Fabulous Flight

by Robert Lawson

  The blue of the sky was now more normal, the sea looked more like sea and less like aluminum. Peter turned his head to look back and the air promptly snatched off his oxygen mask. They must have reached lower altitudes, for he could breathe without it, but he had to keep his mouth closed. He was sure that if he opened it the rushing wind would blow him up like a toy balloon.

  It was fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, it must have been half an hour since he had dropped the deadly load, and nothing had happened. He began to wonder if this capsule was a hoax too.

  Then, far back on the distant horizon he saw a beautiful pink mushroom slowly grow from the sea. Higher and higher it rose, the top gently spreading out. Above it a small puff of paler pink floated a while, then dissolved. He wanted to call Gus’s attention to it but Gus was too busy to be disturbed. His outstretched head, his neck and body were as rigid as carved wood. Only the ever-quivering tips of his wings showed any sign of animation.

  The mushroom on the horizon was changing now. Its outlines grew less sharp, its color darker. It lost its form and began drifting away in a shapeless mass. It seemed incredible that this huge disturbance could have occurred so soundlessly. Then Peter realized that it was a hundred or more miles away. It would still be some time before the sound and the blast caught up to them.

  It caught up sooner than he had hoped. Above the shrill whine of their own progress there slowly developed a rumbling, roaring, rushing sound. It grew louder and louder. Gus turned his head for one quick look and redoubled his efforts. Across the sea was approaching a dark line of disturbed water.

  The blast struck them like the blow of a giant’s pillow. One moment they were shooting smoothly, the next Gus was flying end over end. The straps of the car tore loose. Pete’s Ideer went spinning in one direction, Peter in another. As he fell he caught one glimpse of Gus struggling valiantly, but helpless as a bit of down in the blast of an electric fan.

  They were not very high above the water, but to Peter the drop seemed endless. He tried to roll himself into a ball, but didn’t quite succeed. He struck the water awkwardly with a terrific splash. He felt a shooting pain in his chest, there was a rushing sound in his ears – then blackness. . . .

  The blackness changed to blue and then to pale green. He realized that he was struggling frantically toward the surface. A moment later he burst out into the sunshine, gulping great gasps of air which burned like fire. His flying suit had retained some air, making it quite buoyant. He rolled over on his back and floated quietly until his breathing became less labored.

  A confused sea had been kicked up by the blast. Now lifted high by a wave he saw Gus swimming aimlessly about. At the same moment Gus spied him and skittered slowly over. He spread one wing in the water and maneuvered it under Peter’s floating form, making a sort of feathered ramp. Up this Peter managed to crawl, then sprawled out on Gus’s broad back.

  “You O.K. Pete?” Gus inquired anxiously.

  “I think so,” Peter answered in a weak voice. “I hit the water awfully hard. It gave me a terrible pain in the chest, but it isn’t so bad now. I feel pretty shaky though.”

  “Sort of groggy myself,” Gus admitted. “Man oh man, but didn’t we set off a firecracker! That old Perfesser certainly knew his stuff. Glad that little pill’s out of the way, though. And to think of you carrying it around in your pocket!”

  They were silent for a while, then Gus continued worriedly, “You got to ride piggyback from now on, Pete. Last I see of the car she was half a mile away and goin’ strong. Sunk by now I reckon.”

  “Oh that’ll be all right,” Peter answered, “I’ve done it before.”

  “Not so sure it will be all right,” Gus pointed out. “You got no food and what’s worse you got no water, and we’re a long ways from home. What I figger is, we better head for the Bahamas. Got a good wind and we’d oughta make it by tomorrow morning, but you’re goin’ to be mighty thirsty ’fore then.”

  With a slightly sinking heart Peter realized that he was already thirsty. What with the shock, the salt water that he had swallowed and the blistering sun he craved a good cool drink intensely. However, he bravely said, “Oh I’ll be all right, Gus, besides, we may get a shower.”

