by Greig Beck
Ben held a hand up to his eyes and walked toward the plateau edge, feeling his hopes sink a little. The clouds had dropped, and where they stood was like a vast island amidst a sea of dirty cotton wool. The cliff wall still fell a few hundred feet to the cloud tops, but now everything else below it was hidden.
Strangely, the clouds slowly rotated, and the sky above was darkening even though sundown was many hours away. A slight breeze had sprung up, but seemed to come from below them, rising up over the cliff edge and into their faces.
Ben took in a deep breath and let it out slowly – whatever was happening, whatever Benjamin had feared would trap him in 1908, had begun, for them.
Bellakov eased up beside him, gun under his arm. “You know what they say about falling out of a plane?” He turned and grinned. “It’s not the fall that kills you, but the sudden stop at the end.”
Ben nodded. “Yep, if we can’t see the ground, we can’t find a clearing, and if we can’t find a clearing, we’ll probably glide into a stand of trees and end up like squashed bugs.”
The others joined them. “I knew you were insane, but if I think you’re planning to do what I think…” Walt slapped him on the shoulder “…then count me the hell in.”
“Well? Would someone clue me in?” Emma asked.
“Both of us?” Jenny’s brows were up.
Ben turned first to Bellakov. “Janus, give us some cover while I look this guy over. Don’t want anything surprising us while we’re between the jungle and a cliff edge.”
“You got it, buddy.” Bellakov turned to the jungle, walking a few dozen steps toward a boulder, and sitting down on it. He sat down in a place where he could keep one eye on the jungle, and one back on the group – good enough, Ben thought.
“Buddy now?” Emma glared at the man.
“Not even close.” Ben headed to the Corsair Fighter plane carcass and first walked all the way around it. Then he went in close to run one hand over the metal skin, and then checked underneath it. The wheels had collapsed, but the pilot, Lieutenant John Carter, had done one hellova job in coming in clean, and making it over the lip of the cliff, plus, managing to stop just short of the tree line. Carrier deck landing expertise, Ben guessed.
Ben gritted his teeth, reached in and grabbed Carter’s skeleton under the arms of the flight jacket. He eased him out, and then laid him carefully on the ground.
“Thanks for everything, Lieutenant. We’ll take it from here.”
He climbed back up to peer inside. The cockpit was intact and the rear empty. The plane’s wings were primarily intact as well, but structurally, he wouldn’t know until he was in the air whether they’d take the stress or simply snap off turning the plane into a torpedo. Ben chuckled mirthlessly – only find out in the air – talk about a death wish.
Ben reached in and moved the wheel, watching the effect on the wings. Amazingly, the flaps still worked, just. But when he tried the rear flap rudder, something pinged, and then it froze solid – not good, but also not a real tragedy as he doubted turning left or right would be a priority, and if he could manage a leveling out to keep the nose up, then that was first prize.
Ben rested his forearms on the cockpit edge and looked to the nose; the 13-foot, three-blade propeller was broken off, but the nose cone was still intact. Everything else was still there, and as he expected, it was the engine that’d be the problem – the Corsair used the largest engine available at the time: the 2,000 horsepower, 18-cylinder Pratt & Whitney Double Wasp radial – it was why it was so dominant in the skies.
But it was the source of all that muscle power that was the problem – the engine weighed in at 2,300 pounds of dead weight. Even if they were loaded in the back, they’d never weight-compensate, and they’d go nose-down immediately. Without an engine, they’d nosedive all the way to the jungle floor.
Ben straightened. The only way to achieve any semblance of a glide was to balance the weight, but first they needed to make the plane significantly lighter – at least 2,000 pounds lighter.
Ben turned. “The engine has gotta go.”
Walt Koenig blew air between pressed lips. “Got a winch and a tool shop?”
“No, but we got rocks as hammers, knives as screwdrivers, and muscles for leverage.” Ben dusted off his hands. “Plus, we’ve got the most important ingredient of all.” He turned and grinned. “Survival motivation.”
