by Edna Dawes
The turn her career might take at that stage was too far ahead for her to plan, but the last two days had brought the Schroeder family on to her horizon with such impact it had unsettled her contentment. It would take a little while before she could put them out of her mind and settle in her temporary home!
Violent jerking and shaking brought Margaret from her doze. It was dark and rain was battling against the fuselage like the sound of Chinese crackers. A giant plunge threw her back into a reclining position as she was struggling to sit up, and a wave of nausea rose in her throat. Her handbag dropped to the floor as they tilted steeply before rising as quickly as they had dropped, and she automatically got up to retrieve the bag. The movement caught the tail of Jan’s eye. He cast a quick glance her way and shouted, ‘We’ve hit a bad storm. I’m trying to get above it but she’s rather sluggish. Get yourself strapped into the seat, and don’t panic.’
‘I’m not panicking, but I feel slightly sick.’
‘Concentrate on something else,’ he advised unsympathetically.
She tried reading the notices once again, but every lurch brought a return of the feeling and she began to dread the worst!
Jan had plenty to occupy his mind during the aerobatics. It was just his luck to hit a storm of this magnitude when he was flying an unfamiliar machine. Normally he would have been out of it by now, but the Dakota, solid and dependable as she was, was a bit slow in responding and he had miscalculated several manœuvres already. They were well into the heart of the storm and, with luck, had survived the worst. He sincerely hoped the girl behind him was not going to succumb to air-sickness. Although he felt the experience would do her good, they had another hour ahead of them yet and she had annoyed him enough on this trip as it was. He wished Chris were with him to see the way this old lady of an aircraft was coping with her battering. It would prove he was right to buy her. His lips tightened. Why should he have to prove he was right! Chris should accept his word.
Margaret was feeling extremely miserable. Another sudden drop brought sweat to her brow and increased her desire to reach her handbag which was sliding back and forth along the floor. In it were some smelling salts which would alleviate the faintness she was beginning to feel. It was an emergency which, she felt, justified unstrapping the seat belt and making a bid to reach the ubiquitous handbag. It was a rather shaky girl who got to her feet and took the three steps to where it had become wedged. Jan noticed the movement and turned his head.
‘I told you to stop where you were,’ he yelled, but the end of the sentence was broken by a deafening crack as lightning hit the nose of the plane and ran over the fuselage until it met the wing. The electric charge brought an eerie whistling sound as it zig-zagged its way across the metal, then it hit the starboard propeller. A blinding flash, a tilt to port, and Jan knew the worst.
There was a range of mountains ahead and with one engine gone he would never gain enough height to clear them. Calmly he checked with Johannesburg met men as to how far the storm extended and was told it covered the mountains at present, but was moving very rapidly. It should be clear when he approached. He thanked them and signed off. There was a choice – go on and make a wide detour to avoid the highest point in the range, or divert to Johannesburg. He had just decided the latter would be feeble when, next minute, there was no choice!
They were riding-out the outer fringe of the storm where the turbulence was worst, and two quick buffets in succession took the Dakota broadsides. By the time Jan had fought to keep the machine flying on course they had dropped too low. The remaining engine was in the twilight of its life, so they began a gradual let-down.
‘What is happening?’ called Margaret, her sickness banished by fright. ‘Is it out of control?’
‘Not on your life,’ he snapped. ‘Get back in that seat.’
‘I have a right to know what is wrong with this aircraft,’ she said, standing firm. ‘Are we going to crash?’
‘We are going to land, and if you’ll shut up I’ll try to work out where we are. There’s no danger. It’s not the first time I have put down without a runway, but I’d rather choose my spot if I can. Now, fasten your belt, and when I shout, cover your head with your arms.’
She went back to her seat on shaking legs. Van Heerdon had sold him a pup, and it was being proved in the most dramatic way. All his brave talk of superior knowledge had been the immature bragging of a man unsure of himself!
