Heavier Than Air

by T. E. Vario (t_e_vario@yahoo. com)

  “We don’t have to do this Hanna. Just answer a few questions for us, and this will all go away.”

  Silence.

  Sighing, Chad reached into the box and pulled out some scissors. He used the scissors to cut Hanna’s tee shirt from the collar straight to her waste, exposing her bra. He then used the scissors to cut through the center of the bra, exposing her breasts.

  “It seems crude, but we get the best results this way.” Chad was talking to Sara, but kept working on Hanna. He put a small amount of the grease on each of Hanna’s nipples, and then pulled two more cables from the box. Each had an alligator clip at one end. He attached cable to a nipple, and then connected all four wires to the control unit.

  Chad turned the controls towards Sara and pointed. “This knob sets the voltage, and this one fires the pulse. I’d start on a setting of 10.”

  Sara realized that she had agreed to be bad cop, so Chad was letting her administer the punishment.

  “Last chance Hanna. Can you tell us who helped you in Section 12?”

  “You BITCH. You can go to hell!”

  Sara looked at Hanna and thought about all the damage she had caused. She visualized Eric brother parachuting behind enemy lines. She saw the look on her father’s face. She pushed the button.

  The impact was instantaneous. Hanna’s body jerked ridged and then slumped. Sweat was poring off her face and her chest was damp. A small amount of blood was smearing under one nipple.

  “OK Hanna. We don’t want to do this, but we need for you to tell us who was helping you.”

  Silence.

  Sara left the level at 10 and fired another shock. Hanna’s body reacted just as before, but she was not talking.

  Glancing at Chad, Sara raised the level to 20. Chad nodded. This time the jolt is much stronger. Hanna’s fractured arm moved partially out of the splint. A faint smell of burning skin came from her body.

  “Time to talk Hanna. I’m going to keep raising this voltage until you talk, but never enough to kill you. Do you understand Hanna?”

  Sara didn’t wait before giving another jolt. Blood was flowing out of Hanna’s mouth. She had bitten her tongue almost clear through the tip during the convulsion.

  “BITCH. I’ll give you what you want. But you will FRY IN HELL for this. You hear me? FRY IN HELL.”

  “OK Hanna, give us the names.”

  Once Hanna started talking, it all came out. She had compromised two of the other workers in Section 12, but had not managed to compromise anyone with administrative privileges. She gave them the name of her direct contact outside of base, their drop procedure for the chips, her danger and OK signals, and what she knew about her mission. Chad wiped her forehead and chin with a towel as she talked. He also fed her some water, but the electrodes were left in place.

  Hanna was starting to pass out. They had all they needed for one night. Chad removed all the electrical equipment and cleaned up before asking the guards to come back down. With three men in the room, holding on to both her arms and legs, they cut through the tape, lifted her limp body and placed it on the cot in her cell. Chad threw a blanket over her and then backed out. The cell was then locked, but the guards remained. Hanna was on suicide watch.

  Sara and Chad went back up to the first floor. Chad laid out the next steps.

  “I’ve got to get the doctor back to reset Hanna’s arm. You go back to Largos and fill him in. I’ll debrief with the Captain and get the tape transcribed. I’ll try to meet up with you late tonight at your Section.”

  “Thanks Chad. I think I could use someone to talk to tonight.”

  Sara started walking back to Section 12. Half way back she started to feel weak. She got on her knees and leaned her head down, trying not to faint. She could smell the odor of burning skin on her clothing and in her hair. After a few minutes the dizziness began to fade. She thought about Hanna’s words. Hanna was probably right – Sara would fry in Hell. But if it got Eric back alive, it would be worth it.

  Claude and Anne-Marie were tired and hungry. The southbound journey was slowed by the need to hunt and kill animals for food. They were exceptionally good hunters, but the process took time. Every hour they spent waiting for a deer or pig to work its way into range was an hour they were not spending walking towards safety in the south.

