The Bridge of Silver Wings

by John Wiltshire

  “Then she’s got something in common with you, too. She’s arrived in Russia unable to speak with anyone.”

  Nikolas turned to him. “But I had my brother. Perhaps she’s mute because she has nothing to say on such an experience. Her parents and two brothers had gone skiing. Their car broke down. They had no survival equipment with them, and they perished. I’ve never been to America, but I didn’t realise it was possible to die in that way in a place of such conspicuous luxury and easy living.”

  “She was lucky she wasn’t with them.”

  Nikolas shrugged. “She may not see it that way.”

  Their boarding was announced—if it could be called that. A young man just shouted something in Russian, and they all stood up. Ben quickly went to the vending machine and emptied it of as many items as he could, stuffing them into their overnight bag. He’d forgotten he and Nikolas had very different ideas about what constituted proper feeding, and the whole day suddenly stretched ahead of him without the prospect of any decent food.

  They had to carry their own luggage across the tarmac, and Ben wheeled the heavy suitcase for the grandmother as she clutched her knitting bag. The girl wouldn’t part with her rucksack, either, even to place it in the hold with the rest of the cargo.

  Nikolas was eyeing the plane with an annoyed expression. He flicked a glance at Ben and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think they have first class.” The ancient Beechcraft didn’t even have a steward. The pilot and co-pilot wandered along the tarmac. One was eating a sandwich and scratching at his trousers, the other was texting.

  The passengers climbed in and took their seats. Ben clicked the ancient seatbelt in place. He gave Nikolas a tried and tested expression of disdain. Nikolas almost winced. “I’m sorry. I thought there’d be food on the plane.” He watched the other passengers settling themselves for a while then added softly, “If I told you again that I’m glad you’re here, would that help?” He stretched his hand a fraction and laced their fingers together briefly. Ben, staring out of the window, gave a small squeeze back.

  The take off was a bit rocky, but they were soon out over the endless expanse of trees. Ben thought he’d seen remote places before, but this was incredible. There was nothing but trees, just the occasional lake breaking up the monotony of green.

  Neither of them had thought to bring anything to read. Ben suggested he learn some Russian, so Nikolas agreed to teach him. They went over the basics, and as Ben was always a quick study of anything he put his mind to, within an hour he could ask for simple things and understand some of what Nikolas replied to him. He was very specific about the vocabulary he wanted to learn, to Nikolas’s obvious surprise, but he taught him whatever he asked.

  The American hunters had brought bottles of whisky onto the plane, and as there was no crew except for the two pilots, there was no one to stop them drinking. They weren’t getting punch drunk, but they were loud and tiring to be with in an enclosed space. Ben reckoned the father and sons, who he’d now nicknamed the missionaries, were probably praying for deliverance, but as they were a few rows behind, he couldn’t be sure. The girl spent the whole trip staring out of the window, but Ben could tell she was listening to his Russian lesson avidly. That he’d only asked for the lesson for her benefit in the first place had probably not occurred to her. The grandmother continued to knit and suck sweets. She occasionally chuckled at Ben’s pronunciation and repeated the phrase to herself, nodding.

  A few hours later, they’d just gotten into the basics of making friends in the schoolyard, a request that was making Nikolas frown with confusion, when the fat hunter stood up and made his way to the cockpit. They couldn’t hear what he said to the pilot, but he came back down the aisle with his thumbs up, grinning to his two companions. The next thing they knew, the plane began to bank to the right. It continued on this new course for some time and then began to descend over the forest, and suddenly a vast lake spread out below them. The pilot took them down to about a hundred feet over the water, the hunters whooping with delight as they saw flocks of wildfowl, disturbed by the noise, rising gracelessly from the deep blue and straining away. Ben saw the girl gripping the seat, her eyes tightly closed. He stood up, brushed past Nikolas and went up to the front of the cabin where the Americans were pointing out of the windows and laughing. He squatted down alongside their seats and smiled. “Hey, guys.”

  The handsome one answered, “What’s up, buddy?”

  Ben gave him a winning smile and then looked toward the cockpit, intending to ask them what was going on. The door was still open. The lake was close and impossibly blue through the glass.

