III
It took them, by Henry's watch, nineteen and a half hours to reach Khartoum. When they arrived, the city was burning.
The sky was just beginning to darken, and the clouds were glowing with the dusky oranges and grays peculiar to a desert sunset. It had not been an easy journey. The three renegades pushed their little craft hard, running her boiler at maximum for as long as they dared. At one point, the gears of the starboard propeller had been fouled by sand and dust, requiring a dangerous mid-air repair by James, who'd shimmied out along the propeller strut with a rag and oil can. Raheem had covered his eyes with his hands until James was pulled safely back aboard by Henry.
All three were beginning to feel their hunger acutely. Water from the skins they'd brought had helped to delay the onset of stomach pangs, but it wasn't enough. Henry was beginning to think he'd happily endure a court marshal and the brig for even just a bite of some stale, mealy army hardtack. They were counting on being able to gather provisions upon landing in the besieged city.
The Nile river, which had so far been their faithful guide south into the Sudan, forked now ahead of them. To the left, the Blue Nile, to the right, the White Nile, and on the estuary in between, Khartoum.
The city, save for the palace and some other government and religious buildings, and the now abandoned houses of European expatriates, consisted mainly of mud brick and adobe structures, covered over with thatch or timber. The city walls were stone, and surrounded it on three sides, while the length of the Blue Nile completed the square to the north.
Inside that square the fires raged. The Austrian mission was ablaze, and several other points within the relative safety of the old walls were burning balefully, red-orange light radiating outward among the lengthening shadows of evening. Smoke rose languidly from spots where fires had already burnt out or been quenched by the work of weary defenders. As Henry and the others watched, cannon from outside the city boomed. Most of the shots went wild, splashing into the Blue Nile or falling short to land harmlessly among the barbed wire ringing the city. But some found their marks, flattening homes or bringing down old minarets in a shower of hot metal and splintered stone.
Fires also burned beyond the city walls. The reports said Mohammed Ahmad, "The Mad Mahdi" who believed he was the reincarnated Prophet, had close to fifty thousand men laying siege to Gordon and his little army inside Khartoum. From their bird's eye vantage point the crew of the HMS Pegasus could see the thousands of campfires surrounding the city, winking in the deepening dusk, which proved the reports had been correct.
The Mahdi's soldiers were rough savages, one part religious fanatics and one part primitive tribesmen. But they'd broken the British square at Abu Klea, and almost overrun the clockwork artillery outside Tamai. And, of course, everyone in England remembered what had happened to Hicks. The Mahdists may be primitive, but they did not lack for cunning or barbaric intensity, and a spear to the gut could kill a man every bit as much as a rifle bullet.
James Billingsworth, considering it the duty of any good Englishman, was eager to meet them in battle. "Shall I begin our descent, Captain?" He saluted Henry with a grin, his teeth showing white underneath his pair of scuffed brass goggles.
"Aye aye Sub-Lieutenant Billingsworth, bring us down. And Raheem! Prepare the fore'ard armaments! We're likely to be in a bit of a dust up before this is over, I should think." As he spoke Henry carefully spun the helm and angled the airship toward the sprawling structure of the Hakim-dariya, the palace which dominated Khartoum's waterfront. If his guess was correct, they'd find General Charles Gordon there.
While Raheem moved torturously across the deck towards the single Gatling gun, gripping the railing hand-over-hand all the way forward, and James manned the steam pump to fill the ballonets and drive the Pegasus lower, Henry looked out across the battle-scarred city. Perhaps spurred on by the arrival of the British air scout, perhaps following a plan set in motion hours ago, the artillery barrage had intensified. Little puffs of white smoke appeared at several locations along the Mahdist lines, and at the outside range of his hearing, over the constant drone of the propellers, Emerson thought he could hear the rattle of musketry.
