Broken Wing: A million deaths were not enough for Cassandra!

by Konig, Artor

  “A hundred percent.” Bob said complacently, “What’s that?”

  I reacted quickly; I had more or less been expecting something of the sort. I took the controls and swept the craft around in a plummeting helix, my visor down. The craft’s war system came on in response, the blazing u. v. laser invisible but deadly. The three anti-aircraft missiles exploded almost as one leaving the Wren untouched. She sailed serenely away, towards the northeast into the wide sea of sand.

  “We seem to have been noticed by some aggressive sod over there.” Bob supplied questioningly.

  “I believe so.” James agreed as he took over the controls once again. The radio was chattering out the news, plotting our course and shouting at the radar people, who seemed to think that the folk at the firing-post had been smoking something rather strong.

  “We ought to be a bit more careful.” Frank suggested.

  “Bit of a good idea.” James nodded as he brought the craft lower and faster. The silvery dunes swept below, the high peaks neat and hard-edged in the starlight. The radio had given up in its attempts to stir up a bit of action; the night was silent all around and below us. I glanced over the monitors; there was no sign of anything obviously on our tail.

  “Camel caravan,” Bob told us, “North a little bit; pass low over them so I can check.”

  “Not too low; you don’t want to spook the poor devils.” Frank told him, “How’s the score?”

  “Spot on; that girl’s got a knife stuck in her belt.” Bob told us helpfully, “They seem to be a cheerful crowd; look at that fellow walloping that other chap.”

  “Black Crag to Wren Two; do you read?” The voice came loudly over the headphones.

  “Wren Two; I read you, Garreth.” I replied at once.

  “Cassandra, the Doctor is on his way to Chad; south of your logged position; is that right?” Garreth’s voice was tightly controlled, “There seems to be a bit of unnecessary conflict going on; a thousand troops on either side with hardware and equipment.”

  “Right; we can see it.” Bob confirmed, “About a thousand miles south of our position.”

  “Confirmed; look people, the Doctor has decided to split them up; could you land and wait for him to join you? He won’t be long; he left all of ten minutes ago.”

  “Right-ho, old bean. Out.” I replied, “James, please put us down on that flat bit of stone over there out of everybody’s way.”

  “At once, madam.” He replied facetiously, turning the craft’s nose south.

  Number One didn’t take long to join us; she came hurtling down from the north, her jets streaming blue flames for half a mile behind her. She swooped down and swept in an arc above our heads, killing her speed and going back to rotor flight in a polished manoeuvre that had James clapping his hands in delight. “Simon or Bernhart, what’s the bet?” He asked me as the three men walked swiftly over the sand towards us.

  “Bernhart.” I told him, “Simon’s a good handful taller. Good landing, Bernhart.” I raised my voice as they came closer.

  “Border conflict.” Bernhart told me tersely, “We’re going to wipe the mat with them and make them behave a little.”

  “Sounds like a spot of sport.” James mused, “What’s the plan?”

  “We will put ourselves between them, zap any heavy weapon they have, and issue radio directives that they disperse and return to where-ever they came from.” The Doctor instructed us briefly, “Cassandra you beat them back to the west, we’ll take the eastern mob. Frank, Bob, use the scope for targeting, pinpoint targets for James. No casualties if you can help it; just open up the tanks, bust the long guns; that sort of thing. Disable the mobile guns and touch off the ammo dumps; they have enough transport to get home without their tanks and such. It’s on the north shore of the lake; apparently two factions have found some weapons and are bent on killing each other.”

  “It’s a civil war then; not a border conflict.” Bob said softly, “Right, Doctor, we’ve got it down solid.”

  “It’s a border insurgency that has gone too far.” Roger replied. “They’re a good way from the border, but by gum, they’re going back there.”