The sound of rain was deafening and every wobble, every lurch, set her heart thudding anew. It would have been better to have occupied the other seat beside Jan. At least she would know when they were about to hit the ground. In this cubby-hole, she was as cut-off from him as if she had been a passenger in a commercial aircraft. Sudden pressure on top of her head indicated that the angle of descent had increased, the remaining engine ground out an agonized roar, and a gigantic hand seemed to have taken hold of the tail, holding the aircraft back as it struggled to get free.
‘Head down!’ yelled Jan, and she doubled forward into a tight ball as a weird screeching and rattling began. The whole fuselage shook as it thumped on to the ground, rose again, then landed with a bigger jolt which shook and shuddered the machine from nose to tail as they rushed headlong across the uneven veld to end with a dizzy swing amid high-pitched shrieks.
The deathly hush which followed went on and on, broken only by the hammer of rain. She might have been the only living thing on earth as she hugged herself and waited for an explosion which didn’t come.
‘Jan,’ she cried. ‘Jan . . . are you there?’
Silence! Dear God, she thought, whatever has happened!
Her legs were not up to taking her weight just yet so she crawled forward to the flight cabin and found Jan slumped to one side, out cold. Beside him, the fuselage had caved in, trapping his left leg beneath a jagged piece of metal which was cutting deeply into his flesh. Blood soaked into the khaki material of his trousers in sufficient quantities to convince the girl that something must be done, and quickly. Professional competence banished all emotion as she searched for a medical box, praying that Jan had ensured it was complete before setting off. She found it wedged between the back of the seat and a bulkhead . . . and it was full. He earned top marks for that.
It proved impossible to move him. He was a big man and the space was so confined she realized that the only way to staunch the bleeding would be to climb over his knees and treat the wound as best she could. Once she had administered emergency measures, she could afford the time to think of a way to release him. Hastily she unpacked some of her underclothes to make a thick pad to press on the wound, then started to edge her way between the pilot’s seat and the control column which rose up between the two seats.
It was tricky. Progress was halted half-way when her skirt caught on a lever behind her, and with her hands full and her legs astride him, she had to twist round to try to release it with her elbow. For several seconds, it was a vain task and her foot slipped against a lever lying along the floor. It sprang up and next minute, the whole aircraft collapsed beneath her and sent her sprawling across Jan’s lap. For the next thirty seconds she waited for an explosion, but once it had settled raindrops made the only break in the silence, as before.
She struggled to her feet, half-expecting the floor to drop further, but the Dakota seemed to have made herself comfortable now. The movement proved advantageous. The side of the cockpit had been twisted upwards to a certain extent making it possible for her to release Jan’s leg from the jagged edge which had caused all the trouble. The gash was deep and needed stitching. Making a shortie nightie into a pad with some of the wadding from the medical kit, she pressed it against the freely bleeding wound and bound it tightly in place with a bandage. Then, she scrambled back to organize an injection of morphia which was also in the box. He would need it when he came round!
As though he had read her thoughts, a low moan came from the pilot’s seat and she glanced up from the task of filling the syringe
from the small silver ampule.
‘Keep still!’ she directed him. ‘I’ll be there in a moment.’
The brown eyes were open but hazy with non-recognition when she approached.
‘Are you capable of following what I say?’ she asked.
‘Eh?’
‘I’m going to give you a shot of morphia to help deaden the pain, then I want you to try, with my assistance, to move from there on to the floor. What do you think?’
‘Go ahead,’ he invited from his slumped position.
Once more she began climbing over the mass of controls to reach him, half-afraid of being sent flying as before. Jan had moved his head since he came round, revealing another wound to the side of his skull. She would have to attend to that when he was on the floor. She reached him and carefully unbuttoned the bush jacket, pulling it from his right shoulder to get at the top of his arm. His body was hard and brown from the African sun.
‘I must warn you that I usually only administer injections to dogs and cattle – but I dare say it is much the same for a man,’ she said lightly.
