by Ashton, Hugh
-oOo-
When Harry came down to breakfast the next morning, Brian seemed to have disappeared.
He was halfway through his black bread and jam when Brian came in, looking a little muddy.
“It’s not really my place to tell you how to behave,” said Harry. “But I think you should make yourself a little more presentable before Petrov joins us.”
Brian laughed. “Give me a moment, will you?” he replied. “It’s chilly out there and I need some of that tea. Petrov’s been out there with me. He may be a Grand Duke or whatever, but he knows what he’s doing here, and he loves doing it. It’s a pleasure to work with him.”
“What were you up to?”
“Looking for traces of our friend Kolinski.” He gulped his tea. “Ah, that’s better. That Kolinski’s a vicious bastard. I saw the two bodies he left behind him yesterday. They’re not a pretty sight. He seems to have no conscience at all about killing. Petrov feels that these two are not the only bodies Kolinski has left behind him. There are probably some in Petrograd and Moscow that we haven’t heard about. Then we went to the woods to look at the place where the guard’s body was found. Petrov’s good. He sometimes notices things even before I do, and I’ve always been regarded as being a bit of a Sherlock Holmes. He spotted some marks on the tree bark where Kolinski had climbed up it, and the place where he must have jumped down on the poor sod whose throat he cut. We saw which way he’d taken off, but then we came to a stream, and the dogs lost the scent.”
“Dogs?”
“Yes, a couple of bloody great monsters. Look more like wolves than dogs. Vicious-looking brutes, but Petrov says they’re nice as pie once they get to know you. And they’re as good as bloodhounds at following a scent, it seems. Anyway, we know which way the beggar went, even if we don’t know where he is now. And now I will go and wash and brush up. I caught a sight of the Netopyr as we were coming back, by the way. Bloody amazing thing. You’re going to love it.”
About an hour later, a freshly cleaned up Brian made his way with Harry and Petrov across the proving ground. As they reached the corner of one of the huts and turned towards the open space, Harry’s jaw dropped, and he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Bloody hell! Sorry, sir,” speaking to Petrov, “but that’s it?”
“That, Lieutenant, is the Netopyr,” said Petrov proudly. “The only one so far, but we hope it will be the first of many.”
Harry looked at the two massive spoked wheels with the sponson between them. “How big are those wheels?”
“Nearly nine metres,” replied Petrov.
“That’s nearly thirty feet! Bloody hell,” he repeated. “This is amazing. How is the engine power transmitted to the wheels?”
“Well, I’m not really the expert on this,” said Petrov. “Engineer Lebedenko is the man you should talk to. He speaks a little English, so you should be able to communicate with him without too much difficulty, I think.”
As if on cue, a tall gangling man approached the group. “Ah, Engineer Lebedenko,” Petrov greeted him. “Here is Lieutenant Braithwaite of the British Army, who is an engineer himself, and would like to know all about the Netopyr.”
“You English? Good. I like English very much,” in thickly accented English. “Come with me. I explain all about Netopyr.”
“I was wondering how you transfer the energy from the engines to the wheels,” asked Harry.
“Come.” Lebedenko led the way up a gangway leading along the “tail” from the rear trail wheels to the central compartment between the two main wheels. Harry followed cautiously, but Lebedenko was obviously used to doing this, and almost skipped ahead. “Now, look,” he said, opening a hatch.
Harry looked and tried to make sense of what he saw. “You’re using that spring to press that wheel against the rim of the main wheel, and transfer the energy that way?” Lebedenko looked blank, so Harry pantomimed the need for a pencil and paper. Lebedenko pulled out a notebook and a pen, and Harry sketched a quick diagram. “Engine here. Gearbox here. Main drive shaft and wheel here. Spring here. Presses against wheel here, and turns it.”
“Yes, yes. You have it,” said Lebedenko.
“I like it,” said Harry. “It’s pretty simple, but it should work. How do you steer?”
