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Episode 39: The Chase
On the bridge of the Flying Cloud, all eyes stared toward the unknown airship. To the unskilled observer, it was little more than an oblong dot, several miles to port, but through binoculars, an expert could make out details. "What do you think, Mister MacKiernan?" asked Captain Everett. "Is it our friend?" "I don’t believe it’s the vessel that attacked us before," said the Exec. "That one was quite unidentifiable, but this one has distinctly German lines. I’d make her out to be an L-49 class, converted for commercial use." "Such was my thought as well. I’d imagine she’s a packet, headed for German New Guinea, the Marshals, or the Carolines. Let’s hold our course and see what they do." For several minutes they continued northwest as the waters of the Timor Sea swept past below. Then, the other vessel made a sharp turn to port. "Are they running away?" asked MacKiernan. "So it would seem," said Everett. "I’d say this demands investigation. And I very much doubt they can outrun us. Let’s put this theory to the test -- Mister Iverson, bring us right to 330 and ring for maximum power." "Right to 330, maximum power." Outside the windows, the horizon swung to the left. Behind them the sound of the engines grew and deepened as the engineering crew worked the ship up to her maximum speed. Soon both vessels were headed north on converging courses. "73 knots," said Iverson. "Even better than last time," Everett remarked. "Iwamoto is to be congratulated. Mister MacKiernan, how are we doing?" "Closing, sir. I’d say they’re making about 60 knots. We should overtake them in about an hour." "What will we do when we catch them, sir?" asked Iverson. This was a good question. While it was theoretically possible for one airship to lay alongside and board another, attempts to put this theory into practice tended to end in disaster. "We’ll deal with that eventuality when it happens," Everett said blandly. "In the meantime, we can look them over and prepare a description to distribute to our shore agents." Pursuit, be it on the water or in the air, was a mixture of excitement and tedium. The thrill of the chase was a primal human instinct, but the chase itself could be monotonous. Once courses were set and ships were up to speed, there was little for their crews to do but watch, wait, and study the figures on their plotting boards with apprehension or anticipation, depending on their role in the drama. For Everett’s crew, that role was Pursuer, and with their overwhelming advantage in speed, it was a role they fulfilled very well. Slowly, relentlessly, they closed the gap until the other vessel was only a few miles ahead. "They’re climbing, sir," observed MacKiernan. Everett had expected as much -- an attempt, perhaps, to find better winds at higher altitude. But two could play at that game. And the chase could only climb so far before they reached their ‘pressure height’ -- the altitude at which their hydrogen had expanded to fill all the available space in their gas cells. "Loris, nose up eight degrees. Miss Sarah, be ready on the ballast toggles and maneuvering valves. Iverson, call out our altitude." "2000 feet, sir, climbing at 500." "3000 feet, climbing at 400." "4000 feet, climbing at 300." "5000 feet. Climbing at 200. We’re approaching our pressure height." "They’re dropping ballast," said MacKiernan. Everett seized his binoculars and trained them on the chase. Showers of water were visible, cascading down to the sea. As they fell, the other vessel nosed up sharply and shot towards the sky. "Mister Iverson," he snapped, "bring us left to 240, now!" On airships, orders were followed instantly. But after they were obeyed, there was time for questions. "Sir?" asked the lieutenant, after they were headed away from other ship on a perpendicular course. "She’s a height climber," said Everett. "I suspected as much." "What’s height climber?" asked Sarah. "It’s a German trick," said MacKiernan, "something they developed in the war. They’d strip out frames, rigging, sometimes even an engine, to get the weight of a ship down so they could climb above the range of our air defenses. We’ll never be able to match their altitude, not on this ship. But if they should have a gun like ours..." He left the rest unstated. If they got within range of the other ship, its height would give it an insurmountable advantage. "Why didn’t they climb earlier?" asked Iverson. "Why wait so long?" "I imagine they were trying to lead us away from something," said Everett. "Mister MacKiernan, I trust you’ve kept a good plot. Please take us back to where we began the pursuit, then set a course to the west. Let’s see if we can find what it was." When Iverson’s watch was over, he headed back to the galley to brew some tea. Manning the helm, with the tropical sun beating through the windows of the control car, was thirsty work. Along the way, he ran into Helga. "Good day!" she said cheerfully. "Helga was checking the Wallace." "How’s he doing?" asked Iverson. "He missed all the excitement!" "Maybe he miss some excitement," she replied, "but I’m sure he find other. Too bad he pull the muscles. He good man, but not so strong." "I trust he’s recovering." "When he gets the chance," she said cryptically. "You muscles look strong." What? thought Iverson. But the woman had turned to go, hips swaying as she sauntered down the corridor. He watched her go, scratching his head. Everett was still in the control car when Iverson came back on watch. The captain did not seem to have moved all afternoon. By now the sun was sinking toward the west, but he continued the search, for what he would not say. "Bridge," called Davies over the intercom, "Upper Lookout Station. Possible floating wreckage, bearing 260, approximately six miles." "Good eyes, marine," said Everett. "Rashid, bring us ten degrees to port. Mister Iverson, you’ll be leading the search party." Are we going to lower the so-called longboat? wondered Iverson. He was not looking forward to setting sail this far from shore in that flimsy rubber raft. "Abercrombie," said the captain, "I trust you’ve been watching the sea state. Your opinion?" "I believe she can handle it," said the rigger. "Very good. Miss Sarah, vent one minute on the maneuvering valves. All hands prepare for landing." To be continued... |
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