by Giles
An Italian with a Scottsman for an assistant, Jerard idly wondered how that worked out in the kitchen. He could picture some of those arguments and in doing so failed to keep the faint smile from his face. “Greetings to you Mr. Vinnetti, you too Mr. McPherson.” Jerard returned easily. “Now your profession is one I have not had the pleasure of in my former career, the best we could manage was packed rations when out on patrol. Have you managed to come up with a menu that compensates for air sickness my good Sir?”
“Eh! Captain that is dependent on the individual too much, but I try, I try!” The enthusiastic man quipped back.
“I look forward to sampling your attempts then Sir.” Phillips laughed as he returned the Chef’s grin.
Turning to the second row of junior crew he took in the men he had not been introduced to. All of them wore the same general uniform but with different shoulder patches presumably to identify their specialties. Glancing at the Chief engineer Phillips offered him the chance to introduce the remainder of the crew. Nichols nodded and stepped forward.
“These fine fellows are the backbone of our crew Sir, allow me to introduce Airshipmen; Adams, Collins, deReuter and the brothers Landover.” He said indicating each man in turn.
Phillips moved down the short line nodding to each in turn. As he approached the last two, the Landover brothers, the duo stiffened into a perfect attention stance worthy of any parade ground. Phillips stopped and looked them in the eye. The pair of them stared right ahead as if frozen despite his gaze.
“Where did you serve Messrs Landover,” he said quietly.
“Abyssinia Sir,” came the clipped and strictly proper reply, from the taller of the two.
“Under Sir Robert Napier?”
“He was overall commander, yes Sir,” replied the second brother. “We were not under his immediate command however, Sir”
“Fair enough Sir, what was your combat unit then?” Phillips pressed, intrigued to see why a pair of infantrymen had ended up in this increasingly unusual command of his.
“We were a Maxim Gun crew, Sir.”
“Really!?” Jerard exclaimed surprised. Trained machine gunners were rather more prized than ordinary infantry.
Nichols smiled and then explained. “These fine soldiers were also languishing as part of the testing crew at Beardmore’s, Sir. When Mr. Starblower purchased the Discretion, his secretary asked for them to be allowed to remain with the ship.”
“I see,” Phillips commented aloud though he most certainly did not see why Miss. Smythe-Harris would want to retain these two worthies. Even so he was vaguely comforted to find some more military men under his command. At least discipline should be easier to maintain.
The inspection concluded, Jerard stepped away and addressed the assembled crew as a whole. “I’d like to thank you all for your courtesy here today, this was a pleasure I had not fully expected. I hope you will find in due course that regardless of whatever you may have heard about me I am loyal to my crew and country and now our mutual employer Mr. Starblower. That's what I believe in and what I shall expect from you all. Perform to the best of your abilities and we shall get along famously, slack off or behave inappropriately and I shall have to be more stern. But from the look of you all today I feel a great deal of honor to be serving with such a fine array of men. Thank you. Dismissed!” Without thinking Phillips snapped a crisp salute to the assembled aircrew. The stewards and the chef were a little slow but he was pleased when the majority of them returned his gesture before relaxing out of parade rest.
Mr. Howell immediately detailed one of his stewards to go and collect the captain’s bags. Hearing this Jerard turned, “Oh, it’s just right outside, and there’s only the one.” Damn! I forgot all about it, I think I’m going to like having a steward on board. As the man, Jerard thought he remembered his name as Tanner, scurried down the access ramp Chief Nichols coughed politely.
“Sir, would you care to inspect the rest of the bridge while your things are brought up?” Nichols held back the dark green curtain that separated the ante-chamber from the bridge proper.
“Capital idea Mr. Nichols.” he agreed. Looking over at the dispersing group of officers and men he saw the principal members of the crew were still standing and watching him closely. “Gentlemen, take your flight stations... Please” he added the last to make them understand he was not quite ready to bawl orders at them, having just met them.
