“You learnt how to fly, didn’t you?” pleaded Stu, regaining his seat.
“I started, but was taken off and sent to navigator’s course.”
“Shit.”
Looking to each of the engines Chuck asked, “Engine status?”
“Outer right reduced revs, inner closed down and feathered. Outer left losing revs, fire is out, inner working ok.”
The control wheel was ripped out of Chuck’s hands. Grabbing it again, he pulled back with all his might, then looked to his left. “Get the Skipper off the wheel.”
With that under control, Chuck ordered, “Get rid of any extraneous weight, including ammunition.”
“What if we get attacked?”
“Either way, we won’t stay airborne.” Their aircraft continued to lose height.
“I can see the North Sea,” added Chuck, trying to reassure the rest of the crew.
Without a sound ‘Homeward Bound’ vibrated violently. Chuck fought with the controls.
“Shit, flak!”
“Evade it.”
“I can’t. A violent manoeuvre now could rip her apart.”
“Like what the flak is doin’ to us?”
Chuck guided the bomber through a gentle turn to the left, as they continued to lose height. A shell exploded under the right wing tip, putting the aircraft into a steep left turn. Wrestling with the controls he righted the beast only to find the right aileron flapping in the slipstream.
Another shell exploded close by, spraying shrapnel into the fuselage. The rest of the crew huddled low in the centre of the fuselage and prayed no shell exploded below them.
A loud bang from the outer left engine caught Chuck’s attention. He witnessed parts flying off, deciding it was better to be out of the engine, than in it.
“Feather right outer,” he ordered, fighting with the controls. “We need to lose more weight.”
“We’ve chucked everything out!”
“Well, rip stuff off the walls, chuck out seats, anything.” There was a pregnant pause. “Even our dead.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“No. Delay parachute deployment. Whichever side they land on, they’ll be buried.”
“The skipper stays!”
“Of course. He’s still alive.”
They continued to lose altitude, though slower now.
“Someone get up here and give me a hand with this control whe—”
“What?!” exclaimed Stu.
“There’s an aircraft climbing up towards us,” added Chuck, as Stu strained to look forward.
“Is it one of ours?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Chuck. “It’s in an aggressive frontal climb.”
“Oh shit, we have nothing to defend ourselves with. What the f—”
“When he gets close, I’ll lower the landing gear and flaps as a sign of surrender.”
The approaching fighter made a steep turn and came at them.
“Get the gear down!” yelled the engineer.
“I’m trying, the hydraulics must be shot away,” screamed Chuck, the flaps lowered a little, then jammed.
At the last minute, the German fighter altered course and flew in front of the dilapidated bomber, then down the left side, disappearing from the flight crew’s vision.
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know!”
“Well get in the controller’s dome and tell me!” yelled Chuck. “Is he going to screw us from behind?”
The piston engine fighter next appeared on their right, went around the front of ‘Homeward Bound’, and at a slower speed turned under them and disappeared from view again. It reappeared within seconds at the right wing tip.
“He’s toying with us,” remarked Mac from his lookout.
Climbing slightly, the German fighter side slipped towards and above the bomber, then he lowered his flaps and reduced power to both engines, positioning himself just off the right-wing tip. Chuck saw him gesturing with his hand, pointing across their Superfortress to the left. Chuck mimicked him, receiving a nod of approval.
“His airfield must be down that way,” remarked Chuck.
As gently as he could, Chuck made a shallow left turn, watching the German pilot all the time. Soon he received a signal to stop. He straightened out of the turn, getting a nod of approval. Now the signal was to fly straight ahead. Together they flew in formation for many minutes, then out over the North Sea.
Side-slipping the fighter away from the bomber, he fired all his guns into vacant air, came back closer and waved. Chuck saluted him. The German fighter peeled off and headed back towards the coast.
“He’s pointed us home,” whispered Chuck, tears forming in his eyes. He would see Sally today after all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: GORDON Clarke has had articles published in several magazines over the decades, that have included ‘Flightpath’ and the now defunct ‘Quasar’. The latter magazine included an article over 30 years ago, about a then unknown astronomer, Caroline Herschel, that lamented the fact that women in science were just left out of history. He has published an historical non-fiction book “This Smuttee Squadron” and is currently working on another non-fiction and an historical fiction book.
He tries to read as widely as possible, but the favourite genres are non-fiction, historical and science fiction. With a short story in that last genre looking for a home. His limited vices are his wife, chocolate, ice cream and rhum and of course in that order.
The Old Mage by Phoenix Addison
THE FOREST FELT LONELY. The song it sung was beautiful, indeed, but with an undertone of pure melancholy. It had felt this way for years. Old George sat on his favourite log in the bush near his property. Barkley, his cocker spaniel sniffed in the bush nearby, tail wagging. George scrunched his toes to feel the earth beneath it and lay his wrinkled hands palm down. He started with a simple energy spell. The forest complied with his will, but its pulse felt even weaker than it normally did.
“Mundai?” he called to the forest. “You feel even more distant than normal.”
