The guards at the gatehouse had been apprised of their imminent arrival, but took care to scan their credentials before waving them through. Inside the fence, the airfield was like Trinovant in morning rush hour but, instead of top hats and umbrellas, military uniforms were the dress of the day.
The black-uniformed Directorate operatives were predominant, but other services were not uncommon, and it appeared as if the normal divisions between the various branches of the military had been suspended for the moment. Infantrymen were helping Directorate mechanics carry long – but apparently very light – metal struts. A company of sailors from the Inimitable were lashing poles to create a footbridge over the busiest thoroughfare through the base. Civilians were about in numbers, some wandering uncertainly, others directing serviceman with that special air of authority that comes from being in charge of a small district sub-branch of a lesser department like the Apple Quality Board.
They found the airfield headquarters. Aubrey leaped off his motorcycle and left the engine running. In minutes, breathless, he had his directions and took the lead, shouting where necessary to get people to move out of the way. Which they did, and in turn they yelled at other people to get out of their way, in effect creating a cascade of imprecations that worked its way backward from Aubrey’s progress, leaving a spreading bow wave of disruption behind them.
Every part of the airfield was alive with workers and vehicles. Near the mooring masts and the domes of the gasholders, airships were being armed and provisioned. Aubrey was dismayed to see that none of the twelve massive craft was fully gassed up, not even the brand-new A 405. It would take nearly a day before any of them was ready – and that was only if the giant gasholders were full. If gas had to be generated, it could take days.
He grabbed the arm of a junior airman who was hurrying toward the dirigibles. ‘Get some magicians onto it,’ he snapped.
The young airman stared at Aubrey. ‘What did you say?’
‘Find some magicians, Directorate people if you can, magicians with specialties in fluid magic and compression magic. Get them draining half the airships and using the gas to inflate the others.’
The airman looked as if he didn’t know whether to call Aubrey a madman or a genius, then he glanced at the sky. ‘Magicians.’
‘Hurry!’
They came to the ornithopter section of the airfield. Dozens were being checked and fuelled, while some were already climbing into the air with their characteristic jerky wingsweeps. Nearby, some elderly observation balloons had been unearthed and a squad of frustrated operatives was trying to untangle tethers and holding stays.
George directed Aubrey’s attention to the mechanics crawling over the ornithopters like ants on a honey sandwich. ‘Pulling out all the stops, it looks like.’
Ornithopters were almost exclusively scouting and fast transport aircraft, useful where a dirigible would be too slow or too conspicuous. Armament was considered almost uncouth. The army didn’t want pilots thinking they were anything like airborne cavalry, jousting in the skies. Ornithopters were much too temperamental and much too expensive for that.
However, orders about unarmed ornithopters in war zones didn’t appeal to the men who actually did the piloting. Being characteristically independent of mind, the pilots tended to take matters into their own hands. Even so, the deadliest attack mounted by an ornithopter generally came if a pilot leaned out of the window and used his pistol, or flung something like an incendiary bomb without managing to catch it on a wing, which had happened more than once and hardened the army’s view about arming the aircraft.
It looked as if this hardening had softened, however, and thawed quickly in the emergency. Makeshift though the arrangements were, weapons were coming to ornithopters.
No effort was being made for uniformity, something that only emphasised the extreme nature of the emergency – nothing else could explain the overcoming of the military’s need for uniform fittings. That had been thrown out of the window, along with the drapes, the curtain rod and any furniture that happened to be nearby.
Teams of mechanics were working with pilots and instructors on the best way to give the aircraft some firepower. Improvised though it was, the work was proceeding with zeal, with much riveting, brazing and welding – ammunition being kept well away while heat-related work was undertaken. Machine guns were being bolted to the fuselages of a number of ornithopters, but one game mechanic was cutting a hole in the roof of one craft. A pilot watched this with an extraordinary mixture of anguish and excitement warring on his face.
Mechanics attached racks for bombs and swivel braces for rifles. Many of these adaptations were destroying the lines of the beautiful machines, but forbearance was the attitude from the pilots who were supervising. All of them, to a man and a woman, stood with hands clasped behind their backs as if it would stop them lunging forward to stop the ruining of their craft.
It was when Aubrey saw a heavy iron beam being welded to the nose of one ornithopter that the scale of this emergency was brought home with renewed force. In this case, it was the mechanic who was reluctant and the pilot who was insistent. At the end of the beam was a cage, just big enough for something explosive.
Aubrey grimaced. If ramming the enemy was considered a reasonable tactic, it was a crisis indeed. He glanced at George, who raised his eyebrows, and he understood that they were making a silent pact not to draw this modification to the attention of Caroline and Sophie.
The figure in overalls waiting for them when Aubrey brought the motorcycle to a halt wasn’t a private or a corporal, despite the grease stains. His salute was smart and totally without resentment. ‘Fitzwilliam. Glad you’re here. I’m Captain Galloway, Army Service Corps. We’re here to help.’
Aubrey started. ‘You know who I am?’
‘I was told to expect you.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And I was told that you aren’t actually a traitor.’
Aubrey went to shake, but Galloway declined. ‘You won’t need greasy hands, not where you’re going. Now,’ he consulted a clipboard, ‘you’ve been given one of the new specials, a T16 Merlin Scout. Faster and more responsive than anything you’ve flown before. No armaments, I’m afraid, but I’ve been told you’ve made your own arrangements on that front.’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
Galloway slapped the fuselage. ‘Good, good. The Merlin’s also capable of being pressurised, as we understand you’ll be flying the crate at its limits.’
‘I won’t be doing the piloting,’ Aubrey said.
‘I will,’ Caroline said, taking off her motorcycle helmet and donning a leather flying helmet. ‘Tell me more.’
‘Right you are. Tech specs are here.’ He handed the documents to Caroline. ‘But I have no idea if they’re worth anything any more.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Aubrey had to shout as a sluggish, partly filled airship droned slowly overhead, lines dangling and effectively being towed by a lorry.
Galloway pointed to the three black-clad operatives who were clustered about the tailfins of the Merlin. ‘Your magical chaps. They’ve been working hard, applying their mumbo-jumbo all over the place. They muttered something about altitude enhancements and controlled levitation, but it’s all nonsense to me. Still, I’m in favour of anything that helps us with those johnnies.’
Galloway jabbed a pen skywards. Cruising steadily, skirting the edge of the city away to the south, was Dr Tremaine’s skyfleet. The ships caught the sun, but were no less ominous for that.
In the hasty moments before they had left Darnleigh House, Aubrey had tried to encapsulate the observations they’d made of the skyfleet in their nearly fatal approach so the advice could help the other attacking units. He stressed the magical nature, and that even though the ships appeared to have no crew they were likely to be deadly, nonetheless. His advice had been to concentrate on the flagship and to be aware that the other ships would do their best to prevent the Sylvia from suffering damage. Ultimately, they were expendable, but Aubrey knew that Dr Tremaine’s magic would ensure they’d be lethal in their protection.
‘We’ll do what we can,’ Aubrey said to Galloway.
‘Good man.’
The magical operatives were both grey with tiredness. They stumbled over their words when they tried to explain what they’d been up to, which didn’t fill Aubrey with confidence.
The older of the two, a steely-eyed woman Aubrey had seen at Darnleigh House working with junior
