The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (46 page)

“City of Copenhagen. This is Airship Soul of Discretion. Are you reading me? Over.” Mr. Jones began. After a short pause he cleared his throat and repeated.
“Københavns Kommune. Dette er.. Luftskib.. Soul.. skøn. Er du læser mig over...?”
Face flushed he sat back, a slightly worried look on his face.

“I say Aneirin, I thought you said your Danish was rusty? That sounded really quite good!”

The Welshman still looked uncomfortable. “I am rusty Sir, but I took the liberty of having a little chat with the Baron’s men last night; I think they took it as a bit of a joke see. But they helped me come up with that. The thing is, I’m not sure if what I said in Danish is
exactly
what I said in English. They might have been pulling my leg with the translation.”

“Understood Mr. Jones top marks for initiative though.” Phillips replied pleased with the man's efforts anyway. “I suspect your real problem will be if they reply in rapid-fire Danish.”

Jones’ “Yessir” was interrupted by the wireless. “Soul - of - Discretion - welcome - to Copenhagen! - Please - descend - to - 800’. Circle - the - city - until - sight - of - Amager - Faelled - airship - port.”

“Looks like you did well Mr. Jones” Jerard commented with a smile before swiveling around to face the helm. “Mr. Wallace, bring us about and down to height. Mr. Randal got a map of Copenhagen for me?”

“Yessir, Amager Faelled is listed as a bit of open land just south of the old city. If the scale of this map is good then we have ample room for a ground touchdown.”

“Very good Fred. Lets get the lady down boys I’ve a feeling its going to be another long day ahead of us.”

A few minutes later and now safely below the light clouds the Amager Faelled lay out before them. As Fred had said there was ample room for an airship, but what they were not expecting was the ample amount of airships already tethered upon the lush greensward below them. Five stately shapes were spread evenly around the open field, each pointing into the easterly breeze.

“Now that's a sight you don’t see every day, eh chaps!” Jerard said with a grin admiring the elegant shapes of the tethered airships. “So, what have we got down there Fred?”

“I mark three Zeppelin teardrop hulls, one British style and one elliptical hull shape I don’t recognize Sir.” Came the prompt reply.

“Old style French or Italian I’d guess for the latter.” Phillips commented peering over Randall's shoulder. “See if you can get a look at their name or flight numbers as we descend.”

Jerard turned to Mr. Jones and continued, “Aneirin they can’t have failed to spot us I know but lets ask the Danes where they want us on the ground.” Privately Jerard hoped it would be near to the three German craft. If they were a party to the plot to kidnap Dr. Nordstrom, being able to observe them might come in handy.

“Amager tower asks we remain on station for forty minutes Sir.” Jones’ replied. “They apologize but havn’t got spare ground crew to land us until then, Captain”

Jerard was irritated by that. For the first time in their mission they had sight of the enemy as it were; or at least their accomplices. Besides Jerard knew that Tash and the Baron would be expecting them to be on the ground by now. Still without an available mooring tower, there was nothing they could do until there was a ground squad to help them land.

“I guess we’ll have to wait then.” He commented a trifle sharply in his frustration.

“Beggin’ the Captain's pardon,” Wallace began. “If’n you're agreeable sir I c’n get us down na’ problem.”

“William your enthusiasm does you credit as always but its just not safe to do so without a mast.” Jerard chided.

“Ah! Well as ta' that, Sir, th’ Discretion’s landed on worse fields than this an' iffin' I might add in less space.” Wallace replied evenly. “T’ween th’ anchor and the lateral props we can touch down light as a butterfly.”

Phillips had almost forgotten the viscous looking cannon loaded with the anchor in the nose compartment of the ship. Discovering the concealed machine gun next door to it had driven it from his mind. If Wallace was right they could circumvent both the shortcomings of the ground crew and his passengers' likely demands.

“Hmm, feels about like a two knot wind, yes Wallace?” As the helms man nodded Jerard looked out at the lush green surface below them. “What's the ground type look like to you gentlemen.”

Fred spoke up first brandishing his map. “Slightly soft turf I’d guess Captain. Got a side note here that the place is what we would have called common land in England, very occasionally it gets marshy that's why they haven't built upon it much.”

“That will do then, thanks Fred. Mr. D’arcey, I assume Mr. Landover is in the nose station?”

