the airship just yet. Closing the door with infinite care she pressed her back against the bulkhead wall and thought furiously. How do I get that man out and out of my way?

  Approx 10:45 am

  Discretion’s boarding station

  Approaching the Danish coast

  “Report Mr. Nichols.”

  The senior engineer looked back at Jerard from the d
oorway of the harpoon bay. “We’re ready for you Captain”

  “Very Good Sir, Mr. Landover please take your position on the harpoon.” Jerard looked around at his team. Apart from Gopal they had swapped their ship jackets for more robust tunics of leather and goggles against the wind. Each man had a yard or so of leather bracing from the gas bag spares to serve as their slide strap.

  The drone of the wind against the hull turned to a hiss as the harpoon gantry was deployed; Roger was taking careful aim from his seat and preparing to fire. A bullet ricocheted from the nose’s rosette of girders. Apparently their quarry wasn’t planning on going quietly. Phillips was more worried about the gunfire than he wanted to let on. While each bullet would make only a small hole in any gas bag it hit; but if too many of them were punctured they would be forced down. Likewise if the french gunner got lucky and managed to strike a spark inside the lift bags. It was all over.

  “Sounds like my cue gents one side please.” Howell rumbled for the back of the crowded entrance area. The burly man half shoved half wove through the nervous crewmen, a big rifle held above his head.

  “What are you planning to do with that Sir!” Phillips demanded of the big man.

  “Being useful Sir” Howell replied with a big grin. “Suppression fire while you fellows make like monkeys.”

  “Next time clear it with me before you get out the big guns Mr. Howell.”

  The man's eyes twinkled. “Absolutely Sir! The very next time you plan on jumping off the airship I shall ask in advance.”

  Damn the fellows impudence! But past his initial outrage Phillips had to admit the retort was pretty funny. Unable to stop a smile Jerard gave the order, “Launch the harpoon Mr. Landover!”

  The ship shuddered slightly as the gas pistons discharged and the spike of bronze and steel blasted out; the trailing line whipping in the wind. The harpoon smashed through the upper section of the box-like rudder array and buried itself deep into the Amerie’s rear hull.