by Giles
Suddenly deciding to keep his discovery of the gun to himself Phillips exited the chamber and relocked it. It would be interesting to see how long; or if at all, it was before Miss Smythe-Harris mentioned it to him. He thought sourly.
Assuming a nonchalant pose Phillips pretended to examine the exit door in more detail as he waited. At least the controls and layout of that was familiar to him he thought ironically. Footsteps on the Duralium floor plates a moment later alerted him to the approach of the steward.
Turning to face the ramp from the ships main decks Jerard was slightly surprised to see a much smaller figure approaching the docking bay, instead of the heavier set Mr. Howell.
“Mr. Pruette” He acknowledged sketching a small salute to the older man.
“Captain Phillips.” Pruette returned, saluting fully. “Are you going to take a constitutional as well Sir?”
“After a fashion, Mr Howell was going to show me to the airfield administration to present my credentials to the Station Chief. Though I admit it always does you good to stretch after a longer flight.”
Pruette looked away for a second before answering. “Yes Sir, the older I get the more I appreciate the feel of the wind on my face rather than just hearing it rustle against the glass of the windows.” The navigator looked at Phillips directly for a long moment before continuing. “Permission to speak Sir?”
“Of course Mr. Pruette, proceed.” Jerard said as a wave of apprehension pricked down his spine. The man was obviously a stickler for protocol, that much had been obvious in the last few hours. Since he had asked formally for permission to speak then, most likely, this was not going to be to Jerard’s liking.
“Forgive me Captain I am unaware how much you may have been told about the previous Captain of this ship. Captain Mather was my oldest and closest friend. And as such, I only really agreed to join Mr. Starblower’s service at Daniel’s urging. With him gone...”
Oh no, Jerard could see where this was going and interrupted Pruette. “I understand Mr Pruette. I truly do, but Miss Smythe-Harris has need of you for one last mission and....”
Pruette’s eyes sparked and it was his turn to interrupt. “I know my duty Sir!” He snapped but then his face softened, “I...Captain Phillips, please, please accept my apology and allow me to explain.”
“It’s quite all right Sir. Please, go on.”
“Sir, this whole affair couldn’t have come at a worse time for me. Over the last month or so I have been considering my position and was about to hand my resignation to Miss Smythe-Harris, then this foul business came up. I really have no desire to fly anymore, but I couldn't leave the Discretion without a navigator, especially in view of the accident. Also...” the man paused and again found Phillips’ eye. “I didn’t want you to think that I had any personal grievance with you Sir.”
Jerard could understand the older man’s position. A part of him missed his old crew as well and they had only been re-assigned, not slain in a damn fool accident brought on by... No probably best not to share the likelihood of sabotage with the troubled man. At least not now here on the Discretion's ‘doorstep’ as it were. “I appreciate your candor Sir, and I am truly sorry for your loss. We’ll just have to carry on as best we may for a few more days then you can follow your heart Mr. Pruette. Rest assured Sir, I shall take no offense.”
“I appreciate your courtesy Sir.” Pruette stated levelly. “Shall we go down now Captain?” He asked, clearly wishing a retreat from the painful subject.
“I did say I’d wait for Mr. Howell.”
“He might be sometime Sir. Making port even a familiar one like this is a busy time for Jon and his men.”
“Yes I expect so but it would be rude to stand him up at this point, so I’ll wait Sir. You go on if you like.”
“No that’s fine Captain we can all ride the lift together.” Pruette replied before lapsing into an introverted silence.
Mr. Howell was indeed late. But eventually the awkward silence between Phillips and his reluctant navigator was broken by the sight of the slightly out of breath steward dashing up the ramp towards them. One of Howell’s under stewards was following closely behind his chief.
“Sorry I'm late Captain.” Howell gasped as he drew level with Phillips. “Last minute change of plans.”
“Not a problem Sir. I'm grateful you were going downside when you were. Miss Smythe-Harris is understandably occupied at present so I thought I'd stretch my legs and take the Scottish air while I had the chance.” Philips replied as the three of them ascended the slight ramp that led to the nose hatch.