  Adding to their frustration was the continual problem of avoiding the four men that appeared to also be heading south, but at an slower pace. They four were easy to track. It sounded as if they broke every twig within three feet of the path as they walked along, and frequently got into arguments. Claude had caught a glimpse of the four together at one point when the path descended on the barren face of a granite cliff. Looking down, he saw them ambling along, dressed in green uniforms and carrying weapons and huge backpacks. These were soldiers of some sort, but otherwise looked and acted much like the rough men who had killed their parents. Claude and Anne-Marie had to wait an hour each time they stopped to hunt so that the men could not hear the muffled sounds of their small-caliber guns. It usually took less than half a day to catch back up with the four soldiers, as Claude and Anne-Marie walked at a much faster pace.

  It was the fifth day of their journey when they heard guns firing overhead. Looking up they saw huge fighters dueling right over the ridge they were standing on. Anne-Marie held on to Claude’s arm and motioned him to stop. If they could hear the planes, so could the four soldiers, so they had better wait.

  “Which ones are the Gengon planes, and which are from the south?” she asked in French.

  “I saw the ones with the tails shaped like a letter T come from the south. The ones with the shape of a V must be the Gengon planes. They all look like giant birds to me, fighting over some meat.”

  There were four planes visible from the ridge they were walking along. Two of the Gengon planes were chasing a T tail headed south at low altitude, while the highest T tail dove on the attackers. They heard other machinegun sounds from behind them, but could not tell if those were other airplanes or people on the ground.

  While they watched, one of the V tailed planes was destroyed and fell to the ground in pieces. Anne-Marie gasped as she realized that a man had just died before their eyes. A few seconds later one of the T tailed planes was hit, but kept flying. The last V tailed plane was then destroyed.

  “It looks like our Madrin friends to the south won,” said Anne-Marie.

  “Wait a moment. I think one of the T tails was damaged. It does not look like it is flying straight through the air.”

  As they watched the pilot of the crippled plane opened the cockpit, jumped out, and deployed his parachute. He was heading for the clearing directly below them.

  “Those soldiers are sure to have seen him. The pilot does not stand much of a chance.”

  “Why don’t we get closer and see if we can help him?” said Anne-Marie. “The pilot could help us get to safety, if we can keep the soldiers from killing him first.”

  “OK, but we must be careful. We don’t know if there are other soldiers or more of those horrible armed men in the area.”

  Claude and Anne-Marie started down the path towards the clearing.

  * * *

  Eric was feeling very lucky to be alive. The bullets that had crippled his fighter had missed his body by inches. His parachute had deployed perfectly, and he had a small clearing to aim for, which might keep him out of the trees. Winds were light, so he was able to roughly control the direction of his decent by pulling on the back chords on either side of his parachute.

  He hit the ground hard, and rolled over his right shoulder. Getting up, he realized that nothing was broken. He collapsed the chute and rolled it up into a ball as quickly as possible. Eric then moved towards the northern side of the valley, looking for a place to bury his chute at the base of the ridge. He had not seen anyone during his brief decent, but they would have been difficult to spot in the pine trees. Best to get the chute buried and get out of there as quickly as possible.

 
All Eric had with him was a pistol, a knife, and a small survival kit. He used the knife as a crude shovel and started digging at the base of a fallen redwood trunk, to create an opening big enough for the cute. He was hard at work digging when he heard a noise behind him. Eric froze, and slowly turned his head. Behind him were two soldiers holding rifles. Looking over his left shoulder he spotted another soldier higher on the ridge. Eric did not have a chance.

  Eric slowly raised his hands and stood up. The soldiers moved towards him, keeping their guns trained on his chest. Another man came out of the woods on his left side and walked up behind Eric. This soldier stuck the barrel of a gun against Eric’s side, and grabbed Eric’s pistol. He also pulled the knife out of Eric’s hand. Eric had forgotten to drop it. Erick felt a stunning blow to the backside of his head, and fell forward, unconscious.

