by Jasper Kent
‘And what about the damage you could have done to the aeroplane? Who the devil are you, anyway?’
The older man had stopped in his tracks. He was saluting with a mechanical rigidity. It took me a moment to understand that the object of the gesture was myself.
‘Lieutenant,’ he said sternly. ‘This man is Colonel Mihail Konstantinovich Danilov.’
‘Who?’
‘Colonel Danilov. One of the founders of the Service.’ The older man, a captain, relaxed his salute and came forward to offer me his hand. I shook it. ‘It’s good to see you again, sir.’
‘You too, captain,’ I said, hoping that I wouldn’t be pressed any further in regard to how well I remembered him, or what his name was.
‘You’ll be wanting to see Major Tsigler, I expect.’
‘That’s right. Is he here?’ I could only assume that this was what Danilov had intended.
The captain and the lieutenant led me across the field towards the low square building from which, I guessed, the whole place was commanded. As we walked I saw another of the vehicles coming in to land. It bounced off the roadway a couple of times, then slewed to the right, on to the grass. Clearly this was a technology that was in its infancy. Even so the vehicle and its operator were unharmed. We soon reached the building and I was shown into a small office with a desk and two chairs. On a side table sat a samovar. A window overlooked the field. The walls were covered with maps, with annotations that were unfamiliar to me – evidently specific to aviation. I was left alone for a moment and then the door opened. A major walked in – I could only guess it was Tsigler.
He grabbed my hand and kissed me on each cheek. ‘Mihail Konstantinovich. How wonderful to see you.’
‘You too,’ I replied.
‘Sit! Sit!’
I took the chair he’d indicated.
‘Tea?’
‘Yes please.’
He went to the samovar and drew two glasses, giving one to me. He sat on the corner of his desk, close to me.
‘I heard rumours about your problems with the Bolsheviks. All over now, I take it?’
‘I hope so,’ I said.
‘I thought that might be why you’ve come to see me.’
I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was fishing. I’d gladly have told him why I was here, but I still wasn’t entirely sure. It seemed that Danilov intended for us to fly to Tobolsk. I had no reason to doubt it was possible, but I knew that if I raised the point there would be a dozen follow-up questions that would reveal me quite ignorant of what Danilov should readily know. At best they would think he had grown senile, and that would not help our cause. All I could do was procrastinate and await his return.
‘All in good time. But first tell me how you’ve been faring since the revolution.’
He chuckled and moved behind the desk to his chair. ‘No worse than most, I suspect. We are, of course, no longer the Imperial Russian Air Service. We are in fact a department of the All-Russia Collegium for the Direction of the Air Forces of the Former Army. Our commander is Konstantin Vasilievich Akashev – you remember him, of course.’
‘Vaguely,’ I said.
He looked puzzled; evidently I should have had a clearer recollection. ‘Well, after he was exiled for that plot against Stolypin he went to Europe – learned to fly there, first in Italy then France. When the war started he flew for the French, but then came back here in ’15. Wasn’t allowed in the air, of course, not with his past, but we let him work in the factories. Didn’t hear of him much, and then after October he popped up as a leading Bolshevik and since he’s the only one with any flying experience they put him in charge.’
‘He any good?’
‘Hard to tell. His main worry at the moment is not to lose too many pilots to the other side.’
‘To the Germans?’
This time his frown showed deeper concern. ‘No, to the Whites. This whole thing is turning into a civil war. The Reds would rather destroy planes than lose them – same goes for pilots. Now there’s peace with Germany, we can all move on to the next war.’
‘Peace?’
‘Hadn’t you heard? Trotsky finally signed the treaty yesterday – at Brest-Litovsk.’
‘So the whole evacuation to Moscow was a waste of time.’
He shrugged. ‘As I said, it’s not just the Germans they’re afraid of. To be honest, Mihail, I’m worried. We’re not like the other forces – you know that. I don’t think there’s ever been more than a handful of Bolsheviks in the whole service – none amongst the flyers. That’s why they’re scared of us. They haven’t infiltrated us, so they’re going to have to break us. Just yesterday I received—’
‘Look, Sergei, I won’t beat about the bush. I need a plane.’
