The Great Martian War: The Gathering Storm Snippet #6

November, 1911, Eastchurch Naval Flying Center, England

“’Ey there, mate! Where d’ye think you’re goin’?”

Frederick Lindemann slowly turned to look at the source of the question. A short, bow-legged man in filthy coveralls stood a few paces away. Only a battered fatigue cap identified him as a member of the Royal Navy Flying Corps. Lindemann stared down at him and said: “Were you addressing me, my good man?”

“Bleedin’ well right I was! This is a navy establishment and civilians got no business ‘ere!” He scowled angrily under his bushy eyebrows.

Lindemann was tempted to ignore the rude little man, but thought better of it. “I have official business here. I’m scheduled to receive flight training. Can you tell me where to find Lieutenant Wildman-Lushington? I’m supposed to meet him here.”

“Flight training? You?” asked the man skeptically. “Y’ain’t even an Englishman, are ye?”

Lindemann frowned. Sometimes his German accent could be a terrible nuisance. “I assure you that I am a citizen of the Empire. And the sentries at the gate seemed satisfied with my credentials. Now can you tell me where I might find the lieutenant?”

The man’s scowl grew even deeper and he looked him up and down, but finally he turned and pointed. “’E’s probably in that ‘angar over there.” He walked away without another word.

The indicated structure was on the other side of the large grass landing field, at least four hundred yards away. It had rained the night before and his shoes were soaking wet by the time he reached the hangar. Eastchurch was on the southern shore of the Thames estuary and a chill, damp breeze was blowing in from the North Sea.

There were several aircraft sitting in front of the hangar and a number of mechanics were working on them. They took no notice of him, so he went on into the large shed-like structure. There were more aircraft and workers there, but no one who looked like an officer, or a pilot. Well, there was one fellow, sitting on a bench by one wall, who was wearing a coverall that Lindemann recognized as flying gear and he clutched a leather helmet. But despite his rather chubby and baby-like face, he seemed a bit old to be a pilot. In fact, he looked familiar…

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Lieutenant Wildman-Lushington,” said Lindemann. “Is he about?”

“Oh, he was here a moment ago,” replied the man. “I imagine he’ll be back shortly. He’s giving me some flying instructions in a little while.”

“Really? I was supposed to meet him here for that very purpose, as well.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “In just a few minutes, in fact.”

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I may have jumped the queue, here. I was forced to change my schedule and the lieutenant was kind enough to fit me in.”

Lindemann frowned. This had all been arranged. How dare this fellow push in front of him? “And you are…?” he said coldly.

“Churchill, Winston Churchill. And you?”

Lindemann blinked. “Churchill? You - you’re the First Lord of the Admiralty… sir?” In an instant he realized why the man looked familiar.

“For the moment. And you?”

“Lindemann, Professor Frederick Lindemann. I… I uh work at the National Physical Laboratory. I’m on the Advisory Committee for Aeronautics.”

“Really? Why that’s splendid. I know some of the men in charge over there. And a professor? You look so young, you must be very good at whatever you do. A professor of what, may I ask?”

“Physics, from the University of Berlin.” He didn’t add that he’d graduated the previous spring—nor that he was only twenty-five. “I’m attempting to apply experimental physics to aeronautics. As I’m sure you know, the engineering aspects of flight have far outstripped our understanding of the physics behind it all.”

“If you say so,” said Churchill, smiling. “Never had a head for numbers, I’m afraid. I would not have even passed the examination for Sandhurst without help from Mr. Mayo, one of the masters at Harrow. He convinced me that mathematics was not a hopeless bog of nonsense, and that there were meanings and rhythms behind all of the hieroglyphics. He taught me enough to pass the examination, but that was in 1894 and I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it all since then.” He looked more closely at him. “But you, you understand all of that stuff. And now you are learning to fly…?”

“It seemed the logical thing to do. There are problems which need to be solved and I’ve always believed in direct experimentation. How can I do that if I don’t fly? But you, sir, with all your immense responsibilities, why would you be taking flying lessons?” Churchill, also quite young compared to your typical government ministers, held one of the most important posts in the Empire. He was responsible for the entire vast machine that was the Royal Navy. Surely, he had better things to do.

“It seemed the logical thing to do—although my wife surely disagrees!” He grinned, and in spite of himself Lindemann grinned back. He found himself liking Churchill. “But seriously, I’m very keen on aircraft. It seems to be the one field in which we have actually outdone the Martians. It would be madness not to exploit the advantage as much as we can. I got so sick of the Cabinet dragging its feet on the issue that I decided if they wouldn’t take the lead, then the navy would. And since I happen to be in charge of the navy, I was able to make it happen. But just reading reports about progress wasn’t enough. I want to see it firsthand.”

“I see, sir, very wise. Is… is this going to be your first lesson?”

“Oh no, not at all. I’ve doing this on and off since last spring. I’ve been up dozens of times.”

“You must be nearly ready to solo then.”

“Ha! I was ready a month ago! But the instructors won’t let me. I think they are so worried about letting a lord of the admiralty kill himself in one of their machines that they are making excuses to prevent me. Damned unfair of them, if you ask me.”

Lindemann found that his sympathies lay with the instructors rather than Churchill. They and their commanders must have been gnawing their fingernails down to the nub every time he went up. Aloud he said: “I’m sure they will let you soon, sir.”

“Perhaps. But physics, is it? Then you must have some understanding of the Martian science, too, don’t you?”

“I’m trying to acquire some. Because… of my mixed parentage—my father is German—I was denied access to such knowledge when I applied to university here. So I ended up in Berlin. I know those restrictions were lifted a few years ago, but I was already so far along in my studies there, I stayed and finished my degree. But now I’m home and I hope to fill in the gaps in my education.” There, he’d said it. How would Churchill react? He was half American himself, perhaps he would understand.

“Those damnable laws were foolish from the start,” he said, scowling and waving his hand. “Argued against them in the Commons until I was blue in the face. Didn’t help. But tell me: do you know anything about these blasted coil guns?”

“Sir? Yes, sir, a bit. They use an electromagnetic field to accelerate a projectile to high speed. They have range and striking power far in excess of conventional artillery.”

“Yes, that part’s been explained to me. It’s the detailed working of the things which elude me. As I’m sure you know, we’ve been putting the things into some of our warships, but there are always these technical issues. How can I make decisions about things I don’t understand? Jacky Fisher, the First Sea Lord, is always so keen about new things, but sometimes his enthusiasm outweighs his good sense. But it’s hard for me to keep him in check about things when I can’t argue from a position of knowledge.”

“I can see how that would be difficult, sir. I’m not an expert on the coil guns, you understand, but perhaps I could help you.”

“That would be splendid! I’ve had scientists and engineers come talk to me, of course, but they are all these old, scratchy fellows who talk in that strange language of theirs. Perhaps a younger man, such as yourself could do a better job.”

“I’d be happy to try, sir.”

“Excellent! I’ll have someone get in touch with you and we’ll arrange a meeting. Oh, here comes the lieutenant, I must be off. A pleasure meeting you, Professor.” Churchill got up from his bench and went off with Wildman-Lushington. Lindemann watched them get into one of the aircraft and after a short delay, take off.

Normally, Lindemann would have been badly put out to be forced to wait like this, but meeting Churchill made it well worthwhile. Careers were often dependent upon who you knew and at the moment there were few people more worth knowing than Winston Churchill.