by Aeryn Leigh
"Ah ha!" she said. "I knew it." She took back the book.
Abe read 'The Scarlet Kiss' in fascinated rapture. "Detective Tracy gets all the chicks," he said, speed reading it. Daniel broke the spell.
"Here they come, under a mile out" shouted Daniel from the tailplane. "Rob and Jimmy, plus three Brits walking. They have wounded. Two fellas." He paused. "And a dog."
We're a regular circus, thought Lucius. Step right up, Ladies and Gentlemen. "Thanks Dan," he said. Amelia had stopped crying, but still wouldn't leave Griffin's side. Her cat circled around, wary, and didn't go far either.
"Alright," Lucius said to everyone in earshot, "we're about to meet the Brits. Keep it cool, and let's get out of this mess. Steven, take over the watch on the fifty cal. I don't like any of this at all." He sat on a crate and waited for them, and thought of the storm and where it'd blown them. He didn't like it at all.
The search party arrived at last. Amelia hid behind Griffin, peering out. She saw the dog too late. The large wolf-shaped canine made straight for the cat, which to the amazement of all, stood its ground and swiped the muzzle of the dog, claws out. The dog yelped and leapt back. Amelia darted from behind Griffin and swept the cat up before the dog changed its mind. The dog however, sat in front of her and panted, tail wagging. Griffin laughed.
Jimmy introduced them, as they placed the wounded men under the wing in the shade. “They’re Aussies, not Brits."
Lucius noticed the man with a black eye look down at the ground the whole time. James. Watch him, he thought.
"We did some unofficial modifications," said Daniel, talking to Mick, who pointed up at the aircraft.
"Jesus fucking Christ mate," said Mick, staring at the Boeing B-17E, "how many bloody guns did you mount up there?"
"Enough," said Griffin. "It ain't called Damage Inc. for nothing." He jabbed a finger at the Boeing's nose art, where a cartoon black bunny wearing aviator sunglasses held a cut-down Browning in each furry hand, chomping a cigar. Underneath, in blood-red capitals: DAMAGE INC.
"Doubled the waist guns, added a few gun positions. Enough," said Lucius.
Zia wiggled from Amelia's arms and darted to the other side of the bomber, Skippy giving pursuit joyously, and around and around the two animals went, Amelia and Mick chasing after them.
"So," said Lucius to Andrew, once the commotion settled down, "you have no idea where we are either?" He took a sip from his canteen. They all stood in a half-circle looking south.
"No, I'm afraid to say," said Andrew. "Never seen anything like it. It looks like France or Spain but those mountains are unfamiliar. I'll have to wait until night-fall to take a star reading."
"There's nothing but static on my wireless," said Bear. "We should be picking up something."
"Yeah,” said Abe, "same on ours." Silence. The men looked at Amelia playing fetch with Skippy in the near distance, both as happy as pigs in a warm mud bath.
"And what's her story?" said Mick. "She was in the Me-262?"
"Yeah," said Griffin, cutting Lucius off. "Got a problem with that?"
"Why would I have a problem with that mate?" said Mick. "It wasn't my crew-mate that got killed by them, it was your lot." He looked at the corpse.
"When we find her," said Lucius, pronouncing the When with glacial certainty, "I am damn well going to ask her why. Now though, boys, we better work out where we are and how to get home. We'll make camp here." He looked at Andrew. "Sergeant, two on rotating watch?" Andrew nodded. "Let's get on it."
Lucius and Andrew sat together on the B-17's tailplane, a wooden case between them, legs dangling over. The sun began to set, casting long shadows below them. Andrew looked at his watch. "My watch says 10.03," he said, tapping it once more against his thigh. "I think it got jarred on landing." Lucius reached into his top pocket and pulled out a brass pocket-watch. It gleamed in the sun's light, golden and old.
"My great-grandpa's watch," he said. "Had it at Gettysburg. He called it Ol’ Faithful. Here," he said, "take it."
Andrew took the pocket-watch, and opened it. "10.04," he said, eventually. He handed it back. They watched a flock of birds pass overhead. Lucius sighed.
"It sure 'aint 10pm," said Lucius, "nor 10am in France or Spain. Did we get blown to Norway?"
