by Guy Worthey
Before the men could say a word, Ace was thumping off at a dead run. They heard a quiet chuff sound as her pole planted in the gravelly turf. They saw her silhouette poised against the starry sky, her body arcing dolphinlike over the razor wire loops. The men heard the pole drop back to earth, but they did not see Ace in the dense shadow cast by the ordnance bunker.
So abrupt had been Ace’s departure, it took a few moments for the men to move, but their rickety ladder was ready. They skulked forward. Tombstone and Gooper carried the ladder. They eased it to the top of the fence. It was long enough, barely, to depress the top curl of barbed wire with a metallic whisper. According to plan, Bert was the first to climb because of his weak arm. The others held the ladder steady for him.
When Bert was halfway up, he was suddenly illuminated from the right. Five pairs of eyes snapped to the direction of the source.
“Car!” hissed Quack.
“Hide!” said Sam.
Bert jumped down. The men scrambled back to the first rank of trees. They abandoned the ladder. A small armored truck came bouncing around the outside of the fence. Its headlights lit up the leaning log. At the ladder, the truck graveled to a stop. Dust clouded in the beams of the headlights. The ladder leaned on the fence, obvious, lumpy, and incriminating.
The five men saw each other as vague shadows behind tree trunks. They all had furrowed brows as their minds raced and their hearts pounded.
There was a metallic unlatching sound, then another; car doors opening. The night was otherwise quiet. The five hiders heard booted feet crunching on gravel and swishing through grass.
Suddenly, a voice rang out in German. Bert nearly jumped out of his skin because the voice was right beside him. “Komm her, Freund! Saboteurs! Ich habe sie getötet.[12]”
Chapter 1 6
It slowly diffused into the men’s minds that Quack had spoken the German words. A trick to disarm the Ottoman soldiers?
“Eh? Saboteurs?” grunted a voice from the direction of the truck. Footsteps came closer. Electric torches played here and there, flashing on boles of trees. But the five hiders crouched low.
“Wo bist du?[13]” wondered a second voice.
He was answered shortly. Bert saw both shadowy figures cross his peripheral vision and said, “Now!” as he leapt toward the nearest.
Confusion erupted. Bert latched onto the rifle of a soldier, and they wrestled with it. Pain lanced through Bert’s injured shoulder. He managed to hold on for another second, and then Quack was there, slugging away with desperate strength.
A few yards away, Gooper wrapped massive arms around a soldier and squeezed. The man squeaked as air gushed from his lungs, but he was unable to breathe in again. His rifle dropped to the ground. Tombstone picked it up and rammed its stock into the soldier’s head.
Among gusty breaths, voices crisscrossed.
“This one’s out cold.”
“Quack, you could have warned us! My heart stopped beating, I swear.”
“Everybody all right?”
“Yes!”
“Yup.”
“Aye.”
“Yah. Let’s get over the fence to … oh, no!”
A metal door slammed. In a moment, the engine of the truck revved.
“There was a third guy!” said Bert.
Gears clashed. The truck spun out. Its rear tires spitting gravel, the unseen driver ripped a half-circle and accelerated.
The five gave chase, but on foot it seemed hopeless.
“We’re done for. They’ll raise the alarm in two minutes!” Quack said.
“Let us get Lady Ace and get out of the area!” Sam said.
Just as the truck attained full speed, three distinct pistol shots popped. The headlights on the truck went dark. The truck itself veered to the left. It ran into the perimeter fence. The chain-link fence bulged. The truck slowed, but the fence could not contain it. The truck burst through behind the ordnance bunker and flopped over on its side. Two wheels spun silently in the air.
The momentum of their running took them to the split in the fence. Ace stood in a wide stance, silhouetted next to the bunker. A standard-issue Ottoman army pistol sat cupped in her hands, smoke trailing lazily up into the air from its barrel.
“I hate this,” she said. Her voice shook.
Sam squinted at Ace. His brow furrowed in concern.
Tombstone let out a slow whistle of appreciation. “Three shots. One for each headlight, and one for the driver. Perfect.”
Quack said, “Now what? Did anybody see us? Did anybody hear?”