  When Eric awoke he found himself tied to a tree and unable to move his hands or his feet. He was trussed up with his ankles and wrists tied far behind him. It was incredibly painful.

  “Well look who has woken up. Our little pilot boy. Or should I say our little target boy?”

  The other men laughed at the crude humor that their leader spit out in rough English. The men had on uniforms, but were oddly un-military. They had a mixed assortment of gear, and showed no insignias or mark of rank anywhere. They were also filthy, and looked as if they had been in the woods for months.

  “Me and the mates have a little wager going on. I bet that you can take twenty knife wounds to the gut before you die, but they say only fifteen. What do you say pilot boy?”

  “What is it that you want?” Eric said, doing his best to sound calm.

  “We don’t want anything, except for you to die. And that is just what you are going to do, but it is going to take some time.”

  Eric decided that he could at least delay things by getting them talking.

  “What unit are you from? I’m assuming you are Gengon?”

  “That’s right, we’re native born Gengon and proud of it. And we like nothing better than killing you Madrin pigs.”

  The leader pulled out a long hunting knife. “Start counting boys.”

  In a swift movement the man drive the knife right into the side of Eric’s stomach. The pain was searing. Eric strained at the ropes and gasped for air. He realized he had only a few minutes to live.

  “Oh, did that hurt? That was just a little nick. The next one might just be a little closer to the bone.”

  The three men were gathered behind their leader, smiling as they watched the fun. The leader was toying with the edge of the blood-soaked blade, then pulled it back for the next strike.

  Eric braced himself for the stab. As he watched, the leader’s eyes seemed to lose focus, and then the man tumbled towards Eric, falling right on Eric’s feet. One of the other three solders also collapsed, falling sideways onto the soft ground. The remaining two stood frozen for moment, until it registered that they had heard two small cracking sounds behind them. They were turning, raising their weapons to fire, when the second two cracks were heard. Eric’s last conscious thought was the odd impression that both of the soldiers he could see face up on the ground had each mysteriously lost an eye.

  * * *

  Claude and Anne-Marie waited in the trees for several minutes, listening for any sign of other soldiers in the area. They had heard some more machinegun fire in the distance, but it sounded like another air battle. The cautiously approached the dead men. Anne-Marie held a gun aimed at each one’s head while Claude checked for a pulse. They were all quite dead.

  Turning their attention to the pilot, they quickly cut through the ropes the bound him, and gently lowered his body to the ground. Anne-Marie pulled up his shirt to examine the wound. The knife had gone through the pilot’s side, and was bleeding through both wounds. The wound was near the side, so it might have missed the intestines. The pilot would live it had missed, but would die of blood poisoning if the bowel had been punctured.

  “You take care of the pilot. I want to get these bodies out of sight, and see what food and equipment we can scavenge from their packs.” Claude started dragging the first body legs first into the bushes.

  Searching the pilot further, she found that he had a first aid kit attached to a web pouch on his belt. The small kit appeared to have been set up for just this type of situation. There was antiseptic, an anti-bacterial crème, several bandage pads, and a considerable amount of bandage tape. Anne-Marie followed the procedures her mother had taught her. She cleaned the wound thoroughly on both sides, covered the opening with the anti-biotic, and then applied dressings. She taped all the way around the pilot’s waste, to make sure that the dressings stayed tight. Looking back in the first-aid kit she realized that she had only enough material for one dressing change. She would do that tomorrow, and then hope for the best. She put the rest of the kit into her own pack.

  Claude searched each of the bodies before he covered them in branches and pine needles. He was surprised not to find any printed matter of any kind, other than the navigation map in the leader’s shirt pocket. He did find a wealth of useful things in the packs, although there was way more than they could carry. The dried packaged food was the most prized find, but they also had cookware, knives, several compasses, ammo, and what looked like detonators and plastic explosive. One pack also contained two strange gas canisters.