Walt returned the smile and saluted. “Works for me.”
Ben turned about for a moment and then looked back at the Corsair. He placed his hands on his hips, thinking through what they needed to do.
“Okay, people, we’ll need all shoulders to the wheel. Walt and I will work on getting the engine removed. Once it’s lighter, we can swing it around to face the cliff edge and then move it into place. We’ll also need a path cleared – Jenny and Emma, going to need you to clear away as much debris as you can manage.”
Ben’s mouth curved into a smile. “And watch the edge; it’s a hellova first step. Questions?” He waited; there were none. “Then let’s do this.”
Jenny and Emma set to shifting rocks, tufts of grass, and other debris, and he and Walt pulled off the panels of the engine housing at the nose of the fighter. Ben sighed and just shook his head. Walt leaned in on his elbows beside him.
“Never gonna get that all out.” Ben exhaled slowly.
“Never thought we would,” Walt replied. “So let’s just get out what we can. Besides, to get the engine fully out, we’d need to deconstruct the plane, and maybe take the whole nose off. Don’t want to do that as we’ll distort the aerodynamics of the entire bird.”
Ben reached in to tug on a few of the muscular-looking cylinders; several were already loose. “Okay, doable.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Walt pulled his hunting knife and started to work on some of the screw-heads.
The pair worked for several hours until Ben’s knuckles were grazed, and his hands orange and black from ancient rust. The metal clanged down as they dropped piece after piece, and they quickly grew into a pile.
Ben looked up to see Janus Bellakov watching them. The man nodded, and Ben did the same in return. Ben pointed at his eyes then to the jungle. Janus nodded and turned away.
Jenny and Emma had basically cleared a runway, or rather drag-way, to the cliff edge. If they managed to lighten the plane without destroying it, and then drag it to the lip, he still wondered whether he, or everyone, would be mad enough to actually sit in it and then let themselves tip over.
He laughed softly; of course they would. Because the alternative was dying up here, and by dying, that probably meant being eaten alive. Or somehow being trapped here forever. He frowned at the thought, still not understanding what his great, great grandfather had meant by that.
Ben looked at his watch – mid-afternoon – no wonder he was hungry. He paused, weighing up whether he should get Walt or Bellakov to try and catch some game. They’d given up on having Jenny scout for edible roots, nuts, or berries, as no one had ever seen any of the strange plants before, and as the creatures eating them had digestive systems far different from humans, then vomiting and diarrhea might be the least of their problems.
Ben looked at the pile of engine parts – not bad. The remaining engine block was refusing to give up any more odds and ends, and without a hoist, it wasn’t going anywhere – it’d have to do.
“I think we’re done here.”
Walt held up his knife, the tip and edge warped and blunted. “We certainly are.”
Emma and Jenny came and leant against one of the wings. “What now?”
Ben turned to look towards the cliff edge. It was a good two hundred feet and would take time to drag the plane to the lip without damaging it. Added to that, he didn’t want to make the attempt when it was getting dark.
“I think we might have missed our window for tonight. But we can certainly drag this baby closer so we have a dawn launch.”
“I vote we go now,” Emma said. “I do
n’t want to spend another minute up here.”
Ben turned to her and then the cliff edge. He had to squint as dust and debris blew up over the rim, and the clouds continued to turn around them like they were in the center of a giant whirlpool. There was no sign of the ground at all.
Walt scratched his chin. “Yeah, I hear you. But by the time we get the plane to the edge, it’ll be dark. Clouds are bad enough, but I reckon we can punch through those. But once we’ve done that, and if we do even make it that far, then we want to at least be able to try and glide to an open space. We need to see to do that.” He half grinned. “Rumor has it that big trees might not bother to get out of our way.”
Emma’s eyes sparked. “Still think we should go for it; let’s take a vote.”
“Then I vote we wait,” Jenny said, and sadness clouded her features. “Sorry, Emm, but if we can’t see, we can’t find a safe landing. And if we’re gliding, there’s no second chance.”
