Harry Takes Off: Astounding Stories of Adventure (Iron Pegasus Book 1) Page 9
She looked up again and frowned. She checked her altitude. She wasn’t climbing but the airship was closer. It was coming down right on top of them. She dived for the waves.
The sun was above the horizon and its bright rays glinting off the waves blinded her as the Pegasus pulled out from underneath the falling ship. She pulled into a turn and saw the whole rear section of the outer envelope was loose and flapping; balloons of helium gas were escaping and floating into the sky.
It had worked.
Men were throwing themselves from the gondola as the doomed vessel hit the water. Harry kept turning. She knew what would happen next. When the ship hit the water the Faraday grid would short-circuit and the ship would sink fast.
She whistled the first line of the “Sailor’s Hornpipe” to let Khuwelsa know they had succeeded. Then she looked ahead. The three following ships were heading towards them. Probably at full thrust. And if the people on the shore had seen what had happened, the fighters would not be far behind.
She and Khuwelsa had discussed what they would do if faced with impossible odds.
Harry looked about. The sun continued to rise in the east; the landmass of Zanzibar was a dark smudge on the horizon. The coast of Africa was five miles away, and three heavily armoured Zeppelins were coming their way.
Impossible odds.
Harry pulled the Pegasus round with her stern to the coast away from the Zeppelins, and kept up full throttle.
She brought the nose up and climbed to three thousand feet, putting more distance between them and the enemy. She held her hand over her eyes; the sun was directly ahead. She let the airspeed drop until it was barely a crawl.
They had considered all the possibilities and the consequences of their actions.
Impossible odds.
At stalling speed Harry flipped the Pegasus around and lined up on the Zeppelins, with the sun directly behind her.
Running away had not been among the options.
xxiii
The three Zeppelins were flying in close formation, one at the front and the two others behind to the port and starboard, slightly offset from one another. They maintained the same altitude as the first.
They did not see the Pegasus as she came out of the sun until she was right on top of the first vessel. Harry had to bank slightly to port to line up with the balloon and then banked hard to starboard as Khuwelsa poured out a second bucket of steaming tar and red hot metal.
Harry kept as low to the top of the balloon as she dared so that the artillery would think twice before opening fire in case they hit each other.
They only had three buckets’ worth of that weapon. She could not wait to see if they had been successful but dipped over the first ship and throttled back. Going more slowly made them easier to hit but she could spend more time among the balloons where, perversely, they were safer.
Only one bucket remained and Khuwelsa needed time to refill.
Lines of tracer bullets filled the air. A fighter was streaking up towards her from sea level. With barely a thought Harry let out five abrupt whistles and flipped off the Faraday. The Pegasus fell. Harry fanned out the wings to slow their descent as the fighter airplane shot above them. She re-engaged the Faraday and found herself below the level of the Zeppelins. Now there was no risk of them hitting each other and they opened fire.
She pushed forward and slid under the first Zeppelin on the right.
Khuwelsa indicated her readiness with two short whistles and Harry opened up the power. She steered the length of the airship accelerating as she went, explosions filling the air around her. Some sort of proximity shell? As she came out from beneath the gondola she saw a squadron of fighters moving across the sky above her.
There was no time to worry about them.
She climbed between the two airships. The artillerymen on the trailing ship had apparently decided they did not care whether they hit their sister vessel and opened fire on her. Harry dipped and twisted randomly as she climbed, to upset their aim. As she lined up for the run, she could see the gunners take a few pot shots but then abandon their position, climbing down the outside of the envelope.
They clearly knew what was coming.
Tracers ripped past her and bullets pinged off the fuselage. Some of the bullets hit the balloon; others sparked off the gun mounted on the ship. She laughed at her own arrogance; it wasn’t her they were afraid of, it was their own fighters because a few bullets through the envelope were not going to bring down the airship.
The Pegasus made her run with tracers from more than one plane crossing in front of her. Harry banked the ship and hoped Khuwelsa was releasing the bucket’s contents.
She brought the Pegasus round in a full turn. For the first time they saw the results of the second bucket: The leading airship of the three was in the water with its envelope sagging and straining. Dozens of men floundered in the sea, swimming away from the sinking gondola.
She could only hope Khuwelsa had been successful with the final bucket. They could not wait to find out.
With only one Zeppelin remaining, no more tar and a dozen fighters taking pot shots at her, Harry barely even considered her next action. There was no way she was going to let the final airship cross to Zanzibar.
She engaged the highest propeller gearing and dived for maximum speed. The fighters were fast but with the new propeller the Pegasus could outdistance them. Still, without guns a stern chase was the last thing she wanted—they would just shoot her out of the sky.
With the artillery fire exploding around her she drove hard beneath the final airship. As the Pegasus emerged on the other side, out of sight of the pursuing fighters, she disengaged the propeller and back-winged hard. Her forward speed dropped to nothing and wing beat by wing beat she flew up the side of the balloon as the fighters shot out beneath them. As far as they were concerned she had simply vanished.
