On Her Majesty's Behalf

by Joseph Nassise

  He wasn’t thrilled with the need to use the grenades for the noise was sure to bring something running, be it shredders or the German commando team. He didn’t see any other option, however. He’d have to take the risk and hope the distance and all the nearby buildings diffused the sound enough that Sergeant Moore and his undead commandos would be unable to get a fix on their location.

  He stepped over to the base of the statue and began looking for the best place to situate the explosives, knowing he had only the two devices to work with and wanting to get it right the first time. He decided to place one, ignite it, and then use the second to finish the work if the first didn’t do the job.

  “What are you doing?” Veronica asked, coming close and eyeing what he was doing with a wary expression.

  “The statue’s in the landing zone. It needs to go.”

  “What do you mean ‘needs to go’?”

  Burke was busy thinking about blast points and explosive yields and so he didn’t hear the flat tone of her voice or see the carefully neutral expression that crossed her face.

  “We’ve got to get rid of it. It’s too heavy to drag out of the way, so I’m going to have to blow it up.”

  “Blow it up?”

  Burke looked up, finally hearing the tension in her tone.

  She didn’t give him a chance to respond, just laid into him. “You do understand that this is one of the greatest masterpieces ever sculpted by George Frederic Watts? That it is a one-­of-­a-­kind, priceless piece of art that can’t be replaced?”

  Burke steeled himself, nodded. “I do.”

  “And you are still going to blow it up?”

  “I am. Unless you have some other solution?”

  Veronica put her hands on her hips in irritation. “Well, of course I do! You can just . . . ah . . . well . . . um.” She glanced around for help, but no one had any better suggestions it seemed, for they simply stared back at her. Finally, she looked down at Burke again, who hadn’t moved from his position at the base of the statue.

  “Fine! Blow it up.”

  Doing everything he could not to let his amusement show on his face, Burke nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  The grenades had a five-­second fuse, which wasn’t very long at all, so he had the others move back to the safety of the trees before he did anything further. When he saw that they were out of the blast zone, he placed the first grenade directly beneath the horse’s legs. Satisfied that its position should send the blast up and out, he pulled the pin, turned, and ran like hell for the tree line, counting as he went.

  One one thousand . . .

  Two one thousand . . .

  Three one thousand . . .

  Four one thousand . . .

  He threw himself to the ground and covered his head with his hands, bracing himself for the blast to come.

  The grenade went off with a loud bang, and seconds later pieces of statue began raining down around him. Burke opened his eyes just in time to see the statue’s head hit the ground and roll to a stop a few feet away. A cheer went up from the trees, and Burke found himself grinning as he pushed himself up on his hands to see that nothing of the statue remained intact except for a small hunk of the granite base.

  His timing couldn’t have been more perfect, either, for as Burke climbed to his feet, he heard the drone of an aircraft approaching in the distance. He shrugged apologetically at the Queen’s anguished expression over what had been done to the statue and then joined the others in searching for the aircraft overhead.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Kensington Gardens

  London

  AT FIRST, BURKE couldn’t see anything—­he just heard the drone of the engine—­and then gradually he could make out a dark speck moving high against the clouds above. The pilot made a single pass overhead, coming in over the palace to the west and disappearing into the cloud cover to the east. He was too high for Burke to pick out any details, and there was no indication from the pilot that he’d seen them down below.

  “Was that him?” Sergeant Drummond asked, but all Burke could do was shake his head.

  He turned in place, trying to track the aircraft by sound alone, but didn’t have much luck. The combination of the rising sun and intermittent clouds mixing with smoke from fires burning elsewhere in the city made it almost impossible for him to keep his eye on anything above the horizon.

  A few minutes passed, and then gradually the sound of the plane grew louder, closer, and then suddenly it was right there, diving out of the rising sun to roar overhead, so close that Burke had to resist the urge to dive to the ground to get out of the way. Only the presence beside him of the Queen, who had shown no inclination to do anything of the sort, kept him on his feet.

  As Drummond and several of the others were picking themselves off the ground, Burke and Veronica turned to watch the aircraft make its touchdown on the sward behind them.

  The pilot ran out the landing as far as he could to bleed off his remaining speed and then slowly wheeled the aircraft about and taxied back to the end of the mall where Burke and his squad waited. When the aircraft came to a halt about fifty feet away, Burke went out alone to meet it.

  As he reached the plane, the pilot shut down the engine and then hefted himself out of the cockpit to drop over the side of the fuselage to greet him. The flier was dressed in drab-­colored overalls, boots, and a thick leather jacket to ward off the chill of the higher altitudes, pretty much the uniform of the day for pilots all across the front, but something about the way the man moved seemed familiar to Burke. When the pilot pulled the leather flying cap and flight goggles off his face, Burke understood why.

  “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Madman Burke himself,” his half brother, Major Jack Freeman, drawled in an exaggerated greeting.

  For a moment, all Burke could do was stand there and stare.

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Freeman teased.