Emma stared for a moment, but then exhaled and nodded once.
“It’s settled,” Ben said. “Let’s turn this baby around.” Ben waved to Janus Bellakov and called him back in.
“Ready to take off?” Bellakov asked.
Ben shook his head and wiped his hands. “Not until tomorrow. For now, we’ll try and get it to the edge – take off first thing.”
Bellakov’s forehead creased and he put his hands on his hips. Ben ignored him and turned to Koenig.
“Maybe Walt here can show us some of that hunting prowess he’s been talking up.” Ben winked at the man, who was fast becoming an indispensable ally.
“Oh a challenge? Then you just place your order, big guy.” Walt grinned back.
Ben finally jumped down from one of the wings and stepped back to survey all their work. Satisfied, he set to organizing the group.
“We turn it clockwise. Janus, you get the tail, and the rest of us on the wings.” He held up a hand. “And please, take it slow; I don’t want to see the bottom ripped out of her.”
They each took their positions around the Corsair. “On a count of 3,” Ben said, and then: “And 2, and 1, and…heave.”
Janus lifted the lighter rear end of the plane, and the others swiveled the heavier nose. It slowly spun a little easier than Ben expected and immediately filled him with some hope. In another few minutes of starting, resting, and restarting, they had the nose pointed towards the cliff edge.
“Well, that was the easy part,” Jenny observed.
Ben slapped his hands together, and then wiped them on his pants. “Looking good, and we’ve all got tickets booked on a morning flight. Now, let’s get her to the edge.”
Each wing had a man and woman, with Janus lifting the tail section once more. They pushed, once again in fits and starts, moving the plane forward a few feet, and then stopping to rest and check they weren’t tearing the bottom out. In two hours, they’d managed to move it halfway, and without losing too much airplane or human skin in the process.
“Rest,” Ben said, turning and leaning back against the plane’s fuselage. Sweat streamed, and he sipped from the warm contents of his canteen. He felt a little lightheaded, probably from fluid loss, but also as he hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, and he knew his energy levels were flagging.
He looked up. The clouds were dropping and still turning like they were being stirred, and overall the light was fading. A gust blew grit into his eyes and he wiped at it. He estimated another hour of light left, and maybe two more hours of pushing – no choice but to just suck it up and get it done.
So they did.
The darkness fell, but the energy-sapping heat and humidity remained. As they got closer to the plateau edge, the breeze blew harder into their faces, at least drying some of their sweat.
Ben was heartened by the updraft, as it’d aid in the planes gliding ability. A down draft would have sunk them like a stone.
In another 30 minutes, the group had the plane with the nose on the cliff edge, and Ben knew that if they were all as tired as he was, it was as far as the plane was going that evening.
“Ah…” Emma looked from the plateau edge, to the Corsair, and then to Ben. “If we’re all sitting inside this death trap, how exactly are we going to launch it?”
Ben chuckled. “I like your confidence.” He held up a finger. “Watch and learn – so, got any rope left?”
“Sure, but only about 80 feet,” Emma said and folded her arms, looking quizzical. “But it’s our last length.”
“Hopefully we won’t need it anymore,” Ben said. “So, when you were a kid, did you ever own one of those glider slingshots?”
Emma half smiled but shook her head slowly. “Nope.”
“Hmm, deprived childhood, huh?” Ben turned back to the plane, now that he had everyone watching him. He walked around it, and then to the rear, crouching and placing a hand on the tail for a moment, satisfying himself.
“Normal gliders have a hook underneath them, usually at the front, and you attach a lead cable to them so an engine-driven plane can lift them up into the thermals. A toy glider also has one at the front, to attach the elastic from the slingshot.”
Ben then made a V-shape with the fingers of one hand and pretended to pull back on an imaginary elastic between them.
“Then when you let it go, the plane shot forward.” He dusted off his hands. “So, we have our glider, we have our rope to act as catapult, and all we need is the slinging force, and…” He turned about. “There.” He pointed to a small boulder. “We push that rock until it’s right on the very edge. Tie the rope to it, and the other end we hook around the Corsair’s tail, but loose enough so it releases by itself.”
