Magical Mechanications Read online

  “At least for the next ten minutes, yes. I’ll see myself out.”

  Scarlett usually did see herself out. Still, it was an understood acknowledgement between them that the conversation was done, and she would leave him to it. Whatever that “it” was in the time being.

  Returning to the outside world, Scarlett looked up once more to the silent skies. A thought itched at the back of her brain, or not so much a thought as a memory. She should have heard the sound of this three-winged plane, but there had been only the snarl of her Scout.

  And the pilot let her go. After taking down two of his own.

  The silence was suddenly broken by the sound of engines, but these were not plane engines. These rumblings belonged to machinations more terrestrial. A car carrying three men led a large truck down the country road ending at their airfield. A muscle twitched slightly in her jaw as she looked at the Scout’s hangar, then back to the three uniformed men drawing closer. Even at this distance, she could see how neatly pressed their uniforms were.

  Three years of secrecy, now all at risk because of these daft tossers.

  The truck broke off to trundle towards the hangar while the officers continued to where she stood in front of the cottage.

  When the car came to a stop, Scarlett took another look skyward. All was still and quiet. However, she was not at ease. Not after what she saw in the skies over the Front.

  “Miss Scarlett Quinn?” one of the gentlemen sitting in the back seat asked. A major. The one next to him was a colonel.

  “You can call me ‘Lieutenant’ as that was my rank last time I checked.”

  The colonel raised an eyebrow. “That some right cheek you have there, Quinn.”

  “Colonel, have you enjoyed the pleasure of a flight over Rang-du-Fliers?”

  “I cannot say that I have.”

  “Well then, Colonel, please allow me to tell you what you would see. From the air, my hangar would have looked like a barn. Nothing overtly fancy. Just a large barn. Our communications bunker would have looked like a shed, and our barracks a farmer’s humble cottage. We’re hidden in plain sight, sir. The Kaiser has no idea we’re operating out of this location for well on to three years now.” She walked up to the car and opened their door, sweeping her free hand in the direction of the cottage. “Three years of cover you lot are jeopardizing as you did not have the wherewithal to disguise yourselves. Park in the garage, if you can manage such a simple feat. Should be enough room for you.”

  The driver looked back at his superiors. The Major shrugged, picked up a large folder propped up by his feet, and slid out of the car. “You heard the lieutenant. Park in the garage and stay with the car.”

  Scarlett watched the car rumble its way around the back of the cottage before turning back to the two officers. “I have worked very hard with what the RAC graciously parted with, and I’ve managed to keep my operations secret and my intelligence reliable, all while staying alive. Next time you come unannounced, you may as well invite a marching band to herald your arrival.”

  “Now see here, lieutenant—”

  “If I may speak freely, Colonel Barnswallow, Quinn here does have a point. We should have shown more caution.”

  The colonel kept an icy stare on his counterpart as they entered the barracks. It did not have to work too hard to pretend to be a cottage, because that was essentially what it was. The house had a small parlor for receiving and entertaining guests, a kitchen in the back promising a fine lunch, and a single staircase leading upstairs to where she and her crew would tuck in for the night.

  “Would you gentlemen care for a coffee?” Scarlett asked.

  “I would prefer tea, if you have it,” Barnswallow said, tucking his hat under the crook of his arm.

  “Coffee, thank you,” the Major replied.

  Scarlett nodded before calling out, “René!”

  “Oui?” a gruff voice replied from the kitchen.

  “Be a dear, and fix a coffee and tea for our guests.”

  “Anything for you, mademoiselle?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Scarlett motioned to the couch as she took a chair opposite of them. “So, Colonel Barnswallow. And Major…?”

  “Oh, sorry, Major Harold Hemsworth,” he said, offering his hand.

  Scarlett brazenly accepted the offer. “Quite a handshake you have there, Major.”

  Hemsworth chuckled. “Before the war, I was a country lad. Spent my formative years chopping wood, hunting, that sort of thing.”

