‘Ah, yes, let me introduce you.’ Gruber led Drake to the head of the table and placed him at his right hand, in the spot of the guest of honour. ‘This is Oberst Schwarz, he commands the MU9 and MU10 squadrons.’ He indicated the man standing behind the chair immediately to his left, who clicked his heels together smartly and gave a short sharp bow.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Lord Drake.’
Schwarz was in his early thirties, young for his rank and responsibility, with jet black hair, slicked severely back. Unlike Gruber, he wasn’t smiling, instead there was a weariness and sorrow in his eyes that betrayed the fact that he was of the opinion that there was nothing to be celebrating. Looking around the table, Drake could easily see why; with the MU9’s, 10’s and Barons there were at least three squadrons on the base, if not more, but there were only twenty three pilots standing stiffly around the table, waiting for Gruber to take his seat - not enough to fill even two squadrons. They wouldn’t have come with anything less than a full complement of pilots so they must have lost a fair number in the fighting in the north.
Drake couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for the man, or his pilots, though; they were his enemy and the fewer there were of them the better.
‘The honour is all mine, Oberst Schwarz.’ Drake gave him a respectful nod in return; Gruber was a decent pilot, but he was essentially nothing more than a figurehead. He hadn’t done anything to actually earn his rank or position, beyond be famous enough to make good propaganda and his success was mostly due to the full resources of the Prussian Empire being handed to him on a plate. Schwarz, on the other hand, would have had to prove his worth and would have done so with only the tools that the rest of the Prussian pilots had - a mass-produced aircraft and skill.
After Drake had greeted the man, Gruber waved vaguely at the rest of the pilots gathered around the table. ‘There’s no need for me to introduce anyone else, so let’s just eat; I’m starving!’ He sat and immediately waved for a wine waiter.
Drake raised an eyebrow at the abysmal manners, but caught the Oberst looking at him and quickly made his expression neutral. The man was obviously in agreement with Drake’s assessment, though, because he gave him the minutest of shrugs in return, before taking his seat.
The food was wonderful, but the meal was almost as intolerable as Drake had feared it would be and, if it hadn’t been for the refined and dignified presence of Schwarz to counter Gruber’s crudeness, which only became more so as the night went on and the actor consumed more and more wine, Drake would most likely have punched the man and hang the consequences. Gruber truly was a bore in every sense of the word: he was self-aggrandising and exceedingly tiresome, needing to be the centre of attention at all times, cutting off everyone who tried to get a word in edgewise and insulting anyone who dared to have a differing opinion to him. It was patently obvious why his pilots kept themselves at a distance from him in the mess and Drake had the horrible feeling that his callousness and disregard for them might continue when it came time to fight.
However, during the whole interminable ordeal, nothing was said about the reason for the celebration and it wasn’t until after desert had been consumed and Gruber was lounging back in his chair with a cigar in one hand and a vodka martini in the other that the subject was broached.
‘Well, we had quite an interesting day, didn’t we boys?’ Gruber grinned and looked around the table. The lower-ranked Prussians all dutifully laughed, agreeing with him, but Drake noted that none of them was particularly enthusiastic or sincere about it. Gruber carried on regardless, though, and Drake wondered if he didn’t notice or just didn’t care.
‘We flew a good few sorties today, in support of the forces at Murmansk and, while the Muscovites did manage to repel the attacks, they have expended all their limited resources in doing so and I’m certain that tomorrow we will take the city.’ Gruber took a drag on his cigar while he paused to let the information sink in, all the while watching for Drake’s reaction.
Drake didn’t give him the satisfaction and just raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? Well, I think your celebration might be a little bit premature, old boy, they may yet pull something out of the hat and surprise you.’
‘I think not,’ Gruber waved away the notion with a derogatory smirk, ‘but anyway, that isn’t what we’re here for.’ He signalled to a waiter, who came forwards with something flat and heavy, covered by a white cloth, which he placed in front of Gruber.
The leader of the Barons didn’t touch it, though, he just set his hands on the table either side of it and smiled at Drake. ‘This morning we had a run-in with the Misfits.’
Drake nodded. ‘That’s not exactly surprising.’ He smiled apologetically at Schwarz and the rest of the pilots around the table. ‘Your reduced numbers told me as much.’
‘That is of no consequence; there are plenty more pilots to be had.’ Again Gruber waved away Drake’s comment. ‘What’s important is this.’
He whipped back the white cloth dramatically to reveal a piece of scratched and charred metal.
Drake stared at it in horror. ‘No...’
The word was scarcely more than a whisper, but Gruber heard and his smile widened in glee.
In itself, the piece of Duralumin could have come from just about any aircraft, but the traces of paint left on it, in an unmistakable shade of pink, declared its origin without a doubt.
Drake still couldn’t believe it, though, and shook his head in denial. ‘It can’t be true.’
Gruber grinned. ‘I’m afraid so.’ He picked up the piece of metal and turned it over in his hands careful not to cut himself on the jagged and twisted edges. ‘I shot down Wasp during this morning’s sortie. This is the only part we could find, the rest is at the bottom of the river near Murmansk.’
