The Adventures of Air Group Captain Sebastopol Valiant

By Steven R Harrison

Two outstanding novels in one purchase!
The Adventures of Air Group Captain Sebastopol Valiant brings you-

ATTACK OF THE ATOMIC AIRSHIPS! & OPERATION UNTHINKABLE.
The first introduces you to Valiant, the Steampunk missing link between Harry Flashman and Biggles.
Navigating his way back to Blighty against the combined efforts of Bible bashing Confederates, interfering French diplomats and an unprovoked attack on the troopship Titanic!

OPERATION UNTHINKABLE continues where the action left off.

The Russians have a new terrifying weapon and only one man can stop them!
Valiant the Racing driver!
Valiant the Land Speed Record holder!
Valiant the Amazonian adventurer!
Valiant the saviour of the RMS Titanic!
Valiant, the most eligible bachelor of the year!

Just as soon as he’s dealt with getting out of jail, burning skyscrapers, airship saboteurs and journalists of fake news -whilst recovering from hangovers of varying magnitude- he’ll be right on it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244707996

Book preview

The Adventures of Air Group Captain Sebastopol Valiant

The Adventures of Air Group Captain Sebastopol Valiant STEVEN R HARRISON

Copyright © Steven R Harrison 2018

ISBN: 978-0-244-70799-6

All rights reserved

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented including photocopying and recording without written permission from the publisher.

First Edition of Attack of the Atomic Airships: 2012

First Edition of Operation Unthinkable: 2018

First Edition as a compilation: 2018

Cover design: Steven R Harrison

Made In Sheffield.

Created entirely using Pages Application on a Mac Book Air.

Thanks!

As always, a great big thank you to everyone at Sheffield SF&F Writers’ Group. Maybe one day we’ll decide on a shorter name.

ATTACK OF THE ATOMIC AIRSHIPS!

Prelude

I’d like to kick off proceedings with this account; taken by kind permission from the journal of Igneous Lodestone, Esquire, of the Secret Service Bureau. Without the efforts of such men as he the terrible events of The Great War, 1905-1913, would I’m sure have gone on for very much longer.

Air Group Captain Sebastopol Valiant, RFC.

SOMETHING HAD GONE HORRIBLY WRONG.

I can still remember the screams of agony as fire tore into our bunker. I clawed my way over to the door, about to yank it open when another man slammed into me and knocked me to the floor. His uniform was on fire, his face was red raw where the skin had been exposed to the blinding light that had preceded the blast. He pulled at the door handle, opening the door but could not release it as his skin scorched into the metal. His screams were drowned out by the noise all around us. The sound was deafening, like a banshee wailing above a mighty locomotive at top speed through a tunnel. Beyond the door was a maelstrom of debris, a sandstorm of all encompassing proportions. I remember grasping the leg of a heavy desk as the air was sucked out of the bunker. The other military man flew into the doorway and outside, pulling the one who had knocked me over with him. I clung to the desk for dear life, the whole bunker buffeting like canvas around me. A screeching, tortured sound of twisting metal came from above, and I looked up just in time to see the tin roof and doorway being pulled away. The second they had gone we were at the mercy of the raging hurricane of the elements outside. I saw lightning in the sandstorm, and fire being whipped into a whirlwind of destruction. A lamp burst on to the floor at the opposite side of the desk from me, covering the legs and floor in flaming oil. I watched with horror as the oil ran down the wooden leg toward where I held on against the wind. It ran over my intertwined fingers, I tried holding on but the pain was too much. I cried out as I let go, and the wind took hold...

WE HAD BEEN TOO CLOSE.

Fifteen-seconds... The Professor had held his pocket watch out for the gathered people to observe. I was stood at the back, notepad and pencil in hand. There were six of us altogether in the small bunker. The two military observers both wore red uniform and white pith helmets. The professor and his assistant wore long white lab coats, various tools hung from a belt around the professor’s waist. As we were with Intelligence my partner; named Dreadful, and I wore civilian clothing. I had on my head a bowler hat and he preferred an old fashioned tri-corn hat, for reasons that were beyond me.

The bunker was sparsely equipped, a heavy desk held a teapot and several china cups; a tall narrow filing cabinet stood next to it. No one knew exactly what was going to happen, so a record of the event was being taken by a specially commissioned motion picture camera, operated by the professor’s assistant. A narrow window between the corrugated tin roof and the top of the wall had been left for our observance, however space was limited. With the camera taking up most space and Professor McDougal standing by with his watch, the military men had insisted that they take up the remaining space. Don’t worry old boy, we’ll let you know if this firecracker goes off. We’ll let you measure the crater, okay? Jolly good. So we stood behind, trying to peep through the gaps between men. The heat was stifling and sweat ran down all our faces, as the Nevada desert sun slammed it’s hammer against the anvil of the desert.