Suddenly there was a bright flash that drove the dark of early evening away and threw the city below them into an instant, stark contrast. It was followed immediately by the most cacophonous thunderclap Henry had heard outside of a visit to the artillery school at Woolwich.
His eyes were still seeing stars as James shouted, "What on earth was that?"
Slowly, the dazzling afterimages dissipated, and the smoke on the ground cleared enough for Henry to see that a large gash had been opened in the wall. Steam and smoke rose from an immense hole that lay smack dab in the middle of the city's defenses. Rubble and broken bodies surrounded it. Through it men wearing white robes with colored patches, wielding swords and shields and looking from the balloon above like particularly warlike ants, were streaming into Khartoum and already spreading throughout the maze-like streets.
One or two stopped, and he could see sparks of flame as they fired newly acquired rifles skyward. They wouldn't be able to hit the airship at this range, but as soon as James brought the Pegasus lower those rifles would become more than just a minor bother. Henry set a course as far away from the breach in the wall as possible.
"A mine." Raheem's deep rumble cut through the propeller noise and the distant din of battle. He was talking over his shoulder, incapable, apparently, of removing his hands from their white-knuckled grip around the Gatling gun's handle. "That was a mine," the Sikh continued, hardly seeming to raise his voice but easy to hear nonetheless, "Your man, this Mahdi, dug under the wall and planted this bomb," a pause, "I do not know if he lumbers, but he is no idiot."
Henry nodded grimly. They didn't have much time before the city was overrun. Already he could see knots of defenders, in their characteristic red Egyptian fezzes, fleeing from the walls and deeper into the illusory safety of the city.
The Pegasus was buzzing above the waterfront now. There was a flurry of activity as frightened residents and deserting soldiers loaded onto boats in a last ditch attempt to flee. Some stopped and pointed heavenward. Henry imagined he could see their faces, eyes full of a sudden, desperate hope, daring to think that a British army would be arriving any minute now, hot on the heels of its airborne vanguard to deliver them. He felt a sharp pang in his chest. They had room for General Gordon and his aides aboard the aircraft. No more.
"There!" James was practically jumping up and down as he abandoned his steam pump to point over the railing. Henry squinted before he saw it too. Two flags rising from a courtyard at the corner of the palace, one the red standard of Egypt's Khedive, the other the familiar Union Jack. He adjusted the airship's course.
As soon as the Pegasus arrived hovering over the courtyard Henry cut the propellers and threw down an anchor to snag on the underside of a stout wooden horse post. James added more air ballast to the ballonets and brought the airship even lower, until its immense bulk was almost at a level with the crenelated roof and its undercarriage sat evenly with the balcony running the length of the courtyard.
There was hardly anyone left within the palace, and the noise of battle outside the walls was growing louder. One man, not even a soldier, had stopped in the courtyard to gape at the floating apparition settling over his head.
It was this worthy to whom Henry addressed himself, leaning over the side, shouting to be heard, "Where is Gordon?"
There was a look of consternation on the other's face until Emerson repeated, "Gordon! Where is General Gordon?"
"Ah! Gordon, Gordon Pasha!" he pronounced it 'Ho-rdon,' the 'G' becoming a guttural sound in the back if his throat. His face darkened, "He will not come," then a smile, "I will take you to him."
Henry darted a look at James whose ruddy face broke into a wide grin, "Just be back quickly, old boy."
"If I'm not back in five minutes shove off without me," Henry held his friend's gaze to show he was serious.
James just laughed as he handed Emerson a rifle and a handful of cartridges, "And miss all the fun? The bleeding hell we will!" Emerson looked to Raheem for help, but the big artilleryman simply shrugged his shoulders and turned back to aiming his Gatling at the courtyard's entrance.
Henry sighed, took the firearm, slung its strap over his shoulder and, with one last exasperated look at the still grinning James, vaulted across the gap onto the stone balcony. He was met at the top of the stairs by his erstwhile guide; a slight man with dark skin, dressed in white servant's robes and still wearing an ingratiating smile.