  “Hopin’ for that,” Gus said. “Doubt we’ll hit any ’fore late afternoon, though. Well, we can’t do nothin’ but try, as they say. Give me five minutes more and I think I can take off. I’ll make all the speed I can, just you hang on tight.”

  With the choppy sea and his own exhaustion Gus had to make several tries before he could get off the water. When he finally succeeded he swung toward the west and soared off at an encouraging clip. There was an excellent tail wind, Gus flew close to the water and Peter could see from the way the waves skimmed past that they were making great speed.

  He was encouraged, but far from happy. The wind and the glaring sun made his salt-caked skin burn feverishly. His head ached, he felt dizzy, and the pain in his chest, though less, was still nagging. He thought sadly of the comforts of the lost car; the easy chair, the soft bunk – and the water tank! That was the worst blow of all.

  Gus, now recovered, was concentrated on his race against thirst. Banking, swerving, constantly feeling the air, he was making tremendous speed. Occasionally he would call back, “How you doin’, Pete?” and Peter would doggedly answer, “Fine, Gus, fine.” Toward midafternoon Peter blanked out. He never knew whether he went to sleep or fainted.

  He was waked by the delicious coolness of falling rain. Gus had at last located a shower and was now slowly circling under the streaming cloud. The rain washed the salt from Peter’s parched skin. He turned his face up and let the drops fall into his dry mouth. He made a funnel of his hands and secured several good sips.

  “How you doin’, Pete?” Gus called.

  “Oh, it’s wonderful, Gus, I feel much better.”

  “Well, take one more drink and then let’s get goin’. Still a long ways from home, as they say,” Gus laughed.

  Towards sunset they struck another shower and again Peter drank. He was hungry now, but the water was a great help. As darkness came down the air cooled and Peter’s wet clothes became dank and uncomfortable. He felt feverish, with occasional chills. The stars came out and the moon rose. He hooked his arms tightly over Gus’s shoulders and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Gus flew steadily on through the night.

  CHAPTER 15

  Back to Normalcy

  Peter was waked by a bright sun. He was lying on soft sand. Turning slightly he realized that he was nestled against Gus’s warm, feathery side. One broad wing covered him.

  “Well, Pete,” Gus asked, feeling the stir, “how you doin’?”

  Peter sat up and looked around. They were on the landward edge of a white beach. All around them was soft tropical greenery. Beyond the white sand danced bright blue waves. He could hear the trickle and gurgle of water. They were beside a clear bubbling spring that sent a tiny stream down to the beach.

  “Where are we?” Peter asked vaguely.

  “Island of San Salvador,” Gus answered, “in the Bahamas. Folks say it’s where Columbus landed, but I wouldn’t know, not being eddicated. Anyways, it’s where we landed and that’s a lot more important. Got in a few hours ago. How’s about a bath?”

  Peter, still sleepy, struggled out of his sodden clothes and plunged into the spring. He drank great gulps, his parched skin soaked up the cool fresh water. Gus, chuckling, flew off into the jungle and returned with some strange fruit. Peter didn’t know what it was, but it was delicious. He was still stiff and sore and sunburned, but the pain in his chest was almost gone. He felt ever so much better.

  “While you was sleeping,” Gus said, “I went over to the town, just to see the sights and hear the gossip. Seems there’s a great stew about our little explosion. Lot of ships radioed about it. None of ’em sunk, but they got quite a scare. Big tidal wave in Portugal and they expect one here any time. Whole world’s tryin’ to figger what done it.
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  “What I was thinkin’,” he went on thoughtfully, “is this. Your old man he’s goin’ to know what done it – and they’re all goin’ to be worried. They ain’t heard from you sence we left Paris. Seems to me we oughta get home soon’s we can, if you feel up to it.”

  “I’m fine,” Peter answered, “and you’re right. We ought to go right away. They’ll worry a lot.”

  He hastily donned his clothes, which had been drying on a bush, ate some more fruit, had another drink of water and hopped aboard. Gus ran a few steps down the beach and they were off again, this time northward.