The men on the Zeppelin knew where she was but she was so close they could not bring their artillery to bear. It took barely twenty seconds for her to reach the top of the balloon, to manoeuvre over the top and set down. She switched off the Faraday but they remained light, because they were inside the effect of the airship’s Faraday grid.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Khuwelsa’s voice had an odd strained tone.
Harry looked round. Khuwelsa was wrapping a cloth round her leg. There was no time to talk. A couple of the fighters had come around and seen her. Not that there was much they could do.
“Do you trust me, Sellie?”
Khuwelsa stopped her bandaging. “Like a sister.”
Harry smiled and reached for the propeller control.
* * *
The British ornithopter was sitting motionless on the top of the Graf Joseph Kreisler. Hans Pietsch throttled back his fighter plane. Was the British ship surrendering? Whether it was or not, they could not attack it. While the air-ship could take many bullets before its integrity was harmed, a concentrated attack would provide exactly that harm.
He was unclear exactly what had happened to the other three ships. The ornithopter had no guns, and yet it flew across the top of a Zeppelin and within moments the warship was falling out of the sky. That one small craft could do so much harm was quite disturbing.
What was the British ship doing now, just sitting there?
Suddenly its propeller burst into life. It ripped through the wooden planking above the balloon envelope and tore into the outer skin. He watched in fascinated horror as the balloons just beneath the skin were shredded. As the propeller destroyed the balloons the ‘thopter lost its support and its nose tilted upwards. Its weight pressed the propeller deeper into the body of the Zeppelin like a knife cutting through skin. The ship tilted almost vertically and sank out of sight into the heart of the airship.
The Zeppelin lost height, slowly at first then faster. The one remaining airship of the task force touched the water. Men threw themselves into the water to save themselves from drowning. There was that moment when t
he Faraday grid ceased to function and the vessel sank fast, the windows of the gondola exploding under the air pressure.
Then something moved beneath the rippling skin of the crippled Zeppelin’s envelope. A dark shadow, like a baby crocodile inside an egg, it seemed to twist and turn. A tear in the skin opened and ripped forty feet across. Struggling like a baby bird to escape its shell, a winged creature crawled out. Barely a dozen feet above the churning and bubbling sea, it seemed to pause and then leapt skywards. Strong wing-beats thrust it into the air like a living being, like a dragon.
It accelerated hard and flew across the waves, heading towards Zanzibar.
Hans Pietsch watched the creature of living metal beat its wings across the sea.
He saluted the pilot and turned his fighter to the African shore.
What to read next
Iron Pegasus #2: Harry in the Wild
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Journey into Space, 1874
By Steve Turnbull
Copyright © 2014 Steve Turnbull. All rights reserved.
ISBN 978-1-910342-09-1
This novella is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval system without permission of the publisher.
Published by Tau Press Ltd.
Cover art by Steven Novak (http://www.novakillustration.com/ )
Edited by Eve (http://eveproofreads.com/ )
For Keith
Sept 3rd, 1874, 04:00
I cannot sleep. The excitement is such that, though sleep would be a welcome companion, I find the gift of Morpheus eludes me. In just two hours we embark on a journey beyond the confines of our planet’s atmosphere. We will be the first: should all our preparations satisfy the demands of this adventure.
Beyond my official role as computationer and navigator, I am assigned as journalist for this endeavour, so let me put down in words what has been done to prepare for this day.
The modification and outfitting of the Sea Eagle air-plane constructed by the Brunel Company, which we have christened Albatross, has been something of a labour of love, though a serious business proposition. Lord Brunel’s seal of approval on the project meant we were not short of funds or equipment. Unfortunately the secrecy of the project meant very few people were aware of what we were doing in the hangar on the edge of Croydon field.
It has been almost six months since the air-plane was first delivered. It was identical to the production craft manufactured for the Royal Navy when it arrived and, though we have slaved over it, there has been no one we could confide in. It has been most difficult keeping the news from my aunt with whom I lodge, and even more so from my dearest Beloved. I know it is the same for my compatriots but I cannot dwell on such personal matters.
Perhaps you may question our choice of name for our vessel, but “Albatross” is a name of good omen. Mr Coleridge’s poem is always misunderstood. And besides, with the additional wingspan given to our bird, it is an appropriate name: The Albatross soars through the skies of the world never touching the ground.
Let us consider the physics of the problem we are to solve.
It is, of course, known that the atmosphere thins with altitude. Such high-altitude trips as have been made by other craft, whether fixed wing or balloon, have shown that beyond even 10,000ft the air becomes thin and the temperature drops steadily. Dr Cholmondley, our Scientist-in-Charge for this experiment, has indicated that the fall in temperature is a product of the reduced air pressure and I understand to some extent. Suffice it to say that, where we are going, it will be damnably cold with no air whatsoever.
