Harry gets Her Wings (Iron Pegasus Book 3)

by Steve Turnbull

  Those girls had killed one of their top pilots—though he was a thoroughly unpleasant fellow and his loss had not been mourned—in a one-on-one battle, and they were not even armed. He corrected himself. The ship had not been armed then, but he could see the end of a large-calibre machine gun protruding from the front of the fuselage.

  They had brought down the four Zeppelins of the Zanzibar task force using Greek fire.

  That was what the men were calling it, though it had been analysed and was just hot tar and metal fragments. Steps were being taken to protect the Zeppelins from any future attacks of that nature.

  From the information they had gleaned, the Schwarze was the clever one, but the redhead was an astonishing pilot. If they had a dozen like her they would be invincible.

  Schmidt himself had been reprimanded for not attacking them when he had the opportunity. It had gone on his record and it probably meant he would never be promoted. He did not mind; he knew he had done the right thing.

  The border patrols were something new. They did not have sufficient planes to patrol properly, which was why he was on his own. There were rumours the girls had been involved in something that had happened at Lake Victoria, but no one talked about that. At least not openly.

  Still, orders had come down from on high to patrol the border.

  It was not known what had occurred but the rumours said there had been another Zeppelin downed. They described the ornithopter like a living creature tearing a camp to pieces, and even calling down lightning to destroy a ship the size of a town—though what ship that might have been, no one said. The girls were a legend—or a nightmare.

  And here they were once more, in his power again. If he shot them down now, no doubt his promotion prospects would be restored. But he had daughters back home in Düsseldorf. He knew how he would feel if anything happened to Hannah or Greta. He wondered what these girls’ names were. Perhaps he might get the opportunity to meet them.

  No, he would not shoot them down in cold blood, and it was clear they did not intend to fight.

  He throttled back and came alongside. He glanced along his long, wide wing at the cockpit windows; there was something obscuring his view inside. A white sheet with markings on it. He laughed out loud as he deciphered the badly written, but correctly spelt, German.

  He opened up the power, pulled ahead then slid directly in front of them. He pushed his control stick left then right and the wings waggled. A glance at the compass showed their heading was correct so he accelerated again. A glance in his mirror showed the ornithopter keeping up. Knowing how fast the little plane could go would be a valuable piece of information, he thought, so he gradually increased his velocity.

  The ornithopter did not fall behind although, if he was not mistaken, the shape of the wings had been changed: they were now more swept back. He shook his head. Who in their right mind would build a plane that moved like a bird? But then again, birds were the masters of the air, so why would you not?

  He reached his plane’s maximum speed and the ornithopter was still behind him.

  He smiled. It was a thing to be admired.

  xv

  Harry smiled. She knew the pilot of the German plane was testing her, and the Pegasus had come through with flying colours. However, they had reached maximum speed for level flight.

  At this height, despite their speed, the Usambaras seemed to crawl away beneath them—but it was an illusion. They crossed into the German Protectorate proper within twenty minutes.

  There was now no question whose territory they were in.

  They had no food on board since they had not prepared for this flight, but she had eaten well enough at the luncheon. It was another two hours to Dodoma.

  “How do you see this working?” asked Sellie.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’ll want to arrest us and do whatever it was that Zeppelin wanted to do.”

  “Johannes will help.”

  “What if he’s not there?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Sellie climbed under the bar and stood next to her. Harry could see the concern in her face. “It’ll be all right, Sellie.”

  “I’m worried about Dad.”

  “Me too.”

  The speed they were flying at meant that Harry couldn’t let go of the controls even though all she wanted to do was give her sister a hug.

  “I want to know if this is official or just revenge by someone we’ve hurt,” said Harry.

  “Given the number of people you’ve killed it wouldn’t surprise me if they were after your blood.”

  Harry had almost forgotten that Mrs Hemingway was still aboard.

  “In case you have forgotten, madam,” said Harry. “You too would have been a casualty of this incident if we had not rescued you.”

  “In fact,” added Sellie. “If I hadn’t ignored your instruction, you would have joined your writing desk under the rubble. Dead as a doornail and no one to mourn you.”

  There was no response. Harry wondered if that last comment was a bit too much but she was not about to criticise her sister in front of Mrs Hemingway. If nothing else, she deserved it.

  Sellie sat on the ledge beside the pilot’s chair and stared out at the terrain as it rolled away beneath them.

  The German plane angled into a slow descent; Harry powered back slightly and followed.

  She spread the wings a little to provide braking against the pull of gravity.

  The river came into view, a bright ribbon against the greens and golds of the savannah.

  Dodoma was a stop on the trade route from the interior lakes through to the coast. Before the Europeans arrived it had been a major town used by the Arabs with slaves, ivory and trade goods.

  Now it was occupied by the kaiser’s hounds.

  Like the British to the north, the Germans had not taken over the country and did not rule it. But, like the rest of East Africa, there were no nations to take over; they were all simply tribal areas criss-crossed with caravan routes.