Ten-seconds... The professor’s Scottish heritage clear in his voice as he counted down, they turned toward the observation window. The professor’s assistant feverishly wound the film through the camera as we all donned our brass goggles to protect our eyes from the expected flash. The air was thick with the trail dust that clung to all our clothing after the long journey here. As the professor called off the seconds I noticed I was tapping my pencil in time to his beat.

Five...Four...Three...Two...One...Initiate.

The light that shone between the heads of the observers was bright even through our goggles. Everything seemed to slow down. I knew something was wrong immediately, one of the military men flung his arm to his face; his sleeve catching fire. The other men fell back into the room, I wanted to call out, ask what had happened, but I just stood there. That was when the blast hit.

WHAT HAVE WE DONE?

I caught the jagged edge of the exposed top of the bunker wall, how I don’t know. For what felt like an eternity I hung on, the wind pulling me toward the maelstrom beyond. Then suddenly the wind dropped, causing me to fall heavily back to the baked earth. Winded, I lay on my back gasping like a fish to regain my breath and my senses. I lay like that for some time, I may have even slipped into momentary unconsciousness. When I felt able I attempted sitting up, checking all was in order, body wise. Mercifully, nothing was broken, nought more than a few bruises. My left hand was cut from where I had grabbed at the wall; my right was burned from the oil. I must have hit my skull on something, when I tried to stand my head swam and I staggered to keep balance. There was a groan from the remains of the bunker. Tearing off my goggles, I made my way back inside. The professor and my associate were the only two remaining. The oaken filing cabinet had fallen over, trapping Dreadful by his right arm. The professor stood at the observation window; he was shaking his head and muttering to himself. I called out to him Help me here, get this off him. but he didn’t move, he just stared out of the window. I went over to him and grabbed at his arm, pulling him around. Didn’t you hear me...? I let go as I saw his face, his skin had burned around his goggles and the rubber holding them on had melted into his flesh. He stared at me for a moment before turning back to the window. I followed his gaze and couldn’t believe what I saw. A gigantic cloud of ash and smoke filled the horizon. It was narrower at ground level and blossomed out higher up like a monstrous mushroom. A clattering noise from behind brought me back to the moment, my associate had woken up. The cabinet was very heavy but after much effort I managed to free him. Dreadful’s right arm had been crushed and he cradled it with the other. He winced with pain as I helped him outside, the heat and smoke from the burning desk was making the air unbreathable. I guided the professor outside, and together we watched the cloud slowly dissipate. I turned to look where our transport had been parked, but nothing remained of the pulling engine, horses or our equipment wagon. In the sky in the distance was a small dark shape, like a blot on the perfect blue. An airship was coming our way. As it got closer the professor, who hadn’t said a word, suddenly announced in a croaking voice The papers! I must keep the papers! Nobody must get hold of them again, we should never let the experiment be repeated, it’s just too dangerous! He ran back into the bunker, and we heard the cabinet being opened, he reappeared moments later cramming papers into his pockets. He turned to face the last of the mushroom cloud; Never again! he screamed, then swayed for a moment before passing out, crashing to the ground. Stumbling over to the professor’s unconscious body, I winced as I knelt down. After rifling through his pockets, I grasped the papers.

I’ll be the judge of that, Professor. I folded the documents into my own pocket.

Do you think it went off, then? Shall we go and measure the crater? Dreadful suddenly spoke, I could murder a cup of tea. he looked wistfully back into the ruined bunker. I followed his gaze and saw the teapot, smashed by the broken lamp.

I think the teapot may have a leak, coffee?

Two sugars, thanks. We couldn’t help but chuckle as we both sat there, him wincing with pain at the effort. We waited in silence until the airship arrived.

Chapter I

Card games are not my favourite form of gambling, be it Blackjack, Rummy, Bridge or as in this case; Poker. The notion that I am expected to gamble upon whether or not I have a better hand than the man opposite me, based solely on what cards I have been dealt, just seems wrong. I have no influence whatsoever in whether I get a good hand or not. I much prefer games of personal skill, one man or team against another in a battle of strength, ability, shrewdness and cunning. True; I could attempt to cheat at cards, but that just wouldn’t be cricket. That is probably why I lost rather badly.

Around the table I had found myself at were three other men. They had taken a break from proceedings for half an hour or so and I was standing morosely on the porch watching torrents of rain lash down into the Amazon River. The sound was a terrific mixture of the rain hitting the river and crashing through the canopy of the jungle that surrounded this plantation owners’ house. Occasionally, lightning would streak through the night sky, offering a glimpse of the vastness beyond this clearing. The accompanying thunder was almost enough to wake the dead. Still, it was a merciful relief from having to listen to the Bavarian’s gramophone records. It was he who came to join me as I refilled my empty glass from the bottle of brandy I held.