  “We’ll placate the western mob then help you chivvy them back.” James stated stoutly, “Ready to fly Cassandra?” We waited for them to get back into their craft before we lofted back into the silvery night sky. I kept the Wren on the other’s tail as we thundered south. The craft were flying on rotors and keeping to a modest seven-fifty knots; there was no point in going faster as the objective was more or less in our laps. After an hour’s flying we saw the ruddy glow before us; the red of fire and war. I slapped down the visor, casting the monitors down telescopically to the scene of violence.

  “They have air-cover.” I stated tersely, “Choppers for the most part; no; there are two Migs coming in.”

  “If we sting the noses of the Migs the pilots will eject automatically.” James told me cheerfully. I lined up the target Frank had marked, the crosshairs on the nose of the first jet. I pressed the trips gently; a slice appeared on the fuselage of the Mig causing the front of the craft to peel open. As James had predicted, the pilot ejected spontaneously. The Doctor had already dealt with the other jet.

  “Down, Cassandra; the missile post; hit it, hit it!” Bob commanded; his voice rough. The post was about to unleash its entire load on the enemy. The truck showed for a moment under the crosshairs before it exploded. Bits and pieces were flung away before the fireball. I stung another post while the Doctor made short work of a pair of howitzers. We were coming in low and fast but were still a good few miles away. As yet nobody had actually noticed us. “Leave the trucks alone, there, knock off those tanks.” The Doctor’s voice was calm as he assessed the battle scene.

  By the time we were close enough to be seen by the ground troops there were no heavy weapons operational on the field of war. The Doctor spoke commandingly over the radio in some language or other; it sounded a bit like Greek to me, though I supposed it could be Arabic. His voice was stern and paternal. The two Wrens hovered back to back on the frontline, rock steady and menacing at a height of a hundred feet. The men on the ground were waving their guns in the air, firing at us to no avail. Each time I saw someone raise a rocket launcher I singed it out of his hands with the masers, gently enough to let the fellow know I disapproved without actually hurting him too much.

  Three choppers appeared in my sights, all of them firing. I switched back to the u. v. lasers, delicately removing each firing pod and chain gun until the choppers were weapon-less. The Doctor spoke again even as the choppers turned tail and fled. The men on the ground decided that they’d had enough. There was a fine old scampering to their trucks. One group went due west; the others went south-east.

  “A jolly old scrap that was.” James told the world cheerfully.

  “It wasn’t really fair,” I replied, the shock of the whole thing numbing me as I kept pace with the western train. “I mean, they didn’t have a chance, not against the Wren.”

  “They’re not supposed to have a chance.” Bob told me at once, “We’ve got to make them behave and we can’t do that if they’re equal to us. It’s a matter of discipline and non-discipline and those chaps down there don’t have the right to blast each other and innocent bystanders to bits simply because their bosses don’t care for each other. We can’t let them have a chance against us; or we might as well get onto the playroom floor and brawl with the rest of them. We’re the nanny, don’t forget.”

  “I suppose so. That looks like their base; shall we leave them to it; or shall we break more of their toys first? They have other big guns and tanks and such.”

  “Burn them, Cassandra; it’ll save us another trip later.” Bob replied dryly.

  We left the base a smouldering wreck, gouts of purple flame issuing forth from the ammo dumps and the big guns. The soft rumble of the jets and the hiss of the rotors stole into the night, leaving that chaos behind. I leaned back on the couch; my head back as I stretched m
yself to ease trembling muscles. I put James back at the controls before asking for the trace on Number One. We were soon beside the Doctor’s craft; he was keeping pace with the demoralised army below. He was fairly high up, however, having found a method whereby he could eventually leave them to it and be fairly sure they would carry on retreating.

  He was so high in the night sky that he could not be seen or heard below, but every time anybody showed signs of slowing down or stopping, the devilishly accurate infra-laser would lash out, exploding in a fury of fire and sparks by or behind the laggard. The psychology was sound; we saw the motley crew beating a smart retreat, nobody even looking back.

  “Well, there was a little incident which could have grown out of all proportion but didn’t.” The Doctor said with a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice, “If we do that often enough people are going to have a jolly good think before they try anything. Thank you, people; let’s go home.”