  Instead of ruling, the empires simply “protected” the lands and their peoples. The end result was the same, though. The British owned a strip of Africa running from Egypt in the north to the southern tip. The Germans controlled a band across Africa from the west to the east.

  The German Protectorate was where the two areas crossed. Her Majesty’s government wanted to control this land, and the kaiser prevented it. If ever there was a place waiting for a war to happen, this was it.

  Harry understood this now. Their father had given Harry and Sellie a long lecture as to why they could not interfere with the Germans when the risk of war was so close. He had not had a great deal to say when Sellie had pointed out that it was the German’s who had tried to force the point at Zanzibar and the ship they had destroyed on the Lake Victoria island was clearly not a pleasure cruiser.

  And that was why she had difficulty understanding what had happened today.

  Receiving a deputation from the government in order that she and Sellie be “told off” made sense. They did not appreciate the war-mongering of the press along with the adulation of a mere girl making war on the Germans when the government did nothing. Fair enough.

  But why the German force? Why would they risk an armed incursion into the home of a British diplomat? Granted they had not intended to demolish the house; it had only been one bomb and had been aimed at the conservatory. If they had struck only a few feet further away, the house would probably have remained standing.

  That still did not explain why they were there. Politically it did not make sense. Neither nation wanted to be seen as the one who started the war. Besides, the kaiser was a blood relation of the queen.

  This was why she was so certain that the attack had not been official, and why she felt justified in coming to Dodoma.

  The town grew rapidly ahead of them and their escort turned to the south to land at the military air-dock. Harry did not have time to mess about
; she needed to speak to Johannes as soon as possible. She did not follow the other plane but continued directly towards the town.

  She could see the utilitarian building that comprised the German administration. It had a forecourt she knew she could get in and out of.

  “Harry, they’ve got artillery.”

  Sellie was right. At frequent and regular intervals around the town there were emplacements featuring large-calibre weapons. Just one shell would rip the Pegasus to pieces.

  “Can’t be helped,” she said. “Can you see where our escort went?”

  Sellie climbed back into the main cabin. “Can’t see him in the direction of the air-dock—he’s probably coming around to see what you’re up to.”

  * * *

  Hans Schmidt had not been entirely surprised when the ornithopter failed to follow him. Rather than land, he continued his turn until the girls were in view.

  Sure enough they were heading into the town but they had not accelerated; in fact they were slowing still. He opened up his engine and his plane shot towards them. His diesel engine was considerably more responsive than their steam contraption, and he did not require a stoker.

  He tilted the plane into a sharp turn that lost him altitude. The pilot of the other plane did not know the artillery were under orders to shoot down any unidentified air-plane.

  He was certain the girls did not intend to attack but there was no way the gunners could know that. So he poured on the power as the girls entered the artillery attack field.

  A cloud of smoke plumed from a gun on the ground. He stared at the ornithopter and sighed in relief when it did not explode. Travelling fast it took him only moments to reach them.

  He powered back so as not to overshoot and positioned himself behind them but above and slightly to their starboard.

  No other guns fired.

  The ornithopter continued to slow over the town until it was below his stall speed and he overshot it. Pulling round he saw it disappearing into the forecourt of the administration building, wings stroking hard as it did so. He smiled. That was one thing he could not do, and it was a beautiful thing to witness.

  xvi

  Harry stood just inside the still-closed hatch and adjusted her dress to make herself as decent as possible. The way it draped hid the split she had made up the side but there were smudges of dirt in various locations that could not be disguised.

  “I’ll stay here,” said Sellie, “and keep the steam up. I’ll make sure that panel underneath is firmly fixed.”

  “Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” said Harry. “If it looks dangerous outside, stay inside.”

  “I’m not reckless like you,” Sellie said with a smile.

  Harry turned to Mrs Hemingway, who was so tall that she had to stoop slightly to prevent her hair brushing the ceiling. Her eyes looked red, as if she had been crying. “Would you accompany me, Mrs Hemingway?”

  The woman looked up in surprise and then frowned. “Why would you want me with you?”

  “A couple of reasons,” said Harry. “The main one being that I don’t think I can leave you and my sister alone together.”

  Mrs Hemingway sniffed. “And the other?”

  “In this situation, I believe a mature woman would be an asset. You will be able to confirm the events.”

  “I will not lie to help you.”

  Harry put her head on one side. “No, I’m sure you won’t. You only lie to help yourself.”

  Mrs Hemingway did not make any sharp retort but brought a kerchief to her eyes. “You people have no idea what it’s like for those like me,” she said. “We may enjoy your lifestyle for a while but when we are no longer needed we are cast out without a thought. I am only concerned with my future.”

  Harry thought perhaps she ought to feel sorry for her but she did not. “To be concerned with one’s future may be admirable but to be so unconcerned with anyone else’s is despicable.”

  Sellie handed Harry a metal rod with a square piece of her petticoat tied to it as a white flag.

  “You be careful,” she said, and then in a quieter voice added, “Don’t trust her.”