  There was an incredibly loud bang, and the whole screen shattered.

  Some kind of projectile came through.

  The pilot threw his arms in front of his face. The thing hit him, and Ben saw blood splatter and a cloud of feathers. And then the plane dipped dramatically to one side.

  It all happened so quickly he only had time to turn his head back to look at Nikolas, while thinking, “This can’t be happening to us again,” and then one wing hit the water. Like a child doing a bad handstand, the whole plane pivoted around the wing. They were doing about a hundred knots, and the body of the plane slammed into the water. Ben felt himself flying. He knew he would hit some part of the cabin and be killed, broken. No seatbelt. He couldn’t believe it. He’d ridden a Ducati, been SAS, Black Ops, but he was going to be killed because he’d gotten up to remonstrate with some drunken hunters. But he didn’t hit anything. Suddenly, he was falling through open, fresh air, and then he hit water—cold, clear water. He sank, utterly disorientated. But he’d survived a fucking tsunami, and he wasn’t going to black out from hitting a damn lake. He fought to stay conscious and to swim toward the light, until finally he broke the surface.

  The plane was in three pieces; the wing had been torn off and was sinking fast. The tail section of the plane was sinking too, breaking away with ripping, tearing sparks from the front section. The side of the cockpit was missing, bare wires hanging down. He could see the pilot slumped in his seat, his face bloody. Sound returned to him; he gained some sense of self and began to swim toward the wreckage.

  § § §

  Nikolas had watched Ben approach the hunters, focusing, slightly inappropriately, perhaps, but very pleasantly, on the outline of the knife he could see strapped to Ben’s thigh under his combat pants. Ben didn’t normally display irritation with people in public—he was too English. He reckoned Ben was suffering from a blood-sugar dip and felt uncharacteristically guilty at making him miss all his meals. He reached down under the seat and pulled out their overnight bag, rummaging for some chocolate. He looked up to see how Ben’s intervention was being taken and saw him, in one split second, whip his head around to stare at him. Their eyes met, and Nikolas could read Ben’s expression as clear as if he’d spoken.

  Nikolas shouted in Russian, “We’re going to hit; brace yourself!” He curled up, and then it felt as if he were falling in a plunging elevator, his seatbelt at maximum strain, followed by a huge bang and a jolt as if his ribs were being crushed. The next thing he knew, his feet were wet, and the cold water was climbing rapidly up toward his knees. He released his seatbelt and fell into the aisle. Ben was gone. Everything was broken and Ben was gone. When he turned, he saw the back of the plane breaking away and sliding beneath the water.

  The father and his sons were freeing themselves from their belts; one had blood all over his face. He left them to it and turned to the grandmother and her granddaughter. The girl was still tightly curled up, her grandmother’s hand firm upon her back. She too was braced, but she was saying prayers loudly, over and over. Nikolas released their belts. The girl’s was stuck. He took out his knife and slashed it free. “You have to swim. We’re going down.” The grandmother nodded and yanked the girl’s arm. Nikolas tried to take away the girl’s knapsack, but she clung to it, swung it onto her back and glared at him. It was such a Ben look of derision Nikolas actually hear
d himself moan with pain.

  He turned around and staggered up the aisle against the angle of the sinking plane, calling out Ben’s name. He couldn’t see him. The hunters were groggily freeing themselves. He could have happily cut each of their throats and watched them bleed out, but he didn’t have time; he was still calling for Ben. He made it into the cockpit. The pilot was stunned. The co-pilot was trying to free him. Nikolas began to saw at the harness. Suddenly, there was an almighty lurch, and the cockpit was filled with a rush of water as it expelled the last of its air and began to sink. Nikolas was trapped against the instrument panel.

  Suddenly, a boot came through the shattered windscreen; he felt a hand grab his collar, he seized the arm, and as the plane sank around him, he was pulled free of the wreckage. He and Ben surfaced together. Ben gasped, “Anyone still in?” They dived again, but the plane was sinking too fast, and they couldn’t catch it. Surfacing again, they could see heads in the water. Nikolas grabbed Ben. “Are you okay?” Ben nodded. Nikolas pointed at the people in the water. “Help them to the shore.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We must salvage what we can.” Without waiting further, he took a deep breath and went under again.