Steward Tanner slipped ahead of the three men and depressed the door’s release catch. With a slight hiss of a pneumatic drive, the nose door slowly lowered to almost touch the receiving ring of the tower. The wind buffeted them all briefly as the hatch opened, causing them to clutch at their hats they stepped onto the landing tower.
“So where was it you wanted to go to Captain?” Howell asked as the lift took them ground wards.
“To whatever passes for Base Administration I suppose. As I was saying to Mr Pruette here, I ought to pay my formal respects to the field chief as the captain of a visiting ship. Then I was going to take a walk around the field for the air.”
Howells eyes twinkled. “And look over the B97 as well maybe?”
“I'd rather take a better look at the Discretion” Jerard parried. “I didn't see her from a distance when I boarded her. I mean the look in the hanger back in London was very impressive but...”
“I understand Sir, you can't see her whole length. Not a problem I can show you the admin office before I go onto the cargo master's office.”
“And what will you be doing there Sir, may I ask? Making sure they don't overstock us on Haggis and Scotch?” Phillips teased.
Howell grinned and winked. “Can't overstock on Scotch Sir.. But yes I can't imagine how Paulo would react to having a case of Haggis turn up in his pantry!”
“I can.” Pruette commented acidly.
Howell ignored the navigator and went on, “Tanner and I are going to transfer Mr, Carstares’ effects to the number five guest suite.” With a gentle thump and hiss of released vapor the lift touched the base of the tower.
Jerard was surprised at the the reply, but said nothing while the lift gates clashed open. “Isn't that a bit premature Mr Howell? Didn't Miss Smythe-Harris say she wanted to deal with this Carstares person face to face first?”
“She did Sir, she did. But she told me that the man would be joining us and to get his things settled directly.” Howell shrugged. “So I am.” Howell turned and closed the lift gates before continuing. “I expect Mr. Carstares will come around to Miss Tash's way of thinking soon enough.”
Phillips grinned despite himself. “Yes I imagine he will, Sir. So you’re thinking that we’ll just shove him in a corner so the rest of us can get ahead of these kidnapping bounders then?”
“Something like that, I imagine.” Howell returned noncommittally.
A few individuals were still evidently awaiting them at the base of the docking tower. The bear like man in the immaculately tailored suit had to be the lawyer McPherson Phillips reasoned. But it was not the lawyer that drew his attention. No it was the quite absurd site that greeted them all as they stepped out onto the grass of the landing field. Reclining as neat as you please just a short way back from the lift door, was a fellow in a camp chair reading a newspaper! Ignoring the wind that constantly threatened to drag the flimsy object from him the fellow looked for all the world as if he was on Brighton beach, instead of an airfield on the Scottish moors!
With a clang, a whirr and a puff of steam, the lift began an upward climb. The sound seemed to get the attention of the newspaper reader. Jerard nearly laughed at the bespectacled face peering at them from above the edge of the copy of ‘The Scotsman’. With an air of profound patience he folded the paper, and removed his glasses. He then carefully set them aside and got to his feet. No one seemed aware of the two la
dies watching from the top of the lift tower.
“Persistent fellow.” Howell muttered.
Jerard inclined his head. He too had guessed who the phlegmatic individual had to be. The escort of McPherson had made it all too obvious. “Mr Carstares, I presume?” He just had to say.
“Leftenent Colonel Robert Carstares of her Majesty’s Intelligence Service at your service Sir” The middle aged man stated mildly and offered his hand to Jerard.
Jerard did not immediately return the handshake instead he spitted the man with a foul glare. Another thrice damn’d desk Hussar to deal with, clearly this fellow had seen nothing like a real battle in years he observed sourly. Carstares was of mid-height and slightly overweight. To Jerard’s practiced eye he could see it was once muscle but the fellow had been away from anything like a strenuous job for long enough that it had softened into fat. Likely he got ‘promoted’ to the far reaches of Scotland for some incompetence even the officers’ clique of his day couldn’t quite hush up.