They all looked out at the airfield and hangars and barracks beyond. All seemed quiet.
“We have seventeen minutes before the foot patrol comes around. We still have a chance.” Ace’s voice started weak but finished strong.
Sam’s worried expression cleared. He smiled sympathetically at Ace. Tombstone said, “All right. Let’s git ’er done.”
Ace said, “The ordnance officers are, uh, asleep, but I didn’t have time to set the detonator-timer. Quack and Bert, strip the jackets and caps off those officers. I’ll wear one. Tombstone, you wear the other. Gooper and Sam, load two bombs back into the bed of the truck. Face the fins forward, face the detonators toward the tailgate. Tombstone, come with me to set the timer.”
Ace moved toward the munitions building. The rest followed, getting their jobs done and trying to keep in the shadows.
Bert and Quack dragged the unconscious officers behind the building and out the ragged gash in the fence. They returned carrying Ottoman military jackets and caps. Gooper and Sam found that the biggest bombs came on wheeled racks that were easy to roll onto the truck. They strapped the bombs in place, fins forward, staying low to keep hidden.
When Ace and Tombstone reappeared, they shrugged on the officers’ apparel.
Ace said, “Twelve minutes to the next patrol. Now, we’ll drive over to the air raid siren nearest the airships. Gooper, Sam, Quack, Bert. Lie in the back, flat. Hide. When this building blows up, we’ll start cranking the air raid siren, and then we’ll run like mad to airship number two. Two down from the air raid siren, that is. Tombstone, take a rifle.”
Ace paused for a wry smile. “Did I forget anything? Such as, it was good knowin’ ya?”
Five grins answered her for a split second, but then they were all action. Ace and Tombstone, in officer’s coats and hats, climbed in the truck cab. The rest lay tense and flat in the bed of the truck. Ace turned the starter over. The truck’s engine rattled to life. Ace shifted into first gear.
As the truck rocked and jostled, Bert stared up at the two fat, grim-looking bombs. “Are those window dressing or are we going to do something with them?”
“They’re to stuff down your throat if you don’t shut your trap!” Quack said.
“Do not reply, Bert. I will slug you,” Sam promised in polite tones.
Chapter 1 7
The truck tractored forward in first gear. The invaders crept into the Ottoman military base like mice into a barn full of cats. It was the middle of the night, but the sheltering darkness was cut by electric lights that surrounded the buildings. The lights glared brighter as the Allies rumbled nearer. Past the airship hangars, a cluster of buildings surely held barracks full of sleeping soldiers. Sleeping soldiers that Ace and her associates intended to wake with sirens.
Those in the back of the truck saw a vast semicircle slide by, blotting out almost half the sky. The open maw of the airship hangar soared taller than a skyscraper. After the first, there was a second. Mesmerized, they slowly counted to five. Graceful, pointed airship noses towered inside all five hangars. The first two airships were skeletons without skins. The last three seemed airworthy.
Gooper whispered, “She said run to the hangar two down from the siren, roight?”
“Yes, sahib,” Sam said.
“This is taking so long! The patrol will see the wrecked truck any second!” Bert rubbed damp palms together.
“I’m more wo
rried somebody will just plain spot us,” Quack muttered through gritted teeth.
The truck ground past the last hangar. At long last, it sputtered to a halt. The truck doors opened. Tombstone walked around to the back, trying to act casual. His wrists and half his forearms poked past the cuffs of the ill-fitting officer’s coat. “Jes’ stay put until th’ bombs blow, and then run to—”
Quack stared down their back trail. “Look! A flare. Back at the bunker!” The bright flare arced up over the ordnance storage building.
“The patrol. They raise the alarm. Alas,” Sam said.
“Now, jes’ you stay put fer a hot minute, there, fellers. I got a feelin’ that—” Tombstone was interrupted.
The ordnance building disappeared in a bright ball of fire. The flash of light galvanized them, even as it made their hearts leap into their throats. The four in the bed of the truck scrambled out onto the pavement.
A terrific sonic boom rolled down the tarmac. Bert and Tombstone were knocked off their feet for a moment. The profound thud made their ears ring.
