On Her Majesty's Behalf (23 page)

Whoever was manning the machine gun on the ground had other plans, however. He readjusted his own stream of fire, correctly anticipating Freeman's move in the bargain, and riddled the fuselage with another barrage. This time Veronica screamed, instinctively drawing her limbs in as tight to her body as she could get them, as bullets crashed through the floor and whipped past her like a swarm of angry hornets.

Freeman threw the plane across the sky in a series of twisting maneuvers designed no doubt to get them out of the mess they were in and it was all Veronica could do to hang on for dear life as the plane tipped and twisted and twirled. When he finally brought the aircraft level again, they had lost nearly half their height but had passed out of range of the gunmen on the ground.

Veronica felt moisture on her face. When she touched it with her hand, her fingers came back wet with blood. She knew she hadn't been hit, which left only one other possibility.

She craned forward, trying to get a good look at her pilot.

Freeman was still strapped into his seat, preventing her from seeing how badly he was injured, but the thin line of blood that was leaking across the narrow piece of fuselage that separated the two cockpits told her it couldn't be good.

She shouted over the wind.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded, but that was all.

Was it her imagination or was he listing a bit to one side?

Before she could say anything more, the engine gave a loud bang and began spewing a thick stream of black smoke.

That's not good,
Veronica thought.

She didn't know what scared her more, the fact that her pilot was bleeding from an unseen injury that could incapacitate him at any moment or the flames that crept up over the engine cowling seconds after the smoke.

 

Chapter Thirty-three

Imperial Palace

Berlin

T
HE LAST FEW
members of the Chinese delegation were just leaving the Throne Room when Eisenberg came hustling down the corridor for his afternoon meeting with Kaiser Richthofen. He looked into their faces, one by one, trying to get a sense of how the meeting had gone, and therefore what mood the kaiser might be in, but the men sent by former general and now self-­proclaimed emperor Yuan Shikai were professional politicians and gave nothing away with their carefully blank expressions.

Inscrutable, he would have called them.

Eisenberg watched the delegates move down the hallway until they turned a corner and disappeared from view, then he turned back toward the Throne Room. He cautiously stuck his head in the doorway and, after a quick glance about the room, discovered the kaiser standing over the map table in the far corner, his back to the entrance, seemingly lost in thought.

The doctor had been around Richthofen long enough to know the man was never caught unaware—­he had the senses of a large hunting cat it seemed—­and so Eisenberg wasn't surprised when the other man spoke before he could announce himself.

“How stable is Shikai's hold on the Chinese imperial throne?”

Eisenberg considered the question as he crossed the room. “I would think that would depend on the next six months, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said at last.

“Oh?”

Richthofen's tone gave nothing away as to his state of mind, so Eisenberg had no choice but to blindly plow ahead and hope he didn't say the wrong thing.

“Our agents within the Forbidden City suggest that high-­ranking officers in the National Protection Army might be able to gain enough support to challenge his rule and bring back the republic.”

“Might?”

Eisenberg shrugged. “Shikai needs to keep the nationalists from undercutting his power base within the army while at the same time preventing the Japanese, and by extension the rest of the Allies, from seizing any more territory on the Shandong Peninsula. That's a hefty task.”

“But can he do it?”

The head of Germany's Tottensoldat program frowned; he hadn't missed the faint hint of urgency in the kaiser's voice.
Why was this so important?
he wondered.
Exactly what had that meeting been about?

He glanced down at the map table in front of him, hoping it might give him a clue. The large-­scale map was well over six feet in length and easily four feet wide. It normally showed the conflict currently engulfing western Europe, with carved wooden markers representing the various force elements involved in bringing the rest of the continent under German subjugation. Today, however, the map had been moved to the left, revealing the vast expanse of Mother Russia and its surrounding environs, including China, Japan, and the German-­held Marshall Islands. Aside from a few German forces—­mainly elements of the Ninth Army—­poised along the Russian border to keep Czar Nicholas from attempting to take revenge for the execution of his cousin, former kaiser Wilhelm II, there was very little information about their eastern forces to be seen and next to nothing about the forces available to either the Chinese or Japanese emperors.