So, Herr Group Captain, it would seem you will be leaving here on the fourth day, Ja? I must say, your chances of reaching the source of the Amazon first have taken a turn for the worst, have they not? Even though the fellow was out of uniform, he still stood as if to attention. Everything from his close cropped blonde hair, his over-starched shirt and trousers to his shining boots screamed military. I suspected even his monocle was just for show, his eye was not distorted by the lens before it. Noticing his glass was empty; I offered him the bottle. No need to show sour grapes, and all that.

I suggest you spend your winnings on insect repellent, that or a decent umbrella. I said, accepting back the bottle after his refill. You don’t mind if I observe the game from the bar, do you? See how things turn out? Just then a burst of laughter erupted from the games room. The other two were obviously enjoying my exit from the game.

I have no objections, however... he leaned closer to me, as if to relay a confidence. A little too close in fact, his breath was appalling. ...I am under the impression that Chirac, the French Colonel, is rather resentful of you. He has been making queries as to the relationship between your parents whilst you have been out of the room. My I ask; have the two of you met before? I smiled back at the Bavarian; he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. I took a sip from my glass before replying.

What can I say, he’s French. Our two nations haven’t had the most rosy of relationships over the years, worse now that the army is treating France like a stepping stone to get to the front line. It’s no wonder he and the Russian get on so well.

Schwarz nodded sagely, I am in amazement that we have managed to put aside our national differences for the time being, leave the war at the door, so to speak. I do not imagine that this temporary truce will extend when we leave this place and head down river.

Well, you don’t have anything to worry about, do you? Bavaria is neutral, for now at least. Anyway; I’ll be behind him, to begin with. I don’t need to watch my back, do I?

Ja, ever since we met two days ago, he has taken every opportunity to besmirch your name. He and the Colonel seem to have taken a particular dislike to you. They have taken great pleasure to see you ejected from the game.

I glanced around the doorframe back into the games room; Colonel Chirac and Major Polanski were laughing and toasting each other at the bar. A uniformed manservant was resetting the card table with three chairs. I drained my glass, swilling the brandy around in my mouth before swallowing.

Well, Captain. Just as long as one of us beats the frog, I’ll call that a result. I think they’re ready for you now. The frog and the Russian had re-taken their chairs at the table. I followed Captain Schwarz back into room and sat myself at the bar, ordering a beer from the manservant. I placed my glass and the brandy bottle next to me.

Drowning your sorrows I see, Valiant. I suppose that is one way of killing the time until your departure, eh? Ha ha har har! The Frog and Russian burst into laughter. Schwarz, who had his back to me, straightened his shirt and repositioned his glass on the table, said nothing. I was starting to like the fellow. I lifted the tall glass of beer that had appeared by my hand in a mock toast.

Up yours, Colonel! I said with a smile.

As the game progressed, I had chance to ponder once again the circumstances of how I had found myself in this room. The only thing I could come up with was pure coincidence. We had all arrived on the same day, by different steam ships, at the same port. We had each found the same local agent who had guided us to this former plantation house, him seeing no reason why he couldn’t group us all together. We had bickered and argued over who had arrived first, who should get the best guides, who should have first say in acquiring the resources we had to source locally. After several unfortunate ‘incidents’ in regards to our men and equipment, (my two companions had come down with malaria, the frog’s boat had developed engine problems, Captain Schwarz had most of his equipment stolen and the Russian translator had mysteriously vanished hours after being caught in a compromising position with one of the man servants.) none of us could prove anything as sabotage, so we had to make a deal. It had all boiled down to this, three games of poker. The loser of the first game, myself in this case, had to go on the fourth day after the overall winner; the next loser of the second game went on the third day and so on.

By the end of proceedings I was disappointed to be sat at the bar drinking with Captain Schwarz when Major Polanski threw his cards in disgust onto the table and stormed from the room, leaving the jubilant Frenchman to count his winnings whilst sucking on a foot long cigar. He soon retired to his room leaving the Captain and I playing billiards.

There was nothing I could do but wait. A deal was a deal, and all that. It took an extra day for the Frog to organise his group before he set off up river. I drew immense satisfaction that he complained endlessly about the insects that seemed to swarm around his boat. This was in no small part to the fact that the night before he left, as Captain Schwarz distracted the watchman the Frog had hired to guard his boats, I had hidden in various places about the vessel several rotting fish.

The next day, before dawn, Major Polanski departed. He had kept much to himself since the card game, preferring to endlessly check his equipment and berate his crew. I checked in on my own men, their condition had not improved and I made arrangements for them to be shipped home. Regardless of which day I left on, I had to decide whether or not to go it alone or await fresh men. That could take weeks; and with the situation on The Front, any request was likely to be turned down.

On the third day I bid the Bavarian farewell, he and his crew set off in typical German fashion. At the very stroke of noon, with a bugler to sound them off and the crew of four stood to attention on deck. I spent the rest of that day preparing my kit for a solo attempt; having still not made up my mind on the subject but anything was better than doing nothing. By God it would be an audacious attempt, get my face in the papers for a change, and less of that polar explorer chap; Shackleton. Only if I got to the source first though... No matter how I looked at it the Frog had a huge head start. I spent that night alone on the porch, staring out at the river, listening to the elements about me.

