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Episode 5: Still no Island Maidens
"Another airship?" asked Iverson incredulously. "Here? Are you sure?" "Of course he is!" said Davies in defense of his friend. "That’s hardly the sort of thing one could be mistaken about!" "He made it back," Abercrombie whispered to MacKiernan. "Pay oop!" Fleming had made it back without incident, bringing his Lilienthal glider in for an uneventful landing in the clearing the bow section of His Majesty's Airship Flying Lady, R-212, had torn through the jungle when they'd crashed on this nameless island in the New Caledonia chain. The rest of the vessel, along with most of her crew, presumably lay at the bottom of the Pacific, many miles to the south. Now Captain Everett and the other survivors gathered around the youth to hear his tale. "Excellent work, Airman", said Everett, "There may be a reprimand for smuggling undeclared personal articles aboard ship," he gestured toward the glider, "but I'll recommend this be expunged from your record when I put your name forward for a commendation. Now tell us about this airship." The youth stood for a moment, considering the best way to present his report. At last he picked up a stick and began to scratch a map in the dirt. "The island looks like this -- a diamond on its side, with a ridge running east-west down the middle. I reached the ridge at 3500', a bit above the top, around here. This gave me a good view of the north coast. Most of it looks to be covered with mangrove swamps, but across from our position, there's a small bay with a village on the east shore. The land around it's been cleared for crops, and there's a wharf here, where someone's tied up a steamer. This looked like a tramp, and could've been any nationality. On the far side of the village, they've put up a very crook mooring mast. It's all lashed together from wood, like those towers the native men jump from." "Jump from?" asked Iverson. "Are they mad?" "They tie vines to their feet first, to draw them up short. I've heard blokes skite about it and they say it's a bit of all right." The lieutenant shook his head. "They might as well tie elastic to their waists and jump off a bridge! I'm sure civilized folk will never indulge in such a practice now or at any time in the future." "I take it that's where the airship was moored," said Everett. "Yes, sir," said the young Australian. "And that was the strangest bit. She looked to be about the size of our own ship, maybe two and a half million cubic feet, and her lines were something like this." The youth sketched out a streamlined shape, with fins set somewhat forward of an elegant tapering stern. The control car was a streamlined blister below the hull toward the bow, and three engine cars, each with a single tractor propeller hung from the sides and astern. "That resembles a Junior Vickers class," observed Everett. "That's what I reckoned, sir. But surely none of them could be here in the Pacific. And she had German markings." "German?" "Reserve fleet. An auxiliary merchantman." Everett thought this over. ‘Auxiliary merchantman’ was a nebulous term that could cover anything from a hired collier to one of the disguised raiding vessels that the Germans had used so effectively during the early stages of the War. Such vessels were often privately owned under contract to the Navy, commanded by reserve officers whose commissions could be activated in wartime. But the Junior Vickers class was an English design, built by the yard in Howden. As far as Everett knew, only two had been constructed, they were still undergoing trials, and those trials were not going well. "Could this be the vessel that attacked us?" asked Jenkins. "No," said Everett. "That was much larger than ours, and it didn’t look anything like a Howden product." "A pity. I would have liked to have a word with those fellows. This business of approaching under false colors to launch a surprise attack during peacetime hardly seems sporting." "What should we do now, sir?" asked Iverson. "I believe we should have a closer look at this mysterious vessel. But we have to get across this island first, and this jungle may take some time to negotiate." "I think I spotted a trail, sir, on my way back," said Fleming. "Good man! Draw us a map." They dined that afternoon on a large flightless bird Rashid brought down with a sling he'd braided from strands of hull fabric. After they were done, some of the men set to work with stones and a hacksaw, cutting up lengths of steel and hammering them into machetes for the trek through the jungle. Others prepared packs and checked their footgear under Davies direction. Like Everett, the marine had served in the War, and learned about marching in a very hard school. Fleming, at Everett's orders, broke down his glider and packed it away in its cover bag. They had no hope of carrying the wing with them, but there was always a chance they might be able to return someday to retrieve it. Satisfied that all was well, Everett made his way to the wreck. It seemed strangely lifeless and inert - a thing of the ground now, rather than the sky. Already, birds and small animals had begun to work at the fabric, carrying off pieces for use in their nests. The varnished duralumin girders might have been the trunks of strange metal trees while lengths of cable hung like vines. "I’m sorry to see her go, sir," said Rashid, who had appeared silently, as was his wont. His ageless Persian face was dark. "So am I," said Everett. "She wasn’t my first command, but she was one of the best. And to lose her to treachery..." "Do you think there were any survivors onboard the stern section?" "They went down at sea. Even if they lived through the impact, I don’t imagine they could last for long with no life rafts or supplies. Those were all aboard the control car." "Then I may have shipmates to avenge," said the Persian, contemplating his sling. "Let’s leave that to the Admiralty Court," said Everett dryly. "In my experience, they can exact vengeance enough to satisfy any man." Rashid thought this over, cringed, and nodded. "Do you think the crew of this strange ship Fleming saw might know anything of our attackers?" "I'm unwilling to hazard a guess. But they can't be up to any good -- a German ship calling at a French colony. The two nations are still formally at war under the terms of the Armistice, even though it's been eight years since the last shots were fired. Still, I imagine they'll be gone by the time we get across the island. We have a difficult march ahead of us." To be continued... |
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