  Harry shook her head. “I don’t.”

  She drew the bolts on the hatch and pushed it open, then gave the steps a kick so they folded out and down. Feeling a little foolish she held up the flag and stepped down on to the ground.

  There were twenty or so infantry men in the forecourt. The Pegasus were surrounded on three sides by the four storeys of the utilitarian administrative building. The fourth side was the fence and main gate. Glancing around Harry could see the scrapes and grooves in the walls that had not been erased by the repairs: the marks of the Pegasus’s escape only a few months before.

  Some of the men standing here might well have been ones she had injured as the Pegasus fought for her freedom. On an individual basis she felt the guilt since she had no grudge against any person here. But she and her sister had been imprisoned. They were simply taking the opportunity to escape.

  She heard Mrs Hemingway descending the steps behind her.

  There was a movement in the ranks and the familiar face of Feldwebel-Leutnant Johannes Schönfeldt emerged. Harry smiled. Johannes did not.

  “Put down that ridiculous flag, Harriet,” he said in English with his clipped German accent. He never called her Harry.

  “I don’t want to be arrested again,” she said. “I need to talk to you and then I need to leave.”

  “Why do you always make things difficult?”

  “You mean you’d rather I just handed myself in?”

  “That would be easier.”

  Harry frowned. “This is not a joke, Lieutenant. I am here on a serious matter.”

  He studied her face for a moment and then stood up straighter.

  “Very well, Miss Edgbaston, we will take the flag as read, shall we?” he said. “It is quite clearly somebody’s undergarments and I would prefer they were not placed on show in this manner.”

  Harry tossed the rod and flag back through the hatch.

  “My engineer would like to carry out some maintenance unmolested.”

  “You can tell Khuwelsa that no one will interfere with anything she wants to do as long as she stays close to the plane.”

  “Thank you!” shouted Sellie from inside.

  “Now,” said Johannes. “You have not introduced your guest.”

  “Mrs Hemingway is our tutor.”

  Johannes was unable to suppress the look of surprise which he directed at Harry. She had not been quiet about the unpleasant nature of the woman who taught them. Not a governess—she did not have that level of power—but a teacher who lived with them.

  Harry gave the slightest of shrugs.

  “If you will accompany me,” said the lieutenant. He turned almost as if he were marching and headed through the ranks of men. Harry followed, showing rather more confidence than she was feeling. She wondered what on earth Mrs Hemingway would make of all this.

  Johannes had got his old office back. He was no longer relegated to the cellar but returned to the second floor looking out over the nearby native buildings to the grasslands in the south.

  He brought two chairs to the desk and assisted Mrs Hemingway into one while Harry sat in the other.

  “Now,” he said, sitting upright in his chair on the other side of the desk. “What is this about?”

  “The Graf von Moltke,” said Harry.

  Johannes’s face fell. “You haven’t shot it down?”

  Harry gave him an accusing look. “Why would you assume that?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, all right. But I have encountered Zeppelins that I haven’t shot down, you know.”

  “Not recently.”

  “Look, Johannes, this is serious.” She took a deep breath. “Did it come from here?”

  “Captain Reichler flew out of here a couple of days ago.”

  “Is he a young man with a limp and walking stick?”

  �
�No, that would be Hauptman Gerhardt.”

  “Well, your Captain Reichler and Hauptman Gerhardt came to our house, demolished it and have kidnapped my father.”

  “Impossible.”

  Harry sat back and crossed her legs. The slit in the dress opened up, revealing her leg to her thigh. She hurriedly covered herself but not before Johannes had seen. “Ask Mrs Hemingway.”

  Johannes looked at her. “Is this correct, Frau Hemingway?”

  Mrs Hemingway glanced at Harry. “Miss Edgbaston’s description of events, while abbreviated, is essentially accurate. It should also be pointed out that they have taken several senior British officers and bureaucrats prisoner as well.”

  Johannes sat back, nonplussed. “I was not aware of their precise orders.”

  “You knew they were coming after Sellie and me?” said Harry, the suppressed anger bursting out again.

  “No,” he said. “I knew Gerhardt had a mission over the border. I did not know it had anything to do with you and I find it hard to believe he would kidnap anyone.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that with your mouth, but that’s not what’s in your heart.”

  “Gerhardt was in Zanzibar.”

  Realisation came to Harry. “The one who nearly managed to stop me in the sultan’s palace.”

  Johannes nodded.

  “I thought he seemed vaguely familiar,” said Harry. “I couldn’t place him. So this is personal.”

  “His orders were valid,” said Johannes. Harry’s glare made him continue. “However, it would seem this is a personal vendetta rather than a military or political operation.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” said Harry and got to her feet.

  Johannes stood out of politeness. Mrs Hemingway looked as if she would rather not move.

  Harry gave him a smile. “Would you do something for me, Johannes?”

  “Something else?” he said. “I will not betray my country.”

  Harry effected an expression of sadness. “Feeding us would be a betrayal?”