  § § §

  Ben was in an agony of indecision. He couldn’t bear the thought of Nikolas alone, trying to enter the wreckage, but he knew he was needed on the surface. He swam to the group of survivors and saw the grandmother struggling to stay afloat. She had too many layers of clothing on. The granddaughter was trying to help her, but she was weighed down by her backpack. Her hat had come off somewhere in the crash, and her brilliant hair floated around her like tame, scarlet sea snakes. He swam between the struggling females, turned on his back and took the grandmother under her arms. “Hang on.” The girl nodded and clung to her grandmother’s knitting bag, which the old lady was still resolutely gripping. With powerful kicks, assisted by the girl, who seemed remarkably calm and together considering the situation, Ben swam them to shore. He dragged the old lady out and wadded straight back in.

  He ignored the other survivors; they all seemed to be swimming more or less competently toward the shore. He dived under the water but couldn’t see anything. The lake was incredibly deep and dark. Then he saw a glint of something, and Nikolas rose from the darkness. He had his knife between his teeth, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was the metal or the savage grin on Nikolas’s face he was seeing. Nikolas broke the surface and stowed his knife. He couldn’t speak at first but only shook his head. The depth of this Russian lake had defeated even his remarkable swimming ability. They swam back to the shore together.

  Nikolas rose from the edge of the water and stood tall, surveying the soaked, shivering group in front of him. He glanced around at the trees then lifted his face to the sun for a moment, and to everyone’s surprise, he began to laugh. He turned to Ben with a savage look of wild excitement in his eyes, until he saw Ben’s expression. Ben was staring thoughtfully at his own thigh. The material was shredded on one side, and to his astonishment there was a piece of aircraft sticking out of his flesh. He put a hand down to it to pull it out, but felt Nikolas’s hand on his. “Sit down.” Ben obeyed. He couldn’t have stayed standing if he’d tried. Nikolas eased apart the cloth and examined the wound. “You claimed you were okay.”

  Ben tried to give him one of his best looks at the accusatory tone, but even he could tell it wasn’t one of his most cutting. He just mumbled, rather feebly, “I couldn’t—can’t—feel it.”

  Nikolas muttered, “Yet.”

  Ben tried to laugh. “Thanks for that.”

  “Okaaay…” Nikolas glanced around their small group and asked sarcastically, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

  § § §

  Much to Nikolas’s surprise, for he really hadn’t expected anyone to respond to his mocking question, the old lady stood up and came a little stiffly toward them. She crouched down by Ben and shooed Nikolas further away. “I’m a nurse—midwife. Let me see. It’s nothing but a scratch.”

  Nikolas chuckled at her and translated for Ben, then informed her in Russian, “We have no first-aid kit. I could rescue nothing from the plane.”

  The old lady twitched her lips. “Fetch my bag.” Nikolas brought over her knitting bag, and she rummaged and came up with a sewing kit. She held it up with a smile. “What colour stitches shall we give your pretty friend? I think the green to match his eyes.”

  Nikolas translated again but added, “I think she fancies you.”

  Ben looked up at him through lowered lashes. “Are you jealous? Are you going to kill me?”

  Nikolas took his hand, turning it over in his. He stared directly into Ben’s eyes. “What do you think?”

  The grandmother, who announced her name was Ulyana Ivanovna, asked Nikolas in a sotto voice, “Does your friend speak Russian?” Nikolas shook his head. She nodded grimly. “He’ll need some help. Hold him. Don’t let him look. I’m usually pulling babies out, which relieves pain, but this’ll be the cause of it. I believe it’s gone in as far as the bone and has done much damage. Take off your shirt. When I pull the metal out, press it to the wound, and keep it on tight until I can sew him up. Do you understand?”

  “I’ve done this many times before, Babushka. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Hold him then.”

  “What’s she saying?” Ben was pale. Nikolas shifted over and lifted Ben’s shoulders into his lap, holding his head.