Ace was near the front bumper of the truck, at the large handle of the air raid siren. She threw her weight into cranking it. A reddening, cooling mushroom cloud rose at the opposite end of the field. Secondary explosions flashed. The ominous siren wail rose, a desolate premonition of approaching death. Distant shouts babbled after the echoes of the explosion died.
“Go! Go!” Ace urged.
Hoping all eyes were on the fireball and not on them, the five pelted toward the second airship hangar. After a few more emphatic cranks on the air raid siren, Ace sprinted after.
The siren’s wailing voice gradually fell in pitch. The runners huffed in front of the first gigantic airship. Feeling exposed, they ducked one by one into the second hangar. A silver behemoth lurked here, silent and huge. Ace’s voice came from behind them: “Get in. Hide up in the gas bags if you can!”
The men pelted on, except Tombstone. He and Ace had had a short talk during the tense ride over in the truck. He stopped just inside the edge of the hangar and unslung his Ottoman-issue rifle. Ace stopped too, looking over his shoulder as sentinel. Tombstone took aim back along the line they had run.
Ace looked critically at distant running figures boiling out of barracks and offices. Where did their attention lie?
“Yes. Do it,” Ace said.
Tombstone inhaled. Exhaling in a steady stream, he slowly, slowly squeezed off a shot. His rifle bucked. The twin bombs on the abandoned truck exploded. The truck, the siren, and the corner of the first hangar were obliterated by the blast. The illusion held. A bomb falling from the sky would cause similar mayhem. The first airship hangar sagged at the corner. It made steely snapping sounds as it began to collapse altogether. Ace did not stay to watch it implode. She grabbed Tombstone by the collar and hauled him off toward the airship.
The air raid siren across the field began its own banshee wail.
The others saw no witnesses nearby in the hangar as they raced to scramble into the front gondola. The door was in the rear, and a retractable stepladder hung down. They swarmed up and inside. After a short passage between rows of tiny cabins, they emerged into the windowed oval of the control cabin. Ace was last. She scooted around a central pillar to the front. She examined the pilot’s controls, trying to sear their layout into her memory. She muttered to herself, “Rudder wheel in front. Elevator wheel must be on the side. Eight engines is a lot to handle. Those levers might be chokes. Or throttles.”
“Luck, don’t fail us now!” Quack muttered.
“Hear the siren? We got ’em believing it!” Bert crowed.
“That was well done, shooting the bombs in the truck!” Quack said.
“People comin’!” Gooper reported, peering out a window.
“Sahibs, I found the way to the gas bags. Up here.” Sam led the way up a ladder on the front side of the central pillar. He climbed through a metal trapdoor in the low ceiling into the interior structure of the dirigible itself. Everyone followed. They closed the hatch.
Just in time. The cabin vibrated as booted feet pounded their way inside. Distant motors of airplanes sputtered to life, buzzing in low, musical tones. The air raid siren still wailed.
The exterior noise covered up the sound of the Allies’ own heavy breathing. Everyone hunkered down in the near-darkness and exchanged half-seen thumbs-up signals. They crouched on a balsa-wood catwalk that ran lengthwise through geometric rows of billowy bags filled with lifting gas. Gigantic ribs soared around them in curves full of triangular braces.
Sharp voices barked below them. Compressed gas hissed into the bags overhead. One by one, the eight engines of the airship bomber roared to life. With a lurch, the airship moved forward. Six faces grinned from ear to ear at each other.
Urgent buzzings in the distance indicated planes taking off.
The grins faded as time ticked endlessly on. Finally, the whole dirigible wallowed back and forth a few times. In the new equilibrium the deck was somewhat tilted. They were off the wheels. Ace gave the thumbs-up with a grin.
At that moment, the hatch banged open, surprising the lot of them.
A half-uniformed airman popped up through the square hole. He was chest-high before noticing anything amiss. He halted face to face with Gooper. “Was?” said the popeyed man.
“C’mere!” Gooper grinned. The Brit grabbed the airman’s shirtfront with one thick fist and punched mightily with the other.
“Aaah!” screamed the man, thrashing wildly.
“Drop him,” advised Ace.