  “Sure thing doc.” Bernhart replied.

  “Since they don’t know where we came from or where we’ll turn up next, it’ll keep them on the hop, alright.” James told us in his most solemn voice, “Yoicks; we’ve got them; with a bit of the jolly old whizz-bang we’ll keep the lot of them in order.”

  “It’ll keep us occupied, I suppose.” Roger agreed, “We could bust up a major army without even coming into sight; we could sit aloft and give them the old close shave without them even knowing where we were roosting.”

  “We must make a point of getting onto the scene before the incident has a chance to get nasty.” I contributed, “So the boys in the watchtower must be wide awake.”

  James nodded as he concentrated on his flying. We were high and fast, ripping through the tenuous upper reaches; it would not be long before we were home. I felt the weariness of my restless night catching up with me. My eyes were drooping; it was a good thing I had a co-pilot.

  “Are you boys happy with your spotter?” I asked carelessly, stifling a yawn.

  “It works like a charm, Cassandra.” Bob replied at once.

  “Seems that we can rely on it to the limit of its range; there are no perceptible aberrations that I can put my finger on.” Frank confirmed, “Old Garreth delivered the goods this time as well.”

  “He hasn’t made a mistake yet.” Roger told us, “He’s so sharp that he doesn’t shave anymore; he just looks into the mirror and sizzles the old face-fur with a sharp glance instead.”

  Below us the sea came rushing up. I looked up to see the blue bellowing tails of flame from Number One. Even in the bright afternoon sun and back-dropped by the brilliant blue of the northern Pacific, those nuclear flames were bright and easily seen.

  “We ought to do something about the old exhaust emissions.” I said a bit sleepily, “If we’re busy sneaking up on someone the exhaust flares might give the game away.”

  “Could be. Frank, do you think anything can be done about that?” Bob asked, turning to the man beside him.

  “I honestly can’t say.” Frank replied, “Hot is hot after all; and the plasma from the exhausts takes that prize. We could cook up some sort of heat-dissipating fins, I suppose but I’m not sure how much use they’d be.”

  “They’d do the job at low speeds; this is what we want.” James replied, “If we’re sneaking up on a fellow we wouldn’t need to go too fast. If a fellow is going fast enough to make us go onto the super-stage, then he won’t be looking behind him all that terribly often.”

  “Cut the glare at speeds below three mach, then; I believe I could work something out.” Frank agreed affably, “Should be the duck’s trousers, that.”

  “As easy as that?” I asked innocently but Frank didn’t rise to that. James looked at me appealingly; the Crag was before us and he had slowed down to a hover.

  “Right, James; I’ll take her in.” I told him reassuringly. I watched Bernhart disappearing into the dark cave, the noon sun shockingly bright on the black and green of the old cliffs and castle wall. I gave Bernhart two minutes before I took the Wren swiftly into the cave. Bernhart was still airborne when I entered the cave; by the time he had settled the craft down I was over my spot. The jets of both craft died at the same time.

  Sam and Harry appeared to have finished with Number Four; they were nowhere to be seen, but Number Three was in a state of near complete dismantlement. I stepped out of the ivory comfort of Number Two, thinking long and brooding thoughts about lunch; that was definitely on the cards. I marched into the control centre where Ronald was munching a cheese sandwich. I logged Number Two back in, greeting him cheerfully; as cheerfully as I could manage anyway before hitting the stairs up as a rapid rate. The boys were all ahead of me, all but Bernhart who had just remembered to log in Number One. We found ourselves in the kitchen, where Jim and June were collaborating on the matter of lunch.

  “Good show, that.” James told them encouragingly, “The jolly old cheese sandwiches call unto my heart.”

  “Get away you; lunch will be ready in ten minutes.” June told him.

  “You’re a star, you are.” He replied poetically, “Let me help you with that bit of cheese.” She aimed a slap at his thieving hand, but was too late to aid the pilfered cheddar.

  There was a loud flapping at the kitchen door. I turned in time to see a large grey parrot alight on the washing machine. “Who’s this, then?” I asked of the creature.