Sir, sir! Wake up sir!

I awoke with a start, still on the porch, slumped in an armchair I had dragged from inside.

What, what is it? Oh my good God! Ooh, my head! I blinked and wiped my eyes, waiting for the image of the manservant to come into focus. I sat up, knocking an empty wine bottle onto the floor where it clanked into a second wine bottle and several beer bottles. On the table next to me was a small pyramid of six empty wineglasses and the gramophone. Standing to attention in the middle of the lawn was a suit of armour from the dining room, on its head was a Mexican sombrero hat. What the hell was that doing there? The manservant spoke again.

You have a visitor, sir. He says it is important he sees you. Do you want me to send him in?

Can you bring me a glass of water, please? My head feels like someone is boring into my brain.

Certainly sir, and shall I show the visitor in?

Yes, yes. Just get the water. The manservant scuttled off just as a thought came to me. Who is it? I called out, but he didn’t hear.

I closed my eyes again, for some reason my head swam with German Oompah music. Suddenly I was drenched in freezing cold water, I sat up spluttering and coughing as it was followed half a second later by towel being flung in my face.

Didn’t make it to bed last night, sir?

After wiping the water from my eyes, I blearily looked up at the man stood before me. He wore a Royal Air Corp uniform and was sipping from a glass whilst in his other hand he held an empty water jug. It was Lieutenant Archibald Shotsworth, my assistant and second in command of His Majesty’s Airship Zephyr.

Wherever I close my eyes; that’s my bed. What the devil are you doing here, aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the frontier? I asked him, towelling water from my hair.

Urgent change of plans. I’ve been ordered to pick you up and we’re to standby south of the Nevada artillery range until further orders. There are rumours that something big is on the horizon.

What sort of rumours? We haven’t had a single scrap of news from town in over a week. I tossed the towel onto the Gramophone table, knocking over the wineglass pyramid and sending the glass crashing to the floor. God, that was the last thing my head needed in it’s current condition, loud crashing noises. When the clatter mercifully stopped, Archie continued.

HQ are running around like headless chickens. Some say the Tsar’s dead, others that he’s been overthrown. Some have even said the frogs are pulling out of their agreement to let us resupply through their country. They’re wanting everyone back as a precaution. That; for some reason, includes us, sir. He set the empty jug and glass down by the shattered remains of last nights’ architectural triumph, and proceeded to light a cigarette he had taken from a box in his pocket. As he blew a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling I answered,

The top brass plainly want their best man on the job, so they sent you across the world to come and get me. The manservant returned wearing a floral apron, a dustpan and brush jammed into the pocket at the front. Thankfully he carried a second water jug and a glass, which I quickly drained, waving at him for a refill. He was momentarily torn between going for the water and clearing the broken glass, but relented as I tapped my empty glass with my fingernail. I was dying of dehydration here, the mess could wait. Unfortunately, hair of the dog was out of the question as my flask was momentarily empty. My stomach rumbled; a reminder that breakfast was the next item on the agenda. Archie looked quizzical for a moment, he took a long draw on the tobacco before asking.

Aren’t you supposed to be halfway up the Amazon by now? I was expecting to have to fly out and find you.

I looked out at the suit of armour on the lawn, seeming to remember that I had been dancing at some point to Captain Schwarz’s gramophone records. It was all very blurry. The manservant returned; he excused himself for the interruption before holding out a set of maracas and pair of ladies undergarments.

Would sir be requiring these at any point, only I would like to set the table for breakfast and am unsure of where they belong.

The maracas rang a distant bell in my memory, but I was blown if I could remember the knickers. Archie was watching me with a grin as wide as a hanger door on his face.

I’ll explain over breakfast. I answered, last night was very blurry indeed…

As luck would have it, the top brass had thought I would be hundreds of miles up the Amazon River by the time Archie reached here and had given him a timescale to suit. After much persuasion, I convinced him to take me down the river. There was nothing in the rules of exploration to say that an airship couldn’t be used, after all. Also, to see the look on Chirac’s face when he found me at the source, maybe sat at a table with silverware sipping champagne, would be priceless. Okay, so its not as heroic as fighting through the jungle and the newspapers wouldn’t be as impressed, but at least it would wipe the grin off the frog’s face. After we had picked up supplies and fuel, almost a week now since Colonel Chirac had departed, His Majesty’s Airship Zephyr pointed its nose downstream of the Amazon River. Because an early problem in the exhaust system caused a noxious smell in the engine room that permeated through the whole airship, the crew gave it the nickname the Eggy Zephyr. Even after the problem was fixed, the nickname stuck. This was a new crew, fresh from training, and it didn’t take me long to notice that I was being stared at. Upon questioning Archie, he told me why.

There is a rumour going around that it was you who was caught with the base commander’s daughter, in his car, drinking his champagne, out of his championship golf cup trophy. Your reputation does tend to precede you.