  The sudden pulse of irritated anger that swept through Burke restored his capacity for speech. Stifling his urge to curse, he asked, “What the hell are you doing here!”

  Freeman stiffened with anger of his own. “What do you think I’m doing here, you idiot? The brass wanted the best pilot we have to fly the fairy princess out of monster country and like it or not, that’s me!”

  Burke stared at his half brother, knowing he was right but unable to stop the memories of the last time he’d entrusted someone he cared about into this man’s hands. Mae’s death had been ruled an accident—­Burke knew that and even accepted it now—­but there was no denying the fact that her death had driven a wedge between the two men that had only recently started to heal. Now here he was, being asked to entrust the only woman he’d cared about after Mae to the very man who’d gotten his former fiancée killed. It was as if the universe was out to get him!

  But what really made the situation worse was the fact that Freeman was right; he was the best pilot on the Allied side of the lines. Short of Richthofen, he might even be the best pilot in the entire war.

  Burke really had no choice. He had to trust his brother, if for no other reason than there weren’t any other options.

  Now he did curse, once, beneath his breath, before getting himself under control and addressing his brother once more. “She’s the Queen now, not the princess. Act like an officer and show some respect. And you’d best get her back to headquarters safe and sound or so help me God . . .”

  Freeman’s eyes narrowed, and he studied Burke carefully for a moment. “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch!” he said at last, with something almost like awe in his voice. “You’re smitten, aren’t you? You’re smitten with the bloody Queen of England!”

  Burke couldn’t help but glance back to where Veronica was patiently waiting, surrounded by the rest of his men. He knew she couldn’t hear them, but for some reason he still
felt guilty . . .

  He turned back to his brother. “We’re wasting time. The two of you need to get out of here before that German patrol we ran into shows up. You just remember what I said!”

  “Wouldn’t dream of forgetting,” Freeman quipped, then got serious. “HQ says they’re rerouting an airship for you and your team. They should be here in about two hours, so you’re going to have to lie low until then.”

  Burked nodded. “Understood.” He didn’t like the idea of having to hang around at all, but he figured they could stay ahead of Charlie’s squad for a ­couple of hours.

  “Oh, and they gave me this to pass along,” Freeman said as he unstrapped a wooden ammunition box from where it had been stored beneath his seat and handed it over to Burke.

  The sight of the box put a smile on Burke’s face, a smile that grew wider when he opened it up to discover that it was full of ammunition for both the men’s Lee Enfield rifles and his Colt pistol.

  “Oh yes, this will definitely come in handy,” Burke said.

  He turned and waved Veronica and the rest of the men over to them. When they caught up, he handled the introductions.

  “Your Majesty, this is Major Jack Freeman,” Burke said. “He’s going to see you to Allied headquarters safe and sound. Major Freeman, may I present Her Majesty, Queen Veronica.”

  Freeman snapped off a near-­perfect salute and then smiled warmly at the Queen. “It’s a lovely day for a jaunt across the Channel, Your Majesty. Trust me, we’ll be in France in no time.”

  “I certainly hope so, Major,” she replied, smiling in return. “Let me just say that your exploits precede you and that I’d recognize the name of the Allies’ top ace with or without your trademark Jack of Spades painted on the fuselage. I have no doubt I’m in good hands.”

  “You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Freeman replied, casting a mischievous grin over his shoulder at Burke, who had to stifle the sudden urge to punch his brother in the nose.

  “Let me help you up into the cockpit,” Jack began, but Burke cut him off by stepping in front of him.

  “Get the plane ready to go,” he said. “I’ll help the Queen.”

  To his surprise, Jack didn’t even bother to argue; he just climbed up into the cockpit, leaving Burke to help Veronica into the rear seat all on his own. Not that it bothered him at all; he would have happily helped her in and out of the aircraft a half-­dozen times if that was what she wanted. Burke knew himself well enough to know that Jack had been right—­he was smitten with her, far more than he should be in fact, but that was how things were and there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He made a cradle with his hands and, when she put one booted foot into it, he hefted her up and over the wooden side of the fuselage, then watched as she used the canvas straps to belt herself in.

  “All right?” he said.

  Veronica nodded, her face tight.

  “What’s wrong?” Burke asked, upon seeing her expression.

  The Queen shook her head. “Nothing. Just never flown before.” Her hands came up, one on either side of the fuselage, gripping the leather that rimmed the seating compartment.

  Burke smiled, recalling his own reaction to flying. “You’ll be fine,” he told her. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it once, quickly, then let go.

  He took a few steps forward and glanced up at Freeman, who was just settling his goggles back into place. “You’re carrying the Queen of England, so no screwing about. Get her to headquarters as quickly as possible.”

  Freeman grinned down at him. “Yes, sir, Major, sir!” he said, his voice full of mock sincerity. He fired off a salute in Burke’s direction, despite the fact that the two of them were the same rank.

  Refusing to let Freeman get a rise out of him, Burke ignored the salute. “I’m serious, Jack.”

