Night Witches

by L J Adlington

  ‘Hey – it’ll be nothing spectacular, just a series of quick fly-and-bomb runs, that’s all. Absolutely zero to be worried about. You’ve all trained non-stop and read maps and things. You got on OK with your first night-flights. I can’t see why everyone’s so tense.’

  ‘I’m not tense,’ snaps Lida.

  ‘Me neither,’ says Ang quickly. ‘I’m relaxation incarnate.’

  ‘Why are you digging your fingernails into your palms then?’ asks Dee.

  ‘Shut up!’

  Ang is paired to fly with Dee as her pilot. They’re both finding it quite torturous, particularly since Ang thinks pilots get too much respect compared to navigators. Henke is nav to his sister Rill. Lida has Petra as her navigator, but right now Petra’s squinting through the twilight to keep tabs on Mossie, who’s over by the Storms with Yeldon and Fenlon, doing last-minute checks. Being night-blind, Fenlon has to use a head-torch. He forgets he’s wearing it, and keeps dazzling people when he looks at them.

  ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I wish the sun would hurry up and finish setting!’ Zoya sighs, shoving her hands in her armpits. ‘Pip, you look toasty. Can I borrow your flying jacket just till we’re ready to go? It’s big enough for two of you, so it should fit.’

  I do feel hot. Feverish even. Taking off my jacket is a huge relief. The nausea fades.

  Zoya rootles around in my jacket pockets. ‘Have you got any spare gloves? Ugh, what’s this? Is this actual animal wool? Na – is this a bone stuck in it? Pip . . . ?’

  I back away. ‘It’s not mine, I swear – no, don’t give me it, I don’t want it! Someone must’ve hidden it in my jacket when it was hanging in the crew-room. There was something like it on the Storm the day of the test flight, too. Reef – the Scrutiner – took it.’

  ‘Seriously? Did he say what it was?’

  I shake my head. ‘Furey said it might be a good-luck charm.’

  ‘It’s like those gross artefacts they have on display in the People’s Number Ninety-four Museum back home – Old Nation stuff that’s banned now.’

  ‘Let me look,’ comes a quiet voice. Rill pushes past Zoya to examine the object. We expect a bad joke, but she’s serious when she speaks. ‘My brother knows songs about people using amulets and prayers and herbs. There are fey-tales too. I don’t know exactly what this exact charm means, but I do know it’s a witch thing.’

  ‘No such thing as witches,’ is our chorus, with me chanting extra loudly.

  ‘I’m not saying witches exist,’ Rill adds quickly. ‘But my mama said you have to do whatever you can to guard yourself against them, even if it means using protection that’s called Old Nation now.’

  It all sounds a bit like Papi’s attitude when I caught the train at Sea-Ways – No such thing as witches but guard yourself against them anyway.

  Zoya splutters, ‘I can’t believe you’d even say something like that, Rill. We should absolutely report this to Eyes in the Dark.’

  ‘Report what?’ comes a voice from behind our huddled circle. Reef is right beside me.

  ‘It’s not mine,’ says Zoya anxiously. ‘I just found it.’

  ‘Where?’

  She hesitates, not wanting to get me into trouble.

  Dee answers for her, honest as ever. ‘It was in the pocket of Rain’s flying jacket.’

  Reef’s eyes are focused only on me now. ‘Is this true?’

  I nod and colour up. ‘I don’t know how it got there.’

  ‘The wool is like that embroidered belt Haze in the canteen kitchen wears – sort of a Lim design,’ says Lida. She suddenly looks taller, as if she’ll be responsible for the group. I like that about her, even if she does keep calling me Pipsqueak.

  Zoya frowns. ‘Why would Haze make something like this? You shouldn’t accuse people without proof.’

  Lida says, ‘I’m not accusing, I’m just making an observation . . .’

  Reef holds up his hand. ‘Enough talk. We have the Lim girl under Scrutiny. We have you all under Scrutiny. Forget about this now and focus on your flying.’

  ‘Forget what?’ comes Marina Furey’s voice.

  I look up at Reef with a mute please don’t tell in my eyes.

  Reef hesitates for a moment . . . then he slips the bone-wool thing away. ‘They’re to forget their fears,’ he tells Furey calmly. ‘Their Nation needs them.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she replies.