Well, they’re all wrong. I’m sure it was his cricket cup trophy.

Either way, rumours fly better than airships. With a knowing nod and a smile, I let the matter rest at that.

On the evening of the second day, our searchlights lit up a disturbing scene. Beached at the side of the river were the burned out remains of a boat. Looking through binoculars, I saw it to be that of Captain Schwarz and his crew. Surrounding the area the mud was churned, with tracks leading off in several directions. There was no sign of the Bavarians. A little further down river, we came across a similar scene with the boat of the Russian crew. Archie and I stood together at the observation window on the bridge, staring at ruined wreck.

Maybe the Bavarians caught up with the Russians and they attacked each other, the survivors fleeing into the jungle? Archie reasoned. I doubted his explanation.

If they had caught up with the Russians, I think they would have raced to stay ahead of each other. That’s what I would’ve done. Maybe they burned out their engines in the attempt? I scanned my binoculars over the canopy, seeing nothing but an impenetrable mass of trees.

If they went off into the jungle, we’ll never find them. Let’s keep going, we’ll probably catch up with the frogs before morning.

Just as I turned to leave the Bridge, Archie called me back.

I can see another boat sir, further downriver, looks to be in the same condition as the others. Also... I returned to the window, once again looking through the binoculars. Archie stared at a spot away from the river for a moment before continuing.

...I can just make out smoke coming out of the trees a little further down. Over there look.

Training my sights on where he pointed, I could just make out a thin trail of smoke raising through the canopy. Impressive, he had spotted the smoke as it was silhouetted against the stars, had it being cloudy we would have missed it.

It looks like we may have found the missing crews, either that or a native village. Let’s go and check.

Archie ordered the helmsman toward the smoke; soon we could see a native village just beyond a clearing. Several of the natives had seen us and were running back to the village. I couldn’t see anything of the others.

I’ll go down and speak to them, maybe they know something. I said to Archie.

Good luck with the language, I doubt they even speak Portuguese.

Ha! I scoffed. They’ll understand! We Englishmen are renowned for our communication skills! Just keep an eye on them from up here. You never know the reception you’ll get from these people, they’re simple souls. We don’t want to frighten them with our civilised ways.

The searchlights from the Eggy Zephyr held steady on the clearing below me as I was lowered down into the jungle. Touching the ground, I pulled my foot out of the loop that had supported my weight. I cursed as the searchlight panned forwards toward the village we had seen earlier, plunging me into darkness. Turning the wick up on my oil lamp, I waited as my eyes got used to the diminished light. I was in a circular clearing about a hundred yards from the native village, which I could now see as being accessible via a narrow pathway cut into the vegetation. I thanked God that on this one night, it wasn’t raining. Something looked odd. My eyes couldn’t have adjusted properly yet, because from here, surrounding the perimeter of the clearing, it seemed as if I was surrounded by heads stuck on pikes. Chuckling at my over attractive imagination I walked over toward the nearest one. As I got closer, my blood ran ice cold. I came to within an arms length of one of the pikes and held out the lamp, only to have the twisted grin of Colonel Chirac light up before me. I was reminded of the horror display at Madam Tussard’s as one by one my lamp illuminated the severed, waxen looking heads of him and his crewmen. The overhanging canopy had prevented us from seeing this from the air, otherwise I would not have come down alone and unarmed. I walked around the whole perimeter. After the Frenchman’s crew came the Russians’. They were not even spiked the same way, on some the pike had been driven through the ears, or through the neck and out an eye socket. Major Polanski was spiked through the back of his head and the tip came out his forehead. My hand dived into my jacket pocket, pulling out the flask of Dutch courage.

Why the blazes hadn’t I come down armed to the teeth? I should know there’re only savages in this part of the world! Keep a stiff upper lip, Old Boy, and pray the Eggy Zephyr has you covered.

I worked my way around, now came the Bavarian crew, displayed in the same grizzly manner. He was missing, Captain Schwarz, I double checked. I recounted, but he wasn’t there.

Suddenly, from the village, there came the most god awful soul curdling scream I had ever heard in my life. I took a second swig from the flask, before slowing walking toward the cutting to the village. Just as I stepped out of the clearing into the pathway, from the other end, two bursts of flame erupted from either side and quickly blazed their way toward me. I stepped back into the clearing and glanced down; two narrow grooves had been cut into either side of the path and then filled with some sort of oil. I was horrified to see the grooves went around the outside of the clearing, sending the fire shooting behind then silhouetting the severed heads. If I was going to enter the village I was going to have walk between the flames. Colonel Chirac mocked me from his pike, and I couldn’t get over the fact that a week earlier, had I been better at cards, that may have been my head instead of his…

Get a grip, Old Boy. There’s a man in that village who sounds in a bad way, and the only thing stopping him from auditioning for the choir invisible is you. I mean come on, it’s hardly my fault. Had we have seen the severed heads from the air; I would have ordered a bombardment from the heavens and then gone down to question any survivors. As it was, all I had was a rapidly dwindling supply of brandy in my flask. Still, things could be worse; I could’ve already finished the brandy. The drone from the Eggy Zephyr changed note slightly, she had begun to move. Her searchlights still rested upon the village at the opposite end of the narrow, flame walled passage that I had still to traverse. Again that piercing scream ripped through the hot, burning air surrounding me.

