But the two pilots went over the weather reports from the ships at sea and Greenland stations with excruciating detail, checking temperatures and winds aloft, shifting
pressure zones, and then listening to the advice of the oldtimers who flew this part of the world the yearround.
"You'll never have a better time than right now," Captain T. C. Hampton of the RCAF told them. "You'll want to arrive at Narssarssuaq on the south lip of Greenland in daylight. Going in there at night is suicide. I'd recommend you go airborne at midnight or so. With your speed," he smiled, "you should get there with splendid visibility."
They gathered their notes. Hampton leaned on the counter and studied them.
"Hard to believe Lindbergh did this only three years ago."
"Assuredly," Foulois told him with as much dignity as he could muster. "But Lindbergh was mad, you know. He had only one engine and he was making the trip nonstop. He even fell asleep on the way and nearly splashed into the ocean. How he expected to stay awake with tea instead of coffee or good French brandy has never been explained."
"Besides," Cromwell added with a sniff of disdain, "you'll remember he took the easy way home. On a ship with his flying machine neatly tucked away in a large box."
"Have a good flight. Take care," Hampton told them as if they hadn't said a word. Nothing would help matters.
Anyone flying across the North Atlantic was crazy.
Jocko lay spreadeagled on the cabin floor, legs braced against seats, his head and shoulders over the open space where the floor hatch had been slid aside. He looked downward through powerful binoculars. He wanted to convey the incredible sense of wonder he felt, but trying to talk in the engine thunder and wind howling past the open hatch was impossible.
The whales. Magnificent! He'd never seen so many, and even from three thousand feet he saw clearly as they sent white spray cascading above them when they broke the surface. The plane was well into the northern reaches, and icebergs appeared as floating white sentinels. The flight was pure magic to him. He'd already dismissed his apprehensions; if that woman was completely at home up here he could hardly be less so. He felt a tug on his leg, and glanced about to see Indy motioning to him. Jocko slid the hatch closed and joined Indy and Gale.
"You have the look of a teacher on your face," he remarked to Indy.
"And yours is that of the student. The both of you," Indy told him. "You're right. School's on." Indy removed the camera from about his neck. He opened a leather case and brought forth a duplicate of the Leica he'd been carrying.
"I want you both to be able to work these things without delaying a moment when you'll need them. I'll carry one, you two will switch back and forth, but either one of you must be ready to shoot at any time we're flying."
Jocko had been studying the Leica. "I've seen many cameras. This is something new, isn't it?"
"Test models. Dr. Franck obtained one for us, the other came from Doctor Pencraft in London. They both have the right contacts with Leica. Now, much of this is going to be completely new to you. It was to me as well, so let me start at the beginning."
He went through his instructions with exacting stepbystep demonstrations.
"This model isn't on the market yet.
It's a Leica One with a factory model number One-B. We'll set up both cameras so they're identical in film, shutter speeds, everything."
The Leica 1B was virtually a handmade model, a 35mm package that used 35mm film in a roll of twentyfour exposures. "You load from the bottom. Normally each exposure for a camera like this must be wound by hand, using this winding and rewinding knob on top. But they've added a batterypowered autosystem so that as soon as you take one picture, the camera will set the film automatically for the next exposure. That way you can take pictures as rapidly as you work the button, here, and the film rotates into position for your next shot. Still with me? Good. Now, you won't have to set the system. Well, it will be different depending upon lighting conditions, but basically we'll keep things as simple as possible."
He passed them a film roll. "This is Plus X film. Its got an ASA of one hundred—"
"Which means?" Jocko asked.
"That's the film speed rating. Watch what I'm doing with the camera and where I leave the settings. That way you can doublecheck very quickly the way it's supposed to be with the long lens."
"Long lens?" Gale said.
"You don't need to remember these things," Indy told her. "Besides, you can bone up with the instruction booklet later. What it all means is that with this lens, if something is a long ways off, this thing functions like a telescope and brings it much closer. Something that's a dot with the regular lens will be a closeup shot with this lens. What I want you both to do is to shoot scenes outside—beyond—the airplane.
Icebergs, any ships we see, coming down over Greenland. Keep a record of the settings and the conditions. Don't worry about wasting film. Use all you want until you're completely comfortable with the system. The first chance we get we'll have the film processed so you can compare what you've been doing with the results.
From that point on I expect you both to be whizzes with this thing."
"Uhhuh," Jocko said.
"You have a lot of faith in us," Gale offered with a touch of sarcasm.
"Shouldn't I?"
Jocko said, "You're hoping we'll find something specific to take pictures of?
I'm trying to stay one step ahead of what you're after."
"Good point," Indy said. "And you're right. Something very specific."
Gale couldn't remain out of the exchange. "Which is?"