  I breathe out slowly and wonder if I dare message thank you to Reef.

  Furey looks more dishevelled than usual, and angry too.

  ‘Updates just came through,’ she begins. ‘It’s not good. Crux have captured Sorrowdale. Yes, yes, it’s impossible. But they have. I don’t need to tell you that Sorrowdale is an important gateway from West Rodina across the foodlands to Rimm, Loren and eventually Sea-Ways itself. If Sea-Ways falls that leaves Corona vulnerable and it’ll only be a matter of time before Crux are marching through our beautiful capital city . . . and right to the doors of Aura’s laboratories. Which is not going to happen. You’re going to stop them.’

  ‘Why have they even got that far?’ Lida asks, speaking for all of us. ‘The Crux are just superstitious fanatics. Rodina has superior technology and more disciplined ground forces.’

  ‘When our technology works,’ answers Fenlon gruffly.

  Marina shrugs. ‘Normalisation squads are spraying Slick as fast as factories can produce it, but obviously it’s not enough to guarantee bioweave won’t unravel. Which is where our Storm squadron comes in. Now is the time to show the Nation what you’re capable of. In a moment you can connect for coordinates and flight plans, but I’ll tell you straight out, your first mission is to wipe out every last Crux in Sorrowdale, even if it means flattening the town.’

  We all start clapping, while Ang mutters, ‘If only we could start with that smug streak, Steen Verdessica . . .’

  No one will argue with that.

  ‘You’re acting tough, but I’m guessing you’re all afraid of what tonight will bring,’ Furey says starkly, looking at each one of us individually . . . pausing for a moment longer when she comes to me. ‘I don’t blame you. You’re going up into a night without lights, your wings weighted with bombs. Don’t give in to your fear! Your Nation takes great pride in your efforts tonight. You’re not just one person, you’re One of Many.’

  ‘One of Many!’ we chant in response.

  I look around. I still don’t know the names of everyone on the squadron, and those I am getting to know well – my new friends – they’re always bickering or bragging. Can we even pull ourselves together to work as a team?

  Furey continues.

  ‘I knew from the moment I first got airborne it was in my blood. If I could fly blind with you tonight I would. Instead, being stupidly too old for night-vision I pass my ambitions on to you. You have all taken an oath of loyalty to defend the Nation, so let’s vow once more, together, to fight to our last breath in defence of our beloved homeland. The Crux come here to force us to return to Old Nation ways. They’ve stolen our territory, our peace, the lives of our people. Now the time has come to fight for harsh retribution. Rodina is the greatest Nation to fly the flag of civilisation! Stand in the ranks of the warriors for freedom! Success to you and combat glory!’

  Forgetting our shabby outfits, our squabbles, our fears, we all draw taller and shout as one, ‘To combat glory!’

  At Furey’s signal we break rank. We sprint from the hangar, feet flying. First to the plane will be first away. Lida’s long legs have her in the lead. Her propeller spins to life. Petra leaps into place behind her. Henke and Rill are fast too, if not quite first in the line to take revenge.

  ‘Wait for me, Pip!’ pants Zoya in her oversized boots, so I slow . . . long enough to catch sight of Marina Furey lighting up a choke to smoke with trembling fingers. I hear her swear and mutter to Reef, ‘They’re only kids!’

  ‘Never underestimate what a young person can do,’ Reef replies calmly.

  She cou
ghs and laughs at the same time then throws her choke away. ‘You should know, Starzak, you should know. I’ve got clearance to see your record, remember . . .’

  Know what? No time to wonder. Our Storm is waiting!

  Just before I stow my keypad for take-off a message comes through from Reef.

  hey rain

  hello reef

  i’ll be thinking of you on your first mission – good luck. Then, after a pause, he adds rain, perhaps i shouldn’t tell you this, but i think of you all the time

  I smile inside . . . then I get a flashback to the sight of Reef standing with Roke, two Scrutiners together, at the edge of the airstrip after my test flight. I start to wonder, what does Reef think of when he thinks of me?

  Airborne.

  I patch into the primitive communication system Fenlon has installed in the Storm’s cockpit. You have to speak into a tube and hear voices through two lumpy receivers inside the flying helmet.

  ‘Hey, Zoya, can you see the map OK to navigate?’

  Zoya’s voice crackles loudly in my ears.