Simply to be able to speak again was like breathing after being submerged under water. I couldn’t blame Iuda; rather I had to admire him. He’d done a good job of hiding his ignorance. But time was pressing.
‘A plane? What for?’
‘I can’t tell you, but it needs to be long-range; the longest you’ve got.’
‘How far are you planning to travel?’
I hesitated. It was a preposterous journey. ‘Around two and a half thousand versts.’
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t laugh out loud. ‘A trip to Europe? No, you’d never get through with the rest of them still at it. East then – to Siberia?’ He stood and looked at the chart on the wall behind him. ‘That would take you to somewhere around—’
‘Tobolsk,’ I said, saving us both some time.
He leaned forward, grinning, his hands on the desk to take his weight. ‘I knew it!’ he said. ‘I knew it wasn’t over.’
Tsigler had always been a staunch royalist and I’d been counting on the fact. Even the hint that I might be doing something to rescue the tsar was enough to bring him to my side. I didn’t need to tell him just what I was saving Nikolai from.
‘Do you have anything like that?’ I asked.
He smiled and nodded. ‘You ever flown a Lebed XII?’
I smiled back. ‘I took one up when they were first being tested, back in ’16. Just for a spin around the airfield. But that would be perfect.’
‘I can go one better. We’ve got a Lebed XIII.’
‘I thought they never made it off the drawing board.’
‘A few did. And we have one here. Mind you, it still won’t take you much over four hundred versts in a single hop. You’ll have to keep stopping to refuel, but we should be able to load you up with enough. When do you need to go?’
‘As soon as possible.’
He put his hands together, pressing his lips against his forefingers. I was asking a lot of him, but I knew where his loyalties had always lain. After a few seconds he snapped to a decision. He stood and went outside. Five minutes later he was back.
‘She’ll be ready in half an hour, with more than enough fuel to get you there. I don’t imagine you’ll be bringing him back here, but you’ll need to get more juice if you want to do anything like that. They’re putting in some provisions too. Have you worked out your route?’
‘I thought I’d stick to the railway line out to Tyumen, then follow the Tura until it joins the Tobol.’
He nodded. ‘That’s your best bet. I’ve told them to fit you up with a searchlight, but you’ll have to keep low during the night.’ He went to a chest of map drawers and opened one. He pulled out a chart and rolled it up. ‘This should help you, but it’s pretty much as you said.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a map of Tobolsk itself?’ I asked.
He went to another drawer and searched through it. Eventually he found something. He showed it to me. ‘His Majesty’s staying here, at the Governor’s Mansion.’
He circled it with his pencil. It was odd to hear the phrase ‘His Majesty’, even though it had been only a year since it had been commonplace. I did not relish its return; neither did I like to deceive Tsigler by pretending that I did.
&n
bsp; ‘The best place to land would be on the river – the Tobol merges with the Irtysh just south of the town. The ice should still be solid enough. If not, one of the fields to the west.’
He opened a drawer in his desk. ‘You’ll need these too.’ He handed me a flying helmet, gloves and goggles. ‘They’re mine, but I can easily find some more. They should fit you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
We sat in silence, sipping our tea. I had the urge to engage him in idle conversation; he might be the last friend I ever spoke to. But I could think of little to say. In truth, we weren’t very close. We’d been thrown together, along with many others, out of our mutual fascination with aviation and out of the army’s desire to put this new technology to some military use. As I recalled he’d accused me of being a revolutionary when I’d taken my seat in the Duma, but he seemed to have got over it.
The time passed slowly, but eventually the lieutenant I’d met earlier returned. ‘All ready, sir,’ he said.
We got up and went outside. The sun was low in the sky, but it wasn’t yet dusk. I wondered where Susanna and Dmitry had got to. She wouldn’t be at Tyumen yet and even then she’d have to get to Tobolsk by road. If she managed it before dawn we’d have no chance. Dmitry would be a long way behind her, assuming his package had even been collected.