The bridge crew filed past him and rapidly dispersed to their respective positions while Phillips seemed rooted to the deck. He had never seen a bridge like this! The walls seemed to be of some sort of quilted velvet with tiny brass rivets at each intersection of the quilting. And there was actually an upholstered gold and white settee and chair complete with a tea table bolted to the deck on his left. Jerard did not know whether to applaud or scoff, who ever heard of taking tea in an airship gondola? Jerard’s amazement was interrupted by Mr. D'Arcey clearing his throat. The man was sitting in a chair behind a rather odd console. Phillips moved to his side as Mr. D'Arcey flicked a couple of switches and began calling out the readiness of the ship's systems.
“Captain; batteries at 92%, fuel at 75%, ballast is level, all pumps show green. Do you wish to start engines Sir?”
“No Mr. D'Arcey, thank you; I’m just trying to get a feel for the ship is all.” Phillips replied and leaned closer to Nichols. “Is he always this keen?” he added sotto vocce.
The Chief engineer grinned beneath his beard and whispered back. “Can’t say for sure, Sir, he’s new as well. Excellent references and qualifications though.”
Jerard nodded and clapped the enthusiastic second engineer on the shoulder. “Nicely done Mr. D'Arcey but instead of frightening the ground crew, how about you run me through your board here and tell me how you determined what you just said. This girl’s controls are somewhat different from the last ship I flew.”
D'Arcey colored under the captain’s amused tone and muttered a hasty “Oui, monsieur.” He then began pointing out the various gauges of the ships systems that he had just quoted from. When he was done Jerard again congratulated him and next moved to the nearby helmsman’s station.
“So what have we here Mr. Wallace? Explain it to me.” Seeing the man’s slightly quizzical expression he added, “Assume I know nothing about airships Mr. Wallace. I want to hear how you explain your station and duties if you please Sir.” Jerard did not feel the need to explain that he had never seen a helm quite like this. Where were the pitch controls?
Wallace’s face went blank for a moment as he marshaled his thoughts, Phillips wondered if the man really had the right temperament for a pilot if this display of nerves was anything to go by. Still, he believed in giving a person a fair chance before pigeonholing them forever. And he was extremely curious about the odd ship’s wheel.
“Well Sir, tha wheel is similar t’ that on a sailin' ship but has two axis o’ movement t’ allow for tha fact that an airship moves in three dimensions through tha air.” The man grasped the wheel and pulled it firmly back, the whole thing tilted backwards some twenty degrees. “Hauling tha wheel back like this adjusts her rear flaps t' angle us upwards and tha center rotors t’ angle downwards t’ spread tha load of tha climb throughout tha frame o' tha ship.”
Releasing the wheel he pointed to a set of gauges set just above eye level that extended out from the ship’s side to hang over but well out of the way of the wheel “Here, Sir, is where I 'ave tha indicators for airspeed as well as tha ships approximate pitch an' yaw. Tha last is a warnin' gimble, if tha craft begins t’ roll t’ any significant degree I can make immediate corrections.”
“And what constitutes a ‘significant degree’ Mr. Wallace?” Phillips probed gently, finding a chance to quiz the pilot.
“Arr, anythin' over ten degrees will affect tha flight trim Sir...”
“Why?!” Jerard snapped suddenly to see if he could rattle the man. Pleasingly, Wallace didn’t flinch or stammer.
“Our propulsion
rotors are fixed on the sides o' tha craft. If our relative up an' down position is altered t' much by lateral roll then tha wee rotors will deliver their thrust ina way that reduces tha ship's ability t' turn in tha air Sir.” Wallace’s eyes met the new captain’s levelly, and Phillips smiled.
“Indeed, Mr. Wallace indeed they would, very well done Sir. My apologies for the abruptness, it is gratifying to see that I have a helmsman that knows his craft and can deliver answers when put under pressure. I think we shall get along very well Sir. Carry on, Mr. Wallace.”
Phillips now turned to what was the most fascinating feature of the bridge. The entire curved front of the gondola consisted of metal struts with large panes of glass set into them. It looked like some sort of squared off glass bubble as the ceiling and floor of the structure were all glass. Two steps lead down into the bubble and at this point Jerard was reassured to see that the floor was not completely glass but enough so that the ground would be clearly visible when in flight. A beautifully curved brass handrail wove its way around the front, ostensibly to keep people from stepping on the glass, he assumed. Jerard moved to the railing and even with the ship on the ground he had the sensation of flying. “Genius,” he muttered.
