By the Blood of Heroes

by Joseph Nassise

  He was met at the top by another British airman, this time a short, burly fellow with a shock of flaming red hair, who grabbed hold of the rope and pulled it over to the side so that Burke could step onto the deck.

  “Welcome aboard,” the airman said, by way of introduction.

  “Thanks. I’m looking for Chief Wilson . . . ?”

  “You found him,” the man said with a smile. “Chief Machinist Wilson, at your service. I’m guessing you’re the mysterious Yank we’ve been waiting on.”

  “I don’t know about mysterious, but definitely a Yank. Captain Michael Burke, American Expeditionary Force.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “My orders are to get you and your men squared away and then take you to see our captain before we launch. Okay with you?”

  “Sounds just fine, Chief.”

  Burke spent the next few minutes helping the rest of his men aboard and making sure the crates Nichols had sent along made it on as well. After that, they collected their personal gear and told Wilson they were ready.

  To Burke’s surprise, the first thing the machinist did was lead them to the far side of the room where a large door stood open.

  A glance through its open frame showed Burke the looming bulk of what looked to be a bank of engines or generators.

  Wilson pointed toward them.

  “That’s the main engine room, which is where you’ll find me when I’m not dragging you Yanks around by the nose,” he said, smiling to show he meant no offense. “Unless you’re a grease monkey like me, you probably won’t have any need to set foot in there during the voyage, but it’s always good to know where things are, in case you’re assigned to damage control or something like that.

  “This way, please,” he said and led them back across the cargo bay to the end of a long catwalk that extended forward toward the bow of the ship far ahead.

  Wilson explained that all the crew spaces were grouped in two areas, one forward and one aft, along the central axis of the ship and accessible by the main catwalk. The aft section included the engine room, the mechanics’ quarters, several storage bays, and the loading dock, which was where they had entered the ship. A stern weapons platform was mounted beneath the bulk of the engines and accessible through the engine room, though Burke hadn’t noticed it while on the ground.

  The stern gondola, which housed one of the maneuvering engines and also served as the auxiliary bridge in the event something happened to the bow gondola, was located about a third of the way along the ship’s length. It was accessed by a ladder that ran down the inside of a vertical shaft that pierced the floor of the catwalk and extended down through the roof of the gondola. Wilson pointed it out as they went past, piquing Burke’s curiosity, but they didn’t have time to drop down inside and take a look around.

  Maybe later, he told himself, as he hurried to catch up.

  Above them hung the Victorious’s three gas bags, strung horizontally in a line one after another and surrounded by a framework of steel and corded mesh to keep them confined to that particular area. Ladders and catwalks hemmed in the entire structure, providing access, Burke assumed, for the crew in the event repairs needed to be made while in flight.

  Curious about what kind of gas could provide lift for a ship of this size and weight, he asked Wilson how it all worked. The chief machinist was more than happy to explain it to him as they walked along.

  “Etherium,” he said, with more than a touch of pride. “Only the best for His Majesty’s Air Service.” He pointed forward as he said, “Look there; that gas sack contains refined ether in as pure a concentration as we can get it. In the aft gas sack”—pointing again, but this time behind them—“is a mixture of hydrogen and helium in a 2:1 ratio.”

  The combination surprised Burke. “Wouldn’t pure hydrogen give you more lift?” he asked.

  “Yes, but it’s also more prone to instability and therefore more flammable,” Wilson told him. “The combination makes them all safer. It also burns easier, allowing us to get another ten percent efficiency out of the engines.”

  The forward crew area, set near the nose of the airship, was twice the size of the one in the rear and contained most of the major crew spaces within the vessel; officers’ quarters and wardroom, the crew quarters, mess hall, the captain’s cabin, the galley and pantry, the dry goods storage, and the ship’s infirmary.

  The wardroom that Burke and his men had been assigned to for the duration of the voyage was sandwiched between the galley and the sick bay. It wasn’t all that big, especially for eight men and their assorted gear, but since Wilson didn’t apologize for the lack of space, Burke didn’t bring it up. For all he knew the British airmen were crammed into a space half the size. Four sets of wooden bunk beds had been bolted to the floor and the men quickly claimed their respective territory, with Burke automatically awarded the lower bunk closest to the door, as was custom.

  Burke left the men in Sergeant Moore’s hands and followed Wilson out the door. The vertical shaft that provided access to the forward gondola was located half a dozen yards back along the central catwalk and Wilson didn’t waste any time in leading Burke over to it and then down the ladder into the gondola.

  Burke’s gaze was immediately drawn to the windows. They rose from waist height to just below the ceiling and provided a complete 360-degree view of the surrounding terrain. Right now all he could see were the trunks of the trees that encircled them, but once they were airborne he knew the view would be magnificent.

