Harry gets Her Wings (Iron Pegasus Book 3) Page 7

  “Feeding you?”

  Harry shook her head for emphasis. “I’m starving, Sellie hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and there’s not a single jot of food on the plane.”

  xvii

  “Try not to destroy another Zeppelin, Harriet,” said Johannes. “They are very expensive.”

  Harry turned in the pilot’s chair and looked at him seriously. “This isn’t a joke, Johannes. Have you killed as many men as I have?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m not a soldier,” she said. “How well do you think I sleep, knowing what I’ve done?”

  “I am sorry, Harriet,” he said. “But I did not mean it as a joke either.”

  “No, well, it isn’t.”

  “Even soldiers don’t sleep well.”

  Harry turned back to the controls and checked the steam. It was in range for take-off.

  “You’d better go,” she said. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

  “No more than usual,” he said. He clicked his heels. The sound penetrated the noise of the steam generator and the bubbling of the pipes. He saluted, then turned and went down the steps.

  Khuwelsa pulled in the steps and shut the hatch. The quality of sound in the cabin changed subtly. Harry felt her sister at her elbow.

  “Perhaps you should kiss him,” said Khuwelsa said quietly so that Mrs Hemingway would not hear.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Perhaps because you want to do it.”

  “Sellie, nothing good could come of it,” said Harry. “We’re on opposite sides and they won’t be able to hold off from making war forever.”

  “You should be happy.”

  Harry leaned back and turned her head. She put her pale-skinned hand on her sister’s dark one. “I think we’re doomed to become old maids together.”

  “Speak for yourself, white girl,” said Khuwelsa with a wide grin. She gave Harry’s hand a squeeze. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Get into as much trouble as possible.”

  “While trying not to break any German toys?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Harry gave two short whistles and then flipped the Faraday switch. The Pegasus creaked as the weight went from her structure. There was a short cry from Mrs Hemingway, though without justification since she was already seated.

  After a couple of experimental wing beats, issued as a warning to anyone in the area, she ran up the power on the propeller. She did a visual check to ensure there was no one in their immediate vicinity but the guards had stepped back well out of range.

  Three strokes of the wings later and they were accelerating northeast across the town. As they passed the final line of buildings she opened up full throttle but descended to a height of twenty feet. Through her reverse mirror she saw three German fighters in a diagonal in-line formation turn and follow.

  She gave a grim smile, the other pilot had tested her speed, well, she would see if they could keep up with her. She stayed low and watched her velocity climb. As she passed a hundred miles per hour she felt the same additional lift she had over the water of Lake Victoria.

  She frowned. She had never heard of anything like this. Their speed increased effortlessly this close to the ground. It was as if the Pegasus were sliding over ice.

  The only problem here was the trees. Every now and then there would be one in their path and she would have to either hop over or steer around it. And as her velocity passed one hundred and sixty she had to focus every ounce of her concentration on the terrain streaming towards her. She had to negotiate every lump and hillock before it became a problem.

  Step by step she pulled the wings in closer to her body, noticing every nuanced change in how she reacted to the air. They reached one hundred and seventy-five, and the air set up shrill whistles around the fuselage. With a flat stretch ahead she glanced into the mirror. Her escort was outdistanced and she could only see where they were by the three thin trails.

  The mountains were growing fast in the north, and the storm clouds they had passed over earlier in the day were still there. Harry made a decision. With a slight touch to the controls she edged the Pegasus slightly more to the east.

  “Where are we going?” asked Sellie. Harry almost jumped; she had been concentrating so hard she had not noticed her sister.

  “The sea,” said Harry. “It’s flat so we can just run up the coast. If we can maintain this speed it will be quicker than going over the mountains.”

  “I noticed that,” said Khuwelsa. “We really shouldn’t be going this fast.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s tiring.”

  Sellie hesitated. “Slow down if you need to. I’d rather survive.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Harry calculated that at their current velocity it would probably be less than twenty minutes before they reached the sea.

  But she was wrong.

  They were following a road that led towards Tanga on the coast a short distance south of Mombasa when something much larger than a tree loomed out of the ground ahead.

  The Pegasus rocketed beneath the Zeppelin so fast that Harry had no time to react. Mrs Hemingway screamed though her cry began after they had passed the other vessel. Harry dared not react suddenly. At this speed she could rip the wings off if she tried to use them for braking.

  She gave them a slight up angle and Harry felt herself pushed down into her chair as they shot skywards, shedding velocity. She powered back on the throttle and turned the Pegasus on her wing. The Zeppelin was crawling along at barely fifty miles per hour. Not in any hurry.

  Harry matched course and, conscious of what Johannes had said as well as the fact that their father might be on board, did not make any aggressive moves. Instead she brought the Pegasus down to fly alongside the Zeppelin. A glance at the lettering along the side told her it was the Graf von Moltke.

  “Harry, we’re sitting ducks,” said Sellie. As they moved up beside the airship with its dozen artillery guns mounted along its side.

  “Have you got a mirror?” said Harry.

  xviii

  Before they had a chance to use the mirror as a heliograph, the Zeppelin reversed its engines and lost altitude. Within minutes it came to rest a short distance from the road.