  The warm fresh breeze and the sparkling blue waters refreshed them both. Shortly after noon they reached Florida and made a stop for Peter to have a drink and some more fruit. They hastened on north.

  As the sun set they were near Charleston. Gus sought a cove he knew and gorged himself on small tender shrimp. He peeled one or two and offered them to Peter. Peter had never eaten shrimp uncooked, but found these delicious. They rested a while and flew on. Again the moon rose and the stars came out. Peter slept now and then.

  The sun was just rising when they swept into Chesapeake Bay and started up the Potomac. It was still early when Gus wearily landed on the Pepperell driveway, beside the front terrace.

  Sam, the butler, sweeping the terrace, was slightly startled as the great bird came to rest. But he was galvanized into frantic activity at the sight of Peter stiffly dismounting. The broom dropped with a clatter. They could hear a siren-like bellow as Sam rushed through the house shouting, “Mr. Pepperell — Mrs. Pepperell — Miss Barbara! He’s come home — Mr. Peter’s come home!”

  “Well, Pete,” Gus said, “here we are. I’ll be gettin’ along over to Baltimore. Leave you to the family, as they say. I’ll drop around this afternoon.” He ran a few steps and took off. Peter stood alone in the drive.

  He was not alone long. The house erupted people. Martha, the cook, burst from the kitchen door, Lena, the housemaid, from somewhere else. Sam rushed back from the front door, the knocker rattling a loud tattoo. He was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara in various stages of disarray.

  There were hugs and tears, laughter and questions – chatteration beyond measure. They had heard of the great disturbance in the Atlantic – Mr. Pepperell had guessed its cause – they had sat up most of the last night, worrying. Barbara was concerned over Peter’s sunburn. Mrs. Pepperell insisted that he be put to bed at once and Dr. Chutney called.

  Peter settled things by announcing firmly, “I want breakfast. I want orange juice and hot biscuit and bacon and cocoa – and bacon and biscuit and bacon and cocoa.”

  It was a wonderful breakfast, one that lasted half the morning. Peter, alternating stuffings of bacon and hot biscuit, told the entire story. Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara gasped and turned pale at times. Mr. Pepperell grew red-faced, pulled his mustache and swelled with pride. Sam retailed everything to the kitchen.

  Suddenly Mr. Pepperell leaped up, exclaiming, “I must talk to the Secretary,” and dashed for the telephone. When he returned Peter asked his father if he had done right in disposing of the deadly capsule.

  “It was a grave risk,” Mr. Pepperell said, “but it was a fine and wise thing to do. You have performed a great service to humanity. The Secretary agrees with me in this. He is coming out this afternoon to thank you in person.”

  Peter, overladen with breakfast and exhausted by the excitement, agreed to a bath and a nap until lunch time. He had scarcely lain down, however, when Dr. Chutney arrived to look him over. The Doctor took his pulse, his blood pressure and everything else he could think of. He asked a great many questions and was especially interested in the pain in Peter’s chest, which was now completely gone. He listened for a long time with his stethoscope, then turned to Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara.

  “Considering all he has been through, he is in remarkably good shape,” he pronounced. “Sound as a bell. There seems, however, to be a slight disturbance of the sacro-pitulian-phalangic gland. I shall get in touch with Squarosa at once.”

  After luncheon a great many people arrived. There were two of Peter’s Colonel uncles, the Admiral, the Secretary for Defense, the Secretary of State and a great many others. Peter had to tell the whole story all over again. While describing how he had thrown the deadly capsule into the sea he absent-mindedly took the fake capsule from his pocket and slammed it on the floor. Everyone turned pale and one or two ladies screamed. Rather sheepishly Peter said, “It’s only sugar. I brought it for Barbara, for a souvenir.”

  Suddenly there came a sharp explosion from the front lawn. It was followed by another and another at evenly spaced intervals. They all crowded to the windows and beheld Peter’s small army drawn up in perfect array. Buck and the Mephitis Old Guards stood rigidly at attention, while the tiny field guns on the flanks barked out their salutes. They continued until twenty-one rounds had been fired.