  Tearing his attention away from the windows, he looked upon a finely appointed cabin done up like a gentlemen’s club of old, with dark wood paneling, a deep maroon rug, and high-backed leather seats at each of the crew stations. The instrument panels were covered with a dizzying array of gauges, dials, and switches, all coated in brass that was sparkling from a recent round of polishing. Crew members were dressed in the bright blue jumpsuits the British Air Service had adopted as its official uniform and were hard at work at their various stations, calling information back and forth as they ran through the departure checklists. A ship’s wheel was mounted near the front of the gondola, allowing the helmsman manning it to see where they were headed and to adjust course as necessary. Behind him, in the center of the command area, a gray-haired figure wearing the uniform of a senior officer sat in a raised chair watching over it all with an authoritative air while at the same time dealing with several issues brought to his attention by the aides clustering around him.

  “Captain Connolly?”

  Without looking up from the clipboard in his hand, the other man said, “What can I do for you, Chief?”

  “Our ‘package’ is aboard, sir. The American, Captain Burke, and his team.”

  The captain turned, spotted Burke standing a few feet away, and, dismissing the aides for the moment, crossed over to him with a smile. “Good to meet you, Captain,” he said. “Nigel Connolly, captain of Her Majesty’s vessel Victorious. My people taking care of you all right?”

  “They are, Captain. Thank you,” Burke said politely, trying not to be rude as he continued to gaze in fascination at the control stations nearby.

  “Good. If you need anything, you just let Chief Wilson know and he’ll take care of it. I’ll speak to you again after launch.”

  “Sounds good, sir. Thanks.”

  Captain Connolly nodded and then excused himself to continue dealing with the many items that demanded his attention. Wilson nodded his head in the direction of the access shaft, and Burke reluctantly turned away. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before Connolly’s voice cut through all the chatter.

  “Captain Burke?” he called, and Burke turned to see him looking in their direction.

  “Ever flown in an airship before?” the British commander wanted to know.

  Burke shook his head. “Not had the pleasure, sir.”

  “Consider this an invitation then.” Connolly pointed to an unused control station near the rear of the gondola
. “Buckle yourself in over there and enjoy the ride. I’ll see to it that word gets back to your men that you’ll be occupied during the launch.”

  It was the opportunity of a lifetime! Burke hustled over to the appointed position and settled himself into it, buckling the lap belt in place and keeping his hands off the controls, lest he screw something up.

  Fifteen minutes passed as the crew made their final preparations, and then they were ready to get under way. The executive officer, Lieutenant Jamison, signaled someone on the ground, and a moment later it grew brighter inside the cabin of the gondola as the massive canvas tarps that had hidden the clearing from the prying eyes of enemy aircraft were cut away and fell to the ground on all sides of the airship.

  Connolly stabbed a button on the control panel in front of him with a thick finger and said, “Bridge to Engineering, this is the captain. Fire the engines.”

  A moment later there was a gentle rumble from the rear of the craft, and Burke could feel the airship strain slightly against the ropes that held it secure to the ground.

  A voice came out of the grid on the control panel in front of Connolly. “Engineering to Bridge, Chief Machinist Wilson. All engines fired and operational. You have maneuvering power at your service.”

  Connolly nodded to himself, then turned to his exec. “Aft guide ropes away, Lieutenant,” he ordered. Jamison delivered a hand signal to the men on the ground, and Burke felt the rear of the airship begin to slowly lift.

  When he felt the ship begin to rise, Captain Connolly said, “Forward guide ropes away,” and the same process was repeated, but this time it was the nose of the vessel coming up to meet the already rising stern. A few minor adjustments and the helmsmen had the ship rising smoothly toward the open sky above.

  With his gaze glued to the window beside him, Burke watched the ground slowly slip away until they were out in open air and climbing into the gray light of the morning.

  Captain Connolly let his ship rise unhindered for several more minutes and then pressed a button on the panel before him.

  “Bridge to Engineering. Main engines all ahead full.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the twin engines that Wilson had shown him during training kicked into gear, sending the Victorious moving forward at a steady pace.

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Signal the ground and let them know that Operation Orpheus is officially under way.”

  “Very good, sir!”

  As the Victorious rose into the light, Burke was left wondering just who on earth thought it was a good idea to name the mission after a tragic Greek hero who descended into the Underworld to rescue his wife, only to fail at the last minute and lose her forever.

  It wasn’t the most auspicious of omens.

  Chapter Nineteen

  HMS VICTORIOUS

  After the excitement of getting under way had passed, Burke returned to the wardroom. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his men move about their tasks, then slipped inside the room. He passed Private Strauss sitting near the entrance, cleaning the Lee Enfield he’d been assigned under Sergeant Moore’s watchful eye, and the two of them nodded as Burke went by. Private Williams and Professor Graves sat on the next bunk over, the younger man seemingly spellbound by the older one’s description of the infectious rot that sometimes spread like wildfire in the wake of a shambler bite, and neither man seemed to notice Burke’s presence.

  The next bunk held Corporal Compton, and as Burke moved closer he could hear him reading aloud to himself from the small, leather-bound book he held in his lap.

  “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me . . .”