“I grow weaker, George,” called back the spirit of the forest. “I am of the old magic and every day people use the old magic less and less.”
George sighed. “All of this wand and object magic . . . I don’t like it one bit.”
“We are thankful that you still practice, George, but you’re one of the only ones. Your ways are disappearing, and we disappear with it.”
After finishing his practice George ambled back towards the house feeling lightheaded and a little dizzy. He whistled to Barkley who was sniffing in the underbrush. As he turned to face the dog, his head spun. George felt himself falling in slow motion, the floor racing towards him. Then everything went black.
GEORGE FELT HIS EYES flicker open and a white, surgical room came into focus. A small doctor with dark hair and a furrowed brow read a clipboard from the end of his bed. As the doctor placed the clipboard down and turned to leave, he met George’s eyes and beamed.
“You’re awake, Mr Williams! Welcome to the land of the living. I am Doctor Mosely.”
George grimaced. “What happened?” he asked.
“You took a bad fall, sir.” said Doctor Mosely, walking over to George. “I have to say, you are awfully lucky to have that dog of yours. He ran all the way to your neighbour’s property for help, you know.”
George smiled.
“You’ve broken your leg, Mr Williams,” continued the Doctor, now standing beside George’s bed. “We have fixed up the break, but it will be a week or so before it is strong enough for you to walk on it unaided. Once you are home, I have to advise you against any more bushwalks, at least alone. It’s very dangerous at your age, as you can see.”
George was frowning at his legs. “Humph . . . wand magic then, huh?” He prodded both of his legs with his withered finger.
“Yes sir,” said the Doctor, “top Wizardry in the country.”
“Hmm . . . a healing forest spell would have done t
he trick too, you know?”
“And taken twice as long to heal, sir . . . with all due respect.”
George didn’t reply and kept staring at his legs, so the doctor inclined his head and walked out of the room.
“You’re an Old Magic mage, then?” said a voice. George looked up and a young boy with shaggy hair that hung over a pointed face walked in, looking at him curiously.
“Yeah . . .” said George gruffly, “the last one in the world, it feels like.”
“That’s cool,” said the boy, “my names Luca. I am an orderly here at the hospital.”
George looked back down at his legs, “George,” he said.
“Come out for a walk with me. We need to stretch those new bones,” said Luca, offering George an arm. “You can tell me about this old magic.”
They walked out of the big sliding doors and into a small hospital garden with Georges arm on Lucas’ shoulder and the orderly’s arms around his thin waist.
“So, what’s the deal with Old Magic anyway? How does it work?”
“It’s a symbiosis. The magic is drawn from nature,” said George, still looking down. “Your generations ‘Wand Magic’ all started out as Old Magic but it has been condensed inside a wand or a staff, so there’s no connection between the magic and the user. That’s why you have to replace the wands so often. Old Magic works slower. You connect with the Earth and she gives you magic and you give her energy. You have to learn and practice the skill to be an Old Magic Mage. Now, with object magic, anyone can use it . . .”
“Can you show me?” asked Luca. They reached a bench in the garden and Luca eased George onto it.
George leant over and placed his palm on a tree and closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The tree began to sway slowly, and George swayed with it. He opened his eyes and an orb of light appeared in his hands, shining brightly.
Luca laughed. “That’s awesome. No need to recite a spell or anything.”
George nodded. “Because you’re not telling separate magic what to do, you’re creating the magic within you.”
George extinguished the orb and suddenly gasped and jutted forward, putting his hand up to his head.
“George!” exclaimed Luca, jumping to his feet.
“I am okay,” he said, regaining composure. “The balance is uneven. The creation of wand magic takes so much from nature and gives nothing back. Nature is so hungry for the energy when she gets it . . . sometimes she takes too much.”
“Let’s get you back to bed, George.”
“No, please. Let me stay out a little longer.”
“Okay,” said Luca, “but I am staying with you.”
GEORGE WAS IN THE HOSPITAL for another nine days, and during this time he and Luca spent a few hours every day in the garden together. George had taught Luca the orb spell and Luca had volunteered to feed Barkley while George was recovering. On the tenth morning, Luca came in beaming.
“Barkley is a laugh, George. He took off with my hat this morning!”
“He has quite the personality, doesn’t he,” George chuckled.
George moved to swing his legs off the side of the bed.
“Not so fast, George,” smiled Luca. “No walk this morning. You’re going home today. Doctor Mosley will be in shortly to give you your clothes and a final check.”
“Oh,” said George. “That’s great!”
George was looking forward to going home and to seeing Barkley again, but in all honesty, he had enjoyed the walks into the garden and Luca’s company and felt that Luca had a genuine interest in the Old Ways.
“I will come and visit you, George, if you would let me?” said Luca, as if reading his thoughts. “I can check in on how you are doing, and see Barkley again?”
George smiled, “I think Barkley would like that.”
“I’ll come by in the morning. I have been stopping that way every day to feed Barkley, it’s just a part of my routine.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING George pottered around his kitchen making some herbal tea. He kept glancing up at the driveway, but no car came down and before long the sun was well into the sky, well after the time that Luca would have started his shift.
