General Anhalt climbed the companionway ladder to the bridge. The metal vibrated under his hands and boots, as it always did. He longed for the open decks of sailing airships. He welcomed the freezing temperatures any day versus the damp heat of the steamnaught. He prayed Equatorian engineers paid more attention to ventilation as they built their own ironclads. With any luck, these giant air beasts would be proven inefficient and fall into the scrap heap of history.
Anhalt pulled himself through the open hatch onto the crowded command deck. The noise of the bridge was like a club to the brain. The riveted bulkheads were packed with hissing pressure gauges and rows of wheels and valves. The network of pneumo tubes clanked and whistled. Voices shouted from every corner to make themselves heard over the din of the vessel itself.
Framed in the glass of the vast sweep of bow windows, Senator Clark waved a hand at Anhalt from his place near the great wheel, and shouted something unintelligible. The sirdar had tired of making a sign of cupping his hand at his ear, so he trudged through the sweating crewmen to lean into the senator's bellow. The airship's captain, Sandino, stood next to the wheel with the young helmsman and gave Anhalt a polite nod.
Clark shouted, “We can't wait any longer. My weather boys say conditions are prime.”
Anhalt consulted his pocket watch and twisted several dials to read the brass wheels. Gareth should have come yesterday. The sirdar took a painful breath at the thought of his friend's possible fate. The empress had been so worried for Gareth to go alone to London. Perhaps she had been right to be concerned.
The American yelled again, “You said the coven started the day before yesterday. It will be over tomorrow and the clan chiefs might disperse. We have to go now.”
Anhalt snapped his watch shut. “Very well. I concur. Commence the operation.”
“Captain Sandino,” Clark roared, “take us up and make for London.”
“Aye, sir!”
After a few minutes of frantic activity with signals dispatched and received via pneumos, Bolivar rose through the grey mist. The windows spattered with rain. Then suddenly the bridge was flooded with sunlight as the airship breached the cloud layer and sat atop an endless sea of orange-and-white cotton. The ship plowed across the surface of the rippling clouds, driving north toward her target.
Senator Clark drew deep on a black Cuban cigar. “So, how do you like it, Sirdar?”
“Like what, Senator?”
“The feeling of saving the human race? We'll be legends when this is over. Of course, I'm already a legend, but you'll be joining me.” He laughed and blew smoke into the rancid air.
“I'm grateful you made room on the pantheon for me.” Anhalt offered a begrudging smile. “I just hope this works.”
“It'll work. Everything I do works. You should see the Atlantic coast of the old United States now. Not a vampire in sight.”
“Nor anyone else, I'd wager,” the general murmured bitterly and consulted his watch again. “So, London within the hour?”
“I'd say so.”
“I'll observe the operation from the bomb deck, if that's acceptable with you.” Anhalt saluted and climbed down from the bridge. He couldn't bear the senator's crowing company for long, despite the fact that the man's confidence and enthusiasm were terribly contagious.
He worked his way down ladders and catwalks until the roar of the aluminum bursts were overhead. He entered the bomb deck in the belly of the airship. The bombardier chief consulted with his crew, all in heavy leather jackets with fur trim. They waited by a row of pneumo-tube out-spouts studying charts of London tacked to the bulkhead with magnets. A small company of bluejacket marines stood nearby.
Anhalt paused. “Chief, do you mind if I watch the operation from here?”
The sturdy American betrayed brief annoyance. “That'd be fine, General. I'll tell you, though, it gets pretty noisy and pretty cold down here. These bomb bays kick up an awful draft.”
“I'll trouble you for a coat, then.”
A thick leather flight jacket was produced for Anhalt, and he was immediately sweltering in it. He and the chief went to the rail that surrounded a vast open rectangle in the center of the bomb deck where the steel flooring stopped. Down in the open pit was the concave outer surface of the airship. A red light blinked over the pneumos, and a crewman pulled out a green tube. He immediately smashed his fist against a metal pad on the bulkhead. A klaxon started screaming. Men began moving into position, fastening their coats, and tugging on heavy caps. A whine filled the air, and sunlight shot in from underneath as the four bomb bay hatches slowly opened. The deck became a hurricane.
The bombardier chief grasped the rail. “I'd hold on as long as you're standing here. We've had boys sucked out before. Also watch your step; it gets wet.” Water quickly condensed and dripped from every surface.