  “How does a woodsman like yourself rise in the ranks of the military?”

  “Turns out I have a penchant for tank warfare.” He blushed slightly. A rather endearing quality considering the man’s standing. “Bit of a surprise, even to me.”

  Barnswallow cleared his throat. “Would you care to skip the pleasantries, Major, or must I remind you there is a war going on at present?”

  “Ah, yes,” and Hemsworth opened up the file he had been carrying.

  Scarlett immediately recognized photographs pulled from her film. Finally, she thought.

  “We have been reviewing your reconnaissance footage,” Hemsworth began, “and what you presented us was exceptional, as always.”

  “Thank you,” Scarlett said.

  “In fact, that is why we are here. We need to discuss with you in detail about what you’ve captured here.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You came all the way out to Rang-du-Fliers to review my footage? We could have easily done that over encrypted æthermissives.”

  “No, lieutenant,” Barnswallow said. “What you captured on film goes well beyond normal operations. Your footage went on a rather jolly jaunt between RAC Command to the War Office, and then…elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere?”

  Barnswallow took in a deep breath. “2 Whitehall Court.”

  A chill crept under Scarlett’s skin. “The Secret Service Bureau?”

  “Hence why there was a delay in responding to you,” Hemsworth said, flipping through the photos as he continued. “There was a bit of a debate between the Foreign Section and a Ministry office that, quite frankly, I’ve never heard of vying for jurisdiction over something like this. The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences does indeed have an extensive background in investigating the unusual and bizarre, but Cumming was adamant that this was to be a Bureau matter.”

  “I don’t understand. I got a shot of what looks like a Manchester Mole. Two weeks ago. That digger technology is in Jerry’s hands. At the rate they were digging—”

  “We’ve notified the War Office about the digger,” Hemsworth stated. “They have already intercepted the Mole. Quite the capture.”

  Scarlett tipped her head to one side. “Then why are you lot here?”

  Hemsworth slipped a photo out of the stack. “This is why.”

  The photograph appeared as a white canvas with three objects imprinted in the upper-right quadrant. Unlike the images she had taken of the trenches, no details of these three objects were visible save for the fact that the center object was a plane with three wings, flanked by two other planes with a common, easily recognizable design.

  “I…took this?” Scarlett managed to say.

  “And you’re still alive,” Hemsworth said. “Well done.”

  Three

  René had left two coffees and a tea. He mentioned something about how Scarlett would eventually ask for a coffee, so he took that extra step forward. He also eluded to the risk of Scarlett allowing her drink to go cold. Something to that effect. Scarlett could not be sure. Her attention never left the photograph of the three planes, one of which no one knew anything concrete about.

  “I’m the only pilot who has seen this plane, captured it on film, and made it back to base?”

  “Yes,” Barnswallow said, taking a sip of his tea. “We have attempted several reconnaissance missions to confirm the rather dubious intelligence on this new plane design, only to have it fail miserably.”

  “The Fokker Driedecker or Dr.1,” Hemswor
th said, tapping his finger against the silhouette of the triple-winged plane, “and that is all we know about the plane at present that is not based on conjecture or wild rumor. So, yes, we are here to find out what you know. Perhaps confirm or deny what Jerry has up in the air.”

  “Were there any distinct markings or features of the aircraft, apart from that stacked wing design?”

  Scarlett dropped the photo back on the file in front of them and sat back in her chair. She tried to will herself to drink the cup of coffee, but she wanted something stronger. “The plane was black. There was the outline of the Iron Cross near the tail section, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “What about the plane itself?” Hemsworth asked. “How did it fly?”

  “It was silent. Quite mad, but that’s how it was,” Scarlett said, lightly pulling at her bottom lip and she ran through her memory of the flight. “I remember seeing from the engine compartment flashes of blue and white. Was not quite sure what to make of that.” She looked up, catching Barnswallow and Hemsworth exchanging a look. “You know something about this?”

