by Giles
“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.
Approx 10:55 am
Bridge of the Discretion
Over the Baltic sea tethered to the enemy
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.
Approx 10:55 am
The Amerie’s crew quarters
Approaching the coast
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.”
“Where is the base of the ladder Captain?” Gopal inquired equally softly.
“Twenty feet beyond if I recall.” Jerard whispered back and continued toward the bridge access ramp.
Jerard peered around the bulkhead to look down on the bridge ramp. The French gaurd t the door gasped at the sudden appearance of a stranger. With an oath he snapped up his pistol and fired. Phillips reacted instantly by diving forward as the Frenchman’s round tore through the sp
ace where his belly had been only an instant before.
Gopal surged forward and pointed his own revolver down through the guardrail. His hasty shot blew a gouge out of the floor at the Frenchman’s feet and forced him back under the bridge door lintel. Undaunted the man fired back from his now covered position. One shot went wide while the other creased Gopal’s sleeve. Gopal sought his own cover by stepping back the way they had come.
Jerard scrambled forwards on his hands and knees, knowing to stay still was to invite a shot in the back. Ahead of him he could just make out movement. The fellow at the foot of the ladder was coming after him now.
“Go on Captain!” Gopal shouted. “I will keep this one busy!” True to his word the Indian again traded shots with the trapped gaurd below.
Still on his hands and knees Jerard gained the small safety of the access corridor past the bridge. He snapped a shot off at the figure a the base of the ladder. The man pitched back as the ball round took him in the chest. “Gotcha!” he snarled in satisfaction.
LeBlanc looked back from the door to the bomb bay as the gunfire broke out behind him. The door's padlock lay discarded on the floor, but despite his repeated efforts the hatchway had failed to open. Forgetting about the stubborn door he returned to the ladder well just in time to see his comrade gunned down by the accursed English Captain.
“Good shot Captain Phillips. It will be your last.” He drawled and unslung his rifle from his shoulder.
Seeing the treacherous Wright, appear Phillips realized a rifle round wouldn’t be stopped by any of the lightweight metal of the corridor where he crouched. Dropping his pistol, he launched himself up and at the man before he could lower the longer gun. The half aimed shot blasted past him ripping through the walls and out the side of the airship. But it was not enough to slow Phillips down. He grabbed the outstretched gun barrel driving Wright backwards and slamming the pair of them into the ladder. Maintaining his grip on the barrel Jerard struggled to get hold of the gun stock. Suddenly Wright raised the gun over his head and vicisouly slammed his forhead into Phillip's face. Stunned for a second his tenuous hold slipped from the stock of the gun. Jerard reflexiely tightened his grip on the rifle barrel and tried to clear the stars from his eyesight. Closing his mind to the pain Phillips drove his left hand as hard as he could into the spy’s midriff. Wright twisted away with an “oof!” of expelled air.
Jerard finally wrestled the gun away from the winded Frenchman. Staring at his foe in utter disgust he dashed the weapon against the far wall. “Right you brute, you are in for the thrashing of your life Sir!” He declared furiously, bunching up his gloved fists in front of him.
Yves LeBlanc drew in a ragged breath and looked at the sight of his erstwhile Captain posing before him. “You English always so fair, so noble. But aren't you supposed to slap me with your glove first?” He laughed.
“Thats for a gentleman's challenge Froggy!” Phillips spat back “You fail to qualify!”
Wright/LeBlanc simply sneered back and swing with his right fist at Phillip's head. Ducking Jerard replied with a pair of swift left jabs. Not really to cause damage but to see where the man's reach and reflexes were.
Apparently they were fine. The Frenchmen dodged left then right then dropped his hand down to aim a body blow to Jerards solar plexus. Shifting his stance at the last moment Jerard took the blow on his tensed stomach muscles instead. It stung but was hardly debilitating. Instead it left him ready to deliver an uppercut of shattering force that pitched LeBlanc back over and onto the deck.
The man lay there weakened and groggy, Jerard stood over him wanting to beat the living daylights out of somebody over all the days of frustrating pursuit and for the deception played on them all. But he had a duty to perform, personal satisfaction would have to wait. “Where is Miss Smythe-Harris sirrah, and where are you keeping Dr. Nordstrom!” He demanded.
LeBlanc mumbled something, and Jerard half stooped to hear the man's befuddled words. “She, they, are locked in the hold, I have the key..” he made out.
“Hand it over Sir before I give you what you truly deserve!” Phillips thundered holding out one hand to receive the key.
LeBlanc’s hand reached into his breast pocket slowly and groggily, but something in the man's manner warned Jerard in time. He danced back out of reach as the hastily drawn knife flashed across where his wrist had been a second before!
LeBlanc rolled to his feet as Jerard backpedaled looking for his discarded pistol. But the Frenchman was too quick; if he stooped to grab it he’d be knifed in the back before he could take aim.
