Broken Wing: A million deaths were not enough for Cassandra!

by Konig, Artor

  “Ease along, old fellow, just hold her steady and keep that hand small.” I instructed him as he held the craft straight and level once more.

  “Right.” He said, shaken but trying not to show it. That I had handed over to him at once seemed to help him settle his nerves and his control became much smoother. He narrowed his eyes, playing the craft across its range, pushing his control to the limits, finding each parameter, learning it and sticking within it. I could see that it was happening; that he was getting to the old competent/confident point. He had found his limits and now he was really learning to fly the Wren. Everything that had gone before was simply preparation for this transition.

  “Hey, Cassandra, it’s coming right; this is how it’s done!” He told me, the delight and sudden confidence shining from his face. He did not start showing off; that was the clue which told me he had learnt the lesson well. I glanced at the monitors, seeing just where and how we were. “Good show, James. Now head the Wren to the north-west and start cutting down a few layers.”

  “Right, boss.” He agreed. He looked ahead then at the compass, easing the craft’s nose slightly down and in the required direction. He soon saw where we were headed and took the initiative, as I was expecting him to do, “Homeward bound then?”

  “That’s right.” I agreed, “An hour-and-a-half is no joke for your first ride.”

  He was looking slightly pale, his forehead, what I could see of it, was furrowed and wet with perspiration. He seemed to collect himself and assess what was left of his stamina.

  “That seems sensible to me.” He conceded, his eyes measuring distances and velocity. “I’ll pull her out of the super-stage round about now, right?”

  “Spot on, captain.” I agreed; he was within thirty seconds in his decision and thereafter it didn’t really matter when he changed down. By the time he had reduced the craft’s hurtling velocity to well below one mach, we were in clear sight of the base. There was one Wren on the macadam, its rotors even then slowing up. As we made our final approach, we saw the craft trundle slowly back to the barn. The instructions we received were the same, land then return to the barn, spot number five, then the second berth within the barn. James brought the craft down for a perfect landing, her nose pointing in the right direction. He cut off the turbines then looked at me expectantly as the jets idled and the brakes held the craft immobile.

  “Go ahead James; park the poor, tired old bird.” I told him patiently.

  “Oh, I thought you were going to park it, well, let me see.” He frowned down at his controls. I told him the sequence to set his mind at rest and reassure him. He got to it, a pleased set to his shoulders as the craft responded sedately to his feet on the pedals. The Doctor and Brett stood aside as our craft passed, keeping well clear of the gently blazing exhausts. We found our spot and parked the craft. I heaved off my helmet while James shut down the craft’s systems, all but the reactor; that was self-monitoring and was shut down only for refuelling.

  The reactor and the craft’s security system were constantly operative, keeping a beady eye on exactly what was going on around her. We clambered down from the craft, not exactly keen on dashing forth into the rain that was still falling. I could see Brett and the Doctor hovering close to the wide doorway, either for the same motive or because they were waiting for us.

  Another of the Wrens came carefully through the doorway as we walked over to join them. Through the windscreens I saw Bernhart and Andrew. Bernhart was plainly furious, Andrew looked harassed. I saw that Andrew controlled the craft competently and I decided that he had arrived at this point in spite of Bernhart’s impatience.

  The Doctor was watching another of the five landing when we joined him. I glanced at the craft; the landing was neat but hardly perfect. Whoever it was had obviously had a long and tiring session. In silence we watched the Wren trundle past us. Craig was at the controls, Roger silent beside him and Ronald yabbering away behind them. Craig nodded at us as he guided the craft. Andrew and Bernhart came up behind us, silent, their quiet loaded with grimness. Quite obviously they had nothing further to say to each other.

  “Cassandra, how is James?” The Doctor asked me bluntly in greeting.

  “He’s got the hang of it; after another refresher I’d trust him solo.” I replied frankly.

  “Andrew, how do you feel?” The Doctor asked, seeing at once that Bernhart’s opinion at that moment would be somewhat biased.