“Look,” said Lebedenko, leading Harry to another part of the massive machine. “Here.” There was a small compartment for a driver that looked a little like the helmsman's position on a ship. “Throttle here. Both engines,” pointing to a lever beside the steering wheel. Harry examined the lever and the cables that led to the left and right engines. “Now turn wheel,” Lebedenko commanded Harry, who obeyed. “See this?” he asked. There was a complex system of wires and pulleys which seemed to be attached to the throttles of the two engines.
“So if I turn the wheel to the left, I increase power on the right engine, and decrease power on the left?”
“Yes, yes.”
“And that works well?”
“Yes. We have much success with this.”
“What about brakes?”
“Netopyr is so heavy that he stop when no engine. So we have clutch only and no brake. Here we need two people because of strength of spring. Look.”
“No dials or instruments to tell you about the engines?” asked Harry. The only instrument he could see was a rather primitive compass that looked as though it had come from a ship.
“Two engineers in crew, one for each engine,” explained Lebedenko. “They watch temperature and revolution and when there is problem they tell steersman or captain.”
Harry said nothing, but thought to himself that this did not sound like an ideal way to keep things running, especially in an emergency.
“Can we have a look at the engines now?” asked Harry.
“Certainly. My two nephews are now with us, I think,” replied Lebedenko. He led the way along a cramped gangway, with armour plate on both sides and overhead.
“This is Boris Sergeyevich Stechkin, my sister’s son,” introducing a grinning young man, as blond as Lebedenko himself was dark. “This port engine here is his duty.”
Harry examined the massive Maybach, and nodded approvingly. From what he could see, the engine was in excellent condition, and had been well maintained. “Do you speak English?” he asked the young man, who shook his head in reply.
“My other nephew at the starboard engine speaks English and German. Come,” said Lebedenko, and he and Harry bent almost double to traverse the low corridor joining the two wheels.
“Alexander Alexandrovich Mikulin,” he introduced the other mechanic. “My brother’s son.” He added something in Russian – Harry could make out his name, and the word “mechanic”, which seemed to be the same in Russian and English.
“Another engineer who loves motors? Wonderful. Please call me Sasha, or even Alex if you prefer,” said the young man in English that was much better than his uncle’s. Harry recognised him as the bearer of the news of the delay the previous day. His surly mood of the day before seemed to have vanished, and his smile appeared genuine and unforced. He was about the same age and height as Harry, and even looked somewhat similar to the English officer. “I spent a little time in London and in Yorkshire after I had graduated from the Technical Institute. It is good for me to speak English again.” He held out his hand for Harry to shake, and then withdrew it before Harry could grasp it. “My apologies.” He wiped his hand with a rag. “I had oil on them from changing the plugs.”
“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “I bet I’ve had as much oil on my hands in my time. May I look?” He bent over the engine and examined the valve tappets. “I’ve never seen this model of engine before, and I understand there’s a new development here.”
“Indeed there is,” said Alex. “Look,” pointing to a complex spring arrangement. “This really improves the efficiency of the exhaust system.” The two men went into a complex discussion about the mechanical virtues of different engines, and Lebedenko turned away, smili
ng.
On the ground below, Brian and Petrov were standing below the monster, looking up at the giant mass of steel towering above them.
“I can see how this could work,” said Brian. “It would certainly scare the living daylights out of any enemy that it approached. Is that a gun turret that I see in the centre, above the cross-beam?”
“Yes, that’s right. Much the idea same as the main gun turrets on the Zaamurets, but we have no gun mounted as yet, as we’re still testing the basic concepts. It will probably hold a smaller gun or maybe a cluster of machine-guns.”
“And those would be machine-gun mounts on either side of the main sponsons?”
Petrov nodded. “They are there to provide cover for the flanks of the Netopyr. And if you look, you’ll see another belly gun underneath to stop anyone from attacking that way.”
“You will have to put in some sort of mechanism to prevent the main gun turret from firing through the wheels. It would be a disaster if the crew were to shoot off their own wheels. Some of the aeroplanes on the Western Front have an arrangement to stop them shooting off their own tails or propellers.”