Gooper did, helping his downward trajectory with an enthusiastic push. Furthermore, the massive Londoner jumped through after, boots first. The Allies rushed for the opening, and the hatchway rained bodies for a few seconds.
Chapter 1 8
Ace was the last to leap. Last place did not suit her. There were gunshots down there! Screams, yells, and crashing noises added to the confusion. When Ace finally jumped down, she was just in time to see Sam deliver a felling uppercut to the last Ottoman left standing.
Quack was down, clutching his thigh. Blood oozed between his straining fingers.
Tombstone leaned blearily against a stanchion, holding a bleeding head.
Gooper was still on his feet, though fresh red wetnesses stained his brown coverall.
Bert seemed positively chipper as he went about frisking the downed airmen for weapons.
Ace snapped her attention to the windows.
They were only a few feet above the airstrip! A half-dressed mechanic was standing on the ground, squinting back at Ace. His eyes grew round, and he started jumping, yelling, and flapping his arms. Another problem was apparent. They were lazily floating toward the main runway, into a stream of fighter planes lifting into the air.
Ace vaulted into the pilot’s seat. She griped, “Why are there eight separate throttles? That’s ghastly engineering. Now, this ought to be the ballast release.” She cranked a wheel on the control panel.
It squeaked and scraped. And that was all. There was no discernable effect.
Ace huffed, “No ballast? Fine. Then we need more gas. These ought to be the gas valves.” She twisted at a row of knobs.
There was the faint sound of hissing. Everyone exchanged tense smiles. Except Gooper. Gooper was making faces at the Ottoman mechanic outside.
The smiles faded. The dirigible sank. Rapidly.
Ace reversed her valve spins. “Well, all right. Those were for descent. These, then!” She twisted a less-conspicuous row of valve-cocks.
“Brace yourselves!” Sam cried.
The dirigible smacked into the ground at an awkward angle. The Allies ricocheted around the metal cabin, gaining new bruises. The Ottoman mechanic on the ground ran in a panic to avoid being crushed. The airship rebounded into the air on a gentle arc.
“Why no lift? Those are all the valves! I’m out of options!” Ace stared around at the controls.
“Hoo, boy.” Tombstone’s shoulders slumped
dejectedly.
“So close. We were so close,” Quack said, closing his eyes.
Ace sank to her knees and ripped off a panel underneath the control console. “It looks right. Just pipes and gas valves.”
The dirigible bumped down again. After minor jostling, it settled on its wheels. Sam pointed out the window across the field. A half-dozen trucks with gun mounts were kicking up dust, heading for the airship. “They come, my friends. They come swiftly.”
Ace’s eyes followed the pipes. They ran under the floor, toward the central pillar. Her eyes followed the upward. She snapped her fingers. “Of course! More bad engineering!”
“Wot?” Gooper said, hypnotized by the approaching trucks.
Ace became a blur of motion. She launched herself at the ladder and ricocheted upward into the curved basket of gas bags.
“Where did she go?” said Quack.
“Why did she go?” said Sam.
Tombstone said nobly, “Hand me a rifle, Gooper. I ain’t goin’ down easy.”
“Wot? Tombstone, these airship blokes didn’t have any rifles.”
Bert sighed. “Tombstone. You’re wearing the rifle on your shoulder still.” Bert handed a pistol down to Quack, then fingered his own revolver. He eyed the approaching trucks, now only yards away.
“So many men,” mourned Sam.
“And all of them so interested in us,” Quack said, swallowing hard.
Sudden, airy, and full-throated, gas gushed in pipes.
The dirigible creaked and strained.
“Ace?” Sam called.
Ace’s voice called back, in a lusty, victorious whoop.
The men watched thunderstruck as the ground fell away. The trucks skidded to a stop below them.
Ace lightly landed back in the cabin. She said, “Overcomplicated plumbing. There’s a sort of switchyard of gas lines up among the gas bags. I got ’em open, finally.”
She leapt to the controls. “Sam! Bert! Get up to the catwalks and go aft. The bomb bay has two machine guns. See if you can fire them. We’re going to have to fight off airplanes before we’re free and clear.”