‘Thanks.’ He flinched from the jab she gave his muscle and sighed with relief when she withdrew the needle. ‘Pity the cattle,’ he murmured.
‘Thank your lucky stars you are sitting down. It is usual to inject morphia in the buttocks,’ she told him tartly as she pulled the jacket across him. ‘Now we’ll try to get you on your feet.’ She slid an arm behind him. ‘Can you sit forward?’
‘Not with you hanging over me in that seductive manner. Move over and I’ll see what I can do on my own.’
Not very much, as it turned out. He got as far as sitting straight, but as soon as his legs took his weight the pain from his thigh made him yell heartily and fall back again.
‘We’ll try it together, shall we?’ Margaret said with the patience of a nannie to a fractious child.
It wasn’t easy. Jan found every movement brought an agony he could scarcely withstand, and Margaret was not tough enough to bear his weight as he leant heavily on her shoulder. The worst part was getting him free from the controls, and both of them found it heavy-going. Once that was over, it was comparatively simple to settle him on the floor with Margaret’s coat providing a pillow while she cleaned the area round the head wound.
The effort had taken a great deal out of him. Although he hadn’t uttered a sound, the pallor of his face emphasized the liberal peppering of freckles more than usual, and Margaret had a fleeting return of her vision of a small boy defying his brothers by hiding his fear of being hurt. Then her lips clamped together. This time, he had only himself to blame for flying this old aircraft against all advice, simply to prove a point.
He asked her for a cigarette, but she told him with the carelessness of the non-smoker that he would have to wait until she had finished all she had to do. By the time a bandage was bound round the bright red hair, Jan’s jacket was soaked with sweat which also stood out on his forehead. She took a towel from one of her suitcases and got busy on him despite his feeble protests. After that, she replaced the pad on his thigh which had become saturated during the struggle from seat to floor.
Attending to the injured man had driven every other thought from her head, but when she at last sat back on her heels, realization rushed in. Raindrops no longer beat a tattoo on the metal. The utter silence frightened her. Suddenly, the confines of this stark metallic tube brought an attack of claustrophobia, making the sweat stand on her brow, too, and setting a pulse drumming in her ears. The complete solitariness of her position at last dawned on her. In which particular part of Africa was she? How far was it to the nearest town? Jan’s leg needed stitching as soon as possible, but he would never manage to walk anywhere. The obvious solution was for her to go for help while the drug was keeping him quiet, but without knowing the area, it was out of the question.
A look from the window showed her what she was up against. Emptiness stretched into eternity. A vast haze hung several feet from the ground where the noonday sun burned into the wet earth vaporizing the rain before it had time to refresh the undergrowth. The storm had passed and blazing heat returned to assail the rugged veld. Far, far in the distance a mountain range rose like a dark cloud, but the remainder of the terrain was short grass broken by stony patches and clumps of trees. The Dakota had apparently hit one of these. Several beheaded trunks and a tangle of broken wood and leaves caught in the port propeller gave Margaret the clue.
Next minute, it seemed imperative to get in the open air. Being slowly cooked in a metal container was not a pleasant sensation and brought a return of panic. There was a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT right behind Jan’s seat and she struggled to open it before she felt the sun strike her bare arms. Then she walked to the tail and opened the door they had used to enter in Cape Town.
The atmosphere outside was hot and airless, but the hemmed-in feeling retreated at the sight of so much space and she leant against the side of the Dakota, trying to steady herself. There was danger in panic. In time, help must come and it was imperative to keep a clear head until then. Forcing herself not to think of the consequences if they were not found, she set about making them both as comfortable as possible.