It’s now or never Old Boy. Let’s show these savages what an Englishman is made of. After placing the lamp on the floor, there was light aplenty now, I pulled myself straight, replacing my flask in my jacket pocket.

Chin up, shoulders back, arms straight. By the right, quick march!

I strode forward, the flames barely a foot from me at either side. By god it was hot, by the time I had gone halfway, I was sweating more than a Frenchman at a peace conference. From above, I heard the steam cannon fire aboard the airship. At either side I heard something crash in to the foliage. Resisting the temptation to see what it was, I kept my eyes forward. I was getting closer to the village; I could see the end of the flames. Another few paces and I emerged from the passage to be greeted by the welcoming committee of the natives. The spotlight from the Eggy Zephyr illuminated the three ways I was likely to meet my end. Surrounding me in a semi circle about four or five yards away were seven men, each pointing either a spear or a bow and arrow in my direction. They had knives of some kind stuffed into the waistband of the only clothing they wore, which looked like leaves held together by vine and left little to the imagination. Two of the group were only boys, about fifteen years old. They were the most nervous of the bunch; they kept glancing up into the spotlight more than the other men and held their bow strings taught with an increasingly shaky grip. The older men were steadier; however they had a look of uncertainty which suggested to me they had never seen an airship before, either.

So; I was either going to be shot by accident by one of the youngsters, shot on purpose by one of the more seasoned men or baked slowly to death by standing with my back too close to the flames. From above us the sound of the metallic clanking of the winches being operated made all the armed men look skyward, I took the opportunity to step one pace away from the flames to avoid being barbecued. Risking a glance at the Eggy Zephyr at the same time, I saw that she had fired grappling hooks into the foliage and had begun to winch herself closer to the ground. The flames were only as high as me but they must still have had an effect on the airship. The sight of the Union Flag emblazoned on the underbelly, bearing down out of the sky filled me with added confidence that the righteous would win through.

Unfortunately, it must have been the final straw for one of the youngsters. I looked back just in time to be shot in the chest by an arrow.

The force of the shot knocked the wind from me, and I fell back into the flaming passage, gasping for breath. I lay still on the ground, waiting for breath that I knew would never return. I must be in shock, I felt no pain from the entry wound, however I could see the arrow sticking out of my chest and feel my blood oozing down to my armpit. The winching noise from above continued, I heard shouting from the village.

My breathing became easier, there was no pain. I sat upright, the arrow sticking absurdly out in front of me. I pulled at it, expecting the inevitable stab of pain. It was held fast by something inside my jacket pocket, something that had leaked...

I broke the arrow in two and removed my flask from inside my jacket, a mixture of relief and anger washing over me. That was my favourite flask, damn it! Finest Silverdale steel given to me and inscribed by Winston Churchill himself! Still, better that punctured than a lung, I suppose.

Another horrific scream brought me back to the moment, only this time it was followed by a second, rather more reassuring sound. The chain gun aboard the Eggy Zephyr had opened fire. Standing up, I saw by the searchlight the steady demolition of the small huts of the village. Captain Schwarz was still in there, and by God no man deserved to die at the hands of these animals. It was time to get him and get the hell out of here!

I strode forward, back into the village. Two of the men and the boy who couldn’t keep a grip on his bowstrings lay dead in the area at the end of the passage, one of the huts was on fire and the ground was pock marked by shell craters. The searchlight swung from left to right, the chain gun spitting destruction into the buildings around me. Women and children had emerged from their hiding places and were scattering into the jungle surrounding us. Walking between the fleeing natives - no need to run since I wasn’t being shot at - I searched for the Bavarian. The beam from the searchlight fell on me and the chain gun ceased fire. Tied to a tree in the centre of the village was Captain Schwarz, he was surrounded by six men, some of whom I had met earlier. One of the men held what seemed to be a glowing hot poker of some kind. With the searchlight following my every move, I walked toward them; arms open at my side, in a shaft of light. It was eerily quiet now the gun had stopped and the screaming had died down. The man with the poker shouted something at me and I stood still. He repeated what he said but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. The others were getting increasingly nervous; one threw his spear to the ground and fled into the trees. Time to make my demands, me thinks.

Release him and I’ll not destroy the rest of your village.

This caused a stir amongst the men, could they understand me? The Captain spoke, his voice cracking with the pain the poker must have inflicted. He spoke the same language as the natives! The man with the poker jabbered something again, only this time Schwarz translated.

