Anti-Ice

The old city of Orleans is situated some fifty miles south of Paris, on the banks of the Loire. Four centuries ago it was relieved from an English siege by Joan, called the Maid of Orleans; now it was in the front line of another war, with France in still more desperate peril.

Traveller insisted that the water tanks needed filling, and—to my intense irritation—put down the Phaeton on the river bank. Grousing loudly, I helped him wrestle lengths of hose to the reedy water’s edge and stood by impatiently while the craft’s pumps sucked up the liquid the motors required.

We reached Orleans a little before seven-thirty. Despite Gambetta’s recent victory at nearby Coulmiers, Orleans herself was still occupied. And, as we hovered perhaps a quarter of a mile above the rooftops and spires of the city and inspected the upturned faces of the citizens through our telescopes, everywhere we saw Prussian troops and officers. One soldier—a cuirassier, splendid in his white metal breastplate and dazzling cockade—raised his rifle to us and let off a shot. I saw the flash of the muzzle and heard, a few moments later, the distant report of the explosion; but the bullet fell harmlessly to earth.

There was no sign of the Prince Albert. I suggested landing to seek fresh news, but Traveller pointed out Prussians emerging from billets all over the city into the early morning light; a column was forming up in marching order on the northern outskirts of the town. “I think discretion is the wisest course,” he said. “A blundering descent by the Phaeton would scarcely put at ease these battle- ready Germans.”

“Then what should we do?”

The engineer, lying in his control couch, snapped a fresh eyepiece to his periscope. “I would say the Prussian column is making ready to march to the west—perhaps toward Coulmiers, there to engage the French once more. Our best chance of encountering the Albert surely lies in that direction.”

“And if we fail again?”

“Then we will indeed need to put down and hope to acquire more information without getting our heads blown off. But let us meet that difficulty when we come to it. To Coulmiers!”

From Orleans, Traveller traced the shining path of the Loire to the west, then veered off north, crossing a broad plain crudely delimited by hedgerow. But as we neared the town of Coulmiers itself I noticed on the approaching horizon a great carpet which lay across these dull French fields, a blue- gray sheet of dust and motion and the glint of metal. Soon I could discern that this sea of activity was making its way slowly but purposefully to the east, back toward Orleans!

So we came upon the French Army of the Loire, Gambetta’s new levee en masse.

We swooped like some bird of prey over the advancing army. Close to, this great ragged force was less impressive. Artillery pieces labored like horse-drawn rafts of gunmetal in a river of soldiery; but the infantrymen’s dark blue greatcoats, their red caps, their battered white haversacks and bivouac tents, all showed the signs of many nights’ hard usage in the fields. And their faces, young and old, seemed full of fatigue and fear.

Once again potshots were fired at us, to no effect; but when an artillery piece was halted and its muzzle raised toward us Traveller rapidly increased our altitude.

As the soldiers merged once more into a monstrous sea of humanity my sense of the scale of this force returned; it seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, a tide set on sweeping away the cockaded Prussians like so many Canutes.

“Dear God, Traveller, this is surely an army to end all armies. There must be half a million men here. They will crush those Prussians once more by sheer weight of numbers.”

“Perhaps. This Gambetta chap has obviously done well to raise such a force. Although some of those artillery pieces look a little elderly; and did you notice the wide variety of rifle makes? One wonders about the availability of ammunition to these brave fellows, too.”

I had observed none of this. I said, “Then you are less optimistic about their chances of success against the Prussians today?”

He pushed away his periscope and rubbed at his eyes. “I have seen enough of war to know more than I would wish to know about its science. Numerical superiority, while a significant factor, is far outweighed by training and expertise. Look at the poor Frenchies’ formation, Ned! As they march they are already deployed into their battle units. Clearly they are incapable of short-order maneuvers; and so their commanders must draw them together like so many sheep and herd them off into battle.

“Meanwhile the Prussians are marching comfortably and competently to meet them…

“Ned, I fear we are about to witness a day of blood and horror; and if it is decisive it can only be in favor of the Prussians—”

But I was scarcely listening; for on the eastern horizon I had made out something new. It was like a fortress whose walls loomed over the flashing bayonets of the French soldiery; but this was a fortress which rolled with the infantry across the plain…

Unable to contain my excitement I turned to Traveller and grabbed his shoulder. “Sir Josiah, look ahead. Will those Prussians not turn and flee before—that?”

It was the Prince Albert. We had found it at last!

The land liner was an ingot of iron adrift in this ocean of greatcoated humanity. Behind the vessel we could make out tracks of churned earth stretching in a perfect straight line to the horizon. Traveller was pleased by this, seeing it as proof that his anti-ice propulsive system had performed as desired.

There were clearly plenty still left aboard the Albert who understood its provenance, and its link with the extraordinary aerial boat which hovered above; for we were greeted with cheers from the Promenade Deck and from soldiers who walked close to its muddy tracks. I waved back, hoping I could be seen through the Phaeton’s dome. It was, I reflected, a pleasant change from potshots.

But Traveller’s expression was grim; he inspected through his periscope the damage his craft had suffered.

Five of the six funnels still stood, though their proud red paintwork was scarred and mud-spattered; where the sixth had stood there was only a black and gaping wound which led, like the mouth of a corpse, into the dark stomach of the ship. Peering into this wound, and recalling the details of the ghastly August day of the craft’s launch, the blood surged to my head with an almost audible rush.

The rest of the damage seemed more superficial. The glass-covered companionways which had once adorned the flanks of the craft had been hacked away to be replaced by rope ladders—for speed of retraction in case of attack, I supposed. A thousand irregularly-placed slits had been knocked through the hull. Through these slits I could see—not the elegance of salons or the delicate wrought- iron work which had characterized the ship’s sparse elegance—but the ugly snouts of small artillery pieces.

The land liner had indeed been transformed into a machine of war.

Traveller’s anger was deep and bitter. “Ned, if the Prussians only realized how fragile the Albert truly is, they surely would not have allowed it to penetrate so deep into France unchallenged.”

“But you can see it’s an icon, a rallying-point for these Frenchie infantry.”

“It’s a symbol, but can be no more. Ned, it’s more likely to lead these poor lads to their early deaths than victory.”

I frowned and turned to the east-facing window. “Then we’d better land without further delay, Sir Josiah, for—look!”

On the horizon, under the gleaming Little Moon, was a line of glinting silver, of dark blue tunics, of the looming mouths of artillery pieces, of the nervous movements of horses: it was the Prussian Army out of Orleans, drawn into battle order.

War was perhaps half an hour away.

* * *

Albert’s ornamental pond had been boarded over, and its garden reduced to a pool of mud punctuated by the snapped stumps of trees. The whole upper deck swarmed with artillery pieces and