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

by Giles

  “Good show that man!” Phillips shouted into the chorus of cheers from his crew. He was thinking of the choice words Gaspe would be using when his disbelieving crew gave him the damage report.

  “Mr. Nichols retract the harpoon array so we can get around it.”

  Howell’s rifle boomed as the man bounced a shot off the Amerie’s dorsal observation dome. “That made him duck!” he cried smugly working the bolt action for another round.

  “Yes and the rest of us deaf!” Nichols snarled. He locked the harpoon back into its rest position as Roger got clear.

  Phillips stepped into the doorway his words almost snatched away by the furious wind. “I’m first Gopal next then the rest of you. Mr. Howell give them a volley then hold off until each man had made it across then fire at will until the first one of us is inside. Lance stand by the harpoon. Cut it loose if it becomes a hazard to this ship after we’re across. Good luck gentlemen!”

  With one hand on the edge of the hatch Jerard swung the leather strap out and around so that it circled the hawser. Releasing his tenuous grip on the Discretion’s hull he grabbed the free end of the leather strap and leaped into the void between ships.

  Spinning madly Jerard Phillips careened down the semi taut line. The breath was sucked from his lungs by the wind shear and he felt faint. Nearer and nearer loomed the shattered remains of the Amerie’s tail assembly, reaching out to impale him on talons of twisted duralium.

  Releasing his strap at the last possible moment he slammed into the fabric covered hull of the French airship. Winded, he paused to suck in some much needed oxygen. Then drawing his dagger he carefully punched a handhold into the ships skin as high as he could reach.

  He had just made his second hand hold when Gopal arrived on the side of the Amerie like a ghost. Anchored by the dagger in his left hand Gopal punched the stiffened fingers of his right hand through the canvas skin next to a longitudinal girder. The Indian gripped the Amerie’s bones directly.

  With a nod to Phillips the black shrouded Indian clambered up past him towards the dorsal cabin; fingers and dagger stabbing into the airships skin as if it were paper.

  Wondering at the man's dexterity Jerard increased the pace of his climbing. He resisted the urge to turn around and see who also made it across. The chances that all of them would were not high, and he resolved to just go on. The sight of brave englishman falling to his death would neither help Tash or his own resolve.

  A bullet whined past him. Despite Jon’s pot shots, the gunner in the dome was undeterred. A pistol bearing hand poked from the small window on the upper observation dome, waving vaguely in his direction. Grimly Jerard climbed up a few more paces before drawing his own weapon. Gopal was nowhere in sight, and he dared not take his eyes off the pistoleer. Trusting to luck Jerard squeezed a shot off at the outstretched hand. He missed but the bullet dug through the soft metal of the dome and must have torn about on the inside of the ship. The hand disappeared.

  Incredibly, Gopal’s black clad form arose from behind the Observation dome. He must have crawled sideways out of the line of sight. His sword was drawn and with a deft overhead slash he dealt the glass of the dome a vicious cut. Glass shattered and split inwards showering the defenders. Diving in a second later the Indian was the first to gain the interior of the ship.

  Scrambling up behind him Jerard also dropped into the cramped “crows nest” of the french ship.

  “Ah to be rid of Phillips at last!” Gaspe breathed aloud, secure back in his comfortable chair. One or two of his crew dared to glance around at this seemingly irrelevant outburst. Normally having his underlings take their eyes off their tasks would have enraged the man, but Jean Philippe Gaspe was in a marvellously good mood for a change. Pouring himself a celebratory cup of wine despite the early hour he toasted his now toasted opponent briefly before setting it down on his desk.

  No more loose ends, he thought. A shame to lose Corbin perhaps but if the man was any good he’d find his way back to France no doubt. Unlike that dolt Renaurd. If not; “c'est la guerre”. No he had achieved his aims admirably. Nordstrom was his prisoner. His contact in Hamburg had arranged for a private, but well represented, press conference where the hypnotised man would denounce England. Swear allegiance and thanks, to Bismarck himself, before disappearing with them to France.

  While Marshal Le Bœuf debriefed Nordstrom in Paris, Gaspe would be back in Germany spreading rumors that the Doctor was working on a secret project. This would further convince the British that the Germans were liars and dastards. It might not be enough to make the English declare war on Bismarck's nascent empire, but it was certain to bring sympathy to France while the Imperial armies and the Prussians settled their dispute on the battlefield.

  Yves LeBlanc entered the bridge adjusting the fit of his uniform. Gaspe looked the man over approvingly; now he was dressed as a proper French soldier once more. “Good to have you with us once more LeBlanc.”

  The man who had worn the identity of assistant engineer Wright sketched a salute to his commander. “Thank you sir” Taking a seat he asked, “What is our flight time to Hamburg Sir?”

  “About an hour and a half allowing for the wind.”

  “Sir, I have a signal from the observation dome.” His navigator interjected.

  “See what he wants LeBlanc.” Gaspe ordered idly, he was not about to go chasing after trivialities now.

  LeBlanc got back to his feet, a small part of him missing the convenience of the Discretion’s intercom system. But the Amerie was a military vessel, austere and functional, her spare weight reserved for a bomb load, not fancy electrical devices.

  As LeBlanc left Gaspe took another sip of his claret. From the brief report he had from LeBlanc earlier it seemed the LensBaron was no longer the asset Gaspe had hoped for. No matter Gyldenfeldt was a man that could be bought. So should he need him again it would be just a matter of finding the right currency. How much could he lever the man's involvement in this business, if he needed to blackmail another service out of him, he wondered.