Indy leaned back in his seat, bracing himself against a sudden lurch from turbulence.
"A disc. A scimitar, or whatever shape those things are. In short, a flying saucer. Call it what you like, but it most likely will be flying and it won't have any engines." He almost added the words "that you can see," but kept that to himself.
Besides, both Gale and Jocko were staring at him in open disbelief.
"But, Indy!" Gale exclaimed. "Everything you've said at the meetings, the way you ridiculed . . . I mean, you've made it clear you don't believe in these things!"
He corrected them. "I believe in them, all right. I just don't believe they're from any other planet than good old Earth. They're real. In fact, I'm counting on them to come after us."
Foulois was walking back from the cockpit to talk to them. "I don't think you want to miss this. We've got visual on Greenland. You can take turns up front."
Gale stared out the cabin windows. "I didn't even notice it was daylight!"
"That Canadian, he was right about the weather. We've had a tailwind of better than sixty miles an hour out of Goose Bay. We're way ahead of schedule. And with the light so low on the horizon, the sight before us is— well—"
He smiled. "Ladies first, Gale."
She eased into the right seat. "I . . . I never imagined it could be so beautiful!" she said to Cromwell. She stared in wonder at the gleaming white icebergs drifting off the coast and the huge glaciers gripping the coastline. It was a fairyland of white, peaks and slopes and massive ice walls. "Will, how far out are we?" "What do you think?"
"Ten, fifteen miles, I guess."
"Well, then, this is likely the clearest and cleanest air you've ever been in.
That shoreline is seventy miles away."
She remained there several minutes, then left so Indy and Jocko could share the incredible sight before them.
Foulois returned to the cockpit. "Sorry, Indy. I'll need to be up here for this approach. The airport we're looking for, a bare strip, really, isn't on the coastline."
"Bloody well it isn't," Cromwell chimed in. "It's a killer. It lies up one of those fjords," he pointed ahead of them,
"about fifty miles inland. We're going to be weaving our way in between mountains five thousand feet high and we don't dare make any wrong turns, because then there's no way out. We must have the proper fjord, and then we thread the need
le." He chuckled. "It's really simple. You've got only one way to get in and when we leave we have only the same way out. And we must make a proper approach the first time."
"What if we don't?" Indy asked.
"Well, then, we go smashing into the mountain that's at the far end of the runway."
"Piece of cake, right?" Indy smiled.
"Certainly. If you do it right, that is."
The approach was a dazzling, exhilarating, terrifying, and enginethundering series of turns and twists through the narrowing walls of the fjord. Then, abruptly, the airstrip appeared before them, and Cromwell brought the trimotor down as if descending on a slope of glass. He taxied to
the small operations building. They were expected, and a small tractor towing a trailer with fuel drums moved immediately to the airplane. Both pilots worked with the ramp workers to fill their tanks as quickly as possible. They filled the oil tanks to capacity, and then Cromwell and Foulois went over the airplane from nose to tail, checking everything they could touch. By the time all work had been completed, it was early afternoon.
Cromwell went to talk to Indy. "We can stay overnight and leave in the morning before first light. Or we can take off right away, take turns sleeping, and go in to Iceland while it's still dark. If this wind keeps up, however, we'll have more than enough fuel to overfly Iceland and the Faeroes and make Scotland by sunrise.
Then we can pick wherever you want to set down."
"You're the pilot, Will. What do you say?"
"Press on, mate."
"Do it," Indy said. Twenty minutes later they were flying down the fjord toward the open sea.
Two hours later Gale grasped Indy's arm and shook him madly. "Wake up!"
she shouted, her mouth close against his ear. If he didn't come out of his sleep fog she swore she'd clamp teeth down on that ear.
Indy fairly shot up from his slouched position. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately. He glanced about him; everything seemed normal.
"The ship!" Gale exclaimed. "You've got to see this ship!"
She half dragged Indy to the opposite side of the cabin. They were at four thousand feet, a mixture of clouds another thousand feet beneath them, partially obscuring the view of the ocean surface. Then there was a break. Indy pressed his face to the window, eyes wide, and turned with a snarl. "The camera! Use that camera now!"
In a moment he had his own camera working. Nearly a mile beneath them, plowing the sea with a huge Vwake behind its passage, was the largest oceangoing ship he had ever seen. And he had never seen anything like this incredible tanker.
It was at least a thousand to twelve hundred feet in length. Instead of the booms and deck equipment of the average tanker, the entire vessel from stem to stern was a huge flat deck. On each side of the ship, long crossbraced beams extended outward. Thick smoke plumed from the huge stack that curved across the right side of the decking to hang over the vessel, its smoke casting a pall that extended out of sight. Indy shot half the roll in his camera, then grabbed a headset and mike and clamped it on his head.