Eisenberg didn't know the answer to Richthofen's question. Normally he would have simply said so, but something about the kaiser's tone put him on edge; Richthofen wanted an answer and Eisenberg had the sense that a noncommittal one would be far more trouble than it was worth.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “I think so, yes. Especially if he gives the army something to keep it occupied enough that it doesn't try to oust him, with or without the nationalists' help.”

Some of the tension seeped out of the room as Richthofen nodded, either having reached the same conclusion on his own or simply agreeing with Eisenberg's assessment. Given Richthofen's intelligence, Eisenberg had little doubt that it was the former.

“I've just received the most intriguing offer,” Richthofen told him.

“Oh?”

“It seems that Emperor Shikai has far grander ambitions than I was aware of. Grand enough, in fact, that he just offered me an alliance.”

“An alliance?”

“With the Japanese pressuring him from the south, Shikai is worried that Czar Nicholas will take advantage of the situation and move on him from the north, effectively trapping him in a pincer movement between two forces.”

Eisenberg couldn't imagine a country as large as China being trapped by anything, but then again, military science was not his forte. He said nothing as Richthofen continued.

“Shikai has offered to attack Russia from the south, distracting the czar's forces long enough for me to march east while he is otherwise occupied and take Moscow.”

Eisenberg frowned. That didn't seem like the brightest move on Shikai's part, given that it left him vulnerable to attack by the Japanese while he was otherwise engaged with the Russians.

“What about . . .”

He didn't get any further.

“ . . . the Japanese?” Richthofen finished for him. “That, my good
Doktor
, is part two of Shikai's grand plan. He has requested that I loan him a few battalions of Tottensoldat shock troops, along with advisers to show him how to control them. In return, he will use those troops to spearhead an attack south, eliminating the threat posed by the Japanese and leaving their British allies farther south in Australia and New Zealand cut off from help.”

Now it was Eisenberg's turn to echo the kaiser's question from just moments before. “Can he do it?”

Richthofen grinned like the devil. “There's only one way to find out. Now, what did you want to see me about?”

Eisenberg shook off thoughts of the Chinese situation and focused on what he'd come here to report.

“I received word from Vizefeldwebel Jaeger this morning. He has confirmed that Princess Veronica is alive and in the care of Major Burke's unit. He has them on the run and expects to have the princess in custody before sundown.”

Richthofen clapped his hands in satisfaction. “It is settled then, Herr
Doktor
! With Veronica's death we will have eliminated any legitimate claim to the throne to our east and can turn our attention to her upstart cousin on the throne to the west.”

“And after that?”

Richthofen's eyes gleamed as he looked out the window into the distance.

“Why, America, of course,
Doktor
. Where else would we go?”

 

Chapter Thirty-four

Allied Aircraft

Over London

V
ERONICA FOUND HERSELF
mesmerized by the twisting, churning flames as they crept over the edge of the engine cowling and began their inexorable march toward her. The forward motion of the aircraft was fanning the flames with all the oxygen they could ever want, and it wasn't long before the entire front of the aircraft was a blazing pyre.

She knew she was going to die; it was just a question of whether the fire or the fall would get her first. After all the fighting, all the running, it was going to end like this. It didn't seem fair, and yet she just couldn't seem to summon the will to do anything more than stare deep into the fire and wait for the end.

She might have sat there until the end if the plane hadn't suddenly whipped over on its side and plunged straight down toward the ground below.

Thinking her pilot had just lost complete control, Veronica screamed, “Freeman! Do something!,” before realizing that the dive hadn't been an accident at all, that Freeman
was
doing something and that was trying to get them down as close to the ground as possible before the fire consumed the entire aircraft.

Their dive was so steep that the plane began to shudder and shake around her, leaving Veronica to think that they were going to break up in midair long before either the fire or the crash killed them. She squeezed her eyes shut and began praying with everything she had, desperate to live and absolutely unable to do anything about it; the helplessness was probably the most infuriating thing about the entire situation in her view. If she was going to die, she at least wanted to go out her way, for heaven's sake!