He says, ‘We kill you yet you survive. You bring destruction from the sky.’ He asks ‘Are you a God?’

Well, I’ve been asked many things over the years but this was the first time someone has enquired about my divinity. The spotlight was on me, the men held their breath for my answer. Well, in for a penny and all that. I put on my best acting voice.

I AM HE!

The effect was amazing; to a man they all fell to their knees and bowed to the floor. Thanking the actual God for the momentary loan of His reputation, I walked among my new found followers. The spotlight followed me as I untied Schwarz, they had been making merry with the poker by branding him on his chest. The natives didn’t move. I heard a cracking of twigs and looked behind me to see Archie and two soldiers approaching. He looked around at the grovelling men about him.

What did you do? he asked incredulously.

Here’s a little tip, Lieutenant. If someone asks you, if you’re a God, you say yes!

Chapter II

Schwarz was in a bad way, the natives had really done a number on him. It turned out that the man with the poker spoke Portuguese, and the captain knew a smattering of that language. It was all foreign to me; I knew a bit of schoolboy French (ahem) but had found that English will get you by in most places. It was easier to colonise and educate the natives than learn the languages of the world. Still, being able to communicate with the natives had spared Schwarz his life, so there was an upside I suppose. With help from the natives, who were slowly becoming less convinced of my godly nature the more they observed me, I can’t think why, we retrieved the corpses of the various crews. I made a big show of raising the bodies up into the cargo area of the Zephyr, hoping to leave them convinced the dead were being transported to the heavens. Well, I might have to come back this way one day.  Luckily, I had handy in my cabin my spare hip flask which I put to immediate use, I’m sure Winnie would understand. Because of the condition of the Bavarian, I decided it would be best to get him to the nearest infirmary. He on the other hand, had other ideas.

Please, if it is at all possible. I would be most grateful and in your debt if you would give me passage back to Mexico. The families of my crew and I have residence there, I feel I must break the bad news to them personally. he asked me from the bunk in the medical room, more of a cupboard really, on board the Zephyr. I checked the charts and consulted with Archie as to our expected arrival in Nevada, it seemed we would have to take on fresh supplies and ammunition in Mexico anyway, so I agreed to his request. We deposited the bodies of the French and Russian crewmen with a full report from myself and Captain Schwarz, with their respective embassies. I tried to question the Bavarian about the reason for the natives to attack the crews, he just shrugged his shoulders. I did what you did, came across the remains of the other boats and decided to investigate. We must have been watched, because as soon as the boat had been secured they attacked, suddenly and many in numbers. We were over run in moments. I wandered whether the Russians would have investigated the French wreck or just continue, toasting their luck at overtaking their rival. Would I have investigated had I being without the airship? Probably, I’m just nosey like that.

After a few days flying over the rugged Panama region, observing the great canal that connected the Atlantic to the Pacific, (grudgingly agreeing it was an engineering marvel despite it being French) we moored the Zephyr at an aerodrome just outside Mexico City, the new capital of the Aztec peoples. A vast and sprawling place, overlooked by the pyramids built to honour their deities. The city wasn’t as large as London, but there was space to spread over the nearby hills. After the coolness of altitude aboard the airship, stepping on to the ground here was like walking over hot coals.

Our embassy had arranged for the Zephyr to be resupplied and for minor repairs to be carried out in a purpose built hanger, before we continued onwards toward the Nevada Artillery Range and Lord knows what. As Archie made arrangements with the quartermaster for my crew aboard the Zephyr, I took the opportunity to catch up on the latest war news, deadlock as usual. It seemed we hadn’t made any progress against the Russians since winter, but at least neither had they, if you believed everything you read in the papers.

Several hours later, whilst the Lieutenant and I inspected the progress with repairs and resupply, a message was handed to me by one of the aerodrome ground crew. I returned his snappy salute and took the envelope.

There’s a messenger waiting outside for your reply, sir. I nodded my thanks and opened it up. Inside was a note and two rather more fancy pieces of paper. After I had read it, I called the Lieutenant over and handed him one of the decorated cards, before reading back the message to him.

We are invited by Frau Schwarz to attend a dinner in honour of the safe return of her husband, Captain Bruno Von Schwarz, to be held at his family’s ranch house. Dress is formal. A motorcar will collect us at eight o’clock tonight. I looked up from the page, Archie was staring at his invite.

Do we accept, I mean, can we? he asked, glancing between me and the card.

Well, I haven’t anything better to do tonight, the airship is in good hands and the crew have their own entertainment. Since it doesn’t mention anything about a ‘plus one’ and I don’t know any girls yet in Mexico, I suppose I’ll be going with you. I looked back at the waiting crewman, Inform the messenger. Give Frau Schwarz our thanks and inform her that we would be delighted to attend, ask for the car to pick us up from our hotel. The crewman nodded and went to inform the waiting messenger. Archie was still staring at the invite, as if it was a ransom note of some kind.