“Indeed Sir.” Replied Mr. Pruette, his features as bland as ever. Phillips whirled around to see the man seated at a most unusual table. He had been so enchanted with the glass work that he had not noticed Pruette and the work station.
“As you can see Sir the main chart locker is here by my feet but the ready charts for the planned trip are kept here under this glass work surface. The top of the desk hinges so I can slide the current chart under and have no danger of it getting damaged or knocked about in inclement weather. I can mark our proposed course on it with this china marking pencil.”
“Isn’t a glass lid like that rather heavy and dangerous Sir?” Jerard objected mildly. The navigator didn’t seem a particularly burly chap after all. Not to mention, if that lid were to fall it would produce dire consequences for the glass flooring.
“Indeed it is Sir, but fortunately I don’t have to lift it. Observe.” The man cleared the assorted pens and rulers from the surface and flipped a small brass lever to the left hand side of his desk. A hiss and puff of compressed steam sighed in the air and the lid of the desk hinged up on a pair of pneumatic jacks. With a practiced flourish Mr. Pruette withdrew the map of Great Britain and then replaced it swiftly. He pulled the lever again, the slight hiss and puff of steam was repeated before the heavy glass work-top descended to flatten the map roll once more under its protective embrace.
“Other than the maps Sir, my only fixed instruments are the altimeter, barometer and these time pieces. As you can see one is always set to Greenwich mean time the other two can be set to any local area time we need to monitor.”
“Seems all very efficient Mr. Pruette, lots more room than my old flight sergeant had. Poor Fred, he’d have given his right arm for a desk like that and the amazing view. Thank you Sir, carry on.”
Phillips turned to the last of the crew members in his circuit around the bridge. “Mr. Jones,” he acknowledged.
The compact Welshman was also seated at his workstation which consisted of a small desk with a curious assortment of electrical equipment to one side. Like the helmsman his area was also placed on the upper edge of the step-down into the front bubble. Phillips reluctantly left what he knew would be his favorite place in the ship and stepped up to have a proper conversation with Mr. Jones.
“Yes, well, Sir, my duties are to act as second for Mr. Pruette see, and to handle communications. I am fluent in five foreign languages as well as the new Morse Code and light-semaphore communications.” Jones said.
“Five languages!” Phillips exclaimed, “Bravo Sir! What do you speak, may I ask?”
“Well Sir my foreign tongues are French, German, Arabic, Spanish and English. Cymru being my first tongue you see.” He paused to observe how Phillips took the idea of ‘English’ being to him a foreign language, and then continued. “I also have a smattering of Greek and Danish Sir”
“Very good, Mr. Jones. But I am a little unsure as to how you can use your inestimable vocal talents aboard the bridge of this ship?” Jerard was genuinely puzzled.
“Well Sir the Discretion has one of these Sir,” Jones said in his soft but penetrating voice. He moved to indicate the semi organized mess of wires and valves set into the wall to the left of the desk. “This is our wireless radio Sir, it only has a range of about 2 miles at best but Mr. Starblower’s residences all have one as do a few other forward thinking individuals about the continent.”
Jerard opened his mouth and closed it again. He had never heard of a radio, much less ever seen anything that looked like this. “Mr. Jones, I am a bit confused, you mean this is a wireless telegraph?” Jerard asked thoughtfully gazing at the faintly glowing filaments of the wireless device.
“Well Sir, you are correct this device is also a wireless telegraph but it is a means of sending your voice as well.” Jones grinned and patted the device. Our Mr. Starblower is a great fan of new technologies and innovation, and our system is as good as any you’ll come across. I expect you’ll see and hear for yourself when we approach Beardmore & Co. near Glasgow Sir.”
“Well then Mr. Jones I suppose I will.” Although Jerard was not convinced and it showed plainly on his face. “What other interesting things have you there Sir?”
“We have standard pneumatic transfer tubes for written orders like most larger ocean ships Sir, but we use this the most Captain.” Mr Jones began, indicating a large wire grill and a bank of smaller switches beneath it. “This is the master station but you will see speaking grills like this in most main areas of the ship for internal communication.”
