Harry gets Her Wings (Iron Pegasus Book 3)

by Steve Turnbull

  “Harry, we have to go back,” said Sellie.

  “No. Isn’t it obvious?” said Harry. “You’re the clever one. Can’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  “They only had power over us when we could see him!” she said. “They didn’t want Dad, they wanted us. They wanted the Pegasus. They want to humiliate us, take away our power. They want to make sure we know that the German military is better than we are. But they can only do that if we’re there.”

  Sellie was quiet for a minute. “That’s genius.”

  “It’s bloody obvious.”

  “Miss Edgbaston, mind your language.”

  “Shut up, really, or I will gag you.”

  xii

  In the wardroom of the Graf von Moltke, its captain, Odhert Reichler, relaxed back into his chair.

  Across the table from him, Hauptman Liman Gerhardt fidgeted, repeatedly tapping the end of his cane on the deck. It was quite irritating.

  Reichler placed his cigar between his lips and drew on it. He held the perfumed smoke in his mouth for a moment before blowing it out. There had been a time when naked flames were not permitted on airships. Those were the days before the Empire’s trade agreement with the United States for their helium gas.

  While the Americans were keen to keep a distance between themselves and the affairs of Europe he was not sure how they would react to a country declaring war. Hauptman Gerhardt did not seem to appreciate the seriousness of the situation but then he was a commoner. Though what he lacked in vision he more than made up for in drive.

  “So, Hauptman, what are you going to do?”

  “We must chase them.”

  Reichler did not laugh. “That is impossible. Even if we had been ready we cannot keep pace with such a vessel and we have undertaken this mission without a fighter escort. Against my advice, I might add.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  This time he did laugh. “Oh no, Hauptman Gerhardt,” he said. “This is not my circus, even if we have been made into monkeys by a pair of young girls.

  “No, I will not make your decisions for you. I will not provide you with an opportunity to lay any blame at my door.”

  He puffed the cigar and then pointed the bright embers in the Gerhardt’s direction.

  “You are the ringmaster, it is you who will be thrown to the lions.”

  Gerhardt frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Captain Reichler stood up, he was stiff. Perhaps he had been under the influence of the reduzierter Schwerkraft, what the English referred to as the Faraday effect, too long. “You and any of your men remaining on board will leave my ship immediately.”

  Gerhardt jumped to his feet. “What? You can’t do that, you have orders!”

  In a casual move Reichler pulled a pistol from his pocket: another device that would not have been permitted in the old days. He pointed it at Gerhardt.

  “You, and your men, will get off my ship. I will not be part of any action that starts a war with Britain.”

  “It’s too late for that,” said Gerhardt, staring down the gun barrel. “We did not know the British were going to be here in such numbers.”

  “You have made the bed,” said Reichler. “But I am not going to lie in it. It has your name carved into the headboard.” He gestured with the gun. “Now, do I need to make myself any clearer on this matter?”

  “But you cannot leave us here. We are in the heart of the British Protectorate.”

  “You should have thought of that before you followed such an ill-conceived plan,” said Reichler. “And who was the officer in charge who signed those orders? I was unable to make out the signature. Was he drunk?”

  Gerhardt did not take the bait. “You are condemning me, and my men, to death.”

  “Oh, I don’t think the British will be upset enough to execute you,” said Reichler with a smile. “This is, after all, a gentleman’s game and it wouldn’t be, what is it they say? Cricket. I have no doubt you will have your weapons confiscated, your knuckle’s rapped, and an entirely justified fuss will be made of your stupidity. Then you will be returned to Germany in disgrace never to be heard from again.”

  “I don’t mean the British,” hissed Gerhardt. “I mean those girls.”

  “Ah yes, his daughters. They are a different kettle of fish,” said Reichler. “After what you have done to their home and the way you treated their father, you must hope they don’t catch up with you.”

  He lifted his gun once more. “By now my men will have rounded up the rest of your squad. It is time for you to leave.”

  On the ground, Reichler did not interfere with Gerhardt’s men guarding the British, but he went to speak with Edgbaston.

  He offered his hand but was not surprised when the man chose not to shake it.

  Reichler looked up the lawn at the ruined house. A slight haze of dust hung in the air above it; there was a steady stream of smoke from a chimney of the servants’ block that still stood on the far side.

  “I am sorry about your house,” he said to Edgbaston in English. “I assure you that we had no intention causing such damage.”

  “I’m sure if it had been of German construction it would have remained standing,” said Edgbaston.

  “I think you are making fun of me,” said Reichler as he turned to face Edgbaston fully. “I find myself in an awkward position.”

  “You expect my sympathy?”

  “I am explaining so that you better understand yours.”

  Edgbaston said nothing.

  “I was not happy with the orders,” Reichler continued. “However, your daughters have destroyed a considerable amount of German equipment and killed some of our men.”

  “You attempted to start a war.”

  “That was not my decision.”

  “You cannot escape responsibility by claiming you were following orders.”

  “Nor am I, Mr Edgbaston,” he said. “That is why I am abandoning Hauptman Gerhardt and his men. My orders were to assist him in carrying out his disciplinary action on your daughters.”

