Destruction by Dawn

Schöneluft Log, 1900.07.05
Ulrik Manfred Adler, acting Captain

Much has happened in the last two days. We arrived over Pekin the morning of 3rd July, the eastern sky just starting to pale before dawn. It should have been lighter but there was heavy rain lashing the great window I steer by. A storm from the southwest; it will flood the south and blow out to sea without ever touching the parched and starving north.

I flew low in the heart of the storm, watching for threats and landmarks. The Imperial City is unchanged, but in the black fields outside its walls buildings once stood. The Methodist church is gone. I would never have recognized the German Legation; instead of nestled in its block it now stands at the edge of oblivion. The Customs House, the Austrian Legation, the Russian Bank and all the surrounding houses have been burned, reduced to rubble. The destruction is far worse than I imagined! Where is the Imperial Army? They should have been able to stop a mob of peasants.

As I approached the foreign quarter of the city, what I thought to be lightning took on an even more ominous character – firefight. Cannons or mortars flashed explosions of light against the clouds, thundering destruction in the heart of the ancient city. As I maneuvered the great ship closer, I heard the sharp pop of rifle fire.

The fight was in the street outside the German Legation. Philomena! The big guns were firing from the old city wall into the barricaded area in which the few remaining foreign buildings stood, protected only by sandbags, wooden fence, and brave men. I forgot the plight of the Chinese peasants, forgot the safety of the others on board, forgot my own doubts. I thought only of her.

I alerted the crew and passengers. Bypassing the klaxon I flipped the brass switch next to it, the silent alarm. Electric current passed into red glass lanterns all over the ship, flashing a warning. Our friend Herr Tesla designed this ingenious system for us. I studied the battle on the ground. I could not distinguish uniforms or flags in the dark, but could tell that men from the Legations were pressing the Chinese back along the city wall, from one bastion to the next.

“Où est la legation française?”

I drew my sword at the first word – I never heard Chef come in! He must have been pacing the corridor, waiting. I thought he was still drinking brandy in the billiard room. I sheathed the sword, but didn’t answer. Stubborn fellow won’t learn German; I’ll be damned if I’m learning French.

“Where is the Legation of France?”

English now, our compromise.

“Gone. Hold her steady, will you?”

Chef rubbed his eyes, staring at the destruction below.

“Come, man, lives are at stake!”

He took the wheel then, checking the instrument panel. I ran down to the lowest level of the ship, where the galley is attached, grabbing a munitions box on the way. There is no fighting platform on the Schöneluft. It is a family home, a laboratory, a pleasure yacht… I make do. I have a ladder prepared but don’t need it yet.

Lying in the open hatch I lit a smoke bomb and flung it behind the Chinese lines. Hardly a lethal attack, but blind and confused is not so bad. Four more followed before the fellows manning the mortar look up. The shock on their faces was amusing but short-lived, as they applied themselves to the cranks to re-aim the big gun up at the Schöneluft. I lighted a pair of flash bombs before they saw me, so flung them behind the gun as a parting gift. As they were backlit an allied sharpshooter found them. The gun was silenced for now, but there was another, and another crew would soon take over the first. Time to go.