"Good day sir, I am Tahir Saaed. I can take you to Gordon Pasha, but I tell you he will not come." His smile contrasted oddly with the sound of explosions and shouting just outside the palace walls.
"Yes, well, we'll see about that," Henry wondered what could prevent the great General from leaving, "Lead on, good fellow!"
With a short bow the Sudanese man turned and led Henry around the balcony and through an archway, across a long covered walkway, and finally to another open courtyard. He stopped in front of a wide wooden door, set deep into the stone wall. Windows sealed with thick, wooden shutter looked out across the fountain and palm trees below.
Henry hesitated and Tahir stood, still smiling, and gestured with his head toward the door. Emerson knocked.
His knock went unanswered and Henry frowned, and knocked again, more vigorously this time. Tahir was still smiling, but Henry could tell now that the smile was not obsequious or ingratiating; it was nervous, and the smaller man was fidgeting with his hands as he stood. Emerson was suddenly worried.
He pushed the door open abruptly, using his shoulder to move the heavy, ponderous wood. It groaned loudly and he slipped in as fast as he could, unslinging his rifle in the process.
"I'll not be leaving with you, Captain."
The room was opulently furnished. The fiery rays of the dying sun shone through glass windows onto elaborately carved native furniture, hand-dyed silk tapestries, and thick, wine colored rugs. A solid oaken desk dominated one side, and next to it a man stood, his back to the door, looking out the window at the rising columns of smoke in the distance. He was of middling height, though solidly built, with short cropped dark and gray hair and sideburns reaching almost to his jawline. Henry had seen enough drawings and lithographs of the man to know he also had a thick, trimmed mustache and penetrating, ice blue eyes. He held himself imperiously, every bit the British officer and gentleman. He was buckling on a pistol belt.
Henry stopped short and lowered his rifle, "I'm sorry?"
"I assume that's why you've come in that flying contraption of yours? I spotted it from the rooftop some time ago. You've come alone. I saw no steamers upriver, no cloud of dust on the horizon. That means there is no British army come to rescue Khartoum, there is only a lone British airship come to rescue me." Major General Charles George Gordon turned slowly from the window and transfixed Henry with his eyes, "And I'm telling you that I shall not be rescued."
Henry hesitated, skewered by his childhood hero's gaze. He took a breath, "Sir, the city will fall. The walls are breached, your men are fleeing, we saw-"
"I know what you saw, Captain, I do not care. I shall remain in Khartoum until either the city is delivered or the Mahdi cuts off my head himself."
"General, I regret to inform you the latter is much more likely than the former; the column is still at least two days away."
"Then so be it, I'm not afraid to go to my god as a martyr for the cause of Christian civilization and the Sudanese people."
"General," Henry pleaded, "the city is already lost, your sacrifice won't save lives or stop the Mahdi. But if we return you safely to the column and to Wolseley, we can convince them to come here faster and perhaps prevent further unpleasantness."
Instead of responding, Gordon walked purposefully around his desk and picked up a large ivory statuette. He held it out to Henry, who re-slung his rifle to take the thing in both hands. It was heavy, and depicted some pagan god, oversized lips and tongue leering up at the airship pilot.
"This was a gift from Iya, a woman here who gave it to me when I first landed a year ago. It is one of her household gods, an Orisha. It is meant to protect and watch over me." The General paused while Henry turned the statuette over in his hands. His next words were soft, almost a whisper, "I cannot leave these people to the mercies of a conquering army, Captain. I will share whatever fate they are meant to endure."
Henry slumped his shoulders, defeated, "I understand, General."
"Good. Now I suggest you scarper on back to Sir Garnet and let him know I'm still waiting at the pleasure of Her Majesty's government." Emerson nodded and the General made as if to go.