  A shuddering crash all but knocked him from his seat and dreams of glory. “Merde alors!” Spluttered the pilot as the Amerie shook as if kicked by a giant boot.

  “Report!” Gaspe barked to the staggered crew.

  “Aileron controls have gone Captain!” The pilot shouted back, hauling upon the ships flight yoke with all his might.

  “Get a man up to repair the cable immediately!” Gaspe snarled, he was not having a mere mechanical failure put his plan behind schedule.

  “Its not broken Captain its fouled or something, I can barely move it but there is a response.”

  Gaspe ran his eyes over the altimeter and airspeed. Whatever it was had not slowed them down appreciably.

  “Hold course, I shall check the rudder from below.” He flung open the bridge’s metal door and stalked towards the stern. He did not trust any of his underlings to look in on the English woman, they needed no further distractions. Stopping at the cargo bay door he produced a key for the door’s padlock. But before he could unlock it, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang through the ships interior coming from above him.

  Above him? What was that cretin doing up in the dome? Cursing incompetence and all its bastard offspring Gaspe turned around and charged up the dorsal ladder. More shots rang out as he climbed and dimly he realised that more than one gun was being fired! Impossible!

  Small arms fire rang out twice more as he neared the end of the thirty foot climb. A bullet tore through the fragile duralium of the ships framework and burrowed past his thigh. Slowing his frantic dash Gaspe drew his revolver and peered cautiously into the observation chamber.

  Wind howled from the open windows as his crewman ducked back from the glass dome of the small room. Bullet holes starred the observation dome and small chips of the reinforced glass lay scattered across the decking. LeBlanc was not present just the rigger. “What the hell is the meaning of this! Where is LeBlanc?!” He snarled.

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bsp; “Lieutenant LeBlanc went to fetch a rifle Capt...” the man's report was drowned out by the sound of the dome shattering into a million pieces.

  Gopal landed in the midst of the debris, sword in hand. He saw the crouched figure of the french aircrewman and never hesitated. The tulwar snapped out like a striking cobra; the airman's eyes bulged as the steel pierced his ribs.

  Gaspe didn’t hesitate either. His revolver bucked as he discharged a round into Gopal’s black shrouded body. The shot knocked the Indian over and away from the ladder well.

  Phillips dropped into the battle a second later. “Gopal!” He cried seeing the man blown backwards in front of him. Squeezing the trigger of his own weapon Jerard sent a pair of hasty shots at the figure half out of the ladder well.

  Gaspe ducked, hardly beliveing his eyes as Captain Phillips again stood in his way! Knowing the flimsy structure offered no cover Gaspe gripped the ladder with his heels and slid down the ladders runners out of sight. Better to pick Phillips off as he tried to descend than to stand trading shots in such a confined space.

  Jerard knelt by the crumpled form of Gopal concern etched into his face. Shaking his head Gopal rolled away from his solicitous hand and back to his feet.

  “Good god man, stay still!” Phillips cried..

  “I am not hurt seriously Captain” Gopal demurred. Touching his side gingerly he nodded in satisfaction. “A crease along a rib that is all.”

  Jerard eyed the man looking for any sign of weakness and pain. It would be like Gopal to hide the nature of his wound given their dire need. The Indian returned his gaze, his face a mask of implacable calm. “Very well help the others in.” He ordered as he peered down the ladder well.

  A bullet boomed in the narrow access-way as Phillips snapped his head back. “Damn, they’re ready for us!”

  Fred Randal scrambled in through the ruined window followed by Roger and then Jeremy Landover. “Been busy I see Sir?” Fred offered, taking in the downed frenchman.

  “One got away and is sniping at the bottom of the ladder Fred.”

  Fred glanced at the ladder well. “No way down that way then, we’ll have to cut through the struts to get to the crew gondola.”

  “Agreed!” Jerard stated “Roger start prising that panel off the aft wall. Jeremy suppression fire at your discretion keep that fellow fixated on us.”

  “As ordered Captain!” Jeremy Landover barked he drew his pistol and immediately dropped a shot back down the ladder.

  “Where is she likely to be held you think Fred?”

  “Umm two choices Captain, in the captain’s cabin or in the bomb bay. All the other compartments have some delicate gear in ‘em.”

  “Bomb bay I’d guess then. Gaspe is a fussy devil and not let a woman loose in his quarters I’d wager.”

  “Not free no Captain..” Fred replied grimly, “...but a helpless woman in his bedroom fits this bastard style all too well if y’catch me meaning?”

  “Good God!” Jerard exclaimed “You're not suggesting...”

  “Lets just say he aint been playing by the Marquis of Queensbury rules so far Captain.”

  “Alright here’s what we do...” Phillips said motioning Gopal and the Landovers to come nearer. “Roger, you and Fred are our feint. Cut a hole in the rear wall over there then crawl along the top of the gas bags to the stern of the ship. From there you should be able to drop down on the roof of the rear engine nacelle. Break in and disable it so the Discretion can stay with us; then move up through the bomb bay to the other end of that ladder well.”

  Pointing to Gopal and Jeremy he added. “We do the same thing forward, along the top of the lift bags until we can drop down and can hack our way in through the roof of the crew quarters.”

  “The bridge is below the crew area isn’t it captain?” Fred questioned as he tried to recall how a french ship was put together.

  “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.

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bsp; 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.