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Time to Spare, Go by Air

Written by Jack Carroll

A pasture somewhere east of Eisenach

 

Brennermann was barely managing to hold onto the pile of mailbags between his arms. It was impossible to see what was under his feet.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Too late. His toe caught on the edge of a wheel rut. The whole load tumbled into the wagon with more of a thump than he'd intended. The unhitched mare over by the fence flicked an ear at the noise, then went on grazing.

He straightened up and passed the kneeboard he'd been carrying in his teeth to the postal clerk. "There you go, Franz. Inspect the seals, put your John Hancock here."

Dortmeir looked at him with a pained expression. "Who the devil is John Hancock?"

"Some politician. I forget what he signed."

"You've been hanging around the Americans too long." He eyed Brennermann's baseball cap, emblazoned with the Bamberg Charters winged BC. "You even dress like them."

"Try flying a plane some time, and you'll find out why."

Franz glanced at the mailbags and scribbled his signature on the receipt. "Anyway, Erich, I'm surprised to see you on the ground. It's usually just a drop-and-snatch out here."

"Couldn't. See the FRAGILE sticker on this box? The boss doesn't want any damage claims. Well, there's still some daylight left. I'll be off as soon as the outgoing is strapped down."

"Nothing today, except what went east on the train."

"Oh? No sense burning fuel just to deadhead back to Erfurt, then. I'll stake down the plane and sluice off the damn cow manure before it turns into rock, then go see Garsch about parking myself in his loft for the night."

"Dortmeir! Dortmeir, there! Is this the driver who can speed me to Mansfeld in time for the creditors' meeting?"

Erich and Franz both turned to look at the newcomer. The booming bass voice belonged to a beefy man in late middle age, dressed in a sumptuous but somewhat old-fashioned style. The floppy hat had probably belonged to his father. His full beard could have too, for that matter. He strode across the field like he owned it, which wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

Erich raised an eyebrow. "You wish to charter my company's plane, Herr . . . ? That may or may not be possible, it's under contract to the Air Post at the moment."

"I am Councilman Felbers, and I have urgent business to attend to." The corner of his mouth quirked for a moment. "Just how strongly do you wish to have this expensive dirt-moving work done that I keep being pestered about?"

"You have it exactly backwards, Herr Felbers. If you wish to have air service to this cluster of villages with any regularity, it will be necessary to construct a landing strip that doesn't turn into a mud pit every time it rains. Not to mention putting it in a safer spot, especially if you want to be served by anything bigger and faster than this little butterfly here. Why do you think we pick up the mail on the fly? But that discussion is above my position in the company. On this immediate matter, when do you need to be in Mansfeld?"

"The meeting is at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Of course, I would need a little time to change out of traveling clothes and present a proper appearance."

"Well, then, it's simple. Is that your carriage on the other side of the fence? You need to get down to the trackside platform right away, flag the next eastbound train, and change at Jena. I hate to pass up business, but that's the surest way of getting there by that time. And it would certainly be far less expensive."

Felbers half-raised his hand, palm-down. "No doubt it would be. However, the mayor of Gotha is hosting a recital of nineteenth century waltzes and polkas tonight, and it's of the greatest importance that my good Frau and I should attend. Only then could I depart."

"Well, the plane couldn't. If we don't take off now, and I mean right now, the next opportunity will be at first light. That would be cutting it close, if there are any difficulties at all with the weather. In any case, I'd need to clear any new charter with my employer. Before this goes any further, I'd better go send him a radiogram. He should be at his desk right now."

Franz shook his head. "Can't. Something's blown in young Eckert's toy of a spark transmitter. He mailed an order for magnet wire this afternoon."

"Hmm. Well, I'll try the aircraft radio. Might be able to get a relay through somebody in flight."

"If you can find somebody still flying this late in the day. Good luck with that."

****

Erich stepped down from the lower wing and latched the pilot's side door. Franz raised an eyebrow. Erich shook his head. No radio contact.

He mulled over the situation as he walked back to where the two men were standing. Everyone knew the crash the previous spring was still having its lingering effects on the company's finances, so any chance to make some money was welcome—as long as it wasn't made under false pretenses. The boss had a reputation to protect.

