trouble in Svardovia 6

 

Chapter 6

 

“I most certainly will not deprive you of your cabin, captain!” Sophie declared when it was offered to her and Magda. “I am sure Dmitri and Papa will be happy to share with you or one of your officers, but Magda and I will set up home happily wherever your hospital area is, and aid your doctor if it comes to fighting, since every lady knows some nursing.”

Thorndyke blinked, but did not demur. The captain’s cabin was a haven which helped him run the ship better.

“Papa Edward and I will bunk down where you consider it convenient,” agreed Dmitri. “I’ve slept in tents with my men, and shared a blanket with a farrowing goat in a barn before now.”  He grinned. “The product of her labours was a lovely blond buck and the farmer called him ‘Prince Dmitry.’ I understand he tups most of the goats in a wide neighbourhood.”

“You, however, will not,” said Sophie.

“Of course not, my dove, but I can be proud of his prowess, since I delivered him, having untangled his legs inside and brought him bawling into the world,” said Dmitry.

“My fiancé has hidden depths,” said Sophie. “A man who can deliver farm animals is a man worth keeping. Mama always says that a man who can deal with the more unpleasant manifestations of femininity was a real man and should be encouraged.”

Edward and Dmitry exchanged a look which cemented their relationship, and is known throughout history to those men with forceful womenfolk.

“You are prouder of me for delivering a goat than in winning skirmishes and battles?” asked Dmitry.

“Infinitely,” said Sophie.

Dmitry was beginning to realise that his bride had more complexity to her than he had hitherto realised.

He was looking forward to continuing to get to know her.

Clothes had been brought for both of them, including the plain costume Sophie had brought with her, which Magda had collected for her from her own trunk on the train. It was, ironically, a sailor-suit, suitable for any schoolgirl, a skirt not quite to her ankles, in navy-blue, with a white blouse, or waist, as many called them, and a sailor’s collar tying with a navy-blue chiffon ribbon several inches wide such as no sailor would ever wear. Sophie, however, laughed, and declared it very appropriate.

“You shall be admiral of our navy when we have one,” said Dmitry.  He had clothes in the palace; and had brought those which had belonged to his dead love for Sophie.

“I don’t ask you to wear these in Maryla’s memory, but because she would have wanted a woman who loves me to make use of her things,” said Dmitry, humbly. “You must have new clothes, of course, but you need more to wear right now.”

“Thank you; I hope I will not cause you pain in her costumes,” said Sophie.

“Dear Sophie! I doubt if I will know which are hers, which are Victorina’s, and which are yours,” said Dmitri. “I see your sweet face, and the clothes are merely background.”

 

OoOoO

 

The diplomatic telegram having been sent, all that could be done was to sit back and await a reply from Svardovia. Captain Thorndyke moved towards the border, permitting his passengers the beautiful view of Krasnytsya from the air. Pockets of resistance fighters waved, having heard on the wireless broadcasts that their prince and his bride were aboard. Dmitry put on his dress uniform to wave to those below, and give them a glance of his bride. Sophie was cheered, and blew kisses to the men.

It won her hearts and minds.

“Victorina would never consider that,” said Dmitry. “She might sleep with the odd senior officer, and expect all her men to be in love with her, but she would never think to be the little sister to them all, bride of a colleague they all adore but treat with deference.”

“It seemed the only way I could show my support of them,” said Sophie.

“They’d follow you to hell and back,” said Dmitry.

“Then you’d better teach me about military matters, in case I ever have to,” said Sophie. “Not that I want to think about any such situation in which I would have to do so.”

“Because I would be dead.”

“Or captured,” said Sophie, soberly. “And I would have to try to rescue you.”

“Well, as princess of my people, you would have people to plan tactics and strategy for you, and your main duty would be to seeing that the troops have the supplies they need,” said Dmitry. “Watch, and learn, as I do it, but I hope you will not need it. Do not be afraid to ask advice. My senior officers will think better of you.”

Sophie nodded.

“What do you think Victorina and King Cheffan will do?” she asked.

“I wish I could guess,” said Dmitry.  “I don’t know if either of them has any concept of what a British warship is capable of. The Royal Svardovian Sky Fleet consists of a dozen major Zeppelins, and a few smaller vessels. They carry half-a-dozen six-pounder guns apiece, which is to say, nothing like the range of the three-inch guns here. They have greater manoeuvrability than we do, but also the gas bags have a vulnerability. Hydrogen is very vulnerable to burning. Only the Americans have Helium in their sky ships, because they have a mine with it in.”[1] He added, “Helium is almost as light as hydrogen, but does not burn.”

“Useful,” said Sophie. “But they do not have that advantage?”

“No. And I think that Cheffan lives sufficiently in the past that he has little idea of what even an old Royal Navy warship can accomplish, refitted with modern armament, and I suspect that Victorina considers such knowledge beneath her. Thus, I am hoping that they will do something rash.”

 They were, by this time, at the edge of the territory which divided Svardovia from Krasnytsya, part of the mountain ridge they had risen to surmount when coming the other way. A contingent of partisans waved the rebel flag, and cheered.

