High Road to China. Jon Cleary
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stood up, suddenly eager to be on their way again. ‘Could we leave in half an hour, Baron? We hope to make Belgrade tonight.’
‘I shall have to telephone Herr Bultmann before he talks to his superiors.’
‘Is he likely to hold us up?’
Kern shook his head. ‘Herr Bultmann is one of the old school.’
What the hell does that mean? O’Malley wondered; but didn’t ask, because he had already guessed. Certain areas of Germany still echoed to the click of boot-heels; the workers’ soviets might be taking over towns in Saxony, but not here around Freiderichshafen. He determined there would be no heel-clicking between here and China.
Kern went away to make his phone call to Bultmann and Eve and O’Malley went up to say goodbye to Weyman. He was more comfortable this morning but far from cheerful. ‘This is a right do, isn’t it? Stabbed by a blasted Chinaman, replaced by a Boche. I did better than that in four years of war.’
‘Stop laughing, chum.’
O’Malley would miss Weyman on the flight. His mercurial temper was a handicap and they would be flying over terrain where his prejudices would have flourished like weeds; but he was an excellent mechanic and O’Malley had little confidence in his own ability to keep the machines going if any of them should break down. But he was becoming more and more aware of Eve Tozer’s concern for her father, could see that the air of cool control she affected was now no more than a veneer, and he did not want to add to her worries by mentioning what, with luck, might not happen.
‘Good luck.’ George Weyman put out his bandaged left hand, made the gesture of a handshake. ‘You’ll get there in time, Miss Tozer. You can put your money on Bede.’
Eve, an affectionate girl, kissed Weyman on the forehead; he blushed as if she had pulled back the sheets to get into bed with him. ‘Good luck to you, too. See Arthur Henty when you get to London. Tell him so far we are keeping to schedule.’
‘Second day out,’ said O’Malley sardonically. ‘I should hope so.’
‘That’s the only way I can bear to think,’ said Eve. ‘Day to day.’
‘Sorry,’ said O’Malley, and bit his tongue to remind it to be more careful in future.
An elderly servant drove Eve, O’Malley, Kern and Sun Nan in to the airfield. Sun Nan sat in the back with Eve and O’Malley, completely indifferent to the change of pilots in the third plane. He made no reference to Weyman, not enquiring about how his victim was this morning; and on the surface he looked equally uninterested in Weyman’s replacement. But he was studying Kern, certain that the German aristocrat, in his own way, had as many prejudices as the English working man. They were all the same here in the West and he would be glad to get back to China, where all the prejudices were honourable ones.
Bultmann and Pommer were waiting for them at the airfield. One of the airships had been brought out of its hangar and floated against the morning sun as it nosed a mooring mast. The Mercedes drove through the shadow of it and went down to the end of the airfield and the parked Bristols. Kern looked up at the huge shape above them.
‘Some day the sky will be full of those. There will be no room for fliers like us, Herr O’Malley.’
‘Let’s take-off, do a circuit and come back and shoot them down.’
For the first time Kern smiled directly at O’Malley. ‘Jolly good idea.’
The car pulled up in front of the three Bristols. O’Malley, certain that Kern was going to get his way with the class-conscious Bultmann, went to his plane and began to dismantle the Lewis gun in the rear cockpit. Then he did the same with the gun in what was now Kern’s plane. He stowed the guns in the cockpits, but left the Scarff rings still mounted. He jumped down from Kern’s plane as the latter and Eve came across to him.
‘We can put the guns back when we get into hostile territory,’ he said.
‘What is the point of them with nobody in the rear cockpit to fire them?’ said Kern.
‘They were Weyman’s idea. If we’re going to have to fight anyone, it’ll be on the ground, not in the air.’
‘A pity, don’t you think?’
‘Stop that sort of thinking, both of you!’ Eve snapped, turned and strode across to her plane. She gestured curtly to Sun Nan to get aboard, then she clambered up and settled into her own cockpit.
Kern looked across at her. ‘She would be a fiery woman in bed.’
The thought had crossed O’Malley’s mind, but he wouldn’t have voiced it. He was glad of an interruption from Bultmann. ‘I had all the tanks filled, Herr Baron. But there is one, er, small point. Who pays?’
Obviously the thought of payment had not occurred to Kern. He looked at Bultmann in surprise; but O’Malley came to his rescue. ‘Fräulein Tozer will pay you.’
‘A woman pays?’ said Bultmann.
‘A new custom,’ said O’Malley. ‘Equal rights.’
Bultmann, shaking his head at the decadence of the English and the Americans, went across to Eve. There was some discussion, then she handed him some English money. Bultmann looked at it as if not sure of its value, then he stepped back and bowed to Eve.
‘Do you want to take your machine up for a test flight before we start?’ O’Malley asked Kern. ‘You haven’t flown one of these before, have you?’
‘Hardly. But you and I are fliers, Herr O’Malley. Would you wish to have a test flight?’
Yes, thought O’Malley; but said no. But told himself it was the last time he was going to swap bravado with the arrogant Baron. ‘Shall we start then? Vienna is our first stop, to refuel.’
They took off into a cloudless sky, with O’Malley once more leading the way. He looked behind him and saw Kern lift his Bristol off the ground too soon: the Baron hadn’t allowed for the extra weight. The plane flew flat for several hundred feet, the nose threatening to point down; but Kern, as he had claimed, was a flier, a pilot who was part of his machine. O’Malley saw the plane wobble and he waited for it to stall; then the nose lifted and he knew Kern had it under control. It climbed steadily, swung round in a steady bank and fell in behind O’Malley. They headed east and soon were skirting the northern flanks of the Bavarian Alps. The flying was easy and O’Malley lay back in his wicker seat, occasionally turning his face up to the sun, listening to the music of his engine, marvelling at his good fortune. He felt sorry for Bradley Tozer, was apprehensive for him, but the American millionaire, involuntarily and through his daughter, had bought him a few weeks of escape. He looked across to his left and wondered if Kern had the same thoughts.
They landed at Vienna after three-and-a-half hours’ uneventful flying. Kern was first out of his plane and moved across at once to help Eve down from hers. Sun Nan, plump and awkward, was left to feel his own way down to earth. O’Malley, finding an English-speaking official, was left to superintend the refuelling of the planes and Kern, taking a small picnic box that his servant had packed, led Eve to the shade of some near-by rees.
Eve called to Sun Nan, gave him some food and asked him to take some across to O’Malley. The Chinese didn’t rebel at being asked to act as servant; he knew he was as much a partner in this foursome as the others, uneasy though the partnership might be. He gave O’Malley his lunch, then sat down under the wing of Eve’s plane and began munching his bread and sausage. The food was awkward in his mouth, dislodging his dental plate, and he longed for some nice smooth noodles.
‘I was here in Vienna before the war.’ Kern lay back on the grass. He had brought a wartime flying suit with him, but was not wearing it; like the others on this hot summer day he wore just street clothes. He was dressed in grey flannel trousers, a wide-collared silk shirt open at the neck and black-and-white shoes; again Eve had the mental picture of him as a gigolo. He looked at her appraisingly and she waited for him to pat the