  Harry brought the Pegasus down with her gun pointing directly at the airship’s gondola.

  “You were saying about not being aggressive?” said Sellie.

  “Yes, well,” said Harry. “There’s non-aggressive and then there’s lying on your back and inviting them to eat you for lunch. I’d like to have some negotiating power. You stay here and man the gun.”

  Mrs Hemingway stood up. “I should like to accompany you, Miss Edgbaston.”

  Harry looked at her. She had been much quieter since their visit to Johannes. In fact, she had said nothing at all apart from the occasional squeak of fear.

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps if I were to accept that this is all my fault?”

  Harry took a moment to absorb what she had said. “That’s very … noble of you, madam,” said Harry. “But not this time.”

  Mrs Hemingway shifted her feet as if she were restraining herself. “Do you think I am lying?”

  “No, it’s not that. This is a different situation. I might have to run and you would be too slow, and besides, this really isn’t your fault. If there’s any fault here it’s the British and German governments fighting over Zanzibar.” Mrs Hemingway looked somewhat relieved until Harry continued. “You just made it a lot worse.”

  Well, thought Harry, why should I excuse her despicable behaviour?

  “I’d tell you to be careful,” said Sellie. “But I think we’re far beyond that point.”

  Harry shrugged. “Still got that flag?”

  Sellie produced it from behind a set of tools. It was streaked with coal dust. Harry tried to clean it but only succeeded in smudging the dirt. “It’ll do.”

&nb
sp; She opened the hatch, pushed out the steps, and climbed down, poking the white flag out in front of her once more. No weapons were fired in her direction so she stepped away from the Pegasus and moved towards the Zeppelin.

  From the ground, without her ship around her, it was huge. The great sheath that surrounded the individual internal balloons billowed in the breeze. The rotors were still turning, but with the majority of its Faraday grid turned off it sat firmly on the ground.

  The three decks of the massive gondola stretched above her. From all the windows and portholes, men stared out at her. She crossed a third of the distance to the Zeppelin and stopped. There, she planted the flag in the ground beside her and waited.

  Behind her she could hear the huffing of the steam generator inside the Pegasus while the engines of the Zeppelin were a constant beat in the background. It was like some sort of industrial music. The sun was pounding down but she had her scarf over her hair. She still wore the same dress, as dirty as the white flag, and the light breeze floated through the gap she had cut.

  It must have been ten minutes before a door in the lowest level of the gondola opened.

  A crewman jumped down and took folding steps from someone inside. He then placed them against the hull and stepped back, standing to attention.

  From the uniforms she knew it was the captain with two of his lieutenants who descended the steps and made their way across the long grass until they were standing a similar distance from their ship as she was from hers.

  The captain alone continued until he was about halfway. Harry left the flag and walked up to him.

  “Miss Harriet Edgbaston,” he said in English, and bowed.

  “Captain Reichler, I presume,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed. “You know who I am?”

  “Yes, Captain,” she said. “I understand you have been conveying Hauptman Gerhardt on his mission to teach my sister and I a lesson of some sort.”

  “You are remarkably well informed,” he said.

  “Where is my father?”

  “Shall we move somewhere more comfortable, where we may talk?”

  “This location is quite satisfactory, Captain,” she said. “I just want to know where my father is. Is he aboard your ship?”

  He shook his head. “No, Miss Edgbaston, he is not.”

  “You have withdrawn then?” she asked with some relief.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “I left Hauptman Gerhardt and his men back at your home.”

  Harry exploded. “You did what?” Captain Reichler took a step back in surprise at her vehemence. “That man has a personal vendetta against us. This has nothing to do with any enmity between your country and mine. It’s personal! And you left him alone with my father!”

  Harry turned on her heel and ran back to the Pegasus.

  “Miss Edgbaston!” called the captain. She paused at the step. “I did not know.”

  She threw herself into the ship and froze with her hands on the bar. Her heart pounded in her breast, and she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  She sobbed.

  “Harry?” Khuwelsa’s arm went round her shoulder. “Harry? What is it?” There was an awful tremor of fear in Sellie’s voice. “Is it Dad? Is he … all right?”

  Harry rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and sniffed. “No, I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t know.” She sniffed again. “I just don’t know, Sellie. The captain left Gerhardt and his men.”

  “With Dad?”

  Harry nodded and tried to find a kerchief. She sniffed.

  “Oh God.”

  They were distracted by a movement outside as the Graf von Moltke surged into the air.

  With its engines roaring it turned through 180 degrees before it had gained more than a few feet.

  Its massive body tore a tree out of the ground as it ran straight through it.

  “I can’t fly, Sellie,” said Harry.

  “Don’t be silly, of course you can.”

  Harry held up her hands, they were shaking. She sniffed again.

  A hand holding a kerchief appeared at her cheek. Harry took it from Mrs Hemingway and blew her nose.

  “I’m so tired, Sellie,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore. What if he’s already …?”

  “What are you talking about, Miss Edgbaston?” said Mrs Hemingway. “Your father is one of the most resourceful gentlemen I have met. He deals with international situations using nothing but his wits and his tongue. Do you think some upstart German will be able to get the better of him?”