"Will, this is Indy. You got me?" "Right. Go on."
"Do you have that ship below us in sight?" "We have had for quite a while.
I've never seen anything like it. It's absolutely gargantuan. And that deck. You could land anything on it. If that's what it's for."
"Never mind that right now. But you're right," Indy said in a rush. "Look, I want you to swing out to the side, use as much cloud cover as you can, and then I want you to make a run on that thing from its right side—"
"Starboard, yes."
"Hang the starboard! Just come up from astern along the right side, got it?
And when you do, give us all the speed this bucket's got. As soon as you clear the bow, break away sharply for a mile or two, and then climb as fast as you can."
Will and Rene were already following his orders; as they continued their exchange, the Ford dropped its nose, Indy felt and heard an increase in power, and the wind howled louder as their speed increased. "Take her down as fast as you can, Will. And be ready for anything, understand?"
"What in the devil are you expecting down there?" "We may have company. If we do we'll be getting pictures of it from back here."
"You expecting—" Will Cromwell halted his words for several moments as the Ford slammed into turbulence, shaking the airplane as if it were bouncing over railroad ties. Then they were out of the rough air. "You expecting aircraft this far out in the ocean?" "No."
"Then what, man?"
"You'll know when you see it. I'll stay on the intercom with you all the way through." Indy hung onto a seat brace as the Ford's nose swung violently from side to side, then straightened out again. "Can't you go any faster?"
"Certainly. But we won't have any wings to pull out of the dive. Never fear, we're flying faster than old Mr. Ford ever dreamed."
The trimotor came out of a screaming, curving descent, and as they leveled out Cromwell poured full power to the engines. As fast as they were flying, they seemed to be crawling against the huge structure of the ship plowing through the sea. Indy and Gale snapped pictures as fast as they could. They saw men, tiny stick figures against the backdrop of the massive vessel. They were almost to the bow when Jocko rushed to Indy's side, shouting over the roar of engines and wind.
"Company! Behind us to our right!"
"What is it?"
"You were right, Boss. Them are crazy things out there! They look like discs!"
"Gale! Save your film! Get over to the other side. There'll be something coming past us on our right, moving fast!
Go, go!"
He was back on the intercom. "Did you get that up front?"
"What's back there, Indy?"
"Jocko called them discs. They should go ripping right past us. They'll have to go far ahead of us. Will, the moment you see them break in front of us, give me everything you have for a climb. Get us into some clouds as fast as you can."
"Right, Guv." Put on the pressure cooker and Cromwell was Mr. Smooth himself. . . .
Indy scrambled to the opposite side of the cabin.
There they were!
Two of them.
Golden disc shapes coming up behind them at tremendous speed. They'd pass the Ford like it was going backwards. Gale was snapping pictures as fast as she could; Indy had his camera ready and started moving film through it. He couldn't take time to look for details. There'd be time for that later when the film was processed and he could study the prints.
He saw a blur of movement from his right, and sunlight splashed off bronzelike metal. The "disc" was more in the shape of an oval with a central circular bubble cockpit, and he'd bet his bottom dollar it was armor glass made specifically for strength. Despite the speed with which it hurtled past them, he had a moment to see that the glass dome wasn't glass all around, but sheets of flatpaned glass buttressed with metal stringers. It looked almost archaic against that oval shape.
The oval flashed out of sight. Indy tore off his headset and ran to the cockpit.
"Get right behind that thing!" he shouted to Cromwell.
"Hang on!" Cromwell shouted back, working the controls in a wild skidding maneuver to place them directly behind the path the disc had flown. Moments later Indy
smiled grimly to himself. It was exactly what he'd expected. But he'd chew all that over later. For now it was important to execute that timehonored maneuver of getting the blazes out of here while the getting was good.
"Will, climb. Climb as fast as you can and get us into some clouds. Head for Scotland, but do whatever you need to do to stay in the clouds."
As he spoke Will was coming back on the yoke, the throttles rammed forward for maximum power to haul the Ford up and around in a climbing turn.
"Indy, the way those things move, they'll be coming around right at us and—"
"No, they won't. Not that fast, I mean. Rene, you keep your eye on them as best you can. They'll have to go way out before they can come back to us
, and if I've figured this right, we'll be in the clouds by then."
Both pilots gave him startled looks. "How can you possibly know," Foulois asked slowly, "the way those things will fly?"
"Because I was expecting this meeting."
He left the cockpit, two dumbfounded pilots staring at him.
14
Until two years ago this very day, his family, his friends, his country, and much of the industrial, economic, and political world had known him as Konstantin LeBlanc Cordas. Each name represented powerful family ancestry and vast financial holdings in Russia, France, and Spain, with branch offices and holdings in a dozen other countries throughout the world.
Indiana Jones & the Sky Pirates Page 20
