“That would be protein LZ,” she said with less tension, “I’ll alert them and have the Doctor standing by.”
“Thank you Base,” I said adjusting our heading to a southeast direction.
Chapter 55
Between the strobes and the spotlights, protein Landing Zone looked like an ember among the ashes. At first, a small spot of light on the gray horizon then a warm glowing half circle, finally a well-lit landing pad with flashing lights.
The women ran to the helicopter before I could unstrap. Ashok and Wassily were on stretchers with IV drips by the time I stepped onto the cargo deck. I watched as they were rushed away.
“They’ll be well taken care of,” a tall blond woman said from outside the hatch, “I’m Lieutenant Bryndís of the Nafaka Regional Authority. Are you in need of medical assistance?”
“No ma’am, what I need are a few hours of sleep,” I explained, “Some food and a block and tackle system.”
“I understand the first two,” she said cocking her head and smiling, “What’s with the pulley system?”
“My cargo. I dumped it out in the boonies,” I explained as I sat down and yawned, “I’ve got to retrieve it in the morning.”
I remember stretching out my legs and leaning back.
Beating blades woke me to a clear morning. My neck cracked as I sorted out my bones and cramped muscles. I pushed out of the seat as if I were two hundred years old. Lieutenant Bryndís appeared in the hatch.
“Breakfast as ordered,” she said placing a bucket and tray on the edge of the cargo deck, “Javelin’s inbound.”
My legs were dangling out of the hatch and I was enjoying breakfast. I was mid bite when Captain ‘Javelin’ Gesina and Sergeant Celso strolled around the copter.
“Morning Captain, Sergeant,” I said with a nod while chewing.
“J-Pop, did you go Grunt on me last night?” Javelin asked sternly in his slow draw.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation,” I replied.
Parts of the weapon cleaning kit were still spread out around the spotless rifle and pistol. Of course, I had cleaned them before eating. The two men eyed the dirty rod and rag and the empty magazines and the ammo belts. I hadn’t reloaded the extra magazines before eating, oops.
“The doctor said Wassily and Ashok will make it,” reported Celso, “She’s stabilized them and they’ll be shuttled off to plant Station later this morning.”
“That’s good news,” I said stepping out of the bird and stretching, “I’ve got to go and get my cargo.”
On the ground beside Celso’s foot were poles, pulleys and cables. I pointed to the gear. He moved and I proceeded to toss the equipment onto the cargo deck.
“How may Rebels?” Javelin asked.
“Ten to twelve, as near as I can figure,” I said as I stowed the pulley system and began to repack the cleaning kit, “Two less, then before.”
“That’s a second group of Rebels,” Celso stated to Javelin, “It’s looking more like an invasion then an uprising, Sir.”
“Best I can do is alert the Admiral, but she’s shorthanded for Combat Marines. And I don’t think a cluster of Navy types,” my Captain said looking hard at me, “Should be chasing down armed insurgents. Don’t you agree, Lieutenant?”
“Absolutely, Captain,” I said as sincerely as possible, “No way.”
“Download the location where you ‘found’ the Park Rangers,” Javelin instructed, “The Sergeant and I want to have a look at the area.”
“Yes, Sir, and I have cargo to retrieve,” I said holstering the pistol under my left elbow and lifting the rifle from where it leaned against the hatch.
“That’s some heavy weaponry for a helicopter pilot,” Javelin said pointing to the big pistol and the assault rifle.
“Sometimes not heavy enough,” I replied saluting the Captain and climbing into the cockpit, “Not near heavy enough.”
I found the four packages where I’d dumped them yesterday. It was easier to shove them out of the copter then it was to rig each to the pulley system. With a line anchored to the roof of the cargo deck, I threaded it around the first package and secured it with a clamp.
The weight wasn’t a problem as the system reduced the mass. It was the length and width and the unwieldy shapes that proved difficult. If there had been another pair of hands it would have gone quickly but, working by myself, it took an hour to reload the packages. Finally, I tied down the load and lifted off.