  “Min’ yer blerry business.” He told me pugnaciously. He fluffed up his feathers and looked at me, obviously expecting a reward of some sort for his elocutional effort, peering at me through one eye then the other.

  “That’s Byrtle.” June told me somewhat grimly, casting a look at Jim, “I’m not sure who’s been giving him lessons, but he’s known us for a while. He found me while I was hanging out the washing this morning and he told me just that little thing.”

  “He’s a daft fellow.” Jim contributed helpfully, “Won’t say no to any offering you make. Come to think of it, he hasn’t been taught to say no.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Roger told us, “I taught him to say something; what was it?”

  “Who’s a silly bugger then?” Byrtle supplied cheerfully.

  “That’s it.” Roger agreed.

  “You men.” June remarked disparagingly, “Taking advantage of the poor bird’s good nature.”

  “Min’ yer blerry business.” Byrtle told her officiously, “What’s for tea?”

  “That sounds like Jim.” I said, “The tea bit, I mean.” I found an apple, cut off a generous bit and gave it to Byrtle. He accepted my offering cautiously, holding it with one claw and sampling it delicately.

  “Gah.” He told me rudely, “None of your sauce, mind!” I ignored him, turning my mind to the pressing matter of the lunch that June seemed to have finished with. We migrated to the hall, the red-faced parrot following us hopefully. Jim had his hands on the teapot, I was pushing the tea trolley and Bernhart was helping June to transport the steaming piles of sandwiches.

  “That bread is jolly good.” Jim told the world at large, “Those gizmos we got to make it do a better job than the folk back at home seem to do.”

  “I’m just glad the Doctor remembered to bring a loaf-slicer.” June replied, “That’s one job I can manage without.” She dumped her load on the table and addressed herself to the comlink by the door, “Come and get it, lads.”

  They obviously weren’t all that far away; all but Ronald appeared shortly after her call. It took Ronald a good few minutes to trot up the stairs and he arrived in definite need of the mug of tea that was waiting for him. We had a jolly old party with Bernhart and James supplying a luridly enlarged rendition of our morning’s exploit, “You should have seen the jerry in the chopper when he found Cassandra had bust off all his weapons; his face was a picture.” James declaimed.

  “And that jerk with the Sting; she must have singed his ear the way he flung the tube away from himself.” Bernhart added.

  “And there was the jolly old doc, bu
sting up the dirt behind them every time they slowed up a bit.” James went on, “We showed them who’s in charge all right; showed them they weren’t up to toffee if we got fed up with them.”

  “They’ll think twice before they have another argument.” Bernhart concluded triumphantly.

  “This is exactly what we want.” The Doctor said, his voice quietly confident.

  On my way back to the kitchen, charged with the solemn duty of reloading the teapot, I cast my eyes aloft at the prodigious jasmine vines. I already knew that tea made from dried jasmine was jolly good; I wondered what sort of brew the fresh flowers would make. I was never one to leave curiosity unsatisfied. I washed out the teapot and while the urn was doing its stuff I harvested a generous handful of the white, pink-traced flowers.

  Their scent was strong and sweet. I heaved them into the teapot and spooned in some strong Assam black leaf to keep them company. The scent which arose as I filled the pot was certainly interesting. I dug up some more milk and sugar before loading the whole cadenza onto a tray and trotting busily back to the hall.

  “Are you trying to poison us?” Jim demanded, glaring at his cup and at me.

  “It’s a perceptive fellow you are, look you.” I told him happily, my voice lilting in its Welsh accent “That’s fresh jasmine tea; experiment number five-hundred-and-twelve, whatever.”

  “Certainly scores high with me.” James told me firmly, “Got a funny sort of jasmine-like flavour.”

  “Tastes like flowers to me.” Craig told me confidingly, “Sort of icky and sweet.”

  “Icky is a damned good word for it.” Jim said disparagingly, “Can’t think what’s come over the child. She’ll be making snail and feather tea if we don’t take her in hand.”