  “She says you’re too pretty for your own good, and if she were eighty years younger, you’d be hers.” He wrapped his strong arms around Ben’s head and nodded at her to begin. Into Ben’s ear he whispered, “But she can’t have you, lyubimyj, because you’re mine.” Ben tensed and bowed his back but didn’t make a sound. Nikolas kept his hands on Ben’s face, tilting it toward him so Ben wasn’t tempted to look down. “I don’t tell you enough how much I love you,” he murmured in Danish, their private language now. “You must remember to remind me to tell you. You’re very remiss in this. Who can I rely on in this life if I don’t have you, hmm?” He’d only meant to distract Ben with some foolishness, but suddenly the fear he’d felt when he’d thought Ben lost washed over him again, and he had to bury his face into Ben’s cool neck. It was utterly humiliating.

  It was only when Ulyana Ivanovna grabbed his hand and pressed it to Ben’s leg did Nikolas recover enough to do his part of the operation. She gave him a derisory scoff. “I’ve seen women push out triplets with less fuss than you two big babies are making. Press!”

  When he was stitched, Nikolas wrapped Ben’s leg with strips torn from his shirt, and then he rose to assess their situation.

  They needed to get dry and make some kind of shelter.

  They needed—

  They needed to do so many things he decided to take it one step at a time. He squatted down and pulled out his knife, laying it on the ground. He considered the group. “This is all I have, but it won’t be enough. What else do we have? You?” He focused on the three hunters. They’d just seen thousands of dollars worth of survival equipment and weapons sink to the bottom of the lake. They weren’t contributing anything except waterlogged mobile phones, which would have had no signal anyway. They were sober now though, so that was good. The father of the missionaries had nothing of use, but the younger son added a penknife to the ground. It was rather pathetic alongside Nikolas’s vast hunting knife. Nikolas took Ben’s knife when he passed it over, and that was it, three knives.

  Suddenly, the girl came shyly forward and handed Nikolas her backpack. He gave her a weary smile. “It’s all right. You keep that. We won’t need your toys.” She gave Ben a glance, a mute appeal for support, and tried to give the bag to Nikolas once more. He turned away to stow his knife, and she stamped her foot then flung the bag at him. Ben appealed quietly in Danish, “She wants to help. Take it. Just pretend, yeah?”

  “I don’t need the help of little girls.” Nevertheless, he opened the bag and pulled out a tin. It wa
s the size of a large cake tin and very sturdy. He levered off the top, and he and Ben stared silently at what it held. One item at the time, Nikolas removed the contents: a block of magnesium, a metal striker, some fish hooks, puri-tabs for water, a folding knife, a pack of surgical blades, a large ball of para-cord, cotton wool balls, a compass, a vacuum-packed space blanket, and, lastly, a can of insect repellent spray. Nikolas stared up at the girl. He held her gaze for a moment. “You’ve just saved all these lives. You alone.” Her eyes glazed with tears, and she turned back to sit with her grandmother, hugging her empty sack. Nikolas gently stretched out his hand. “May we have that as well?” She actually smiled a little and handed it over.

  Then the grandmother pushed her knitting bag into Nikolas’s hands. He turned to Ben. “Seriously?” Ben was laughing, although Nikolas could see it was taking some effort. In the bag was a large assortment of boiled sweets, knitting needles, soaking wet yarn, the sewing kit, and, at the bottom, a large roll of wet elastic, the sort for holding up sturdy midwife stockings—and a box of hair dye. She sighed as she handed this last one over, stroking the picture of the model’s beautiful glossy brown locks with evident relish. Nikolas and Ben studied the haul. Nikolas nodded.

  “We’ll light a fire, dry our clothes and think about what’s to be done.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Afterwards, when he was sitting by the fire, his clothes drying and the redolent smell of wood smoke drifting up in the cold air, Ben reflected that having a lover who could still surprise you after so many years was probably a good thing.

  At the time, he hadn’t seen it in quite such a positive light when, after his thoughtful announcement, Nikolas had stared off into the distance for a moment, nodded, then turned to the fat American and laid him out cold upon the ground. No warning, no explanation, no apology. It was an explosion of power and speed that had taken them all unawares, including Ben, who’d seen Nikolas move very fast on one or two occasions, and who thought he’d known first-hand just how strong he was.