The plane lurched abruptly upward, rattling and shaking so hard that Veronica thought it must be held together solely by the pilot's sheer force of will, and then it settled down to fly smoothly once more.

She opened her eyes only to find Freeman holding the stick with one hand and beating at the flames, now only inches from the cockpit, with his flight coat. The shoulder of his shirt was stained deep red with blood and she found herself wondering just how he'd managed to get the coat off while wounded.

She was still pondering that question when something swam into view ahead of Freeman. When she focused on it, Veronica could see the five arches and iron expanse that made up Blackfriars Bridge looming ahead of them. Freeman must have seen it at that moment too, for he suddenly tossed the jacket, itself now fully ablaze, into the waters of the Thames less than fifty feet below them and grabbed the stick with both hands. He nudged it forward slightly and the plane responded by lurching for the river below like a whale too long out of water.

Freeman hurriedly corrected the error and Veronica looked on in amazement as he flew the plane right through the rightmost arch of the bridge, mere yards above the water. She knew it would have made a hell of a sight, had anyone been around to see it—­an American biplane with its nose ablaze and the Queen sitting rigidly in the backseat roaring beneath the bridge like a wounded raven searching for a home.

As soon as they were clear of the bridge span, Freeman turned and shouted back to her. “Hang on! I'm going to try and put us down!”

Down? Here? In the middle of the Thames?

They were coming in fast, too fast to land, something that was obvious to someone with even her limited knowledge of aeronautics, but that didn't stop Freeman from bouncing the belly of the aircraft off the surface of the river several moments later. There was a loud crash—­
Probably the landing gear,
Veronica thought—­and then Freeman pulled the plane a few dozen feet back off the water.

It only took Veronica a few seconds to realize that not only had Freeman managed to put out part of the fire that was currently consuming the front of their aircraft, but he'd also slowed them down significantly.

Perhaps even enough for them to land!

For the first time since smoke had begun pouring out of the engine, Veronica allowed herself to hope that she might live through this flight after all.

She'd overheard Freeman boast that he was the best pilot the Allies had.
Looks like he's going to get his chance to prove it.

The Southwark Bridge came into view ahead of them, or rather, what was left of it. More than one German bomb must have struck it dead on during the barrage several days before for it was little more than a crumbled heap of iron and steel, but given their current height and lack of control that was probably for the best. Freeman steered for an open area and sailed over the top of it with only a few feet to spare.

Ahead of them was a nice wide expanse of the river with nothing on it until the London Bridge a few hundred meters farther downriver.

It seemed the perfect place to try to land.

A good thing, too, for at that moment the plane engine gave up the ghost, seizing with a loud crash.

“God save us,” Veronica said as Freeman brought the plane down toward the river for the last time.

There was a loud hiss as the belly of the aircraft bounced off the surface of the Thames for the second time and then fire finally reached Freeman's cockpit and there was nothing more he could do but put the plane into the river and hope for the best.

Veronica had a split second to brace herself, and then the biplane struck the water a final time. There was a tremendous crash as the lower wing was shorn away and then the Queen's head slammed against the edge of the cockpit and darkness quickly followed.

I
T HADN'T TAKEN
Burke and his men long to deal with the dozen or so shredders that had rushed their makeshift runway, giving Freeman time to get his aircraft into the air. They'd watched as Freeman had waggled his wings in farewell and had headed out over the city, only to freeze in horror as the sound of a German heavy machine gun had split the morning air and the plane was forced to take evasive action, carrying it out of sight.

Burke turned for the nearest tree, intent on getting a better vantage point, but Corporal Williams beat him to it, scrambling up the trunk and disappearing into the branches above.

When he came back down, Burke could tell the news wasn't good from the expression on his face.

“Tell me,” he said, steeling himself for the worst.

“They're hit but still in the air for now.”

Burke kept his face carefully blank, but hope bloomed in his heart.
They were still alive!

“What do you mean ‘for now'?”

Williams winced. “There's a lot of smoke streaming from the engine. No way they can make it back to France like that.”