Dr Cholmondley has demonstrated for us the effect of vacuum on small animals. It is not pleasant. Naturally we have sealed the vessel against air loss and insulated it against the cold. But we cannot say what effects these extreme conditions may have on our external devices, though we have tested them as best we are able in a large vacuum chamber. Who knows whether Dr Cholmondley is correct in his estimation?
Now you may ask, if we are sealed inside our bottle, how will the steam engines be driven? We cannot light a fire unless we intend to take all our air with us. But fear not, another miracle of science saves us: It was a Spanish inventor that held the key. He determined a particular selection of chemicals which, when combined, solve two of our problems in one. These chemicals generate copious quantities of heat, plenty for the generation of steam to drive our electrical generators and, as a by-product of this action, the reaction produces oxygen with which we can breathe. He utilised this for a sub-marine vehicle; we will use it for a super-atmospheric one.
Normal fixed wing and even dirigibles utilise the air of the atmosphere for both motive power and manoeuvring. Once we exceed an altitude of 75,000ft even the extended wingspan of our vessel and our Faraday system operating to its maximum potential will be insufficient to provide further lift and our manoeuvrability will be seriously impaired.
For stability we have installed large gyroscopes both fore and aft. Motive power was a matter of debate for the longest time. In the end the simplest choice was made: we would tie fireworks to the exterior of the vessel. I hope you are not offended by my facetiousness. Of course it is not actual fireworks but the theory is the same: fifteen rockets 20ft in length mounted around the hull of the vessel, electrically activated in groups of three. Each group will burn for one minute. Once we reach 75,000ft we use these rockets to propel ourselves into the Void with the aim of reaching an orbit at around 100 miles altitude. It seems such a short distance. I could jump on an atmospheric train and travel that distance in less than 90 minutes. Yet to travel that distance upwards and into the Void has taken the work of six months and many novel ideas.
There has been a knock on my door. It is time.
To the person reading this, if I do not return, please convey my kindest regards to my aunt and my dearest love to my Beloved. In my last hours on this Earth, I thought of them.
Lawrence Finley-Blythe
Sept 3rd, 1874, 06:00
Final flight checks on the Albatross complete. The crew: Pilot Captain James Chingwell; Engineer Ishar Ram; and myself, Navigator/Computationer Lawrence Finley-Blythe.
We took a few minutes for photographs: We clasped arms around one another and blinked at the flash. The Captain was all efficiency and seriousness; I was quiet but that would have surprised no one. We all deal with fear in our own ways. Ishar was the only one who seemed settled; I believe it is his Hindu faith that provides unique benefits.
The day was clear. The Sun lay low to the horizon and there were few clouds in the sky. The wind was negligible, but that would change: high in the atmosphere there are rivers of air that a wise captain can use to his advantage, if his vessel can achieve the altitude. We would pass through and beyond such rivers.
Except for Ishar we all began to sweat, dressed in our insulating suits. But then Lord Brunel arrived and we had to greet him. This was not part of the schedule and it would make us late in departing. I was desperate to be away before my fear betrayed me. Lord Brunel was smiles and kind words, but there was concern in his eyes. It was strangely comforting to see it there.
Sept 3rd, 1874, 06:30
We finally came aboard and the hatches were dogged. Ishar adjusted the chemicals, a delicate business; unlike coal these material
s would explode if the balance was incorrect. Ishar had flown the Albatross a dozen times; he knew his trade.
Heat built in the boiler and the generators hummed. The needles on the dials of the Captain’s board moved from zero. The Faraday curtain in the ship’s hull and wings became charged and we felt ourselves lighten until we weighed less than a third of our usual weight. If you have ever been to the fair and tried the “Magic trampolines”, or just travelled in an atmospheric, then you will know the feeling of lightness as gravity’s grip is loosened.
With power flowing I pulled out a stack of Babbage cards and placed them into the input hopper of the latest Babbage Analytical and clipped over the spring-loaded lid. Being a model designed for use in Faraday ships, it was tested to function at reduced gravity, hence the special lid to push the cards down into the machine. We had come a long way from the early machines, driven directly from steam engines and the size of a ballroom. I have come to love my little Jezebel: barely the size of a French dresser and running quietly on its electric engines with its gentle clatter of interlocking gears and rods.
The test stack is of my own devising, designed to run Jezebel through all her functions. I knew the pattern of sounds by heart, and a slight hesitancy in the fifth adder column had me pulling out the oil can and squirting a dab into the mechanism.
The Captain engaged the contra-rotating propellers, one mounted on each of the elongated wings, driven directly from the steam engine via a system of axles and cogs that passed through the wall of the pressurised cabin by means of a magnetic clutching mechanism so the hull’s integrity was not compromised.
This much we have done many times before and it was therapy for our troubled souls to fall into a comfortable routine. We felt the rocking motion as the Albatross began its take-off run. We gathered speed and soon reached 50mph, barely the velocity of a slow atmospheric. The trundling bumps of the ground faded away and we were airborne. The Captain called for maximum steam, engaged the highest propeller gear and requested the heading.