“I’m a silly old man.” George said to Barkley as he sipped his tea. “It was just part of his job to walk with me every day. I’m sure he’s told to show an interest. He will be on to his next patient by now, I suppose.”
Barkley looked at his master with his head cocked and thumped his tail on the floor.
“Oh well, Barkley. At least I have you, hey? What do you say we go out to the bush?”
The dog whined low.
“Oh, nonsense, the doctor doesn’t know anything. Besides, Mundai needs me, her spirit will be weaker than ever having had me gone.”
George and Barkley locked up the house and started walking towards the bush. As the trees came into view, George stopped sharply, unable to believe his eyes. The forest was still far from vibrant, but he could see splashes of green springing from the tree branches, and he could feel a faint pulsing energy coming from the depths of Mundai.
George quickened his pace as he crossed over into the bush. He hadn’t felt such energy coming from the bush in years. It couldn’t be possible? The only way for the forest to be thriving like this would be if . . .
Suddenly, Barkley took off through the forest at top speed. George hurried along after him and they broke out into a small clearing. George’s jaw dropped. The clearing was filled with people.
There were about fifty young people sitting around, all under the age of twenty, sitting cross-legged, bare foot on the ground with small glowing orbs in most of their hands. At the head of the group was Luca, with Barkley sitting at his feet.
“Hello, George. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming to the forest.”
“What . . . who are all of these people?” George stammered.
“Students,” said Luca. “If you will have us. We have been part of a movement for a while, wondering if there is an alternative to wand magic. We don’t like what it is doing to our planet . . . Our parents created wand magic to supposedly make life easier, but at what expense? It will be us that has to live in a nature-less world if Wand Magic keeps taking without giving.”
A little boy, only about 10 years old, sitting close to where George stood, piped up.
“Will you teach us? Will you teach us the old ways?”
George felt his eyes spring with tears, as he felt something he had thought he would never feel again.
Hope.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: PHOENIX Addison is a university student and pre-published writer who lives in Perth, Western Australia with her musician husband, Jimi and her cheeky but adorable dog, Sirius. Phoenix enjoys writing Speculative Fiction and short stories inspired by Australia. Phoenix is passionate about animals and nature and spirituality, in her personal life she enjoys keeping fit and active, being in and protecting nature, growing her own food and caring for animals. All of Phoenix’s passions weave their way into the worlds she creates. Phoenix’s biggest goal is to bring to others the happiness and joy she has found herself when exploring the world of books and reading.
https://phoenixaddison.wordpress.com
https://www.instagram.com/phoenixaddisonauthor/
Open for Business by Phil Hore
ON THE SMALL, UNCHARTED and unnoticed Pacific island of Palano, a geologist called Tigre’ Nadu became disillusioned with his treatment by his guano mining employer. Bored, he took a look at the strange qualities of the island’s volcanic rocks and discovered they contained a previously unknown mineral—one that revolutionised superconductors and brought humanity closer to extinction than at any other point in history.
Tigre’ used his savings to extract the material and develop it for commercial use. He then sent samples to every laboratory and factory he believed would be interested in the mineral. It did not take long for the orders to start flooding in.
The CEO of the newly formed Tigre’ Geology Comp
any next took out loans against the income from these orders and bought land. He began with only small farms, before moving on to purchasing entire villages, with part of the payment including everyone receiving a new house and a job with benefits.
The farmers loved the deal and asked when they could start their new jobs as life on the island was tough, the weather was tough, even the ground was tough thanks to those damn volcanic rocks. A cushy job and a home with cable TV sounded like heaven to them.
Orders continued to arrive and Tigre’ leveraged these to expand and create the promised jobs. Things went so well that the Tigre’ Geology Company soon transformed into the Tigre’ Corporation, the world’s sole exporter of refined Tigrenium.
Within a year Tigre’ had purchased the entire island and living standards increased for everyone as Tigre’ Corp. built schools, hospitals and lush housing estates—and in exchange all he asked was a single law to be changed. Elections were declared that only landowners were eligible to stand for and to vote in; and so Tigre’ was elected president with a vote of one. No one cared, however, as his first decree was to repeal all taxes.
Within three years Tigre’ Island was charted on everyone’s maps and the lesson it presented was learnt. The world’s great companies and financial corporations began searching for other nations with similar economic needs. Tiny island states soon found themselves swimming in handouts and free lunches as lawyers and real estate agents tried to buy their land and their elections. The locals grew rich beyond their wildest dreams—they had money, nice jobs, great houses and fast cars—and it all came from the deep pockets of the world’s corporations.
National flags exhibiting car, soft-drink and computer software icons sprouted up everywhere. Soon other debt-ridden countries in Africa and South America fell for the huge financial lures these businesses were offering; who in-turn were aware all they had to do was keep everyone happy and there would be profits for all—well that’s what they told their stockholders—what they meant was, anything went as long as the profit margin was there and the locals did not rebel.
Stories of Hope Page 27