Henry stood back politely to let the famous man out the door ahead of him. He looked down at the statuette in his hands. As he turned it over he was struck by an unorthodox idea. But he couldn't; this was the Charles Gordon. He hefted the Orisha. Sod it. If Henry was the type to simply follow orders he wouldn't be here in the first place.
As soon as Gordon was past him, Emerson cracked him smartly in the back of the head with the ivory statue. The great General fell to the floor like a bag of ballast from an airship, unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Tahir, get in here you horrible scoundrel!" The manservant's face appeared at the door, his smile immediately turning to a look of shock as he rushed into the General's quarters.
"Don't worry, he's fine. He hit his head accidentally."
Tahir stopped short, and narrowed his eyes at the statuette in Henry's hand. The airship pilot looked down, looked back up and, affecting an air of pained innocence, placed the idol carefully on a nearby chest of drawers. Tahir's smile returned, this time with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Henry smiled too, "Grab his legs and help me get him aboard the Pegasus you damned rascal."
Tahir obliged and between the two of them they managed to carry the General, swaying side-to-side, out the door. As soon as they got outside, however, Henry heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire coming from the direction of his friends in the courtyard beyond. The erratic cracks of rifles blended in with the more constant roar of a Gatling.
"Hurry!" Henry almost dragged Gordon's limp body out of Tahir's hands in his haste. The two broke into a ragged, awkward jog back the way they had come.
When they finally emerged into the courtyard Henry was panting from exertion and sweating profusely in the dry desert heat. The General was a solidly built, wiry man, and he was not light.
The scene that greeted Emerson and his Sudanese ally was utter chaos. Bodies lay scattered in the courtyard below, James was swinging his rifle like a club at the head of an enemy soldier trying to clamber aboard the dirigible, and Raheem was barely visible, wreathed in a cloud of smoke and steam as he swept the Gatling back and forth across the open entrance to the courtyard, where a seemingly infinite supply of the Mahdi's followers were streaming in.
Henry, lowering his end of the General to the ground, unslung his rifle and carefully squeezed off a shot. The Mahdist in front of James staggered backwards clutching his belly, and tumbled down the stairs behind him. James turned, grinning wildly, his face so smudged with gunpowder and coal soot that his teeth shone like ivory. Henry wondered, not for the first time, if his friend was perhaps a little mad.
Billingsworth was shouting to be heard above the roar of Gatling fire and the hiss of the airship's boiler, "Had to delay the departure old boy, ran into a spot of bother with the local constabulary!" Yes, James was most certainly mad.
Henry sighed, got a grip under Gordon's armpits and, with Tahir, resumed their shuffling jog the remaining distance around the balcony.
"Watch it!"
He dropped his load and turned just in time to see an angry man with wild hair raising a sword. Henry stumbled and fell, tripping to land right on top of General Gordon. He fumbled for his rifle but his fingers felt like lead and the sword was on a downward trajectory now, tracing a path that would end inside Henry's skull.
Suddenly there was a "crack!" and the Mahdist with the wild hair dropped his sword and fell to his knees, a rapidly expanding blossom of red at his chest adding color to otherwise white robes. Another "crack!" and his head jerked back, pulling the body to rest on the stone pavement of the balcony.
Henry looked up to see Tahir, trembling slightly, and holding Gordon Pasha's still smoking pistol; he had pulled it from the unconscious General's belt just in time.
"Good show!" James jumped over and came to help them the last few yards to the waiting gondola. He grabbed the supine form of the General while Henry scrambled to his feet and Tahir, after reverently placing the pistol back in its holster, took hold of Gordon's legs.
James and Tahir man-handled the General into the open gondola of the Pegasus while Henry took aim at two Mahdists trying to gain the upper landing of the balcony. The breech-loading Martini-Henry made short work of them before they could reach the top of the stairs, sending their white-robed forms tumbling downwards like rag dolls.