"Well, Herr Felbers, the Imperial Post has nothing for me in the morning, and I have no orders from the company. It seems to be my decision."

Dortmeir smirked. "So what now, O Pilot in Command?"

Felbers snapped to alertness like a ram facing a challenger, one hand on his hip and the other flung out toward his carriage. "Command? My coachman doesn't command, I do!"

Brennermann had seen it all before. The local big frog was afraid to show any sign of weakness, for fear of losing his grip on affairs. Fine, he could sympathize, up to a point. But he wasn't about to start bowing like some well-trained servant. He shifted into a posture he'd picked up from some of his American friends. It wasn't superior, and it wasn't servile. It simply said nothing at all about status. It was just . . . plain. His tone of voice was equally plain.

"An airplane isn't a coach. I carry the same authority as the captain of a ship, and the same responsibility, for the same reasons.

"Under the circumstances, I can offer only a best-efforts contract. If the weather or anything else is unsafe to fly, we stay on the ground until it is safe. I want to make that perfectly clear. Now, with that understood, do you want me to dig a charter form out of my map bag?"

****

The sun was well up when Felbers appeared on horseback, spotted with mud, accompanied by a groom. There was no way anything with wheels could have made it. A thin blanket of mist hovered above the wet grass. Erich had long since finished his pre-flight checklist; now he was enjoying the Rotvogel singing in one of the trees at the upper end of the field. Felbers barely glanced up.

"Ho, Brennermann! You and your flying coach are ready, I see? I regret the delay. Unfortunately, there were difficulties on the road."

Erich sighed. "I can well believe it. It would have made no difference if you had been here at dawn. The way the heavens opened last night, it was like trying to sleep inside a drum. You can see all the puddles and mudholes here. It will be at least two hours before this field is firm enough for a takeoff. Let's get your baggage secured, and then I'll show you how to fasten and adjust the seat harness."

Felbers goggled at the heavy leather belts. "What on earth is this? You tie passengers up?"

"No, Herr Felbers. I could just say 'captain's orders,' but this is serious business, and you'd better understand what it's about. You see this lever coming up from the floor? It's called the stick. I control the plane with it. Now, right over there in front of us is a hill, and to get out of this field we have to take off straight at it. As soon as we clear the trees, I'm going to roll the plane steeply to the left and make a hard turn. If a wind gust hit us the wrong way, you could be thrown out of your seat and onto my right arm. We'd be dead two seconds later. So we strap ourselves into our seats."

****

Erich looked one more time at the peeled stake he'd driven in the ground to mark the go/no-go point. This wasn't going to get any better any time soon. If he'd had any sense, he'd have ferried the plane to Eisenach last night, or maybe Erfurt where they had something resembling a runway, and let his passenger join him on the first train. Well. He ran the engine up to full power and let go the brakes. The plane rattled like a haycart as the wheels bumped over the rough ground. The sticky, gluey ground. Even light and rolling down the field's gentle slope, the airspeed came up a lot more slowly than he liked, but after fifty yards or so, a grassy hummock tossed them up for a moment so the straining engine could gain them some airspeed. She lifted, accelerating in ground effect to best-angle-of-climb speed. Back on the stick, and up above the treetops into a crosswind that bounced them sideways. Then hard over on the rudder pedals and stick, into a perfect air-show turn that squashed them straight down into their seats.

Erich was impressed. For someone who'd never flown before, Felbers showed remarkable steadiness. He stiffened as the horizon tilted and the hillside flashed by, but nothing more than a momentary hiss escaped his lips, and he kept his hands and feet well away from the controls.

Brennermann turned his attention to holding the departure heading and best-rate-of-climb airspeed.

"This is most uncomfortable."

"I'm uncomfortable too. We can both loosen our harnesses a little as soon as we're above the hills and on course to Erfurt."

Felbers' forehead furrowed. "What? Erfurt? That's only a few miles away. Why would you stop there?"

"Because it's the nearest place where I can get fuel and decent weather information. At the moment, we have only enough to reach Grantville safely, and that's the wrong direction altogether. And everything about this trip will depend on the weather."

"Wonderful. A pity you couldn't have gotten it earlier. Well, we're traveling, at least."