“These are the ships speaking tubes you mean?” Jerard queried.
“They serve that purpose yes Sir but they operate electrically.” Seeing Jerards puzzled expression Jones continued. “Perhaps a demonstration would explain it simply Sir?”
“Carry on Mr. Jones.”
“Easily done Captain. See this switch here? It will connect this speaking grill to the one in the galley.” Mr. Jones depressed the small switch and leaned over to speak directly into the grill. “Mr. Vinnetti to the bridge, Mr. Vinnetti to the bridge, please.” He released the switch and a moment later a tinny voice could be heard issuing out of the little grill: “Si, Mr. Jones give me a moment.”
Jerard stepped back in amazement. “I say! That was Mr. Vinnetti!”
Mr. Jones smiled and nodded. Sure enough, just seconds later Mr. Vinnetti’s heavy step could be heard on the metal decking.
“What do you need Mr. Jones?” The Italian man said, huffing and puffing, as he came through the door. It was obvious he had been hurrying to get here. “Ah Captain! Are you ready to inspect the galley?”
“Mr. Vinnetti, I am afraid we owe you an apology. Mr. Jones was demonstrating the operation of the speaking grills. I am very sorry to have interrupted your work. I do however very much look forward to visiting your galley.”
Paulo Vinnetti shot a nasty look at Jones before bowing to the Captain. “Of course Captain I am glad to be of service to you in any way. These speaking grills, they are amazing, yes?
“That they are Sir! Thank you for participating in our demonstration Mr. Vinnetti, I will see you later in the galley.”
“You are welcome Captain.” Vinnetti said with an air of dignity as he turned and left the bridge.
When the sound of the man’s footsteps began to fade Mr. Wallace piped up. “Ya know Annie, ya really should nae taunt the man s' much, he might just spit in ya food!”
Jones straightened and glared at the Scotsman. “Don’t call me Annie! My name is Aneurin. And I am not taunting Mr. Vinnetti, he was the only crew member that I knew for certain would be at his station.”
“Aye of course Mr. Jones, of course. How could I ‘ave possibly mistaken this for part o’ the great tomato feud, my apologies Sir!” Mr. Wall
ace turned back to face the helm again, Jerard could see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Jerard was fighting to keep a straight face himself. He had not clue as to what the great tomato feud might be but he knew this would not be the time to ask about it. He also had never witnessed such a non-professional display on a ship’s bridge and was frankly at a loss as how to respond to it. The only thing he was certain of was that every time he looked at Mr. Jones from here on out he would be thinking of the man as Annie. Damn you Wallace! He cursed to himself, trying again to not laugh. Thank god Mr. Jones was carrying on in a professional manner.
“Now then Captain, all of the speaking grills are wired to the bridge. This is the only place where you can access all of the grills individually. You do so by depressing the appropriately labeled switch. This switch here,” Mr. Jones pointed to the last switch on the first row, “will activate all of the grills at once so you can send out a ship wide message.”
“That is amazing Mr. Jones. So, if I were in another part of the ship and I heard the call for the Captain to come to the bridge then I would depress the switch next to the grill and speak into it.”
“Yes Sir, that is correct. But you must remember to hold the switch down while you are speaking and then let go of it to hear a reply.”
“Very good Sir. Thank you Mr. Jones, carry on!” He turned away from the junior navigator proud that he had not called the man Annie to his face.
Jerard next moved to the last unexplored station, the one he assumed was his. There was a tall chair anchored to the deck with more of the swirling brass fittings. He noted that it also swiveled like the other crewman’s chairs and had a rather comfortable looking green velvet cushion. While the presence of a captain’s chair was not unusual on an airship, it was not something he was used to. Jerard was happy to see it, it would be a welcome treat on long flights. However what was unusual was the podium like structure in front of the chair. On close examination he discovered that its lid lifted and it contained the captain’s log, several sheets of fine vellum and several strange pencil shaped things but no inkwell. I shall have to have a look at this latter he promised himself, but not now, not when everyone seemed to be staring at him. Now, he thought, we shall have a look at the rest of this beauty, all 500 odd feet of her. Being a true pilot himself Jerard was anxious to get to the rest of the tour; he had so many questions.