Lieutenant Bryndís was conferring with Captain Gesina and Sergeant Celso when I landed. A crew of ladies rushed over and soon had the packages on carts. As they wheeled away my cargo, I started walking towards the three.
Now that I had a few seconds, I looked around at protein Landing Zone. Off at the far end of the copter pad, large containers were being stacked by a monster forklift. As a container was placed, a team of people climbed up and latched the containers together. They repeated the process four more times until the containers were six high. This was a load of beef, pork and fowl for the protein Station. In all the work crews, I hadn’t seen a single man. The crews were all made up of women.
“Your turbo is sounding rough,” Javelin said as I approached, “and these look like they belong to someone. Definitely not a Park Ranger load out.” He dropped a few brass cartridges into my hand.
“Did you find anything or anyone?” I asked as I inspected the empty bullet casings.
“A lot of brass on a hill and blood stains on the hill across from the brass,” Celso replied for the Captain, “It looked like a very close up gunfight. Maybe too close for most people.”
“Well, if there is nothing else,” I said pocketing the brass, “I’ve got to get to Base and have my turbo checked.”
“Safe flight, Lieutenant,” Javelin said as he returned my salute.
The issue was Navy regulations considered a pilot who left his helicopter or aircraft in an unsecured location was considered AWOL. It was a courts marshal offense and something I didn’t need on my record. So the entire episode from last night was a simple emergency extraction according to my report.
Petty Officer Armel and Spacewoman 1st Class Arsenia were waiting on the Base landing pad when I touched down. They had more than their usual tool kits. Each stood beside a cart with spare parts. I suffered their accusatory sneers as I paused in the cargo area.
“She’s a little rough on start up,” I informed them as I jumped to the ground, “Plus there are several holes in the tail section. Looks to be from small arms fire.”
“Aye Sir, we’ll take care of her,” Arsenia replied as she climbed towards the engine.
Armel didn’t say anything. He just ran his hand over the bullet holes as if he was stroking a favorite horse. Maybe he was.
Senior Chief Dunya wasn’t sneering or yelling, she was calmly explaining why a pilot needed to use common sense during dark periods. Without communications between the pilot and Base, things could go wrong such as the loss of a helicopter and her pilot. I just nodded throughout the lecture.
Finally, I said, “Senior Chief, I am in desperate need of some sleep and a shower.”
“I agree Lieutenant, you smell like gun oil and cordite,” she said sniffing, “You smell like a bad day at the shooting range.”
“No comment,” I replied walking towards my quarters, “But not a bad day. Not bad at all.”
Chapter 56
The next week I was assigned a routine of mail runs, ferrying NRA officials and transporting personnel to LZs for rotation to the planet Station. We’d heard nothing from the two Rebel groups and that was fine with me. It was easy flying and I became more comfortable with the layout of the 49th’s area of operation on Nafaka. Late in the day at the end of the week, Chief Dunya stopped me as I walked into the radio room.
“J-Pop you’ve got a food run for the old man,” she said and did a data dump before I could respond, “Your schedule requires you to leave fishery LZ at 0300 hours with a load. Fly to fruit LZ
and load there. Same at vegetable LZ then stop at Base for refueling. You continue on and pick up loads at grain LZ and protein LZ. You will deliver them all to the old man in the mountains. Clear, Sir?”
I looked forward to seeing and speaking with the Druid Elder again. The schedule was rough but it did place me in the mountains late in the day. An overnight stay would give me time to get a few answers to some things that had troubled me for years.
“Why do it all in one day?” I asked as if logic was ever a consideration to Military planners, “It would be easier to make two trips.”
“Spoilage and rot, in order to save space, the food doesn’t come in refrigerated packages,” she said, “Plus we don’t have enough pilots to take one out of circulation for two days. So, it’s your call when you leave, just as long as you’re ready to depart fishery LZ at 0300 hours, Sir.”
It was 1600 hours. If I left in the next half hour I could make the 6-hour trip and get a few hours of sleep before retracing my flight path.