****

Berthold Felbers turned to the side window, to watch the countryside pass by. It really was a glorious morning, with the dew still on the trees and the sun lighting a few puffy clouds to the east. Suddenly his eye fell on a new clearing a couple of miles away. What? I know for a fact that village doesn't have a right to cut wood there. Hmm. Maybe I'll pay them a visit, and pointedly do them the favor of not noticing it. Never hurts to be owed a favor.

****

By the time Erich got back to the plane, Felbers was leaning against the lower wing holding a bag of sandwiches from a workmen's cook shop across the road. He stiffened at the expression on Brennermann's face, and the railroad timetable clutched in his hand on top of a sheaf of handwritten notes and a navigation chart. He pointed his finger at it. "What's that supposed to be for? Some kind of a switch?"

Brennermann shook his head. "Unfortunately, the weather situation is marginal. I'd hoped that if we could get off early enough, we could get there before the usual afternoon storms and set down in the field outside Mansfeld that we use for postal drops. But it's impossible today. The railroad stations are reporting rain and low ceilings all the way up the Elbe valley, and the mountains are too close by to attempt a descent in those conditions. The alternative is to overtake the train that left last night and set you down at one of the towns that has a passenger station. From there you can get to Mansfeld. As of now, we have a good chance of success with that plan."

"Hmmph. And if that doesn't work?"

"Then we retreat to a safe airport where we can land without problems. Because we might still have to. For that reason, I'm loading the plane with all the fuel it can lift."

Felbers shot to his feet. His hand clenched on a wing strut. "What? I'm paying you to get me to Mansfeld, not make excuses. I expect results!"

"Herr Felbers, you had your spectacles on when you read that contract. You know exactly what it says. Do you fully understand why it says that? If not, I will explain. Flying is inherently dangerous. The only way it can be made even slightly safe is by unswerving adherence to the rules. Every one of those rules was learned at the cost of somebody's blood. If you think you're testing me, let me inform you that this is not a business negotiation. My first duty as a pilot is to keep us safe.

"Now, then. I will get you there if the weather permits. The weather is in the hands of the Lord Almighty alone. Still want to go?"

****

"Bravo Charlie Zero Five taking the runway at Erfurt."

"Charlie Zero Five, cleared for takeoff." That was a surprise. The tower controller must have come on duty a few minutes early. Erich clicked his mike twice, to acknowledge.

Because of the nearby army depot, this airfield was roomy and well graded. Not paved, but dry and fairly level. This morning he needed all of it. He taxied right up to the fence, pivoted around with his tail wheel in the weeds, and held the brakes until the engine was roaring. The takeoff roll went on and on, and the climb-out was anything but lively. But it was a good long way to the mountains. Once out of the airport pattern and on course, he got the plane trimmed out so he could take his hand off the stick, and settled into a cruise climb.

He looked over at his passenger. Felbers had pulled some papers out of the portfolio he was using as a lap desk and started making marginal notes.

"If you don't mind my asking, Herr Felbers, who are you suing?"

"Eh? No, this isn't me. It's my wife's feather-headed nephew, Matthias. She's a joy, but her relations!" He sighed. "They get themselves into hot water and it falls to me to fish them out. There isn't anyone else to do it."

"Someone is suing him?"

"Almost. He has no head for business. Didn't imagine that called for serious study, I suppose. He was doing admirably with his studies in chemical engineering at this new college, until he let himself be talked into investing his whole inheritance—all of it—in a venture to get gold and silver from copper ore."

"Oho. Fell in with some silver-tongued alchemist, did he?"

"That was my first thought, but no. I sent a man to make inquiries. The method is altogether sound, and it works. Rather, it's just begun to work for him and his associates—the Grantvillers have been doing it for years. Our copper ore, it seems, is impure. Impure! The up-timers are so avid for insanely pure copper, that at first they set aside the sludge where the gold and silver lurk, as a nuisance to be attended to later. No, what the young bungler and his dreamy partners did was fail to watch the money. They ran out of it before turning a profit. And now the wolves are nipping at their heels, hoping to feast on something tasty, and I must drive them off for a little while." Felbers looked like just the man to drive off a small pack of wolves.

"They really get gold and silver that way? We hear of something new every day, it seems. Hmm. Well, I'll bear all of that in mind if ...