Burke knew he was right; the minute word got out, every German fighter pilot within fifty kilometers would be angling in, trying to get an easy kill off the crippled aircraft.

Williams's next words told Burke he wasn't going to have to worry about anything like that, however.

“Last I saw they were in a steep dive. It looked like Major Freeman was trying to get them down as quickly as possible.”

Sergeant Drummond was already unfurling his map. “Show me,” he said, spreading it out on the grass.

Williams looked it over for a moment and then pointed to an area northeast of their current position, over the Thames River. “I could see the bridges in the distance so they were around here somewhere.”

Drummond and Burke exchanged glances. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” the sergeant asked.

Burke nodded. “We don't have any choice. Our mission was to rescue the Queen. If Freeman manages to get the plane on the ground, they're going to need our protection all over again. Especially with the German commando unit still out there somewhere.”

He turned to the others. “All right, saddle up and get ready to move out. Williams, get on that wireless and let HQ know what's happened. Tell them to get the airship to hold position above the city until they hear from us. I want the rest of you locked and loaded—­that German squad is still out there somewhere, and it sounds like they've brought in some heavy firepower to boot.”

Five minutes later they moved out, threading back through the park the same way they had come earlier that morning. The machine-­gun fire had clearly come from north of their position, so Burke had decided to head east, following Kensington Road until it reached Grosvenor Place, skirting the grounds of Buckingham Palace until they reached Victoria Street, which would take them back to Westminster Bridge. Hopefully the route would steer them clear of the German patrol and allow them to reach the Thames with a minimum of delay. From there they could follow the river until they located the plane or Freeman and the Queen if circumstances forced them to leave the plane behind.

They stopped for a short break in the shadows of the Westminster Bridge, in sight of the
Reliant
. Burke stared across the water at the hatch that stood open near the boat's conning tower, the same hatch he and the rest of the men had exited less than seventy-­two hours before, watching it carefully. When he didn't see any activity after several long minutes he turned, caught Williams's eye, and gestured him over.

Burke pointed across the water at the motionless hulk of the submarine. “If we can get aboard the
Reliant,
can you get the engines started?”

To his credit, Williams didn't rush in with an answer but gave it some serious thought. Once he had, he said, “A diesel engine's a diesel engine, I suspect. I don't see why not.”

“What about the controls? Can you handle those?”

“If you're just talkin' about driving it down the river, then yes, sir, I can, with the help of one or two other men up on the bridge, but I don't think I'm capable of getting that thing to dive, at least not if you want her to come back up again.”

It was no more and no less than what Burke expected. He had no intention of diving the boat, at least not unless their survival demanded it and then only as a last-­ditch Hail Mary sort of move, so he was okay with Williams's response.

Then again, knowing Williams's way with machinery, he had little doubt that the young corporal could figure it out if circumstances required it.

Now all they had to do was retake the boat.

He sent Williams away, called Drummond over, and explained what he wanted to do.

Drummond was frowning by the time Burke finished. “Any of your guys driven a submarine before?”

“Nope.”

“Any of them served aboard a submarine before?”

“Nope.”

“Any of them have . . .”

Burke cut him off. “Nope.”

Drummond sat back. “So let me get this straight. You want us to go over there, clear out any shredders that might still be hiding inside the boat, and then, with a crew that's barely spent any time inside of a submarine before, never mind actually driven one, use it to make our way upriver until we locate the Queen.”

“And her pilot,” Burke said.

From the look on his face Drummond must have thought he was nuts, so Burke was surprised when the other man's face lit up with a smile.

“Bloody hell, Major, that's just crazy enough that it might work!”

“Let's hope so, because I'm sick of walking back and forth across this city, I'll tell you that.”

The idea of fighting shredders in the narrow confines of the submarine didn't thrill either man, but it seemed a better alternative than marching endlessly up and down the streets of central London with the Germans in hot pursuit. Taking to the water might buy them some time and would certainly keep the enemy's hounds from tracking them.

Burke gathered the men together, explained what they were going to do, and had them retrieve the rubber lifeboat they'd used to make landfall what felt like weeks ago.

With the men loaded into the boat, they headed for the
Reliant
.