Ben walked forward, staring out over the plateau rim. “The rock goes over, pulls the rope, which tugs on the plane, launching it over the edge, and then we are airborne.”
Walt clapped once and laughed out loud. “I love it – then the rope on release will tug on the tail, also bringing the nose up. This crazy idea could goddamn work.”
“And if the rope doesn’t release when it’s supposed to?” Emma looked unconvinced.
“Then the gliding may be a little bit shitty.” Ben grinned. “And a lot quicker to the ground.” He pointed. “Step one, and last job for the night. Let’s get that rock a little closer to the front of the plane.
It only took Ben, Walt, and Bellakov 15 minutes to muscle the small boulder to the cliff edge and front of the Corsair, and then carefully slide it forward. Ben got down on his belly and inched towards the rim. He peaked over, squinting into the flying grit. It was dark, and he flicked on his flashlight – he could now see that where they perched was basically a jutting lip of stone, and then below them the cliff dropped away until it was well beyond his light.
It could work…it had to work, he prayed.
Ben tied the rope around the small boulder, and then crawled back to reach under the tail and carefully loop it over its underside. He tried the release a few times until he was satisfied.
Ben then stood and wiped his hands on his shorts. “That’s it for now.”
“Good work,” Walt said. “So let me see what I can run down for our dinner.” He checked his rifle.
Ben looked at the hunter and then back at the forbidding dark jungle. “Can’t let you go in by yourself. I’ll go with you.”
“What?” Emma straightened and quickly looked from Ben to the menacing Janus Bellakov.
Bellakov saw the exchange and chuckled. “No, Ben, you need to stay here with your friends. You’re probably a good shot, but I’m a hunter like Koenig. Together, we’ll have more success, and be back here in a flash.”
“Good idea,” Emma said quickly.
“Yep.” Jenny also nodded vigorously.
Ben looked across to Walt, who was stony-faced, but nodded once.
“Done,” Ben said.
Walt Koenig gave him a small salute, and then both men turned on their heel and crossed the lengthy clearing to then head out into the black jungle
. Ben watched them for a moment before turning away.
“Can we risk a fire?”
“Probably not,” Jenny said. “But then again, we shouldn’t eat raw meat as we have no idea what sort of internal parasites these things could be carrying.” She grimaced. “Plus, we’re out in the open.” She hiked her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
Ben thought about the pros and cons. They needed their strength, especially for the arduous day he expected for tomorrow, so one way or the other, they were going to eat. He certainly didn’t want to attract anything with the light or smells, but he knew from experience, raw food could be dangerous.
Ben also knew if they became infected, then even if they made it to the ground, they might not survive the trek out of the jungle. He decided.
“We light one, and then let it die down so we can cook in the embers. Keeping the food buried will also reduce the cooking odors. Deal?” He raised his eyebrows.
Jenny bobbed her head. ‘Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” She smiled, but it didn’t extend to her eyes.
CHAPTER 32
“Think it’ll work?” Walt Koenig whispered over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I do,” Bellakov responded. “I think the plateau will give the Corsair some good updraft. Sure, we’ll come in fast, but provided the landing site isn’t a row of freaking tree trunks, then it should be survivable.”
Walt nodded but had his doubts. They were now about a third of a mile into the thick jungle, and he began to tread more softly.
Walt Koenig crouched and waved Bellakov down. The jungle was near pitch dark, and he relied on peripheral vision. It was an evolutionary thing about the human eye – it had both rods and cones, but it was the rods that were more sensitive to light, and these were gathered in greater number at the corners of the eye. He also relied on sound, smell, and even air density changes. But the biggest advantage he had was his brain.
The pair of men crouched in near silence for a few moments. They heard the drip of water, smelled the chlorophyll and sweet fragrance of blooming night flowers, and heard the tiny scuttling of insects among the leaf detritus. But further out, there was the sound of tentative footfalls.