  Manning was sitting on the floor, his back against the bulkhead and his legs stretched out before him. Burke couldn’t be certain, thanks to the fedora pulled down low over the hunter’s brow, but he was pretty sure the man was asleep.

  Jones sat to Manning’s left, and he nodded when the captain looked in his direction. Unlike the others, Jones had barely glanced at the Victorious when they’d arrived at the field, and Burke had the sense that the corporal viewed the airship as just another means to an end. The joy and wonder of flight held no interest for him; he was just marking time until they reached their destination and he could get back to doing what he was good at, which, in Jones’s case, was shooting things. His eyes were bright, like a predator on the hunt, and something in his expression made Burke feel like he was being sized up, judged even. Having worked with men like Jones in the past, Burke kept his gaze firm and stared back at him without flinching, establishing who was in charge right from the get-go, until the other man looked away.

  Jones’s brashness was a good thing, provided it remained firmly focused on the enemy. But if he began to get the idea that he was better than the officers in charge, he’d start to push back, and Burke had to be ready to respond decisively if he did. A quick display of force would probably do more to keep Jones in line than anything else.

  Burke settled down on his bunk and dug the map out of the inside pocket of his uniform. He took his time unfolding it, knowing he hadn’t yet mastered the gentle movements needed to use his mechanical hand for such delicate tasks, and mentally clapped himself on the back when he managed to open the map up all the way without tearing it.

  His satisfaction was short-lived. Charlie sat down on the edge of the bunk next to him, causing Burke’s weight to shift to one side and his hand to jerk in the opposite direction, tearing a quarter of the map off in the process.

  “Sonofabitch!”

  Charlie took one look at the expression on Burke’s face and burst into laughter. His laughter turned out to be contagious; Burke found himself busting up, right along with him. When the two men finally stopped cackling, they found the rest of the squad staring at them in puzzled concern.

  Which just broke them up all over again.

  It was a much needed relief to the stress of the last twenty-four hours, and both men felt better for it. To Burke’s relief, the piece of the map that he’d torn free had been of the French coastline and not an area they were going to need for the mission.

  Or, at least, not unless something went radically wrong, Burke thought.

  Pushing that idea out of his head before it could sink its claws into his confidence, he turned his attention to the map and began discussing options with Charlie. They were still at it, over an hour later, when a voice suddenly intruded on their conversation.

  “Captain Burke?” the voice asked.

  The speaker had a British accent, which wasn’t all that surprising on a British vessel, but what was surprising was that they couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. No one else had entered the room with them.

  It came again.

  “Captain Burke? Are you there, sir?”

  This time they pinpointed the voice as coming from a small mesh-covered box mounted on the wall in one corner of the room.

  It was a talk box, though a smaller version than the one Burke had seen Captain Connolly use on the bridge. The devices operated much like a telephone, he knew, with two-way communication between two stations that were dialed into the same channel, but they used radio waves to carry the transmission rather than wires. Now that he knew what to look for, Burke could see the control panel and microphone peeking out from behind some of the gear they’d stored on a nearby shelf.

  “Just a moment!” Burke called out, then felt foolish for doing so because he knew the other man couldn’t hear him unless he used the microphone. He got up and quickly crossed the room toward the equipment, the rest of the men on his heels.

  The speaker must have recognized their lack of experience with such devices, for rather than continuing to call out the captain’s name, he began to issue instructions on how to use the equipment—the dial to move to zero the channel in better, the button to push in order to talk a
t the base of the microphone, and so on. With his help, Burke was ready in just a few moments.

  “Yes,” he replied into the microphone. “Yes, this is Captain Burke.”

  “Ah, there you are. Good, good. Lieutenant Jamison here, from the bridge.”

  Burke waited a second to be sure the other man was finished speaking and then mashed the talk button down with his hand.

  “What news, Jamison?”

  “Captain’s compliments, sir. He asked me to let you know that we’ve just crossed the line and are now in occupied territory.”

  That’s it. No turning back.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate your letting us know. My thanks to the captain as well.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  After signing off, Burke returned to his bunk and dug the envelope Nichols had given him out of his breast pocket. He knew the envelope contained additional information about their mission, but he’d been ordered not to open it until they had crossed the front line and Burke took those commands seriously.

  Now, though, there was no longer any reason to wait.

  He tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded sheets of paper that it contained. The first two were written agreements spelling out the terms under which Burke’s team had undertaken the mission, which he barely glanced at, turning his attention instead to the third and final sheet in the set.

  It was a communiqué directed specifically to him and marked TOP SECRET in bold letters right across the top of the page. It detailed the mission’s parameters and requirements, including the specific roles each man was intended to play, and the key milestones that formed the backbone of the plan as it had been developed for them by Nichols’s staff.

  Burke skimmed through the dense typewritten lines, stopping to read certain parts more closely, such as the description of Graves’s role as the team’s “expert in regard to the sciences, both common and esoteric” and how he had been charged with the task of “collecting any and all information” relevant to those topics. Burke noted that the professor was also somewhat fluent in German, which, even though they had Strauss’s expertise, might come in handy.