  Peter was wondering at this unusual expenditure of ammunition when Sam loudly announced, "His excellency, the President of the United States!"

  The President entered briskly, followed by his military aide, who carried a small box. He shook hands all round, then turning to Peter made a short speech. Peter was too excited to understand most of it, but he did catch one phrase, " – the highest honor which is in my power to bestow.”

  The aide then opened the box and the President drew out a beautiful gold medal. It was suspended from a broad silk ribbon and was supposed to be hung around the neck, but as the medal itself was half as tall as Peter, the President was at a loss as to what to do. Barbara solved it by hanging the medal beside Peter on the back of his chair. Of course both she and Mrs. Pepperell were weeping, Mr. Pepperell was pulling his mustache and the two Colonels were blowing their noses very loudly.

  “Gee, I wish Gus were here,” Peter said. “He really deserves it more than I do.”

  “He on the turrus,” Sam volunteered, “I’ll ask him in.”

  Gus waddled in, hopped up on the arm of Peter’s chair and cried, “Well, Pete, how you doin’?”

  “Fine, Gus,” Peter laughed happily, “just fine. Look at the medal the President gave me. It really ought to go to you though.”

  “Aw shucks,” Gus protested, “I only done the taxiing. Personally myself, I’d just as soon have a bucket of shads.”

  An aide brought a message to the Secretary. He glanced at it and then came over to Peter and Gus.

  “This morning,” he said, smiling, “we at once notified the Zargonian Government of the great hoax which had been perpetrated on them. You will be glad to know that your friends Fisheye and Lumps Gallagher have been captured, almost intact, and turned over to the American Army authorities. They will at once be tried for desertion.

  “The Zargonian Ambassador also craves the honor of an audience with you tomorrow in order that he may invest you with the Grand Cross of St. Filbert, the Supreme Exalted Star of Zarg and several other things that I can’t make out.”

  “That’s fine,” Peter laughed, “perhaps he could bring along a bucket of shad for Gus.”

  The President departed, to the accompaniment of another twenty-one gun salute. Gus said, “Well Pete, I’m getting along. Don’t take any lead medals,” and took off for Baltimore. Gradually the other guests thinned out.

  Peter went out and complimented Buck on the splendid appearance and performance of the army. Barbara brought out his medal for them to admire and Peter shook hands all round.

  The Secretary, the Uncles and the Admiral stayed for dinner. It was a happy occasion. Sam dropped a tray of coffee cups, Mrs. Pepperell kissed the Secretary and Barbara the Admiral. Peter had to tell the entire story all over again and one of the Uncles made a long speech honoring Gus, which was received with cheers. Peter was pretty tired and soon went up to bed.

  No sooner was he tucked in, however, than Dr. Chutney appeared. He was accompanied by Dr. Squarosa and Dr. Squarosa was accompanied by two assistants carrying a great deal of apparatus.<
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  The two doctors did all sorts of things with red lights and blue lights, with things that sparked and things that buzzed and things that didn’t seem to do anything. Finally Dr. Squarosa polished his glasses and turned to Peter’s expectant family.

  “You will doubtless remember, Mrs. Pepperell,” he said, “my prediction, several years ago, that some unexpected shock or blow might return Peter’s sacro-pitulian-phalangic gland to its normal functioning. I can now state positively that his fall into the ocean did just that. From now on his growth will be perfectly normal. In fact, due to this, what we might call holiday, his growth will probably be far more rapid than usual. While I can not guarantee that he will ever attain to six feet two, I can safely say that within a very few years he will reach the normal size for his age.”

  Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara cried again and everyone said how wonderful it was. All except Peter; he was quite thoughtful.

  “I don’t know whether it will be so much fun being normal or not,” he finally said. “Gus certainly won’t like it, or Buck. Well, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  There was not much use worrying about it, so he went to sleep.

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