  “How’s your avionics history, lieutenant?” Hemsworth asked.

  “I do what I can to know planes of the past and present.”

  “Just before the turn of century, we had aeroflyers like the Avro Five-tens. But there was an experimental Five-ten-A, a rather clever idea from Nikola Tesla which introduced electric engines as the power source.”

  “The Five-ten-A’s were in action with private companies like White Star Line,” Barnswallow said. “They were use to fend off airship pirates, and proved quite effective.”

  Hemsworth nodded. “Diesel technology supplanted steam, and the notion of an electric-diesel aeroflyer, while bandied about, never really took hold,”

  “But this was silent,” Scarlett insisted. “It made no sound whatsoever.”

  Barnswallow took another sip of tea, then took in a long slow breath. His scowl, not directed to anyone in particular, deepened. “While we have a hold over the oceans, I would dare say it is Jerry who owns the skies. Their understanding of aviation engineering is not only commendable, it is inspiring.”

  Scarlett exchanged looks with the men, and then she saw the plane clearly in her head again. “This Fokker plane is electric. Completely electric?”

  “Electric cars were all the rage at the turn of the century,” Hemsworth said. “A decade ago, they were averaging a hundred miles on a full cell. When you think of how far and how fast air travel has developed, it is not a stretch to think of how far battery technology has progressed as well.”

  “Jerry must have also cracked the problem with cold temperatures and the toll it takes on a battery’s charge,” Barnswallow added.

  “Is there anything else you noticed about this plane?”

  “I think I’ve told you everything,” Scarlett said, but then she paused. “No, wait, there was something else painted on the plane. It was in German so I’m not sure exactly what it says.”

  “Stationed this close to the Front and you don’t know the language?” Barnswallow huffed.

  “Considering I am usually in the air, no, I thought it more necessary to know French in order to blend in.” Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and tried to recall what she had caught a glimpse of. “Grover Bosser Wolf, I think. I do remember ‘Wolf’ being the only word I remotely recognized.”

  “Was it Großer Böser Wolf?” Hemsworth asked.

  “Yes, that was it. Grobber…Grubber…eh, what you said.”

  Hemsworth, tapping his fingers together, glanced over to Barnswallow, then looked back to Scarlett. “Something we were afraid of.”

  “You know who this fellow is, don’t you?”

  Barnswallow fidgeted in the corner of his couch while Hemsworth finished his coffee, and then appeared to gather up his courage. “Maximiliane Adolphina Vogelberg von Wolff. She’s also known as the Big Bad Wolf.”

  “The Aces of Aces,” Scarlett whispered. “She…let me go. She could have added me to her kills and she let me go. Why?”

  “Again, this is why there was such a debate as to whom would take jurisdiction over this case.”

  “As much as I loathe to repeat myself,” grumbled Barnswallow, “Cumming was adamant. About many things.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Scarlett asked.

  The door flying open could not have been timed better, even if it were on stage with the best skilled actors. “Red, you won’t believe what we got in the hangar!”

  “Red?” chuckled Hemsworth.

  Just. Lovely. As if the nickname wasn’t bad enough, Tink had to use it in mixed company. “Gentlemen, this is my mechanic, Tina Keller.”

  “American?” barked Barnswallow. “And here I thought the Yanks wanted nothing to do with our merry little war.”

  “Tink is originally from the United States, Colonel, but she emigrated here a few years ago. She’s managed to keep the Scout flying for the past two years.”

  “So no, I’m not here representing a country that doesn’t want me, sir,” Tink said, her gaze brazenly fixed with Barnswallow’s, “I’m representing a country that were a bit more welcoming. The place I now call home.”

  “I see you set a shining example to your support staff,” Barnswallow noted.

  “Wait a moment,” Hemsworth said. He was visibly distracted. “You’re flying a Scout? A Bristol Scout?”

  “Only plane they’d give us dainty little ladies,” and then Tink’s scowl turned into an incredibly bright smile, “until today!”