  To his surprise, Freeman dropped his usual antics and turned uncharacteristically serious. “I hear you. I’ll get her back safe and sound, Burke, you have my word on it.”

  For once Burke believed him.

  “One more thing,” Jack said, beckoning his half brother in close. “I saw some strange-­looking tunneling equipment in a park just north of the Thames and suspect you aren’t the only ones looking for the Queen. Watch your back, all right?”

  Burke flashed back on the German tunneling devices that had breached the trenches in the days before his mission behind enemy lines. He wanted to describe them to Freeman, see if they were the same type of vehicles he’d seen as he’d flown over the park, but he knew they didn’t have time. So he thanked him instead and then moved around to the front of the aircraft, ready to help get the engine restarted.

  At a signal from Freeman, Burke grabbed the edge of the prop and pulled it around in a full revolution, a technique known as hand-­propping. He did this seven times, priming the engine, and then waited for Freeman to make some adjustments to the controls. When he was ready, Freeman gave him another thumbs-­up and Burke repeated the process one more time, stepping quickly out of the way as soon as he released the propeller. The blades spun around once, twice, and then the engine started with a roar.

  Burke waved to Veronica one final time and then backed away to give Freeman room to maneuver.

  They’ll be fine once they’re off the ground, he told himself, doing what he could to quell the nervous tension spreading through his stomach. He watched as Freeman taxied the aircraft to the other end of the mall so they could take off into the wind and fought the growing uneasiness he was feeling.

  Freeman was a hell of a pilot and the war zone was no place for a Queen, he reminded himself.

  That’s when the first of the shredders burst from the trees near the other end of the mall and raced directly at the aircraft.

  Burke was still in the process of bringing his gun up when the crack of a rifle shot echoed from behind him and the shredder he was staring at collapsed to the ground. He spun, saw Jones with his rifle to his shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was short-­lived however, as several more shredders emerged from the trees in the wake of the first. Like the one before them, the new arrivals caught sight of the aircraft and rushed toward it.

  By this point, Freeman had turned the plane around and was starting his run back down the length of the mall toward Burke and his squad. The plane was moving, but not very quickly yet, and it was clear to Burke that the shredders would reach it before it gained enough momentum to carry the Queen to safety.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen. He waved for his men to follow him and rushed forward to engage the shredders at close range.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  VERONICA SAT STIFFLY in the rear cockpit as Major Freeman took the plane to the end of the mall and then swung around in a tight circle so that they were facing back the way they had come. She could see Major Burke and his men still standing together near the remains of Physical Energy and, behind them, the gleaming surface of the Long Water in the early morning light.

  Freeman glanced over his shoulder and shouted something at her, but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of the engine. She smiled and gave him a thumbs-­up anyway; it seemed the thing to do.

  Apparently that was good enough for him, for he gave her the signal in return and turned back to his controls. A moment later the sound of the engine increased and the plane began its run toward the end of the mall and the skies beyond.

  Veronica considered herself a brave woman, but the sudden realization that she was going to be thousands of feet up in the air in nothing but a flimsy wood and canvas aircraft caused her to grip the sides of the cockpit in fear.

  Saints preserve us, she thought and glanced over at Burke, hoping to see him give another of his reassuring waves.

  The look on his face was anything but reassuring, however, as he stared past her for a moment before he suddenly snatched at the pistol on his belt. Behind
him, Veronica saw the sharpshooter named Jones bring his rifle up to his shoulder and fire a shot in her direction. Veronica flinched, thinking at first that he was shooting at the plane, and only realized he was aiming at something behind them when he let off a second round.

  With her heart hammering in her chest, the Queen twisted around to see what he was shooting at, only to discover shredders charging out of the woods to the right of the mall and racing directly toward the plane.

  The lead shredder took a bullet in the forehead from Jones’s rifle and was flung to the ground, only to be crushed beneath the feet of its companions as they surged forward. The pop of a pistol, most likely Burke’s, joined the crack of Jones’s rifle as he continued firing, but for every shredder they cut down, another took its place. If they didn’t get out of here soon, they were going to be in deep trouble.

  Veronica leaned forward and urgently tapped Freeman on the shoulder. When he glanced back, she shouted “shredders!” and pointed behind them. She doubted that he heard her, but her gesture did the trick as he followed the line of her pointing finger, his eyes widening at the sight of what was headed toward them. He spun back to his controls and a moment later the engine roared even louder than before, the plane picking up speed as he tried to outdistance their pursuers.

  An anxious glance back let her know that it wasn’t going to be enough; the shredders were going to reach the plane before they got off the ground.

  Freeman must have realized the same thing, for he suddenly angled the plane to the right, desperately trying to widen the gap between them and their pursuers. Unfortunately, doing so brought him across the path of Burke and his men, who were charging forward to engage the shredders. As the U.S. commandos scrambled to get out of the way of the oncoming aircraft, Veronica knew they were out of options. If she didn’t do something, the shredders would have them!