‘And...’ Drake’s voice hitched and he gulped down some water before continuing. ‘And Gwen? Did she get out?’
Gruber shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. ‘She did, but she was very low. I thought she was too low to survive, but I’m informed that she did, although she was hurt quite badly.’
Drake looked from Gruber to the chunk of Duralumin and finally to Schwarz. ‘Please tell me this is just some sort of game and he’s lying.’
Schwarz shook his head solemnly. ‘He’s not. I’m sorry.’
Drake glared at Gruber. He found he was angry suddenly and all the good manners in the world weren’t going to stop him showing it. ‘Is this why you invited me to dinner? To taunt me with this?’
Gruber took a deep drag on his cigar, then stubbed the rest out before answering. ‘Of course not. Why on earth would I want to do that? I merely thought that you were bound to find out about this sooner or later and would want to know that your friend survived the ordeal, that is all.’ He downed the rest of his martini, then stood. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have things to do before bed and a sortie to fly in the morning.’
The steward from earlier helped Gruber on with his overcoat, which matched his uniform for colour, then, without even a glance at his men, Gruber picked up the piece of metal and left.
With Gruber gone, the other pilots seemed almost to melt in their seats and normal conversation started up.
Drake was in no mood to join in with it, even if they had tried to include him, and it was almost a relief when two guards approached the table, their attention firmly fixed on him.
He shoved his chair back, more than ready to go with them, but Oberst Schwarz stood and waved them away. ‘Would you allow me the honour of escorting you back to your quarters, Lord Drake?’
Drake was taken by surprise by the man’s offer, coming as it was after a night in which he had dined well but been treated poorly. His first instinct was to refuse point blank and turn his back on the whole damn lot of them, but he managed to stop himself before he said something irrevocable and reconsidered.
On the surface it seemed to be just a courteous gesture, one a gentleman might well make to a guest, but then he remembered how the
re had been something in the Oberst’s eyes that told Drake that he hadn’t been getting the whole story about how Gwen had been shot down and he realised that the man might well want to get him alone to tell him.
He nodded and smiled genuinely for the first time since the meal had begun. ‘I would be delighted, thank you.’
A steward helped Drake into his shabby greatcoat and the two men stepped out into the night with the guards followed at a discreet distance.
At first they just walked in silence along the perimeter track, taking the long way back to the cells, enjoying the clear night even though it was desperately cold. However, after a couple of minutes the man gave the guards a covert glance, as if to make sure that they were out of earshot and, without any preamble, began to talk.
‘One of Generalleutnant Gruber’s Karmesinroten Barone came to see me after this morning’s flight, wanting to file a report against his commander.’
Drake stared at the man. He’d thought he’d get a comment on Gruber’s atrocious behaviour over dinner, or perhaps an apology, but not this.
Schwarz didn’t even glance at him, he just remained staring straight ahead as he continued speaking, as if he felt that by doing so he was just talking to the night and not really telling secrets to an enemy.
‘The pilot is nominally Gruber’s second in command, although whether that actually counts for anything is debatable, and he felt that it was his duty to draw to my attention what actually happened during the sortie.’
Schwarz stopped talking just long enough to return the salute of a group of mechanics as they passed by and Drake noted the respect for the pilot in the men’s gestures and body language, something that he hadn’t seen demonstrated for Gruber, not even by the stewards in the mess, who were only rigidly polite.
‘It didn’t particularly surprise me that Herr Gruber didn’t tell you the details of how he shot Aerial Officer Stone down because he didn’t exactly cover himself in glory. Rather than triumphing in a duel with a worthy opponent, he instead attacked her from the rear as she was firing upon ground forces, taking her by surprise. Now, that in itself is not unusual and I believe you will agree that it is a perfectly understandable tactic of warfare, which I am sure you have used, just as I have.’
Schwarz glanced out of the corner of his eyes at Drake, who merely gave him a confirming nod.
‘However, it wasn’t so much the manner in which Gruber shot down Wasp that disturbed the man, but rather what happened next which prompted him to come to me.’
Drake went even colder than he already was; there was only one thing Schwarz could possibly be about to say, only one thing that Gruber could possibly have done after destroying Wasp that would have distressed a pilot enough for him to speak out against his commander.
By this time they had arrived at the cell block and Schwartz slowed, then stopped. He turned to Drake for the first time, meeting and holding his gaze with dark eyes. ‘Wasp was destroyed at a high enough altitude for Officer Stone to get out without any problem whatsoever, but Gruber made a run at her while she was hanging from her glidewings. She tucked her wings in just as he opened fire and he missed, but she was barely able to redeploy her wings in time and was going very fast when she hit the treetops.’
‘Gruber said she was injured badly. Did his spy at Vaenga tell him that?’
Schwarz’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the only betrayal of his surprise at Drake’s knowledge of the spy’s existence and he smiled minutely before nodding. ‘Yes. The report came in this evening. Her injuries are consistent with the fall, she was not hit by fire either during Wasp’s destruction or after.’
Drake sighed in relief. ‘Thank the fates.’