  Now it was Scarlett who found herself off-kilter. “I—what?”

  “Lieutenant, the Foreign Office and the RAC are working together on this mission,” Hemsworth began, pulling out a dossier from underneath the pile of photographs in front of him. “We need you back in the sky and over enemy territory. We have a mission for you. We’re ready to equip you with whatever you need.”

  “Reconnaissance?”

  “Not this time.” He presented her with the sealed orders. “All the details are there, but we need you to make contact with an agent deep undercover in Halle. You are to meet with this operative who will give you the schematics to this experimental fighter plane.”

  Scarlett looked at Tink. She could only assume her shock was just as visible as her mechanic’s. “Gentlemen, you have me at a loss. This is not what I do. I do aerial reconnaissance. You’re asking me to engage in espionage across enemy lines? Don’t you have spies that are better trained for this sort of operation?”

  “Lieutenant,” Barnswallow said, “this is where we need your particular skills as a pilot. We’re asking you to fly into enemy territory and fly out without detection.”

  “And if you are detected,” Hemsworth said, “we need a pilot skilled enough to either evade or take down the Big Bad Wolf.”

  “Take down the Big Bad Wolf?” Scarlett’s laugh was harsh, grating. “I didn’t outfly her. She let me go.”

  “Perhaps Captain Wolff saw something in you. Perhaps she recognized a raw talent in your skills. She could have shown a moment’s compassion as your Scout was hardly worth...” His voice trailed off. Apparently, he heard himself clearly.

  “You’re suggesting the Big Bad Wolf took pity on me?”

  Hemsworth went to answer, but he appeared to be searching for what to say. He looked to Barnswallow who simply shrugged in silent reply. “Well,” Hemsworth stammered, “I wouldn’t have put it that way…”

  “Lieutenant, perhaps you could come with us to your hangar. We are offering you an opportunity that I believe will be to your liking.”

  Scarlett had so many questions on her tongue, she could taste them. They all tasted bitter, and the longer they lingered on her tongue, the angrier she grew. They were going to bribe her with, from the looks of Tink bouncing on the balls of her feet, an upgrade to the Scout of some kind.

  “Fine, I will hear you out,” Scarlett huffed as she rose to her feet, “so long as you feel this little
trip south of Calais wasn’t a colossal waste of time.”

  “I can’t wait for you to see this,” Tink squealed with delight.

  Then she sprinted ahead of the three of them. Scarlett and the two officers took long strides to the hangar but were not necessarily making a mad dash of it.

  “So you have an operative in enemy territory?” Scarlett asked. This was not an acknowledgement nor was it an agreement. I am just curious, she told herself. “Why has no one else made contact? Why hasn’t anyone from the Bureau bothered to get these plans out before now.”

  “Lieutenant, the amount of bad information we receive from field reports is alarming,” Hemsworth said. “We are tired of chasing leads and believing intelligence that only cost lives in the end.”

  “You mean, like the Gallipoli Campaign?” Scarlett asked.

  She heard the footsteps behind her abruptly stop. She turned to face both officers, Barnswallow’s face beet root red as he looked upon her.

  “This is why you are being so careful, are you?” Scarlett pressed before resuming their walk to the barn. “I am a backwater, remote operation. Resources so threadbare they are a right joke. I have a team that is the best at what they do, and they make certain our intelligence is consistently trustworthy. This mission you want me to undertake, is one of those missions like Gallipoli. You are less than optimistic about the outcome, but you want to make certain whomever you send in knows what they are signing up for.”

  “You lost friends at Gallipoli?” Hemsworth asked.

  “Very perceptive, Major.”

  “As are you, Lieutenant. You are exactly right. We did not want to risk another operation based purely on intelligence we could not confirm. Then, two weeks ago—as luck would have it—you did.”

  “We will lose this war if we do not take control of the skies,” Barnswallow said, his color a bit closer to normal but his dander still up. “This Fokker could tip the scales in favor of Jerry, and we cannot have that.”