My heart beat a little faster as I saw the biplane parked on the runway. It looked almost new, painted in the gold and orange of the Second Petrograd Air Group, with the white, blue and red flash of the Russian flag on its tail. God knew what it was doing down here. I wouldn’t have been able to tell it from a Lebed XII, but supposedly the XIII could go faster and further. It was meant for a crew of two, but I’d be able to handle it alone. The machine gun was still mounted behind the observer’s seat, well out of my reach.
I looked inside. The observer’s seat itself had been removed and the space filled with metal fuel cans. I would have to remember that we would be back-heavy, though the centre of gravity would shift as one by one they were used up. The lieutenant opened up a set of portable steps and placed it beside the trailing edge of the lower wing. I climbed up then carefully placed a foot on the wing itself, making sure to put my weight on the wooden frame and not the unsupported canvas. I licked a finger and held it in the air, but it was unnecessary.
‘The wind’s just north of easterly, sir,’ said the lieutenant.
I thanked him, then looked down at the pilot’s seat. As promised there was a tin ration box, and beside it a thermos. I stowed them underneath, then slipped into the seat. To be honest, that time I’d tried out the Lebed XII in Petrograd had been the last time I’d flown, but I knew it would come back to me. Tsigler stood at the propeller, ready to start the engine. I opened the choke and turned on the ignition, then gave him the thumbs up.
He put both hands on the edge of one of the twin blades, then pulled down rapidly, expertly stepping away as he did. He might have been a senior officer, but he knew how to perform every task that was required on an airfield. In the early days we’d all had to. The engine fired twice, but didn’t spring to life. I pulled the throttle out a little. Tsigler tried again. This time the propeller began to turn. After two painfully slow rotations it almost halted, but I adjusted the fuel again and the engine began to purr. I slowed it to a comfortable idle. Tsigler walked away and the lieutenant pulled the chocks clear of the wheels. I increased the revs and we began to move.
We were just about at the cross where the two landing strips met. One ran roughly north–south, the other east–west, though they didn’t align precisely with the compass. I needed to take off into the wind, so I taxied to the western end. Once we were clear of the officers, I spoke out loud, quietly and precisely.
‘Iuda, you need to pay attention to everything I do. I’ll get her airborne, but if you have to fly her, just keep her steady and follow the railway. Stay low. I’ll take you through a landing as soon as we get the chance, so make sure you pay attention. You may have to do it yourself if we get low on fuel.’
Even as I spoke, I realized the madness of what I was describing. It was as though I were a pilot in the grip of some sleeping disease. If Iuda were to take over, it would be as if I wasn’t there at all. But I was confident he would prove to be a quick learner. He wanted to live – more than I did. That would inspire him.
I turned the plane around and let her build to full revs. I couldn’t remember the XII well enough to be able to say that this was more powerful, but it was certainly an impressive machine. We were just passing the buildings when I felt the wheels lift off the ground. I gave a wave to the three officers, and we were away.
CHAPTER XXV
I WAS PREPOSTEROUSLY excited. The advance of science – of technology – had always been a steady, piecemeal thing. That had its appeal, but left room for little that was an utter surprise, that was totally new. In the four decades I had slumbered, this novel means of transportation had arisen from nothing. If I had been alive then this would be but the last of a sequence of small steps. I would feel as much exhilaration as did Danilov on comparing the Lebed XIII with the XII – and that gave him exhilaration enough. But for me this was like being a child again, entering into a world that adults had grown to find mundane and taking joy from each new discovery.
Danilov was enjoying it too. He repeatedly looked over the side to gaze down on Moscow, thus giving me the pleasure of seeing the city as I had never seen it before. But he had a serious intent too. He was teaching me what I needed to know when the moment came that I would have to fly this aeroplane myself. Much as he and Tsigler had discussed, he was following the roads, even here in the city. For all that the streets looked like a map, there were no names on them. It would be easy to get lost.