Andrew turned his head to face Lucius. "I don't see how in s few seconds we went from the English Channel to wherever here is. No roads, no humans, nothing."
Lucius met the gaze. "There's a stream just north of here, where we found the girl. The stream runs East. Tomorrow, I intend on following that water down to wherever it leads. My Mama always said to me, Lucius, where's there's water, there's humans. I'm going to find them, Sergeant. And what of you? Thoughts?"
"That's a splendid idea," said Andrew. "I'll speak to the lads, we should come along too, at least some of us."
"Make sure James does," said Lucius, "if you can." He stood up, called out for Daniel to come on up, and climbed down.
Andrew stroked his chin. None of it made any sense. There must be a good reason, he thought. He opened the wooden box, and examined his sextant again. Daniel joined him, and without another word they waited for sunset and the stars.
Sunset came and went. The glow of the camp-fire underneath framed the outline of the bomber's port wing against the black, moonless sky. The sound of men talking, punctuated by a young, energetic child here and there, wood crackling, the smell of wood fire smoke, and tinned pork sizzling. The galaxies and stars came out, but... different. And not where they should be. In one small section of sky, there was nothing but black.
No stars.
No light.
Nothing.
They looked at the most vivid galaxy in the sky on the opposite horizon.
Daniel and Andrew exchanged notes, not daring to look each other in the eyes. They consulted their almanacs. Orion looked wrong. Andrew's shoulders slumped, the sextant in his lap.
"Damn it," said Andrew under his breath.
Daniel closed his notebook, and lowered his sextant too. "Toto..."
And then the rising fear smothered further words.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Laurie Wakes
He dreamt the bomber plummeting from the sky, his crew dead or bailed out, the dog howling from the bomb-bay. He pulled up on the lever, the city below rushing up to him. They weren't going to make it. The nose of the aircraft rose, higher and higher, and then it did. Just enough. A weather-vane tore through the Perspex nose, shattering it, flying above the tiled roofs of the dark city below. The dog howling stopped.
Laurie awoke. He blinked, seeing the silver wing above him, low voices to his right. By God his head hurt. Are we in England? Where's help? His thoughts raced, still groggy.
What the hell is that? He blinked again, the after-image coming in fast past the inky-black sky. Look out, he tried to say, the words not coming out. He struggled to sit up.
Steven's bladder called to him urgently. "Hang on fellas," he said, "got to take a piss." He put down his cards and stood up, walked out to the edge of the camp-fire's light, and relieved himself in the darkness.
A voice, hoarse and croaked, called out to him in warning. Steven turned. And the huge obsidian, winged shape detached itself from the black and took him, the screaming carried up and away into the night, fading.
Laurie rubbed his eyes. Men around him shouted and ran past. The world swayed. Today is the day you die, he thought. C'mon you bastard, take me. He stepped towards the vision he saw when he blinked, all but a blur now, getting lighter, more transparent with every blink.
Take me. A hand stopped him. Mick's hand.
“Laurie,” said Mick in a rush, "you alright mate. What did you see? Where is he?"
"It took him and not me," said Laurie. "You bastard." He yelled at the sky.
"Easy Laurie," said Andrew. He helped Mick get the Squadron Leader back to the bomber, sitting him down on a crate. Mick passed Laurie a water canteen. Laurie finished it. Things became clearer. Thor
finn lay on a stretcher to his left, holding his service pistol, alert. A man... a black fella... a big man holding a machine-gun in front of the B-17's exit door, and a girl... yes, a girl, stood in the doorway of the bomber, behind him, peering out. More shouts, and a trio ran by, holding torches.
"Where are we?" said Laurie. In the silence held the reply. "Fantastic."
The crew members of both bombers searched the immediate area in groups of two or three. Steven couldn't be found. Lucius returned, walked up to Laurie, and pulled up a crate next to him.
"Captain Lucius James Jr., United States Air Force," Lucius said, sticking out his hand.