  “The German military wishes to discipline my daughters.”

  “Mr Edgbaston, they are running amok.”

  The Englishman paused and looked down before he replied. “I have always encouraged my daughters to behave in the most decent and honest fashion, and to strive for the greater good. And, while you may disagree with their judgement, that is precisely what they have done.”

  “Be that as it may, Mr Edgbaston, I have assisted Hauptman Gerhardt to the best of my ability but now I find that there is nothing further I can do. Therefore I am leaving.”

  Edgbaston looked him in the eye. “But you’re leaving that man here?”

  “Yes.”

  “He will kill us.”

  “No, I do not think so,” said Reichler. “He is already afraid of your girls. I do not think he is going to antagonise them further.”

  “Afraid of them?”

  Reichler nodded. “Yes, I believe that is the case. Apparently he has encountered them before.”

  “What is he going to do?”

  Reichler put his cap on and adjusted it. “That I cannot say, Mr Edgbaston. Nor do I wish to know. But you may rest assured I will be making a full report on my return and it will not be in Hauptman Gerhardt’s favour.”

  “Well, I find that very reassuring, I’m sure,” said Edgbaston.

  “Good.”

  Reichler saluted, turned on his heel, and headed back to his ship.

  xiii

  The Pegasus tore through the air as if all the demons of hell were in pursuit. Harry had the wings pulled in as tight as she could while still maintaining sufficient lift to keep them airborne. Her anger still boiled inside.

  The northern slopes, ridges, and peaks of the Usambara Mountains grew visibly as they ripped across the sky.

  “Graf von Moltke,” she muttered.

  “What?” said her sister. Sellie stood beside but a little behind her, leaning on th
e bar that now separated the main cabin area from the pilot’s chair.

  “That Zeppelin,” said Harry. “It was the Graf von Moltke.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the compass just to confirm what she thought: they were heading south by south-east. “Thinking of visiting Johannes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe we’ve covered this point before,” said Sellie. “And not that long ago. The Germans don’t like us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What was your plan? It better not include me stripping off again.”

  “There’s no time to waste, we’ll go straight in.”

  “Harry,” said Sellie. “On a scale of one to ten, where ten is a good idea and one is a bad idea, that rates minus several thousand.”

  A bank of clouds hung over the peaks further into the mountains. Harry adjusted the wings and the Pegasus climbed.

  “What would you suggest?”

  Mrs Hemingway’s voice cut across them. “If you give yourselves up to the Germans they will free your father.”

  “Why is she still on board?” Harry said.

  “Who am I? The cat’s mother? You will kindly mind your manners, Miss Edgbaston.”

  “And you will leave my sister alone,” shouted Sellie with a level of anger that shocked even Harry.

  “How do dare you? You little upstart. You cuckoo in the nest!”

  “How dare I?” said Sellie. “This is your fault.”

  “My fault? How could this possibly be my fault?” Mrs Hemingway’s tone was acidic but Harry recognised a slight waver in it.

  Harry reduced power to the propeller and spread the wings into their full gliding arch.

  After locking them off, she turned in her chair. Sellie and Mrs Hemingway were facing off across the cabin. Sellie was much shorter, but in a physical contest there was no question which of them would come out on top.

  “What’s this about, Sellie?” Harry asked in a normal tone, in an attempt to defuse a situation that she did not understand.

  “She’s got a letter on her, why don’t you ask her who it’s addressed to?”

  Harry frowned and looked at Mrs Hemingway. “Have you got a letter?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “That’s a yes,” said Harry. “If you had no letter you would just have said no.”

  Mrs Hemingway stared back with her lips pursed.

  “I’ll get it for you,” said Sellie.

  Harry put her hand on her sister’s arm. “Who’s the letter addressed to?” she said.

  “It’s private.”

  “I’m not asking what’s in the letter. I just want to know who it’s addressed to.”

  “It is my business and I choose not to tell you.”

  “It’s to the Manchester Guardian newspaper. I saw it when she tried to hide it,” said Sellie. “A man by the name of Ernest Tyndale.”

  Harry held out her hand for Mrs Hemingway to relinquish the letter. She showed no sign of intending to do so. Sellie adjusted her stance.

  “You know, Mrs Hemingway,” said Harry. “My sister would find great satisfaction in coming over there and relieving you of this letter. And I somehow doubt you would have the strength to resist her. Do you?”

  Mrs Hemingway glowered at them both but reached inside her bodice and retrieved several sheets of writing paper. She moved forward with the uncertainness of someone unaccustomed to the Faraday effect. Angrily she slammed the sheets into Harry’s hand.

  Sellie was correct about the addressee. Harry skimmed the first paragraph, which was mainly platitudes but contained an exhortation not to reveal the source of the information. At the mention of the agreed remuneration Harry’s blood began pumping hot again.

  The following paragraphs contained a distorted and inventive account of their expedition to Lake Victoria. Except Sellie was nowhere in the narrative. Harry could not quite decide what made her most angry, the woman’s betrayal of her father’s trust, or the shameless omission of Khuwelsa from the story.

