IV
General Gordon came to eight hours into their return journey. The Pegasus crashed one hour after that.
The damage to the airship's gas envelope had been grim, as James related to Henry in hurried whispers while the black of night set in and they fled the burning city.
"She won't make it to sunrise Henry, we can only choose whether we come down in the river or the desert."
The rucksacks of tools and ammunition were the first to go, thrown overboard to lighten the load even as the balloon above them slowly deflated, leaking gas through a half dozen bullet-sized holes. The rifles had been next, followed by most of the remaining supply of coal and, despite Raheem's vociferous protestations, the empty hulk of the Gatling, unscrewed and tipped forward to tumble, end over end, to the water below.
They made it to morning, but only just barely.
With the first tendrils of gray dawn came a stir from the prostrate figure on the deck. Lying close to the boiler, where Tahir had moved him for warmth during the bitter desert night, Charles "Chinese" Gordon groaned.
"Where in the blazes am I?" He sat up and rubbed his temples.
Henry adopted a look of concern, "Thank god you're alright sir! That fellow came out of nowhere, if it hadn't been for your stout mister Saaed here you'd have been finished."
Tahir looked up sharply.
Henry went on quickly, before the surprised manservant could contradict him, "Yes sir, one of those savages must have been lying in wait for you outside the door. He got a nasty knock in before Tahir could subdue the fellow. Your man is rather handy with a Webley."
The dark skinned Sudanese, kneeling to offer the last of their water to the General, narrowed his eyes at Henry who, as soon as Gordon looked away to gingerly inspect the back of his head, gave Tahir an exaggerated wink. Gordon's manservant, in sudden understanding, nodded.
"Turn this thing around."
The General, sitting, dirtied, nursing a half dozen bruises and scrapes, still cut a commanding figure. He had the regal air of a Roman patrician; used to being obeyed, and immediately.
Henry felt instantly compelled to turn the helm and take the airship back towards the doomed city, but he resisted. "Sir, I'm sorry, the garrison has fallen."
"My place is in Khartoum, nonetheless." The statement brooked no argument.
Henry argued, "Sir, we'll never reach it. The Pegasus is damaged, we're losing air and altitude. Our only hope is that Wolseley has put the column on the move or we're going to crash far from any possible succor."
"Damn Wolseley and damn your succor!" The General tried to stand, leaning heavily on the gunwale. "Turn this bloody contraption around. I'll walk back to the city if I have to!"
Henry was struck by a discomforting thought; they were going to die in this desert. If the crash didn't kill them then General Gordon and a lonely trek through the heat without any food certainly would.
Seeming to read his mind, Gordon's expression softened, "Lad, do you know what the most important thing about being a leader is?"
Henry shook his head. James looked up from his post at the steam pump.
"The most important thing about being a leader, is the people you lead. You are a servant. You cannot be a leader without a deep and abiding love for those who follow you. Without that you are a ruler, maybe, or a commander, but not a leader."
He met Henry's eyes, "A leader does not abandon people he loves, and death, however inevitable, is not the worst thing that can befall him."
Henry looked down, unable to answer. No one spoke, their silence accentuated by the creak of the rigging and the soft hiss of gas escaping from the balloon over their heads.
The quiet was shattered by James, who gave a shout.
Past the edge of his pointing finger, on a horizon just barely sketched out in early morning grays and blacks, there was a smudge.
"That's got to be the column Henry!" James was never one to let speculation get in the way of the opportunity for a confident assertion. "Wolseley's come!"
One course correction and forty five minutes later, and the column was clearly in sight. The thousand men of the Camel Corps led, in their dusky blue, bobbing up and down comically on their curious steeds. Next came the infantry, twelve hundred redcoats tramping through the dust, the crimson rays of the newborn sun reflecting off their rifles like a thousand individual points of fire. Finally came the clockwork artillery, a dozen steam engines threw black coal smoke into the air behind twelve trundling guns; light field pieces on wide platforms with thick wheels. The newest models out of the Benson ironworks.
At the very tip of the column was a knot of men on camels; Wolseley and his general staff. Several were gesturing towards the airship and one figure put a spyglass to his eye.
Henry smiled tiredly. He could barely stand. He and James had been awake through the night and the lack of food was causing his legs to tremble. He'd discovered that he could temporarily relieve the gnawing pain in his stomach by swallowing a large globule of saliva, but in the dry desert air his spit had long since run out. He was using his grip on the helm to help him remain upright.
"Sub-Lieutenant Billingsworth, bring us dow-" There was a loud tearing noise in the envelope above and the whole airship lurched. Henry struggled to keep his feet, Raheem fell and tumbled towards the prow, General Gordon clung desperately to some rigging. The Pegasus began descending landward at a rapid clip.
Henry tried frantically to slow their headlong fall, but nothing on the craft responded to his exertions. He saw they were headed straight for the group of officers and staff surrounding Sir Garnet Wolseley, several of whom, realizing their danger, were turning their mounts around and trying to scatter.
"Brace yourselves lads!" The ship was spinning now. Henry pulled himself behind the wheel and held on for dear life.
Land, sky, land, sky.
Land.
With a terrific crash the Pegasus finally came to earth. Henry was wrenched from his position and flung into the dirt. He landed on his shoulder and rolled several times before coming to a rest looking up at the orange tinged clouds.
He cursed. He couldn't move his right arm, and his left ankle throbbed. He remembered the nearby Generals. This was no time to be lying about; there were protocols to be observed.
With every muscle and bone in his body protesting, Henry gained his feet. He limped back to the remains of his command. Raheem and James were already up, leaning on each other for support. Tahir was nowhere to be seen, and neither was General Gordon.
Henry heard a cough behind him. He turned. There, astride a bored looking camel, was the famous General Garnet Wolseley, Peer of the Realm, Baron of Cairo, and Commander of the Gordon Relief Expedition. Behind him was the rest of his staff. Captain Stewart was among them, his arm in a sling and his expression dark. The General was looking down curiously at Henry, his eyes stern above his perfectly trimmed mustache, his pith helmet startlingly white.
Henry gulped. He came to attention and attempted to salute with his right arm but only managed a half-hearted shrug of his aching shoulder. General Wolseley frowned. Then, out of the corner of his eye Henry saw movement in the empty silk of the downed airship's balloon. Two figures emerged flailing from underneath the billowy red, white and blue material. All eyes in the General's staff went to those two figures and it was with some satisfaction that Henry saw them widen in surprise.
A sudden wave of dizziness overcame him and he could feel his vision narrowing. Henry swallowed thickly and gathered just enough energy to continue standing, roughly, at attention. Through dry, cracked lips he broke the shocked silence of the General and his aides, "Lord Wolseley, may I present to you Charles Gordon, Her Majesty's envoy to the Sudan, late of Khartoum."
End.