Dmitry frowned in some irritation.

“Pytro was supposed to hold them further back; but he is impulsive,” he muttered. “I must go down and tell them what is going on, and that they are to stay put and not react, whatever happens.”

“I will go with you,” said Sophie. “If your men do like me, it is something else for which to obey orders.”

“True enough,” said Dmitry, dropping a light kiss on her cheek.

 

“Are you sure this is wise?” asked Captain Thorndyke.

“I think it unwise not to go down,” said Dmitry. “Pytro Pytrochuk is already out of position, and he is an impetuous young man who takes everything personally. I will have to reprimand him for coming one ridge too far, and tell him, no further. It does not help our cause if my men are on the wrong side of Svardovian sovereign territory.”

Thorndyke nodded.

“Then, I completely understand. Perhaps you can persuade your hot-heads to watch the battle from up here?”

“What an excellent idea; thank you, captain, I will put that invitation to Pyotro most forcibly; and order the withdrawal upwards. A few more witnesses would be a good idea. And having Pyotro under my eye is also a good idea.”

 

A small liftium craft, similar to Dmitry’s, and like his fitted with an engine and propeller,  but without extra wings needed, since the liftium had not deteriorated,  took Sophie and Dmitry down to the alpine ledge where the camp had been set up. They threw out an anchor and waited for Dmitry and Sophie to descend a rope ladder.

Dmitry frowned, then  suddenly drew his sword and cut the anchor cable as Sophie was almost down the ladder, gesturing the ship to retreat.

“We are betrayed! Warn Thorndyke!” cried Dmitry.

And Sophie leaped off the bottom of the ladder before the boat could ascend too far for her to do so, standing by Dmitry.

“Sophie! You fool, my love!” cried Dmitry, as the leader of the spurious rebels came forward.

“I would rather be with you,” said Sophie.

“Touching,” sneered the figure who approached. He was as blond as Dmitry, but he curled his moustaches up in the western fashion, and had a livid scar across one cheek.

“Yaromar Zbignevosky, what a surprise,” said Dmitry. “I should have scented your foul stench long since.  I take it that Pytro and his friends are long dead?”

“They are,” said Zbignevosky. “Pray enter my craft quickly, your highness, or I may have to ask my men to get rough with the girl… if you know what I mean. Surrender your sword.”

Under the menacing rifles of the enemy, Dmitry snarled, but held his sword over his arm in surrender. He was bound quickly, and roughly, and Sophie, jostled along between two men, was glad she had come, or he would likely have died fighting.

“Remember, I am a hostage and English,” she said, haughtily to Zbignevosky.

“And while you behave, you will be treated as such,” said the blond bully.

A small zeppelin was concealed under a net with leaves sewn into it, the gondola an integral part of the frame. Four guards and Zbignevosky entered the craft, and the rest melted off down the ridge towards Svardobia.

Soon they were winging through the skies, passing close enough to the ‘Thunderchild,’ to see Thorndyke’s angry, impotent face, and Edward Harmon’s shocked and horrified one.  Zbignevosky smirked at them.

 

oOoOo

 

“Surely we can do something?” cried Edward Harmon, anguished.

“Yes; we can shoot them down and kill your daughter and the prince as well as their enemies,” said Thorndyke. “I should have gone with my initial feeling that it was a bad idea, but of course, had it been the prince’s hot-headed friend, then putting a curb on him would have been a good idea. I should have mounted one of the Vickers’ Maxim guns in the prow, and a gun crew to cover them. I curse myself for not thinking of it.” He clenched his fists in frustration.

“Easy to be wise after the event,” said Edward. “Sophie has her pistol, and they do not seem to have disarmed her; so let us pray, and wait. At least Dmitry tried to stop Sophie being involved, and saved a modern liftium power boat from falling into enemy hands.”

“Yes, indeed, and fitted with the most modern radial engine, too,” said Thorndyke. “They have now seized a British national; that is an act of war. The Royal Navy has gone to war over the cutting off of a British ear before now. I will radio in code to inform the Navy Board of this outrage.”

 

oOoOo

 

The small zeppelin docked against a larger one, with gilded gondola and scarlet covering to the framework of the gas-bag. A canvas walkway was extended between the two, a precarious thing to traverse, and Sophie feigned making heavy weather of it.

“We will fall!” she cried, falling to her knees and curling around herself before entering the precarious passage. She took the opportunity to transfer her little gun and its ammunition to the deep pocket of the skirt she wore, the one which had been her own, in the expectation that she would not be permitted to keep the beaded bag.

“Get up, you foolish creature, or I’ll have you carried,” snarled Zbignevosky.

Sophie moaned, and managed to creep along the passage, clinging to the wall. In this way, she managed to transfer her sewing scissors to the other pocket, whilst having hysterics half way.

Dmitry would have gone to her, but was manhandled away.

And then they were in the gondola of the other zeppelin, and being dragged up a spiral staircase to the luxurious quarters inside the framework which also housed the gas bags, and into the presence of Princess Victorina.

 

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[1] Truth in the real world; a concentration of helium was discovered, which had amazingly not dissipated. There is still American helium buried deep in the earth.