  “I’d like another shot at it; I’m not perfectly in synch yet and I figure another session will shape it up.” Andrew replied carefully; Bernhart snorted and looked at the last craft to come down.

  Number Two came down in a wide swoop, turning on her tail and settling deftly onto its spot. Almost as the wheels touched down the craft started forwards, the turbines cutting off and the jets deftly reversed for a moment to slow down the rotors. By the time the craft was level with us the rotors were stationary. Peter looked cheerful, Simon was relaxed and June appeared to be laughing though we could hear nothing but the rumble of the jets at low thrust. The craft trundled to its Nest, turning on its axis so the nose pointed to the door. The jets cut off, leaving the air ringing in the silence of the rain. Through that drenching downpour came a long figure well-wrapped in oilskins and waving an umbrella over his head. “Where’s that June?” Jim demanded, “The little monkey; I want a word with her.”

  “About peppermint tea?” I asked innocently.

  “Don’t you start.” Jim fumed, “As a matter of fact, yes. She told me the wrong tin, dash it all.”

  “So you made some, then?” James said eagerly, “I’d love to try a cuppa.”

  “You have it and welcome.” Jim told him, “Have the whole pot but keep the poisonous stuff away from me. I can’t even step into the house for the stench.”

  “It’s about tea time.” The Doctor said, looking at his watch, “We have done jolly well for today; I think we’ll take the rest of the day off. Jim, start the check-up; June’s already begun on Number Two; where’s Harry?”

  “Here, doc; I’ll get to it, then.” Harry replied briskly

  “Go ahead.” The Doctor replied, turning to walk briskly across the wide floor. Jim muttered something dark about tea, glared at June then tramped along to Number One. After a look around I trotted after the Doctor. The pilots looked about them then decided to make the dash to where that noxious peppermint tea awaited them. The wide barn was nearly silent, the drum of rain on the old slate roof drowning any sounds we chose to make. I was just behind the Doctor when he opened the passenger door to Number Four, the craft I had landed in.

  “D’you mind if I watch?” I asked him humbly as he turned a searching glance on me.

  “Not at all, Cassandra; it’s a routine check of the reactor, the inertialess drive and its peripheral feeds and controls, to make sure everything is in order. Come along; the more you learn the better. Apart from actual refuelling the reactor is never opened.” He led me to the back of the craft. He pressed his thumb onto a spot high on the wall of the craft right at the back. A panel slid back, exposing the sullen grey platinum-iridium lump of the reactor housing. I peered into the hatch as he went over the monitors on its surface, explaining each and pointing out the power and heat lines. Most of what he said meant little to me; once he had explained that the reactor was photonuclear rather than thermonuclear he rather lost me.

  He checked it with exact care but quickly. He then had a look at the other radioactive system, the inertialess drive. It was part of the reactor housing itself, riding just below the bulk of the reactor. Once he was happy with it, we left the craft and looked about us. June had finished with number Two and One, Harry was just emerging from number Five and Jim was still occupied with number Three. We drifted away from them, towards the door.

  “Are you happy with progress, Doctor?” I asked carefully.

  He looked sharply at me before answering, “Happy enough with the Wrens and with your progress; why do you ask?” He replied.
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  “Will we be ready for whatever it is when it comes?” I asked bluntly, “And how much can you tell me about it, anyway?”

  “I hope I’ll be ready.” The Doctor said quietly, looking out into the rain as Harry went over to join Jim. “As to what it is; I’m not sure. All I know is that it is headed directly for us, coming in devilishly fast and almost with purpose; but I’m not sure of that.” He turned to look carefully at me, “I’m telling you because you already seem to know about it in a general way. But I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself; the others do not know; and I do not intend to tell them until I can be absolutely sure myself, sure enough to act. Will you do that, Cassandra? Keep faith with me on this; I will be depending heavily on you all the way through, so I will keep you up to date on what I find out, but it’s all so tenuous, so damnably elusive. I dare not speak until I am sure.” He shook his head, irritated and vexed, but obviously pleased to have got that little bit of nothing off his chest. He had left me more or less where I had been before, convinced but uncertain. I turned to watch the others as they came up behind us, cheerful and full of life, ready to give their full measure but blissfully in the dark.