"Squadron Leader Lawrence John, Royal Australian Air Force," said Laurie, and shook it. Strong, but not that of a bully trying to squeeze your hand in a death grip, he thought. This bloke seemed okay. "I'm not sure what I saw. I – I just woke up, and something blurry came towards the man, tried to yell out..." It felt like the headache was trying to bore a hole through his skull. Words were hard. "Sorry about your crew mate."
Lucius watched Skippy approach, the dog placed her head up on the man’s knee. "Yeah," said Lucius. He sighed and picked a blade of grass, twisting it. "Thanks anyway. And it's Lucius."
"Laurie," said the Australian. He patted Skippy. "Is there anything involving a plan?"
"There's a mountain stream due east of us," said Lucius. "I had planned on taking a party to follow it in the morning, leaving a few behind with the injured." He paused for a moment. "And burying the dead."
Andrew joined them. "Did Lucius fill you in?"
"Enough to know we're in the shit," said Laurie. "I'll stay here…" then looking at Lucius "…with Bear and watch Thorfinn. James, Mick, and yourself can go with Lucius and whoever he takes. Yeah?"
"Okay," said Lucius, glad he didn't have to force the James issue. Accidents happen sometimes out on a walk. "But what about the girl? Her Momma is still at large."
"Ask her," said Laurie. "I don't give a rat's ass either way." Andrew and Lucius exchanged a look. "Is there any aspirin around?"
Chapter Thirty-Three
Not bad For A Yank
Griffin hung the hammock, tied between two struts in the fuselage, in between the waist gunner windows either side, one window higher up than the other due to how the bomber had crash-landed and rotated. Minutes later, Amelia tried to get comfortable for the millionth time, Zia meowing in protest, the fabric squeaking against the metal bars. The waist machine-guns now sat outside, nervous crewmen manning them, an hour since Steven went missing.
"Mummy should be here any minute," she said, again. The camp fire poked light through all the holes, a latticework of beams. She reached up, put her fingers in one. It danced.
"Geh schlafen," said Griffin. He stood by the exit hole, leaning against a broken spar. He'd figured out the 'Go' and 'Sleep', anyway from the book. 'Mummy and Daddy's' were pretty easy the world over. And for the rest of Amelia's words, well, easy to guess that part. He reached inside his breast shirt, and pulled the picture out. In the dim light, he smiled. Griffin just wanted to be back home, to hug his kids tight, kiss their momma, all safe and warm. His other hand clenched, then relaxed, over and over.
"Can you read me the book, The Scarlet Kiss?" she said. He understood the title. "Gimme a sec," he said, and left to find Abe. He returned with the book and started to climb up but stopped. Skippy had curled up under the hammock, tail and all. She looked at Griffin.
A snore, then another one, came from the hammock, the fuselage a nice echo chamber. Finally, thought Griffin. He smiled at Skippy, and joined the others outside.
They all slept under the silver wing, a collection of men and dreams, hopes, families, of long-lost love or no love, and fear. The camp-fire at the wing-tip, small now, hadn't been fed in a few hours. There wasn't much wood left to burn. Eugene stood watch with Robert, taking over from Griffin and Bear, who'd looked like they'd just exchanged a private joke. Eugene and Rob waited until Griffin snored.
"No Sir," said Rob, "ain't no way I'm staying behind." He put the last of the broken ammunition crate on the flames.
"Neither am I," said Eugene. "To hell with that. And be like Steven?" He prodded the crate with his boot. "Damn."
"Daniel doesn't recognise the stars, or what they oughta be," said Rob. "That scares the shit out of me. Damn mission. Go to England, they said. Make the negroes sell war bonds all circus like." He spat onto the ground.
Eugene looked up. "Even a fool like me can see Orion is out of whack," he said quietly. He shivered as his spine shuddered, hunching his shoulders.
They both fell silent. Time passed. Lucius relieved them, a yawning Mick by his side. It would be the last watch before sunrise. Lucius offered Mick a cigarette.
"Cheers mate," said Mick, leaning forward to light it from the fire, lighting Lucius's from his own. Lucius nodded. The two studied each other, taking a long puff.
"You're not British?" said Lucius, blowing out smoke.
"Nah," said Mick. "Australian. We all are. Although sometimes with Andrew, I'm not quite sure."
"Commonwealth Nation of the British Empire," said Lucius, doing his own unique impression of an Australian accent.