  ‘Not a problem. That’s Rimm over there, and those are the lights of the westbound Transnation railway. We’re on target for Sorrowdale. You know what? It must burn Furey to know we’re going to bomb her home town.’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought she lived in Corona?’

  ‘Yeah, since she got famous, but she comes from Sorrowdale, didn’t you know that? Guess you and her have something in common.’

  I want to turn and look at Zoya to see what she means, but the wind is getting pretty strong and I have to keep firm hold on the control stick to steady us with each buffeting.

  ‘I’m from Sea-Ways. I’ve never lived in Sorrowdale, you know that . . .’

  ‘Maybe I got it wrong, but I once heard my father say you guys moved from there when you were small – smaller, ha ha – to get away from Lim lands. I’d do the same. Being so near the Morass would creep me out. Do you think . . . I mean, have you wondered about why we got picked for the Storm squadron, since we’re not really experienced for anything? Do you reckon it’s something to do with what happened after the crash?’

  I sense, rather than see the dark mass of trees and mist that is the Morass, not far to the south of our flight path. Up here there is no Aura, there are no Scrutiners. We can speak freely. Trust each other. I could tell Zoya all about the weird things – the way time stretched in the Morass, the death visions, everything.

  ‘Pip? Did you hear me? Is this stupid speaker relay working?’

  I could tell her about the normalcy test I took with Roke, about the black feathers, about Papi giving me Pedla’s bane-metal protection charm. It would be wonderful to share all these abnormal things and know Zoya’s on my side.

  ‘Pip? I said, do you think there’s something about the Morass that means we’re on the squadron?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Honestly? I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Doesn’t Reef tell you anything? He must like you. Everyone’s noticed he’s always watching you.’

  I gulp emotions down. ‘Not really.’

  Before Zoya can ask any more questions I see the faint wing-lights of Lida’s Storm drop altitude ahead of us. We’re close. Oh god, this is real. This is actually going to happen. Suddenly our engines seem painfully loud in the night’s silence. Surely the Crux will have heard us – seen us – coming? The Storms really are lumbering toy planes compared to proper technology.

  ‘Can you get a fix on the target?’ I ask.

  ‘Dead ahead,’ Zoya answers.

  There it is. Sorrowdale. A Rodina town crawling with Crux soldiers. Can our little Storms make a difference when the Nation’s best bombers have failed?

  Lida’s Storm drops even lower, then up! Bombs away!

  She gains height rapidly and banks round to the right. I hold my breath. The night explodes. We cover our eyes against the sudden flare. Has she hit the town? I can’t tell; can’t make sense of the confusion on the ground.

  The second plane approaches. New bombs fall. Henke and Rill make it through, trailing the echo of wild words in their wake – Death to you all! Death for the death of our parents!

  Our turn next. I’m sick with tension. This is it! I hear a few feeble spurts of anti-aircraft fire as we dive. Zoya lines up the weapon sights and releases the wires, just as she’s done a thousand times in the simulator – bombs away! It’s like sowing seeds of death, not life.

  I give us a surge of power to climb, curve and escape. The blast follows but doesn’t catch us. We whoop and cheer like we’ve just won the whole war in one go . . .

  We’ve barely touched down at Loren again when Yeldon’s at the plane. He’s stripped down to a vest so his biceps show better.

  ‘Thought you said it’d be dangerous!’ he shouts to Zoya over the noise of the propeller. ‘You haven’t even got any bullet holes anywhere.’

  Zoya sticks her tongue out at him.

  ‘Hold steady while we refuel and rearm.’

  ‘Same again!’ Zoya sings, as I throttle forward and off we go . . . a black bird-machine heading back to war.

  Halfway to the target on our second sortie the sky splits open and sharp splinters of rain spike down. Aura said it would be clear!

  I hate spring rain because it’s thick with sticky tree spores drifting from the Morass. When I was little Zoya used to tell me if you didn’t wash the spores off straight away they’d root in your skin and grow into a forest. She also told me if you kissed a boy with thick eyebrows you’d give birth to furry rablets, but I spotted her doing that once and no rablets appeared, so I learned not to believe everything she said. Come to think of it, Yeldon has quite thick eyebrows . . . but now is not the time to think of kissing, or I’ll be right back on the subject of Reef Starzak, that half-hidden smile on his lips, and his soft message – i think of you all the time.