“I concede you the boxing m’sieur Philipps.” LeBlanc began, “But you see I am from Marseille,” he flourished the knife in a figure eight, “this is more my area of hand to hand combat!”
Jerard drew his own utility knife. Its edge somewhat dulled from prising apart some of the Amerie's struts. “Hurmmph Sir a cosh on the back of the head while no one was looking is your area of hand to hand combat by all accounts!” He looked at the heavy knife in his hand then at the sliver of sharpened steel in Wright's. It was a battle of a needle against a pair of shears.
“Whatever works Captain Phillips.” LeBlanc shot back. “I will do whatever I must for my country.”
“At the cost of your own honour and dignity as a man I see.” Jerard replied thinking of D’Arcey lying injured aboard the Discretion, because he would not descend to such barbarism. “France would be better off without your kind of service I think m’sieur!”
“Come cut my service short then Englishman! To the death!”
Phillips slowly raised his knife to his face as if it was a sabre in salute, to his surprise LeBlanc did the same and then he gave the man a surprise of his own. Snapping the heavy knife out he threw the thick blade into LeBlancs chest where it sank inches deep into the man's ribs.
His eyes wide with shock LeBlanc sank to the deck his free hand grasping at the cold steel embedded in his chest. His eyes looking at Phillips with a mute question in them.
Jerard watched the dying man coldly. “I believe you weren't paying attention old chap.” He stated flatly as he retrieved his pistol. “I told you weren’t qualified for an honorable duel and I believe it was you that said ‘whatever works’ just a moment ago n’est pas?”
LeBlanc made a hideous gurgle and slumped back. Placing a boot on the dead man's chest Jerard retrieved his knife then went through his pockets for the set of keys.
“Nicely done Sah!” Jeremy Landover’s voice called from behind him.
“All’s fair in love and war Mr. Landover. What's the situation?”
“Gopal and I forced the fellow back further down the bridge corridor Sir but its another choke point. No sign of my brother and Mr. Randal, and most distressingly Sir, no sign of Miss Tash.”
Jerard looked down the hall way aft. “He said that they had her and the Doctor in the bomb bay. Here, take these” he stated as he passed the keys to Landover. “Take a look, I want to check on Gopal.”
Leaving Mr. Landover Phillips hurried back the way he had come. Near the top of the ramp crouched Gopal peering through his gunsights down towards the Amerie’s bridge. “What luck Gopal?” he asked laying a hand on the man's shoulder as he knelt next to him.
“We forced him back further into the corridor Captain. Then the door opened and he was pulled inside. The bridge door seems more resistant than the walls to my shots and I would not fire blind in case Tash is within.”
“This is a war ship Gopal if anywhere is armoured it will be the control room; safest place in the ship. I think our first guess was...” Jerard was interrupted.
“I see you Phillips. I suppose you think you have won this game as well!” Gaspe snarled from behind a peephole in the door.
“Jean Phillipe, how kind of you to notice us.” Jerard replied dryly. “Are you ready to surrender yet, or should I just disable the engines and let the Discretion tow us back to England...” he paused for effect. “Or perhaps Germany, I am certain the
Prussians would be fascinated to hear your accounts of this plot Sirrah!”
“I doubt they would have the wit to take in its complexities Jerard. But I am not yet ready to surrender. In fact I suggest you surrender now or I shall be forced to drop the lovely Mademoiselle into the ocean!”
“Great Scott!” Phillips exclaimed, at once realizing the madman’s intent . “To the bomb bay Gopal!”
The pair of them dashed along the narrow corridor as an ominous humming began to grow from ahead of them. Dashing through the door the wind struck them fully in the face as the partially opened bomb doors lay before them.
Below the catwalk Tash lay cradling the unconscious Dr. Nordstrom. Fred Randal desperately hauled on her belt holding the pair of them inside, as the curved bomb doors slowly inched further open.
“What happened Landover!” Phillips demanded as he surveyed the situation.
It was Roger that replied. “Apparently Mr. Dortsmorn was rendered unconscious sometime during the boarding sir. As soon as we were secure Miss Tash and Mr. Randal went to see to him. A moment ago the bay doors started to open.”
“Get some rope and haul them in!” Phillips ordered.
“There’s more sir” Roger continued as his brother dashed off to find some rope. “As we secured the rear engine we saw the Discretion had cast off the line, we’re cut off from the ship Sir.”
“That doesn’t matter Sir. I never planned for us to try and haul Miss Tash back along the landing line. But that caitiff Gaspe is holed up in the bridge like a toad under a rock, getting him out without wrecking the controls will be very costly!”
“Captain!” Fred called from below. “Don’t mean to hurry you but the slope's getting pretty sharp down here!”