“Oui. I am sorry Sir. I mean Yes Sir”

“Don’t apologize man your accent is part of your charm. Very well then tell Roger he can take a shot with the anchor cannon. William, bring us down to a hundred feet near the center of the field. I think our employer and distinguished guest would like to be on their way without undue delays, don’t you gentlemen?”

D’arcey looked back at Phillips for a long moment. Perhaps trying to decide if he was being mocked or not. The Captain’s eyes betrayed nothing but a friendly twinkle, so he bent over his desk and toggled a pair of large brass switches, as Mr. Jones informed Mr. Landover of the Captain's plan.

From the nose of the discretion a puff of fine white steam vented from around the port side of the reinforced nose cone. Slowly the duralium doors slid back and retracted above and below like a slowly opening eye, revealing the harpoon bay.

In the anchor room Roger Landover checked his safety line and opened a polished brass valve. A short gantry extended on pistons and he rode the harpoon array out some ten feet from the hull of the ship and surveyed the land below him.

To the gunner's practiced eye the turf below them looked very soft indeed. Making a decision he spun the heavy barrel array of the Armstrong-Klein powered launcher around. The standard anchor rotated out from the firing piston and the spade like sand and snow variant clicked into place with a satisfying chime of precision metal.

Ratcheting his selected anchor into the launcher tube he clipped the heavy hemp cable through the device's hitch, and gave it a tug for good measure. Seeing all was ready he depressed a small button on the side of the harpoon array.

An amber light kindled on D’Arcey’s console. “Harpoon eze ready Captain.” The engineer reported.

“Very good. Height Mr. Wallace?”

“Eighty five feet, Captain.”

“Good. Fire ground anchor!” Phillips declared with a thrill of anticipation.

D'Arcey tapped a button on his desk and a green light twinkled to life at Roger Landover’s elbow on the harpoon gantry. With a gentle squeeze of the device’s trigger the harpoon shot free from the Discretion's nose. As it arrowed past the bridge’s observation dome, its long trailing rope spooled out behind it. Propelled to over sixty miles per hour on a plume of compressed gas the bronze and steel dart speared deep into the soft earth of the landing field.

Seeing a good hit, Roger Landover counted the bands of colored rope braided into the leading end of the anchor hawser. Each band marked off seven feet. Just red and yellow were easily visible through his spotting telescope meaning the anchor had gone some five feet into the earth. He had been right to switch out anchors, the regular one would likely have been buried so deep he and his brother would never have gotten the thing out.

Glancing at his small instrument panel he let the built in timer count out twenty more seconds. This was to allow the gas driven anchor to dig in before he retracted the harpoon gantry back into the ship's hull. He engaged the winch line to take up the slack until the line was taught. “Landover to bridge, anchor secure Sir. It's pretty soft ground however, I'd advise a slow take down.”

D’Arcey’s voice rang back through the tinny speaker. “Acknowledged Monsieur Landover. Slow and genteel it iz.” Reaching to the engine controls D'Arcey pulled the engine rooms signal lever to ‘Vertical Descent’.

In the throbbing chamber of the Discretion’s engine room Leading AirShipman Edward Collins looked over as the signal lever chimed with the engine position changes.

“Dortsmorn, Wright! ” He called above the dull roar of the Woolsey engines. “Declutch three and four!”

The two technicians hurried to an engine each and hauled on the long lever that disengaged them from the gearbox. When they waved readiness Collins spun a valve on the main control array. Thick copper pipes from the central A-K pressure tank fed steam to pistons in the propeller housings and the idling central props turned to face the clearing skies of Denmark.

Seeing the pair of green bulbs light upon his desk as the props locked skywards D'Arcey swiveled his chair to half face the Captain. “Ready to descend Captain.”

“Take us down Wallace. Jules, well done.”

D’Arcey returned to his work wondering when Captain Phillips had learned his first name. It was nice to be noticed; sometimes, he thought as he fed power to the main landing winch.

“All right gentlemen. Quietly does it, lets see if we can land our lady without bothering the Danes over much.” Jerard commented leaning back in his seat. The less fuss the better he thought.