  Harry blew her nose again and wiped her eyes.

  “Better?” said Mrs Hemingway. Harry nodded.

  She clambered beneath the rail and up into the pilot’s seat. The Zeppelin was making its best speed back towards the coast.

  Harry tried to whistle but nothing came. Her sister gave two short whistles, reached across and flipped the Faraday switch.

  Harry gunned the propeller, beat the wings, and the Pegasus took flight.

  xix

  “Five hours, Harry,” said Sellie in her ear. “They can’t have got far in that time.”

  They had torn past the Graf Van Moltke, hugging the ground as the speed indicator climbed steadily once more. Khuwelsa estimated they would reach home in less than an hour, though they would have to slow down when they reached Mombasa.

  The small seaport of Tanga flashed past as they shot out across the sea. Harry angled north, bringing the Pegasus around in a slow turn.

  Sellie turned as Mrs Hemingway approached the front of the cabin. The tutor put her hands around the bar and clung to it, though the ship was solid without the slightest tremor beyond the normal engine vibrations.

  One hundred and seventy-five miles per hour.

  The waves, as seen through the lower viewing glass, were a green-blue blur. Objects further off moved more slowly. The coastline was half a mile to their port; it was possible to focus on features before they slipped behind.

  “This is remarkable,” said Mrs Hemingway. “That is our velocity?” She pointed at the airspeed gauge. Sellie nodded.

  “As fast as an atmospheric train.”

  “Faster,” said Sellie. “They cruise at about one hundred and fifty. And they’re being pushed by pneumatic pressure, not self-powered as we are.”

  “I had no idea it could go so fast.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Khuwelsa said. “There seems to be some effect that takes hold when we are close to the ground. We can go faster, yet we burn less coal in the process.”

  “I see.”

  They passed a village perched on a hill rising from the sea, below which was a promontory enclosing a bay filled with mangroves.

  “I think that is Msambweni,” said Khuwelsa. “It’s less than twenty miles to Mombasa.”

  In response Harry angled the Pegasus away from the coast. She did not speak.

  “Why are we going further out?” asked Mrs Hemingway.

  “We can’t do any sharp turns at this speed,” Sellie said. “So Harry’s moving out from the coast and will bring us round in an arc when we reach the city.”

  Sellie did not like Mombasa. Oh, she went when Harry wanted to go, but she did not enjoy it. There were too many bad memories and Mombasa brought them back.

  She had been three weeks in the slave caravan walking the roads that they flitted past in the Pegasus. But although there had been precious little to eat, along with constant walking from dawn until dusk, those had not been bad days. Mombasa had been another story completely. She shuddered involuntarily and pushed the memories away. She focused on the distant coastline.

  There was a haze above the city, it made it easy to locate even when it was just a smudge on the horizon.

  Sellie glanced at the steam pressure gauge. They could do with a top-up, especially if Harry was planning any fancy manoeuvres. Sellie laughed at the idea of Harry planning anything.

  Planning? Not very likely.

  She turned and saw that Mrs Hemingway was still stand
ing against the rail.

  “You should probably take a seat, madam. It might get a bit rough.”

  The woman jumped at her words. “It’s mesmerising,” she said quickly as if to hide her reaction, and then smiled. She turned away and went to the chair. Carefully, she adjusted her skirts and took her seat.

  Sellie hurried into the back and pulled her leather apron over her torn and dirty dress.

  With Mrs Hemingway on board she was not going to strip to her undergarments as she usually did. It was practical and cooler, but their tutor would be outraged. Anyway, smut from the furnace was unlikely to make things much worse. The apron was there to stop sparks setting her aflame.

  She pulled on the gauntlets, picked up the shovel, and unlatched the door of the furnace.

  Heat poured out. She loaded up the fire with half a dozen shovelfuls of coal, and once again wondered whether it wouldn’t be a better idea to change to diesel. Trouble was, it just didn’t have the raw power the wings needed.

  She slammed the door shut just as she felt the deck tilt. Harry had started her approach to Mombasa.

  Stripping off her gauntlets, Sellie went forward to the main cabin and opened the door to the cold store she had installed. Johannes had supplied them with some sealed jugs of water and, she noted, three bottles of wine. She retrieved one of the jugs and closed the door.

  “Would you like some water, Mrs Hemingway?” she asked.

  As a tremor rippled in the hull, she glanced out the front. The city was moving past the window. Harry had crossed the coast a little south of it but heading northwest towards their home. Mombasa had been built on an outcrop of rock surrounded by water on three sides. The fourth side, that led inland, was almost a swamp.

  The Pegasus crossed the southern river estuary and headed inland. Harry was still very low and flitted across the tops of masts from the dozens of fishing vessels.

  “No, thank you,” said Mrs Hemingway. “I find the way liquid moves in a Faraday field to be most disturbing.” She was referring to the way it rolled sluggishly instead of pouring.

  Sellie smiled. “We use these,” she said simply. She dipped her hand into a container set into the inner wall of the fuselage and pulled out three paper straws. “Much simpler and you don’t have to wait for the water to get around to moving.”