  Turning away, Harry sat back the chair. She folded the sheets and tucked them into her dress. She took in the state of the ship’s gauges at a glance; she could feel they were still climbing. They were at the same altitude as the cloud bank now. In the midday sunshine the mountains beneath the clouds were hidden in shadow.

  “Why?” Harry said. She did not turn but her voice was clear and loud.

  “I am not required to justify my actions to you,” said Mrs Hemingway. “You are my charges, not my employer.”

  Harry spun around. If the barrier had not been there she was not sure she would not have reached across to the woman and slapped her across the face. “Why would you do this to my father?”

  “Someone had to rein in your excesses,” said Mrs Hemingway. “You and she are out of control, you have no discipline. I don’t blame your father, of course; you have not had a proper woman’s hand to show you how to behave.”

  Harry turned back to the view from the window. True, they had only had Mrs Hemingway as a female exemplar for the past few years. It had only convinced her that she had no desire to become a proper Englishwoman. Had she inherited her lack of discipline from her mother? Was it in her blood?

  A dark dot against the hard blue of the sky caught Harry’s eye. It left a dark trail in the sky. She glanced at the steam pressure. It was high.

  “We’ve got company, Sellie.”

  Harry climbed back into her chair and watched the dot. They were not on a course that would directly intercept the Pegasus but that would change as soon as they saw her.

  The question was whether this was a British or German plane; at this distance it was impossible to tell. The Usambara Mountains marked the uncertain border between the two protectorates with the British to the north and the Germans the south.

  One of the reasons the kaiser had wanted to acquire Zanzibar, apart from the supplies and trade, was that it stood off from the shore of their part of Africa. It was inconvenient having a British stronghold controlling the routes across the Indian Ocean. That Harry and Sellie had put a stop to his plans was one of the reasons they were so disliked.

  Plus the fact that Mrs Hemingway had been plastering their adventures all over the British newspapers. How in the world had the woman come to the conclusion that making their actions public would stop them? Harry could ask her, but the answer would be ridiculous, something about being so embarrassed she would stop flying her plane. Or perhaps this visit from the admiral was the outcome she had desired.

  Harry squinted at the dot, which was now more of a smudge against the blue. It appeared to have stopped moving, which could only mean it was heading towards or away from them.

  And it wasn’t getting any smaller.

  xiv

  Harry whistled once long, once short. She heard Sellie telling Mrs Hemingway she would be better off sitting down.

  “Why?”

  “Because Harry’s probably going to do something crazy and if you’re not sitting in a chair you get hurt.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Honestly,” said Sellie. “I have no idea. She hardly ever does the same thing twice.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  There was a long pause. Harry could imagine her sister looking at Mrs Hemingway with a bemused expression wondering quite how to respond. But finally she said, in a balanced and even tone. “Oh yes. It’s almost always dangerous.”

  Harry unlocked the wings and the ship rocked slightly as she took control. They were still a couple of miles from the cloud bank. If they had been over the plains she would have had no hesitation in plunging in. But here the clouds cloaked the tops of mountains, and rock was not known for its forgiving nature.

  There was still the question of the plane’s origin. The German military was not the only force that employed fixed-wing fighters and other craft of that nature; the Royal Navy had them too. The big British ships that lifted using adjustable rotors—they
had never adopted the lift-bags of the Zeppelins—were impressive but they did not have the speed of the small ships.

  The other vessel was getting close and their relative speeds meant they would pass one another in the next minute. The other pilot probably wanted to know who she was as well.

  Perhaps if she just kept flying straight he would look and then move on.

  He flashed past and Harry saw the German cross emblazoned across the fuselage and wings. That settled that. She sighed. She had no desire to fight this fellow; she just wanted to talk to Johannes and find out what was really going on.

  Then she was struck by a crazy idea. There were no whistles that could communicate it.

  “Sellie!” she shouted.

  Her sister was by her side in a moment, scanning the gauges to see what the problem was.

  “We need to run out a white flag. And a sign saying ‘Escort us to Dodoma.’”

  “This is going to involve my clothes, isn’t it.”

  “Did you bring any large pieces of white card?”

  “I seem to have forgotten the white card this trip,” Sellie said. “Why can’t we use your petticoat?”

  Harry raised her eyebrows as if surprised by the question. “I’m flying the plane.”

  “Oh yes, silly of me for forgetting.”

  Harry smiled. “You could ask Mrs Hemingway.”

  “Never mind.”

  “And be quick.”

  “Of course.” Sellie ducked back into the main part of the cabin.

  The other ship was nowhere in sight. Harry reduced power to the propeller to come down to a slow cruising speed and once more locked off the wings. She hoped she looked as if she was flying in a casual manner. Not threatening.

  She took her hands off the controls and sat back. She forced herself to relax but jumped when the German plane flashed over them from stern to prow. She watched as he turned to port and flew round them in a great arc. If she was him she would be reducing power in order to come alongside.

  She hoped he would do that instead of shooting her out of the sky. Right now they were a sitting duck.

  * * *

  Senior Pilot Hans Schmidt expected the British ship to react but it did not. It maintained its course directly into the territory of the German Protectorate. He recognised the vessel. It was notorious but he knew it from the very beginning.