Carstares simply endured the young mans disdainful look and did not withdraw his proffered hand. Pale blue eyes gazed steadily back at Phillips from behind bushy eyebrows. The mans fashionable sideburns quirked as he essayed a smile. “And you would be Jerard Phillips no doubt young Sir” He stated at last. His voice was mild and held no inflection at all. Least of all the slight edge of contempt Jerard was used to from senior officers.
Becoming aware that his own junior officers were watching him keenly. Phillips grasped the man’s hand and gave it a perfunctory pump. “I am, Sir. I presume you still await the departure of Miss Smythe-Harris?”
“That is my purpose here, but as you have come down, evidently the ship is once more docked to the tower.”
“Your meaning Sir!?” Jerard rapped out still feeling decidedly hostile to this individual.
“This matter is of the utmost urgency Captain. I merely meant that now that it is safe to do so I shall go up and get the final details thrashed out with the confoun... ...dear lady.”
“I don’t think so Colonel.” Phillips replied icily. “That is my ship up there and you do not have my permission to board!”
Carstares looked at him steadily but refused to reply in kind. Instead his tone softened. “Captain Phillips, we are on the same side here. Miss Smythe-Harris accepted my word on any further incivilities. And for the record, I had no pleasure in delivering Lord Mansfield’s ultimatum this morning. But I am a serving soldier still. And I shall obey my orders as best I can Sir, as is my duty.” He glanced over his shoulder to the nearby McPherson. “In any case she has arranged a most formidable chaperon.”
McPherson smiled at this, and folded his arms in mock belligerence. For all the world he now reminded Phillips of a stern father interviewing his daughter’s first suitor. The site was so comic that Jerard’s evil mood began to evaporate; despite the pang of shame he felt at the oblique jibe about being a serving soldier and not a cashiered one.
“Colonel, I wish you luck. But I think you will find that Miss Smythe-Harris has many ‘chaperons’ as you so charmingly put it. None the less until my employer’s position is perfectly clear I shall have to refuse you permission to go aboard.”
Out of the corner of his eye Jerard was still watching to see how Pruette and the ship’s stewards were taking this exchange. None of them had commented thus far. However a ghost of a smile hovered about Howell’s lips, confirming that he had made the right choice in refusing Carstares access to the ship.
Carstares now smiled once more, and genuinely. “Fair enough then Sir. I have waited this long I can wait longer. Loyalty is an admirable trait.” Glancing to McPherson, he added “A very English trait.” Ignoring the dark scowl the comment engendered in the lawyer Carstares settled back in to his seat, obviously willing to wait comfortably for a good long time.
Annoyed that the officer was dismissing him so easily, Jerard snapped a salute at the now seated man. But even as he turned his back on Carstares he realized that he was developing a grudging admiration for the man’s poise in a bad position. Jerard directly addressed the steward. “Where to Mr. Howell?”
Jon Howell’s eyes reflected the lazy return salute Carstares gave Jerard’s back as he unfolded his paper once more. “Over this way Sir.” The steward indicated obviously trying to get his Captain moving.
Jerard turned in the direction Howell was pointing. A small office block was visible across the landing field attached to the side of one of the larger factory buildings. But before they could resume their stroll across the field he was interrupted once more by a loud voice from the crowd of stevedores approaching the docking tower.
“I see civilian life ‘aint softened you up Captain Phillips!” The newcomer called out over the hurley-burley of the loading team.
Jerard spun about annoyed to be so coarsely addressed. A tall man broke from the group and strode towards them his hand outstretched. Phillips gaped in surprise as the man pushed his slightly askew cap back squarely on his dark red hair, fully revealing his face.
“What the Devil are you doing here old man?” Jerard managed to splutter out as he grasped the offered hand. Fred had been the closest thing he had had to a friend in his last post.
“Being ‘devillish’ Captain what else?” The stranger replied, a grin lighting his freckled face.
Phillips turned to his crewmen, “Gentlemen may I present an old acquaintance of mine. Airshipman first class Frederick Randal.”
Fred Randal again grinned and gave the others a nod of a salute. “Just plain old Fred Randal now Captain,” he began “I mustered out a month and a half ago.”