Fifteen minutes later the Discretion touched down on the soft earth of the Danish landing field. Just as Wallace had said the crew was well used to this novel way of landing the great airship. The touchdown was as gentle as any he could have wished for and as soon as the gondola’s forward wheel touched the earth he heard Jones’ ordering the riggers out to make fast the ship. Lead by Jeremy Landover the riggers descended to reinforce the anchor and secure the ship with auxiliary lines. Satisfied the work was well underway Phillips turned to his communications officer. The man's usefulness was no longer lost on Jerard, the speaking grills made for an effective team.

“Mr. Jones, please let our hosts know we’re down and safe.”

A small cough got Jerard’s attention from the rear of the gondola, just as Jones’ acknowledged the order. He turned to find Colonel Carstares peeking sheepishly into the bridge.

“Uh, Captain? I say, may I have a word please?”

Jerard quickly jumped to his feet and turned to the man. “Of course Col....Mr. Starblower! I am at your service Sir. Mr. D’Arcey you have the bridge.”

Carstares waved Jerard over and the pair moved further into the bridge’s ante-room. “I am very sorry to interrupt Captain but I...well I...I was not sure...dash it all, I’m hungry man!”

Jerard did not have to feign confusion. “Sir?”

The Colonel sighed. “Every time I’ve ever needed anything on this ship all I’ve had to do was to either go to the passenger lounge or the passenger dining room and one of your top notch stewards was there to assist me. Well, this morning there was no one in the passenger lounge and I did not dare enter the dining room.”

“Um...may I ask why the dinning room was...uh, not enterable?”

“Well it seemed like the LensBaron and Miss Smythe-Harris were having a go.”

“What?! Then come on man! We’ve got to stop this! Tash...” Jerard moved past Carstares and headed toward the stairs. The Colonel grabbed his arm.

“Wait Sir! Please, I think you misunderstand. Uh, well your concern seems to be for Miss Tash and well...” Carstares trailed off, obviously embarrassed.

“Of course my concern is for Tash!” Jerard finally realized that Carstares was embarrassed and stopped; he took a deep breath before continuing. “Mr. Starblower, would you please explain?”

“Honestly Sir? The door was open; I could not help hearing the heated conversation. No, no, that’s not right, heated is not the right word, perhaps intense? They were negotiating factory workers and rights and pay packets and god only knows what else. Miss Smythe-Harris was quite...passionate, not to mention brilliant. Listen Captain, if anyone in that room needed a rescue it was the LensBaron." Carstares smiled. "You know, I recalled to mind a remark the solicitor McPherson made back in Scotland. Something about not ever wanting to be on the wrong side of a negotiation table with her ever again. Regardless Sir, I was not about to brave that lioness’ den for a mere rasher of bacon. So, if you could tell me...?”

Jerard burst out laughing, he had no trouble picturing that tableau. He clapped the Colonel on the back and gestured forward with his free hand. “Right this way Sir. I guess I just think of you as one of the crew, of course you did not know that any of us are welcome in the kitchen galley at any time. As a matter of fact if you are not careful you will be conscripted to chopping vegetables. I am sure Paulo or McPherson the younger can fix you up with a proper breakfast and I think you will find the crew dining room quite pleasant.”

“Thank you Captain, you have saved me from a quite uncomfortable situation.” Carstares said as his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Indeed!” Jerard laughed but sobered after a moment. “Sir, we need to discuss what is to be done today. I was about to come and find you anyway.”

“Agreed, but not until after a cup of tea at least?”

Jerard nodded trying not to laugh again. “I know Sir but I am sorry, we might run out of time to do what I think need doing if we don’t hurry.”

“Oh?” the Colonel said and opened his mouth to speak again when the wonderful smell of bacon reached his nose. “Ahhhh...smell that? Heaven I say!” He quickened his step, moving away from Jerard and nearly running towards the galley.

Jerard shook his head and followed at a more sedate pace. It seemed only seconds after the Colonel entered the galley that he was exiting again. He carried a plate heaped full of food in one hand and a pair of large steaming mugs in the other. He nodded toward a nearby table and set the plate and mugs down. “Right! Here we go Phillips! And a mug for you too. Good man that McPherson, good man; almost like he knew we were coming!”

Jerard took the seat across from Carstares and took the mug of tea in hand. After a long drink of the hot brew (that was prepared perfectly) he had to agree. He remembered the broth McPherson had brought to him just two nights ago, that too had hit the spot. He wondered briefly how Mac knew that he only liked just a touch of sugar in his tea.