“That’s something where we may have to ask for assistance from you British. The Russian aeroplanes aren’t very sophisticated, though we have some wonderful designs from Igor Sikorsky and his team, but we lack some of the practical details that I am sure you have developed on the Western Front, and I doubt if our mechanics have the necessary experience to develop such a system quickly without a little assistance.”
There was a shout from above. “We’re ready to set off,” Lebedenko called down to the two men below. “Will you ride in the turret, while the British lieutenant and I control the Netopyr?”
“Well, this is a first for me,” said Brian. “I’ve never been in anything like this before.”
“It’s the first time Lebedenko has ever allowed me to be inside the Netopyr while it’s moving,” confessed Petrov. “Usually he’s been too worried about something to allow me inside. It must mean that he is fairly close to completing his work.”
The two men climbed up the ramp at the rear of the machine, and squeezed through the hatch that Lebedenko was holding open for them.
“If you two will go into the top turret,” he said, hardly bothering to look at the two visitors.
“That sounded like an order,” said Brian, when he and Petrov were alone in the turret.
“Lebedenko’s a little like that. Rank really doesn’t seem to mean anything to him. He was one of the best designers in the artillery division in the company where he worked, and I think it went to his head a little. He knows that I am something more than a Colonel, of course, and that I have a title, but I guess he’s never given it more than a moment’s thought. His nephews, though, are a completely different matter. Young Stechkin in particular is a very well-behaved and pleasant lad. Always respectful and willing to help. I’m not so sure about young Alexander Alexandrovich at times, but generally he’s co-operative and observes the social niceties.”
There was a loud bang, as one of the engines kicked into life, quickly replaced by a low roar. The sounds were repeated from the other side, and the whole structure started to vibrate.
“I feel like a pea in a tin,” Brian shouted to Petrov.
“I know what you mean,” replied Petrov. “This is not at all comfortable.”
“And it’s not going to help with aiming the guns, either.”
Petrov nodded. There was a mighty lurch, and both men staggered, Petrov almost falling, but Brian moved to catch him before he actually hit the floor. Petrov nodded his thanks, and both men stood at the port where the gun would be mounted, looking at the ground more than five metres below them.
“It’s a splendid observation platform,” Brian shouted over the roar of the engines, which had increased in volume since the Netopyr had started to move. “This would be invaluable to see over ridges and to see what was happening in trenches.”
“I’m impressed that this is moving at all,” replied Petrov. “Quite frankly, after all the disappointments over the past few months, I didn’t really expect us to be on our way today. But yes, I agree that this is a wonderful mobile observation platform, if somewhat large and heavy for the purpose. But it’s been designed as a fighting vehicle.”
There was another great lurch, and Brian and Petrov, who were now gripping supports inside the turret, kept their balance better this time. “What was that?” asked Petrov, who had been thrown back away from the gun port.
“We moved off the paved road. We’re now travelling cross-country.”
“But there’s a great ditch between the road and the field,” said Petrov. He moved to the rear observation point. “Good Lord, we seem to have crossed it.” Brian moved to join him.
“That’s quite some ditch,” said Brian. “More like a trench on the Western Front, and we crossed it without too much difficulty. I don’t think barbed wire would be much of a barrier to us, either.”
At that moment, the hatch to the turret opened and Lebedenko’s grinning face appeared.
“Nikolai Nikolaivich,” exclaimed Petrov. “What are you doing here? Who is controlling this infernal machine of yours while you are talking to us?”
“The Englishman,” replied Lebedenko. “He wanted to try for himself, and I let him. I made the Netopyr so simple to operate that even an Englishman can use it after a few minutes.”
“That’s very impressive,” said Brian. “Well done. I would prefer it if you were to take the helm, all the same. I hate to think of the international consequences for Anglo-Russian relations if Harry damaged this amazing machine.”