  7. Leave-taking

  “Well, Cassandra, did you enjoy yourself today?” June asked me as she came up with Jim and Harry. Not waiting for an answer she went on, “I enjoyed myself for sure; it’s a good thing you asked me to come along for the ride. That Simon really is a golden boy, isn’t he?”

  I looked at her in a vaguely bemused manner, wondering just how to reply to this sudden torrent, pondering whether or not she actually required an answer to any of her questions. She noticed the look at once and laughed, “Never mind me, love; my tongue is running away with itself again. Peter did jolly well with the Wren. As for Simon there was never any doubt, was there?”

  “Peter I expected no trouble with either.” The Doctor told her, “He’s got the edge on the other nine-fivers having both jet and combat experience. Brett came through well enough but the one I’m worried about is Craig. That landing was pretty bad for a nine-four.”

  “He’s not in synch yet, Doctor. It took James an hour before he clicked. Craig needs a patient and less talkative teacher. He had Ronald and Roger together to teach him, don’t forget, and although the two Ro’s get on like a house on fire it can be a bit distracting when you’re trying to fly a craft as demanding as the Wren.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Cassandra.” He conceded, looking into the gloom.

  “And you took a hell of a chance with me.” I carried on, “Letting me fly cold like that with all of us on board. I have no experience, don’t forget.”

  “That wasn’t a risk.” He told me cheerfully, “You could fly an ironing-board with flippers and still make it dance. Come along people, and let’s get a bit of tea.”

  “I hope that stench from that blasted peppermint has cleared.” Jim said moodily, “Won’t I rub your nose in the mud, you.” He glared at June who looked innocently back.

  “There’s some lemon tea somewhere.” She consoled him, “I’ll get you a cup of that.”

  “You bloody well won’t, not and live.” He told her crossly. He marched off into the rain, his head bowed slightly beneath his brolly. June and I darted after him, crowding under this scant shelter. We splashed cheerfully through the puddles on the macadam, hearing the hurried tread of the Doctor and Harry as they made a splendid run for it. We were all more-or-less soaked by the time we had made it to the farmhouse, all but Jim, who was an old hand at that game.

  The scent of peppermint had dissipated and the scent of more conventional tea greeted us as we stood in the hall.

  “Get dry quickly Cassandra pet,” June instructed me, “And have a quick cuppa then we’ll get a good supper on for the boys; I think we ought to celebrate, don’t you?”

  “Solid sort of plan.” I agreed, “Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with lashings of Brussels sprouts and gravy, some spuds and maybe a few onions to round it off.”

  “Something like that; I’ll let you free in the old fridge to see what there is.” She turned down the side passage towards her room while I trotted to my own. It was my third change and second shower, but I wasn’t going to stint myself.

  It was in the shower that I realised just how wrung out I was; five hours of flying and three hours of teaching, although I was the first to admit that teaching Simon had hardly been hard work. I let my muscles relax under the massage of those hot needles, feeling the luxury of steam a balm on my skin. I found myself a tracksuit and shoved it on. My slippers adorned my feet, the mournful puppy-faces defending my toes from the creeping cold. I trotted busily along to the kitchen where Bernhart and James were busy mashing a pot of tea. How two men could make heavy weather of such a task I knew not; but they were glad of the helping hand I gave them.

  “Thanks for looking after Jimmy-boy for me.” Bernhart told brusquely, “It seems to me that I’m a bit impatient with leather-heads and lead-boots.”

  “You did a terrific job, Cassandra.” James told me, “I was just explaining to Bernhart how you ran the show.”