We tracked the Petrograd Highway back towards the centre of the city, then turned along the garden ring. We can’t have been more than a thousand feet up, below the clouds, so it was all easy to see. To the south I could make out the Kremlin, Red Square and Saint Vasiliy’s, and even the Moskva beyond. Every gleaming dome and spire looked different from up here, almost as if they had been designed to be viewed from this angle, rather than from the ground. Perhaps they had been – they had been built to please an absent God. Now, finally, man could take his place.
The wings dipped to the left as we turned. I had already worked out that this was how we could manoeuvre. But it gave us the added advantage of having a better view on that side. There was a mess of railway tracks beneath us, and I caught a glimpse of the Yaroslavsky Terminus. I could only agree with Danilov as to its hideousness. We straightened up along the line of the tracks, heading north. I was glad it was Danilov who was guiding us. I wouldn’t have been able to pick the correct line, and we might well have ended up back in Petrograd. But he was quite confident.
The tracks split and curved to the east, then split again. Before very long we were well out of the city, with only a single railway line stretching ahead. I wanted to turn and look behind us, but I had no control over our movements. Thankfully Danilov was possessed of the same desire. He twisted his head back, keeping just one hand on the controls. The city looked exquisite, lit by the rays of the setting sun. I sensed that Danilov was saying farewell to it. And that would mean that I was too.
We turned forwards again. We had drifted a little off course, but Danilov soon corrected us. Ahead we saw a train, travelling at full steam away from Moscow and into the east. We overtook it easily, going at comfortably twice its speed. Danilov began to talk me through the controls, showing me how to use the joystick and the pedals at my feet, explaining what the dials and gauges in front of me meant. It seemed clear enough, but I knew that I was someone better capable of understanding on an intellectual level than a practical one. I could comprehend more readily than most the mechanisms that conspired to make a rifle so effective a weapon, but I had never been a very good shot. Worse still, in most flying lessons the student would have the chance to take the controls for a few moments and then hand them
back to the teacher. For us this would not happen. At some random moment I would be given command and Danilov would not have the opportunity to correct my mistakes for several hours.
As it grew darker Danilov took the aeroplane low. There was no moon to act as a guide, but the electric lamp slung beneath us could just about pick out the railway line, though only from a distance of a hundred feet or so. What had begun as exciting now became tedious. There was nothing to see but the dim spot of light on the tracks below. Occasionally we lost it, but Danilov soon had us back on course. It was a frightening idea, though; we could so easily break the link with our only reference and be adrift above the vast Russian steppe. There was a compass in the cockpit, but it could only tell us in what direction we were going, not where we were.
Suddenly I felt as though I was falling backwards. I could see nothing but the stars. The engine began to strain. I turned my head and caught a glimpse of what might be the ground, far behind me. At the same moment I realized that I was able to turn my head – that I was once again in charge of our body. I was flying the plane – and flying it badly. I pushed forward on the stick and we began to flatten out, but also to slow down. Then we were falling, as if the magic that had been holding us aloft had suddenly been taken away – as if, like Peter walking on the Sea of Galilee, I had failed to show the faith that had been so strong in Danilov, and was now sinking to my death.
But I knew it was no magic that kept this machine in the air. Even if I didn’t understand the engineering, I understood the basic science. It was some application of Bernoulli’s principle. The airflow over the wings caused a loss of pressure that lifted them up – and that lift increased with the speed of the airflow. I pulled out the throttle and we began to speed up, but still the aircraft jerked and twitched like a leaf caught in the breeze. At last I managed to coax it back to steady, controlled flight, keeping the wings level on either side of me, and holding the tail just high enough. I felt a momentary pride at my skill, but it soon dissipated. I was completely lost. I didn’t even know our altitude. Below, the light disappeared into darkness before it reached the ground. I descended cautiously and soon I could see woodland rushing past below us. I went a little further, until we were again at around 100 feet.