The morphia had deadened the pain enough to allow Jan to drift into a near-unconscious state, so since it was out of the question to get him outside into the shade of the trees, she did what she could to make him cool. The material of the left leg was hopelessly ripped, so she cut neatly round his trousers until they were a brief pair of shorts, then took off his desert boots and thick socks. It also seemed sensible to remove the drill bush-jacket for the two-fold purpose of making him cooler and drying it out. At the end of the operation she sat back on her heels and wiped her wet brow with the towel, and as she did so, found unwelcome feminine admiration being wrung from her. Whatever her opinion of his character, stripped down to a pair of shorts, he was a fine-looking man!
The longing for drink began and she hurried to the wall outside the toilet where a container claimed to hold water. It was empty – a relic of the old days when this aircraft was in constant use. It was a sad blow, and thoughts of a long, cool drink began to plague her until she reasoned that Jan would surely have brought water as a regular precaution when flying over wild Africa. She returned to his side and noted, with alarm, that he was getting dangerously hot. He was too dopey to get any sense from him, so she started a determined search for any containers which might supply what they desperately needed. At last, in a corner, she spotted the vital cans and thankfully drank the warm liquid. Then, she swamped Jan with it so that he roused enough to enable her to give him a drink, too.
Time passed in a series of sessions. Ten minutes beneath the trees, ten minutes dousing Jan with water, ten minutes of trying to think of how they were going to get away alive. Soon afterwards, flies began to swarm in and buzzed in a revolting mass around the blood-soaked pad on the injured man’s leg. Unable to bear the sight, she emptied one of her cases and opened it over the leg to form a cage which she covered with a dress. The other preventative measure she took was to light cigarette after cigarette from the packet in Jan’s bush shirt and hope the smoke would discourage them. No doubt, he would go up in smoke himself when he discovered she had let his entire supply burn away in her hand, but she could deal with him when the time came!
Leaden hours passed and she began to have hallucinations. Twice she imagined voices outside, but by now the effort required to climb through the door was too much. She leant back against the metal wall and studied Jan as her anger against him grew. Through his irresponsible behaviour she was stranded in the heart of Africa with a thin prospect of help arriving, and exposed to hazards of all kinds. He was strong, healthy, reasonably well-off and lucky enough to do what he most enjoyed as a means of earning a living. Many men would envy him – yet there was a restlessness raging inside that tanned breast which she didn’t understand or condone.
She sighed. In England it would be cold . . . maybe snowing. Why had sh
e ever left her homeland where life was organized and secure to cross a country like this in a broken-down aircraft flown by a wild South African? The soporific furnace she was in triumphed over her senses at around three-thirty, and she was still asleep beside the red-haired man when shadows fell across the doorway and two black Africans climbed in to reach her.
Chapter Three
When a hand shook her awake and held out a water bottle Margaret drank the lukewarm musky liquid instinctively, without seeing or caring who offered it. Jan’s eyes were open and watching her.
‘All right?’ he asked faintly. ‘Don’t worry about these fellows. They’re here to help.’
She looked up at the two black giants in khaki uniform who grinned like a pair of pianos. She thanked them, making their grins widen and their eyes roll, but they seemed shy of her and turned their attention back to Jan. After a short conversation in Afrikaans, the men walked to the back of the aircraft and began to unload the crates of supplies.
‘Who are they?’ asked Margaret thickly.
‘Police on patrol. They get a lot of poachers in these parts. Good thing their route took them past here and they decided to investigate. I can’t understand why we haven’t been spotted from the air yet. It was difficult to give an accurate position in that storm, but I couldn’t have been that much in error.’
‘You mean, somebody knew where we were?’
‘Of course. It’s standard procedure to radio your position when you know you’re going to ditch. These men will take us to Alwynsrus, a small town about three hours’ drive away and we can get a message to Myala from there. You can go on by road . . . it’s not too far . . . and I’ll radio Chris to fly up another engine for the Dakota. If he won’t do it, I’ll have to go back myself.’
‘Stop fretting about things like that,’ she told him, noticing how feverish he looked. ‘Your leg has to be stitched before you’ll be capable of doing anything. Will there be a hospital at this place?’