Mick grinned. "Not bad," he said, "for a Yank." He picked some grass, twisting it around his index finger. "A long way from home," he said, "like you. They want you out of the way or something?"
"Yes," said Lucius. His jaw clenched, and relaxed. "You all seem pretty casual like. Must be all that kangaroo riding, huh?"
Mick laughed. "Yeah mate, I ride one to work every day." He stuck out his tanned arms and bounced up and down on the spot. "You're alright for a black fella," he said, smiling.
Lucius looked at the horizon. "You're not too bad, for a whitey." He met Mick's eyes for a second, and they both said nothing more until the sun came up over the horizon, liquid amber and orange pooling into the promise of a new day.
And then the second sun rose.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Furnace Of Madness
Griffin and Bear volunteered to dig the two graves, fifty yards from the bomber. The earth, soft and rich, came out easy. They laid the bodies to rest in the morning light. Lucius cleared his throat, as they all stood around, Thorfinn leaning on Mick's shoulder for support. Amelia sat on Griffin's shoulders, Skippy by Laurie's side.
No-one mentioned the twin suns, one shining much brighter than the other. The mind-crushing unspoken questions of how and why hung in the air like the dense core of a star. Or falling into a black hole.
Heavy.
Crushing.
"I'm going to make this quick," Lucius said, trying not to look up at the sky. "We'll come back and give them a proper burial later once we find help. But now, we need to find that help. Squadron Leader John... Laurie says he wants to stay here and..."
"Not anymore," said Laurie. He felt better this morning, not as woolly-headed. "We all should go. Bugger staying here with whatever took your man last night." He turned to Mick. "Is that leg okay to travel?"
"If you don't overdo it, and take a stretcher along, no worries," said Mick.
"Yeah, I'd rather not stay here either," said Thorfinn.
The two commanders stared at each other.
"Okay then," said Lucius. "We go together. Pile up everything we have and let's get to it."
The pile didn't end up that high, thought Andrew. They distributed food rations, escape kits, blankets, and water canteens between them, and before long, set off, side by side in a conga line, except for Griffin, himself last. Daniel and Andrew lead the procession north-east, Skippy by Andrew's side, towards the gap in the mountains.
Amelia could see everything. The twelve men in front of her. Zia on Bear's back, her head poking out of the backpack, the wide open plain stretching to mountains all round. She still sat on Griffin's shoulders, the big machine-gun that Griffin called Betty, slung over his right shoulder, touched her thigh, it's metal cool. His canvas bag held all her stuff, plus Griffin's, and all
the gear and equipment that would fit, on the other shoulder.
"Griffin," she said, consulting the language book, "why do they call you – Timberman?" Her English mangled the last word.
When Griffin spoke, she felt the rumbling in his chest.
"Because I'm a lumberjack," said Griffin.
"Lum-ber-jack." Amelia repeated each syllable. "What's a lum-ber-jack?"
"I cut down trees," said Griffin. He bent up his right hand. Amelia passed him the book. He consulted it. "Here," he said, passing back the book open to the page. "There."
Amelia read where his finger rested. "Silly me," she said. "Ahhh, so you carry an axe, and chop wood all day, and put the logs in the stream, and live in little huts in the wilderness, singing songs," she said, all in a burst of German.
Griffin twisted his head around to look at her. "Sure," he said with a smile, not understanding a single word, but getting the sentiment.
They walked, and came to the edge of the plain an hour later. Water-canteens re-filled, and a quick break later, the party followed the direction of the winding mountain stream as it gurgled east, threading their way through the overhanging trees. Beyond the stream the valley stretched out to the horizon.
The suns, high overhead, hot enough now to make them sweat, cast little in the way of shadows as they ate some of what remained of their food. Daniel and Andrew made some sun measurements, talking to themselves. The afternoon passed, as the group walked slowly but constantly, the river on their left, between the mountains either side. Sunset came, and they struck camp. The night passed without incident, and in the overcast morning, they started walking.
By the end of the day's walk, the mountains smaller now in the distance, they made camp on the riverbank. Mick and Abe went hunting, found nothing. The night passed without incident.