‘Indeed.’ The man nodded solemnly. ‘I have met Officer Stone myself, you know. This was more than ten years ago, at a conference of the Société Aéronautique and she was just “Miss Hawking” back then, of course, and accompanied by her parents. She was so very young, but even then one could see her promise. It would be a shame for that promise to go to waste, especially due to the actions of one man who is only thinking of revenge.’
He again glanced at the guards and when he saw that they were at a safe distance his usually impassive face showed a modicum of emotion for the first time. ‘Most of us are not the bloodthirsty psychopaths our leaders are, but there are enough men like Gruber to make this war entirely distasteful and far too often they are given the power to do as their dark hearts please.’
‘We’ve got a few of those as well. I think one of them was just made minister for war...’
‘I sympathise.’ Schwarz’s attention was drawn by the guards, who were still keeping their distance, but becoming increasingly nervous, shooting anxious looks their way. ‘I’m sorry, my time has run out, but before I leave you I will tell you what I told the pilot - that Gruber’s behaviour was reprehensible and against every unwritten code, whether it be between gentlemen or aviators, but there is nothing against it in the rulebook. So, while I condemn his actions with every fibre of my being, I am unfortunately not permitted to condemn him through official channels.’
‘That’s a shame, but thank you for telling me.’
‘No need to thank me; I am only expressing what any man of conscience would.’ He held out his hand and Drake took it, expecting a simple goodnight, but was shocked when the man sighed and gave him a look of extreme sorrow. ‘I apologise for what will happen to you after you leave here; nobody deserves that kind of treatment, let alone a pilot and a gentleman, but it is better than the fate of some and perhaps you may live through it.’
With that, the man released Drake’s hand, nodded to the guards, then walked back the way they had come.
Gruber left the mess hall and went straight to his office. He lay the twisted piece of Duralumin reverently in the centre of his desk, then unpinned several of the photographs from the wall and placed them next to it. He sat, leaning forwards, propped up on his forearms, and studied the images for the last time.
He smiled as he took in the smooth, clean lines of Wasp, lines that had inspired his own beautiful machine and that he had destroyed that morning.
He allowed himself a couple of minutes to savour the moment, then he burnt the photographs one by one, crushing their ashes in the metal waste paper basket under his desk, using the flame from the last to light his final celebratory cigar of the night.
Chapter 10
‘What do you think he meant?’ Tanya asked when Drake had finished telling her about his conversation with Schwarz.
She hadn’t seemed at all surprised by Gruber’s attempt to kill Gwen under her glidewings and had even told Drake that she would do the same if it was a Baron in her sights, but his final comment had them both puzzled.
‘I don’t know. If I get the chanceI’ll ask him, but I’m afraid we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Maybe not.’ Tanya grinned. ‘I have a cunning plan, my Lord Drake!’
She reached down and pulled a large knife from underneath the mattress of her bed.
‘Where on earth did you get that?’ He frowned at it. ‘That’s not one of yours.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she brandished it, making it spin in her hands. ‘This is a standard issue Prussian infantry knife.’
‘How did you get it?’
‘I picked the pocket of a nice Prussian sergeant who likes beating up Muscovite prisoners a little bit too much. Hopefully he’ll get in a lot of trouble for losing it.’
‘Picked the pocket...? Dare I ask?’
‘I was a thief before the war. Didn’t you know?’ She winked, then slipped the knife back under her mattress. ‘Anyway, it’s vastly inferior to my blades, but I will make do.’
‘Make do for what?’
‘Tonight, at about three or four o’clock, when things are nice and quiet, we’re going to make a break for it.’
Drake chuckled. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a cell here.’
‘I had noticed that, funnily
enough, Rudy.’ Tanya rolled her eyes. ‘That’s why I’m going to use this to pick the lock.’ She held up his penknife. ‘It’s about time it was useful for something after we’ve carried it so far.’
‘Alright...’ Drake took a deep breath, preparing to state the obvious once more, but she held up a hand to stop him.
‘Yes, I am well aware that we are again behind enemy lines and with the entire Prussian Northern Army between us and Murmansk.’
‘Good,’ Drake grinned. ‘Because I was a tad worried that you’d forgotten.’
‘I haven’t,’ she shook her head earnestly, ‘which is why we’re going to borrow a couple of their aircraft.’
Drake found himself unable to sleep and he lay staring up at the ceiling, listening to Tanya’s regular breathing.
The Muscovite’s plan was a bold one, perhaps foolhardy or desperate, but he was fully conscious of the fact that it might well be the last chance they had to escape the Prussians and make it back to Vaenga before the Arturo left. Before Gwen left.
Somehow, though, the prospect of missing the transport back to England was no longer so abhorrent to him, the need to get back to Gwen no longer so urgent, and he glanced across to the woman in the bed next to him, only a few feet away in the cramped room. In the glow from the moonlight coming through the window she almost seemed at peace, although he knew from the few times he had been on watch during the daytime that some part of her was still aware and the slightest activity or thing out of place would bring her instantly awake, knife in hand ready to kill.
As if sensing his gaze, Tanya’s eyes opened and her head turned towards him. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’
The Lion and the Baron Page 9