I haven’t an evening suit to wear. Do you think a tailor in town will have something already in my size? he said. I slapped him on the back as I replied,

Don’t worry, I’m sure the Base Commander’s wife will have a gown for you, there’s no need to go into town.

She doesn’t have my hips, and besides I’d rather go naked than dress up just to be your ‘plus one’!

And I thought you fancied me! I said, feigning a hurt look, then added, I think dress uniform will be appropriate, we’re military men, after all.

Once inspections were completed, and we had been driven to the hotel the embassy had put us up in, we changed for dinner. As is the way with these things, we were both ready far too early and so, dressed to the nines, I was unsurprised to be joined in the hotel bar by Archie five minutes after I had ordered my first drink. I nodded him over to the seat next to me at the bar, were he sat and beckoned the barman over. The dark haired Mexican came and waited, wiping a glass with a mottled rag. Archie turned to me and asked, How do you order a glass of white wine and a jug of water?

Ah, that’s easy. I turned to the barman, pointed at my glass, held up two fingers, then pointed at Archie. He’s a man of very few words, the bartender. Best just to keep it simple. Moments later our host returned with an empty glass and a bottle of the local spirit. He poured the first shot and refilled my own glass. I smiled a thanks to the man as he turned and skulked off to the other end of the bar, leaving the bottle. Archie eyed the glass suspiciously, That doesn’t look like white wine and a jug of water, that looks like what you’re drinking.

It’s the local brew. I picked up my own glass saying; Cheers! before knocking back the contents in one go. I waited for the vapours in the liquid to clear my throat before letting out my breath. It still burned at my tongue and made my voice sound higher as I said, I think you’ll like it. He picked up his glass and sniffed, before taking a tentative sip. He noticed I had put on my ‘What are you waiting for?’ expression, then tipped the contents down his throat. He seemed fine for a second, then he spluttered, coughed and banged his fist on the bar as the spirit bit back.

What on earth is that? he asked, staring at the bottle on the bar.

"They call it Tequila, I’m thinking of taking some back with me. Surprise a few of the lads in the Mess back home." He picked up the bottle and turned it in his hand, then quickly dropped it back on the bar when he noticed the thing in the bottom of it.

It’s the worm, they say it adds to the flavour. You could eat it, but personally I’m going to give it a miss.

It’s disgusting, how can you drink it?

It gets better. I replied, sipping at the glass and trying not to laugh as he called over the barman and tried to order what he originally wanted. Eventually, we found ourselves sat outside the hotel on a bench in front of the bar. I had switched to wine and the half bottle of tequila that was left I re-corked and slipped into my pocket. There was no other way to describe it, our car was late. Almost thirty minutes. In sheer boredom, I’d been observing Archie rolling his cigarettes on his knee using a simple lever driven device in his tin case. I don’t even think he noticed I was watching, and it was becoming hypnotic. His hands moved mechanically as he set out the paper, laid the rolling tobacco, pushed the lever and hey presto! Another for his already ample stock of rolled Virginian before it was on to the next. He’d long since stopped offering me one, I couldn’t stand the things and not through want of trying. My Father had stood and watched as I was forced to smoke a full pouch of pipe tobacco on my fourteenth birthday, It’ll make a man of you, boy! Helps clear the lungs and puts hair on your balls! All it had done was make me cough relentlessly and vomit all over his parade boots. I never partook again, he gave up trying to make me and only began to look me in the eye again when I started drinking at sixteen. I do enjoy the aroma of a fine cigar though, but can manage only one before my guts start to play up, so I only indulge on special occasions. We had had many enquiring glances from the locals who past by, our uniforms made us look like shiny new soldiers out of the box, compared to the simple working clothes they wore. And damn me, even in the evening it didn’t get any cooler. Both of us were gushing sweat faster than a bilge pump bailing out a sinking ship. Archie budged my arm and pointed at something in the distance, on top of one of the Aztec pyramids a beacon had been lit.

I wonder which god that’s being lit for. he asked idly. A donkey straining to pull a heavily loaded cart of earthenware pots trudged past, the owner sat on its back slapping the creature’s hide.

Well, its not the god of public transport, that’s for certain. I answered. I was just reaching for the wine bottle to refill our glasses when further up the street, two dimly glowing orbs of light appeared. We watched as they came toward us, as they grew nearer we could hear a clacking tic-toc noise like that of an overly wound Grandfather clock. Something told me our transportation had arrived. When it came to a stop in front of us, we both sat and gaped at it. The lights we had seen were two carriage oil lanterns, placed on top of the front wheel arches. The wheels were also similar to those found on a horse drawn carriage. The open top body was pointed, like a canoe, with the uniformed driver sat in his own small cockpit at the front. He leapt out and quickly opened the door to the passenger compartment, unfolding a small step as he did. "Captain Valiant, Lieutenant Shotsworth? Please, my apologies for the late arrival, I was held up by my last passenger. The French have no concept of timekeeping. Captain