Oh? Jerard thought why did old Fred do that? He only had two years to go before he received his full pension and benefits on leaving the army. “Fred, this Archibald Pruette, the Discretion's navigator and Mr. Jon Howell her steward and his assistant Mr. Tanner.
As Jerard watched the men shaking hands and greeting one another he continued in explanation. “Mr Randal and I served in the Army together gentlemen. He was my navigator on the HMA 21.”
“Really?” Commented Pruette, eying the gangly man in Beardmore’s service uniform.
“Really!” Fred winked back at the older man. “So you fellows have to put up with “Ol’ By-the-Book” now, eh? My sympathies!”
Phillips was taken aback. Fred had always been a bit course but that was just his upbringing, he would have said the man had a heart of gold under the grubby exterior. “I beg your pardon Mr Randal; but “Ol’-by-the-book?” ”
“Its what the rest of the crew called you Captain.” Randal explained easily. “Oh don’t get me wrong it wasn’t meant nasty. If you want nasty, mebbie I should tell you what we called Air Major Franklin Sir.. Oh and to answer your original question. I applied for a position at Vickers Aviation’s Swindon works. But a man from Beardmore’s got a hold of me before they did and made me a better offer. So here I am north o’ the border.”
Pruette broke in while Jerard was momentarily lost guessing what his old crew must have thought of Major Franklin. “So, you’re a Navigator here now are you Mr Randal?”
“Officially Sir, yes” Fred stated with a note of frustration edging out his cheerfulness. “Not seen much air time as yet but I suppose that’s to be expected as the new boy.”
“The new English boy as well Mr Randal. Any trouble there may I ask? I used to work here too and it took a while to settle in, so I know.” Pruette probed.
Fred looked a little uncomfortable. “Yes well there is always a bit of that sort of thing I suppose, but I’m used to it. Fortunately...” He tapped his dark red hair “Most of the local jocks mistake me for one of them first up..”
“Until you open your mouth I daresay Fred.” Jerard resumed. “Calling them ‘Jocks’ is hardly a polite move old chap.”
“I give as good as I get Sir; you know that.” Randal replied, his grin returning.
“Indeed I do Sir.” Ol’-by-the-book, indeed! And I bet I know who came up with that moni
ker. Phillips thought with a wry grin.
“But have you been up in the B97 as yet Mr Randal?” Pruette pressed on, ignoring Phillips’ interjection.
“Yessir, I took her up across the straights and out to Skye and back.” Randal replied with a smile. “Very nice ship, but she’s down for refit now, or she will be when we have your little show done with. Mr. ‘B’ wants to put a pair of his new light weight A-K engines into her in place of two of the Wolsey’s.”
“That was as far as they let you fly her was it Sir?” Howell said mischievously. “Skye was your limit?”
Jerard winced at the blatant pun. Fred was still Fred it seemed and more of the same appeared to be surfacing in Howell. “They let you pick the destination didn’t they?”
“I did have some discretion on that Sir” Randal allowed.
“Yes I just bet you did!” Phillips agreed and rolled his eyes up at his own ship. “So do I it seems Fred.”
“Very good Sir.” Fred commented with mock gravity. His eyes twinkling at the jest.
“Ahem,” Pruette coughed breaking the pair up. “ If I might, I’d take it as a kindness if we could continue to the hanger? The wind is chillier than I thought, and I have just recalled I need to speak to Mr. Beardmore about something.”
Jerard looked at Pruette with a slightly perplexed expression; while it was a bit windy is certainly wasn’t cold. “Yes, yes of course Mr. Pruette. Forgive me this is a day of surprises it seems. Let us all walk that way if we can?”
“Fine by me, Cap I was waitin’ for you in any case.” Fred agreed.
“Uh Captain, Sir, if Mr. Randal is with you now, might we be excused? I need to get to the cargo master's soonest and I’m a bit late as it is.” Howell said almost apologetically.
Collecting himself for a moment Phillips dropped the light tone he had slipped into. “Of course Mr Howell, carry on, we can find the way from here I expect.”