“Now’s as good a time as any,” I announced heading to my quarters to grab my gear, “See you in the morning, Chief.”
“Aye, Lieutenant, safe flying,” she responded.
I took my helicopter up above the monsoon clouds and powered to the south as the sun disappeared. Between the low weight of the empty helicopter and my manipulation of the fuel mixture, I made the trip in four and a half hours. This was apparent in the amount of fuel the bird consumed and the stiffness in my shoulders and legs. The lights of fishery LZ were a welcome sight. As I shut her down, the rain ended and a night fog rolled in and brought visibility to near zero. In hindsight, it was a good thing I pushed the engine because a half hour later, I would have been flying in circles trying to locate the landing zone.
At a quarter to three someone pounded on the side of the helicopter. I sat up rubbing my eyes.
“Your load is ready,” a man in the shadows said wheeling a cart up next to the deck, “Three crates of fish.”
He and another guy heaved the crates onto the deck and wandered away back into the darkness. I slid, pushed and shoved the crates to the center of the cargo deck. Now sweating in the humidity but fully awake thanks to the workout, I powered up and left fishery LZ behind.
The sun was just peeking above the horizon when I eased down to the LZ at fruit. A team was waiting for me and it was almost touch and go as they walked up and placed the crates onto my deck. The only thing that slowed the transition was my need to be sure the crates were strapped down properly.
In a rotary craft like my helicopter, balance is key. Overload one side and it will drag you into the dirt. Add to that the stress on the pilot of trying to maintain level flight, and let one thing go wrong, and you end up in the dirt. I enjoyed the sunrise as I scooted off to vegetable LZ with a well-balanced load.
The vegetable crates were added to my load but the distribution and power of the helicopter let me handle the crates easily. I wondered how she would handle when I added the mass from grain and protein.
At Base, I touched down at 0930 hours. After a quick breakfast and a walk to stretch my legs, I gave a short report to Senior Chief Dunya. After these chores, it was onward north to grain LZ. The load was added easily as the sacks were bulky but not heavy. It was after protein LZ, the weight became noticeable.
Protein LZ was empty at mid-morning except for two things. One was a truck piled with boxes parked beside the landing pad. The other was a helicopter that lifted off as I came over the horizon. I called but the pilot didn’t respond. I believe it was Princess. The boxes were for me and the weight was now noticeable.
My helicopter fought a long time to reach low cruising altitude. At this height, I would barely manage the mountain pass along the small river. If I attempted to climb over the mountain top, I’d be, well, I wouldn’t clear the peak. So I stayed to the center of the pass and just as the sun light began to fade, I dropped onto the mountain meadow.
Artair and sixteen Druids came out of the tree line in a single file. I recognized the Older Druid. Behind him a column of brown robes, in no specific order, followed the old man.
“Asthore’ Artair, food drop,” I announced looking up from where I was unstrapping the crates and sacks.
“You’ll spend the night?” he asked.
“If you have room for me?” I replied not knowing the layout or size of the Druid Monastery. It could have been a tent camp for all I knew.
“You carry and we’ll feed you,” the old man said with a smile.
It wasn’t a tent camp; it was a lodge constructed of logs with a long out building also constructed of logs. The lodge was two stories with open verandas that gave a view of the mountains. Again, it reminded me of the Clan homeland on Uno. The out building had a saw mill at one end, wood working stations that transitioned to wood carving areas at the far end. Like an assembly line, but without the robot machines, the Druid building was set up to produce exquisite gateway doors and perfectly jointed heart wheels.
After our tour, Artair guided me to my room where I dropped my overnight gear. He led me back down the rough wooden stairs to a great room. Most of the Druids were already seated at one really long table. Artair pointed me to a seat at the end of the table. He walked away and took the seat at the other end.
The meal was a highland style beef and vegetable stew with thick slices of hot bread. The Druids ate in silence like they were waiting for something. I hadn’t had a chance to quiz my host and his being eight seats away from me didn’t help. He set down his wooden spoon and pushed back his chair and stood. The Druids stopped eating. I did as well.