Henry was coolly chambering another cartridge when he heard a cry from behind him. He spun around to see sword waving men spilling out the archway that led back to Gordon's apartment. The Mahdists must have got inside the palace through another entrance. He took a hasty shot at the frontrunner and saw the man stumble and fall face first, his sword flying from lifeless fingers to go skittering across the stone.
"Raheem!" Henry pointed to the new threat and the burly Sikh obliged, swinging his Gatling to bear. The heavy "chuck-chuck-chuck" of its action produced visible results; chunks of masonry exploded from the balcony and shrieking Mahdists twisted and fell, their blood painting the pock-marked stone walls a macabre red.
But enemy soldiers now were pouring into the courtyard below from multiple directions, and the group up top, though slowed by the Gatling fire, was coming determinedly on. It was time to go.
Tahir gave one final push from the balcony, James gave one final pull from the airship, and Charles Gordon was aboard the Pegasus.
Henry scrambled after him, "James, take us up!" and, turning back to Tahir on the balcony, beckoned with an outstretched arm, "Come on you sodding imbecile!"
Tahir hesitated, he looked down at the gap between the balcony and the railing of the airship, and the 30 foot drop to the flagstones of the courtyard. When he looked back up his eyes were wide and he was fidgeting with his hands again.
The airship began to rise as James vented the ballonets. Suddenly the pounding of the Gatling stopped and was replaced by a stream of curses in Punjabi. The Mahdists on the balcony surged forward, and those below began to bound up the stairs.
"They'll cut you to pieces, jump!" Henry urged.
The Pegasus rose still higher. A spear sailed past Henry's ear so close he flinched. "Why doesn't anyone ever want to get aboard my bloody airship?" he bit off under his breath.
A Mahdist, a fearsome looking fellow with a snarl and blood dripping from his viciously curved sword, was running full tilt, three strides away from the frightened manservant. He held his sword at the level, as if to run Tahir through. The loyal Sudanese turned and took one look at this approaching apparition before leaping like a frightened rabbit for Henry's waiting arms. It was almost too late.
Henry missed with one of his hands but lunged forward and grabbed hold of a wrist with the other. He strained against the sudden weight of Tahir's body, which threatened to pull them both off the airship. Bracing his feet on the railing he scrabbled with his free hand for something else to grab on the Sudanese manservant, now hanging precariously overboard like an overripe peach about to plummet from the tip of an overburdened branch. His grip on Tahir's wrist began to slip. His arm was burning and his fingers felt weak. Finally, by blind chance, his free hand touched on a bit of cloth; Tahir's robe. He seized it immediately and pulled, straining his whole body against gravity. With a grunt he wrenched Tahir bodily up and over, where both collapsed into a heap on the deck.
There was a dull "thunk" and Henry looked up to see a spear quivering on the railing in the space that, just moments before, his head had occupied. He breathed a sigh of relief. The airship was rising faster now, he would need to take his place at the helm. As he stood, however, a flurry of rifle shots below made him duck back down sharply.
"Henry!" James slid a loaded rifle across the deck, "They'll hit the balloon's envelope, help me pot these fellows!" Henry picked up the firearm and edged over to the railing.
But neither Briton, nor Raheem after he finally abandoned the empty Gatling, could do much to slacken the fire of the Mahdi's men below. As soon as one fell, another rushed to fill his place, and, in the confused maze of the palace and city streets, even seeing a target was frustratingly difficult. The hapless crew of the HMS Pegasus found they could do little but wait out the fusillade behind the sturdy wood gunwale of the airship until they finally ascended out of range.
When at last Henry was able to safely man the helm, and James could move about freely to inspect the damage, they were high above the city, drifting over the Blue Nile. The sun had fully set now, and only a hazy dusk remained. The city of Khartoum, however, was shining brightly. The intense light of the many fires below combined so that, at this height, the rapes and beheadings, the children about to be sold into slavery, and the keening wails of the bereaved were reduced to the cheerful flickerings of one, great funeral pyre.
Henry, exhausted, turned the ship north, back the way they'd come.