“I understand,” replied Lebedenko, with a flash of surprisingly white teeth. “Colonel Petrov, we have enough fuel for about an hour’s travel. Is there anywhere you would like us to go?”
“The trench system is less than two kilometres away,” replied Petrov. “We will have enough fuel to get there and back?”
“Easily. I estimate that we can travel at about sixteen or maybe even twenty kilometres an hour along a good road, and perhaps half of that over fields and so on.”
“Very good. You know the way?”
“Straight over there, I think, past that undergrowth.” Lebedenko had entered the turret, and pointed to the west, towards a swath of low bushes.
“That’s right. Those bushes will be a good test for the capabilities of the Netopyr.”
Lebedenko laughed. “I promise you, you won’t even notice as we go over them.” He left the turret.
“That’s probably true,” said Petrov. “We’re shaking around so much that we probably won’t notice anything, even if we collide with an elephant.”
“Mind you, an elephant probably wouldn’t survive the impact of a collision with us,” laughed Brian.
Petrov peered out of the turret. “We’re moving at quite a speed, and this is pretty rough ground,” he commented. “I wouldn’t like to ride a horse this fast over this terrain, would you?”
“I don’t know,” replied Brian. “I’m not a horseman, but I certainly appreciate that this thing is moving much faster than infantry can advance, and I’d feel a lot safer going up against the enemy in this, rather than on foot.”
There was a sudden loud bang from the left side of the Netopyr, and almost immediately both engines stopped. Brian and Petrov heard a rapid exchange of Russian between Lebedenko and his nephews.
“We have a problem with a fan belt,” said Lebedenko, popping his head into the turret a few minutes later. “It broke on one engine, and we daren’t risk overheating the engine by running without it. We can repair the belt, but it will take about ten minutes or a little more.” His head disappeared, and Brian and Petrov could hear his voice shouting to his nephew.
“What do you think so far?” asked Petrov.
“I feel shaken to pieces,” said Brian. “I think there’s going to have to be some sort of suspension in the final model. Maybe the crew compartment can swing from wire
s or something. I don’t know, I’m not an engineer. Maybe Lieutenant Braithwaite can come up with something.”
They waited, and after a few minutes, Lebedenko sang out, “We’ll be on our way, gentlemen.” The engines re-started, and the Netopyr staggered off again.
“That didn’t take very long,” said Brian. “I’m guessing we’re nearly there now.”
“We’re nearly at the brushwood,” said Petrov. “Getting closer. We’re in it now.”
“Didn’t feel a thing,” said Brian. “Other than this continual infernal shaking.”
“That undergrowth would stop an infantry advance dead in its tracks,” said Petrov. “And cavalry would certainly slow down or even grind to a halt when it came to it. And we never even noticed. I don’t think we’ve even slowed down at all.”
“It’s an interesting way to travel,” agreed Brian.
“The trenches are just the other side of the ridge,” said Petrov. “We’re slowing down a bit as we climb, but I suppose that’s only to be expected, really. Ah, here we are,” pointing.
“Complete with wire fortifications and everything,” remarked Brian. “As I said, this makes a wonderful observation platform.”
There was a shout from Lebedenko from his place at the helmsman’s station. “Look out! Hang on tight and brace yourselves. We’re about to go over the first trench!”
Brian wedged himself against the side, and braced himself with his arms. Petrov did the same on the other side of the turret, and there was a sickening jolt as the floor seemed to drop away. Brian hit his head painfully and swore, repeating his words as the floor seemed to rise and hit him with considerable force. Petrov avoided hitting his head, but lost his footing as the Netopyr climbed out of the trench, and slipped to the floor.
“Everyone all right?” called out Lebedenko, cheerfully.
“Just about,” replied Petrov. He sounded winded.
“Can you stop this thing for a moment?” shouted Brian.
“Yes. In a few seconds,” and sure enough in a very short time the Netopyr had shuddered to a halt. Brian reached for the exit hatch on the turret.