  I flick a switch that sets the wipers swiping across the low windshield at the front of the cockpit. They can’t keep up with the downpour. They sweep, I peek, then water pelts again. I feel it running down my neck and spine and pooling round my boots.

  I want to ask Zoya what she meant about my family being from Sorrowdale, but daren’t. Not when I’m on my way to bomb the place again. Not when my parents have always said I was born and bred in Sea-Ways.

  All night we fly. All night we bomb, until dawn comes teasing the skyline, then we strip, dump our sodden gear and collapse into our bunks, too wired to sleep, to tired to talk. Come evening we’re ready to go and pound the enemy again.

  Just as before, Lida and Petra lead our formation. They reach the target, drop bombs and veer away. Everything’s looking good for Henke and Rill’s run-in until a sudden blade of light stabs the sky. A search lamp! Steen Verdessica would just love the religious poetics of this – bringing light to the unbelievers.

  Nothing poetic about what happens next.

  Like a lightning bolt, I think – Don’t look at the light, but there’s no way to warn Henke and Rill, caught in the lamp’s beam.

  Rill’s Storm seems to skid in mid-air. It tips over and begins to spin. Rill must be blinded, Henke too. Unconnected, they can’t tell which way is up quickly enough. They’ll have no chance to come out of the stall in time.

  Zoya shrieks, ‘Rain – break formation! Abort the mission!’

  Her words mean nothing to me. I’m pushing the Storm to its maximum airspeed, urging it on, willing the seconds to stretch so I can somehow break through normal laws of time and motion to catch my friends before they find the ground.

  I start to shake. The plane shakes too, worse than normal engine shudders. I see nails working loose from wooden panels. Screws untwisting. Fabric unstitching. Light burns on my face from the search lamp. In this strange dance of slowed-down moments I feel as if I can count the photons spreading out in a wave of dazzle. The plane’s not the only thing unravelling. I feel this tremendous pressure pushing from the inside outwards until it seems as if I’m unpeeling like fruit s
kin. Some strange power sings, Let me out! Let me burst free! I clamp it down, struggling, almost literally, to hold myself together. I am normal, normal, normal.

  Below us Henke and Rill are turning, diving, falling . . . hitting a Sorrowdale house – bam. Time zooms back to normal. Their Storm blooms into a hideous flower of orange fire that rain quickly batters into foul black smoke.

  My voice is loud but rough from the ash in the air. ‘We’re close enough to the target, Zoya, release the bombs!’

  ‘They’re shooting at us!’

  ‘I know! Release the bombs!’

  ‘I can’t, the wires are jammed!’

  ‘Then fly the plane for me!’

  Thank god – or Fenlon – for dual controls. While Zoya pilots the Storm I strip off my bulky flying gloves and heave myself half out of the cockpit to find that the bomb-release wires are totally twisted. Only one thing for it. Before I can talk myself out of such madness I’m climbing on to the lower left wing. The Storm tilts. I grab a wooden strut for support. It creaks . . . but stays firm. Zoya gets control; I get my balance. The search lamp swings round towards us.

  ‘Don’t look at the lights!’ I call.

  ‘Don’t fall!’ Zoya screams.

  I think . . . If you don’t know you can’t do something, maybe you can. With my eyes closed I feel for the bomb wires. They’re taut and strong. I yank them hard. Nothing doing. If only I had a knife, like the one Reef used in the Morass. That’s too bad – I don’t, and these bombs have to come off now. I pour all my anger into my hands. Wires cut, blood wells out, but they . . . almost . . . nearly . . . yes – snap! A wire-end whips past my head, cutting the fabric of my flying cap. One by one the bomb cylinders fall.

  ‘Pull up!’ I call. ‘We need height!’

  ‘Get in the cockpit!’

  ‘More height!’

  I hang on tight, drinking in the back flow from the propellers, then hoist myself into the pilot’s seat once more. Our bombs land and burst and the search lamp goes dark for ever. How’s that for poetics, Steen Verdessica!

  We get away. We live. For now.

  Marina Furey comes squelching across the sodden bioground of the airstrip, holding a lo-glo lamp that casts a weak circle of light around her. Her uniform is sodden and her hair is plastered to her scalp. An allergy to spring spores has made her eyes sore and her nose turn red.