  “See if you can wake him up. We need to get away from here.”

  Anne-Marie gently shook the pilot, and told him to wake up in French. His eyes opened and focussed on her, but he looked puzzled. She then tried English, which got a better reaction.

  “Who… Who are you?”

  “I am Anne-Marie and this is my brother Claude.”

  “What happened to the soldiers?”

  “We killed them. Their bodies are hidden in the bushes over there.”

  Eric sat up. It was hard to believe, but these two soft-spoken teenagers had saved his life. He remembered the missing eyes. It clicked. They had shot the men through the eyes. Incredible.

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “You are welcome. We are hoping that you can now help us.” Claude had walked over to Eric’s side, and helped him get on his feet.

  Eric winced in pain. Once standing he examined the dressings on his left side. Very professional.

  “Thank you for this too. It hurts, but I can walk. What can I do to help you?”

  “Our parents were killed by men like these, but with no uniforms. We are trying to go south to safety. Perhaps you can help us get there?”

  “That is the very least I can do for you. We can help each other, and I can make sure that you get to a good place when we reach the Madrin zone.”

  “We need to leave this area quickly. Help us pick what is most useful from these packs, and then we can leave. Claude was all business.”

  Eric retrieved his own pistol, and took a machine gun and ammo off of one of the soldiers. His side wound was too painful for him to ware a pack, but he could carry some weight with his right arm. Anne-Marie and Claude put as much of the dried food in their packs as they would hold, and then hid the rest of the material near the bodies of the four men. Bears would undoubtedly dig it all up, but at least it was out of the clearing.

  Eric found one mystery in the soldier’s packs. One of the men was carrying two pressure cylinders, each about two inches in diameter and a foot long. They were painted bright yellow, and had a complex nozzle at one end. A double cap protected the nozzle. Eric could not figure out the purpose of the cylinders, and simply buried them with the rest of the materials. He then thought better of it, and buried the canisters in separate location away from the packs, just to make sure that they were not unearthed by a bear looking for food.

  The three of them were able to make about three miles of progress before nightfall.

  * * *

  Eric was feeling remarkably good when he woke up. His side ached, but he did not have a fever. No fever meant no in
fection, which was very good news. Actually, part luck and part the good fortune of having had Anne-Marie dress the wound immediately. She told him that she would replace the dressing before they set off for the day.

  Eric studied the map as they ate breakfast. The two teenagers were obviously starving, and had several helpings of the dried food. While they were eating a small dog poked its nose around the corner of a log and stared at them. It had a mottled coat and short ears – some odd collection of dog genes had made this one. The animal was clearly hungry.

  Anne-Marie took a portion of her food, and put it on a smooth rock nearer the animal. As soon as she backed away the dog ran up and began eating. After finishing the meal, the dog looked up and wagged its tale in a mute thank you. Eric had a bit left in his captured bowl, and offered that to the dog as well. The dog ate this bit somewhat slower, and then walked over to Anne-Marie. The dog clearly wanted to be petted.

  Anne-Marie obliged and giggled. “I think he as adopted us. What do you think we should call him? He is such a cute little mutt?”

  “Let’s just call him Dog. It’s the English word for what he his, so it seems right to me.” Jaques was smiling too. “He has not made a sound yet, which is good. He may be useful to us.”

  Eric went back to the map. They were at least six days from the nearest safe area, and it would probably take much longer due to the need to stay concealed. The interesting thing about the map they had lifted from the soldiers was that it had a course plotted all the way to the edge of Camp Williams. That was much further south and any Gengon men had ever been found. He wondered how many Gengon teams were hiding right around his own base.

  Looking back at their current position, he looked for the safest route south. He was trying various ideas when he realized that one of the nearby peaks was familiar to him. It was the location of a weather reporting station. Reporting stations had to be able to communicate back to Outpost Base, because dad’s lady friend, Barbara, used the data each day for the forecast. If they could get to the weather station, they could communicate home.