  “Yeah, I must apologise to poor old Andrew; I gave him a bad time but he came through well in spite of it.” Bernhart mused, just as Andrew came in through the door behind him, “There you are, but where’s the tea?”

  “Here you are, old bean; trot along with it, there’s a good chap.” Bernhart told him in a friendly voice; the closest he could cudgel himself to an actual apology. Andrew seemed to realise that; and he nodded amiably to the other man as we all turned from the kitchen.

  Simon had usurped my spot next to June; he had his arm over her shoulder and it was plain to me how matters stood. I sighed a small sigh and took over the only single-seater in the room, the wide and comfortable armchair that had been Simon’s. I turned my attention to my tea and biscuits, leaving the room to its own means. I found that I was rather hungry as well as being tired. The conversation drifted around me, the large room accommodating the crowd but not too easily. I looked up when the Doctor strode into the room, sleek and neat as always, as if he had not just been pounding through the rain. He glanced over us quickly, helped himself to a mug of tea but remained standing.

  “Tomorrow,” He began, “Brett, Craig, Andrew and James will have a second session. Simon will coach Andrew, Cassandra will coach James, Roger will coach Brett and I will coach Craig. I would like the rest of you to get your things ready to move during that time. After that is over we will get all our tackle together and make our next move. It is on this point that I would most like your attention; here, stuck in the middle of Britain, trapped in the midst of all these people, is not the place I want the Wrens to be. For a start there will be too much interference in our affairs by the government and the inevitable pressure that they will bring to bear on us once they realise the potential of the Wrens. I have therefore taken the trouble, with my crew, of preparing an alternative accommodation for us right out in the northern Pacific. It is a lonely atoll with a single high peak on the edge of a lagoon, with enough secure room for the fleet and all nineteen of us. The place is called Black Crag; I don’t expect you’ve heard of it.”

  The name certainly meant nothing to me then as I worked my way through my dwindling supply of tea and biscuits. The impression I found myself sitting with when he had finished telling us about it was a hot and sunny place with lots of sea and tents for us, maybe a jerry-rigged wooden job to house the fleet. I didn’t think it would be a terribly good idea, but I said nothing; I knew the Doctor well enough by then not to go leaping at the first conclusion to come paddling along.

  It was then that I decided just how I was going to spend the next morning if James agreed. He was such an amiable fellow that I had no doubts on that score. The Doctor looked around to see how we were taking the news and I had a glance as well. There was no real surprise that the Doctor wanted to keep the fleet out of everybody’s clutches and there was a good bit of nodding of heads that he had made th
e most sensible move.

  I glanced at the old Ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, turning to have a look at June as I did so. She seemed to be very distracted by her conversation with Simon; and I was rather hungry. I decided to take matters into my own hands; at once standing and trotting busily out of the room. The kitchen was in darkness, the lights not yet switched on and the ruddy glow from one of the ranges giving the place a weird atmosphere. The little green LED numbers on the microwaves hovered in space, telling me it was slightly more than two hours until supper time. I felt this allowed me quite enough time for some gastronomically-aligned experimentation. I turned on the fluorescent lights, blinking a bit as the tubes flashed and flickered before flooding the room with cold white light. I wandered forlornly into the cold-room, heaving open the heavy door and turning on the interior light. As far as having free choice was concerned, I suppose I was free enough maybe; but the room was rather empty. There were many frosty shelves with the odd bit of grocery floating about with no apparent attention to order.

  I nosed about amongst the frozen goods, working out what was most likely to go down well amongst the boys. They were rather a mixed bunch from a wide array of backgrounds but June had already said that they were not fussy. Even so I wanted to put something rather special before them; this day had been exciting enough and I rather felt a good meal would be in order. I finally settled on a meal which wouldn’t be too terribly difficult to prepare but was likely to please most of them. Once I had decided what I was going to do I set about producing the Macaroni á là Cassandra with fine vigour. Halfway through the initial stages of this ambitious project Alex and Jim came trotting into the kitchen bent on digging up some more tea and maybe a few sandwiches.