“Please brothers and sisters, continue with your repast,” he ordered mimicking the act of spooning food towards his mouth. The Druids restarted eating and, you bet, I did too.
“A long ago time when planet Uno had grown overcrowded,” he stated looking up at the high beams overhead in a voice so clear it echoed off the ceiling, “Countries and Clans pushed away their excess population. Most sent out their unwanted and most of these were slaughtered at the borders of their neighbors. The carnage worldwide, although horrible, wasn’t enough to ease the overpopulation.”
Here he stopped talking and walked down one side of the long table. As he walked, he touched the shoulder of each Druid on that side. Once beyond me, who he didn’t touch, he began talking again. This forced me to turn my head in order to see him.
“There were some open lands, most arid or barren, but all with strong war like people who weren’t overcrowded. Their war like nature and the many battles they fought culled their people. When the unwanted arrived they were beheaded or enslaved. The slaves died in droves, in misery, creating the mantra that it was better to lose your head then to bow in subservience.”
He became silent. A few long heart beats later, he walked the other side of the table placing a hand on each shoulder as he passed. Back where he started, he began to speak again. His voice clear and amplified.
“The highland of our Clan hadn’t escaped the excess humanity. We were punishing the land to feed the people. As farm land disappeared to make way for homes, we planted too often and the soil became depleted. The Clan Elders decided that we would also go out into the world. Only the Clan didn’t send out our weak and untrained,” he halted and we could hear him breathe as he inhaled then forced his breath towards the ceiling, “The best were selected. Farmers, warriors, woodworkers, metal workers, teachers, weavers, doctors, all strong, all proud Clan members. Two Elders accompanied each colony and they went forth. Even, into the open lands of the war bands. Some colonies vanished. Those that began to prosper were attacked again and again until they became disillusioned. The war people didn’t care for the help we offered. Our hands extended with gifts, were lopped off.”
He ceased his talk and walked completely around the table one and a half turns. This time he gave a wide berth to the seated Druids. When he stopped his wanderings, he was again behind me.
“Our colonies fought back but
the war people came from all around and the fight, now was not just for land but, for survival. The Elders talked and realized battles were too costly. Mass killing wouldn’t solve the overcrowding. It would simply hasten the death of our colonies. So they reached a decision. Into each colony one warrior would be sent. That warrior’s job was to bring darkness, fear and vengeance to any leader of the war people who touched the Clan.”
The Old man took two quick steps towards me and place his hands firmly on my shoulders.
“The Elders deemed these warriors Knight Protectors of the Clan. They went fourth and when the war people hurt a colony, the Knight hurt the leaders of the war people. When a Clan member was taken, the Knight brought them back leaving a wake of blood. Soon the war leaders learned to fear the Clan warrior. Tonight, we honor the newest Knight Protector of the Clan. Brothers and sisters, I present Knight Phelan Oscar Piran.”
I was shocked and couldn’t look up. But while my eyes were useless being clouded with moisture, my ears were working just fine.
“Asthore’ Knight Piran,” they were saying. Each Druid in a clear heartfelt voice said the words. The Elder was the only silent voice.
“You must now fight each member of this colony,” he instructed.
“Artair, I really don’t want to fight them,” I pleaded looking at the younger and older ones, “Someone might get hurt.”
“Skill, Phelan, simply a show of skill with the sticks,” he assured me while patting my shoulders in a reassuring manner.
The table and chairs were moved to the sides of the great room.
“You will begin with our youngest, Denzilee,” Artair pronounced motioning a young girl to step forward.
She was about seven and already swinging her sticks as she stepped into the center of the room. I was handed a pair of light weight fighting sticks.
Denzilee began with a low attack and I easily countered. After a few strikes, I found the weakness in her attack and could have easily disarmed her. Instead of humiliating her, I increased the tempo. She stayed with me and I eased off on the speed as she tired. We separated and I bowed to her.
Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station Page 30
