“I’ve got to get the horses free,” Alec said.
“We hope to, but we might not have the time.”
“I’ll have to take the time,” Alec said.
The navigator wiped his hands on his pants, then he pushed Alec forward in his seat. “Put your head between your legs and clasp your hands under them like this. That’s it. Now tense all your muscles. There, that’s the way you should be when I yell, ‘Brace for ditching!’ You all got it?”
Alec straightened in his seat. “We’ve got it,” he said.
“There’s a packet of green dye in your life jackets just in case we get separated. It’ll stain the water, making it easier to spot you from the air.”
“We won’t need it. We’ll be in the raft with you,” Henry reminded him.
“I know, but just in case—”
“Just in case nothing,” Henry interrupted, trying to grin. “It’s no night to be paddling around alone in the Atlantic.”
The navigator moved over to the life raft and Alec looked out the window again, watching their navigation lights blink alternately like a parade of fireflies. Above them black clouds rose high and billowing but here it was quiet and safe with the plane flying smoothly through the night. Alec didn’t look below at the sea’s angry turmoil. It was enough to know that for a few moments they’d be given peace. The plane flew without a tremor, graceful in flight. There was no rain, no wind to impede her speed, only silence and …
He’d have time, according to the navigator, plenty of time … three whole minutes before being submerged in the sea.
Alec turned to his horse but the Black’s eyes were closed in sleep. The boy kept looking at him for a long, long time while the last of the fuel flowed from the tanks to the engines.
Was this so different from their first trip together? he asked himself. If it hadn’t been for a storm, the Black would never have been his. It was their ship that had gone down instead of a plane, but it was the same raging sea, the same kind of night. Was that experience to be repeated? Was he to grab hold of the Black again and be pulled to safety? Was this the beginning all over again?
Alec took his eyes off his horse, never asking himself if, instead, his life with the Black was to end where it had begun—at night, in a storm-tossed sea.
The navigator unfastened the life raft from the heavy straps which held it just aft of the main door. They’d throw it out, inflating it with CO2 gas to make it seaworthy … that would take about forty-four seconds of their precious time, he figured. A launching line would hold the raft to the aircraft while they dropped into it from the escape rope … depending, of course, upon how low the ship lay in the water at the time and whether there was any need for the rope.
Alec watched the navigator, knowing that whatever happened luck would play an important part in the outcome. Air science and emergency procedures could accomplish only so much. The rest depended wholly upon circumstances. He had raced horses too long not to be well acquainted with the chances of survival in a tight situation.
He didn’t think it was possible for the pilot to set the plane down under control in such a raging sea. There’d be no coming down smoothly and without a jar. They were bound to run smack into a wave, if not on first impact then soon after. It would be like hitting a brick wall, only harder, because the plane would give way beneath the force of the blow. There’d be plenty of things flying around, so keep your head down, he reminded himself.
Alec turned to his horse again. The worst part of it all was that there was nothing he or anyone else would be able to do during those first terrible seconds. It was a matter of prayer and luck. All one could do was to wait to find out if he was still alive when the plane stopped.
Suddenly an engine sputtered and backfired. Then another. The ship quivered, the first warning of a stall. The nose went down and the plane shook from side to side as it mushed into the lower air, its engines sputtering and backfiring violently, demanding fuel from near-drained tanks.
The NO SMOKING sign was on. The navigator called, “Brace for ditching. Hold your position until the aircraft comes to a complete stop. Be patient and orderly leaving the plane.” One would have thought he was in flight-training school all over again.
Alec tensed his muscles and waited.…
The plane was under full control when it approached the water with just enough fuel left in the tanks to give the engines power. Slower and slower it flew, almost in a power stall … lower and lower like a huge bird approaching its watery nest, which was now being lit by bright flares. If they were lucky, the plane would make a half-decent landing and there would be little breaking up. If they were unlucky, a wing tip would hook the top of the first wave and the plane would dive straight down into the next. Now the plane swooped roughly, smoothed out again and almost stalled.
Alec’s life vest was warm, comforting. He kept his head down, the collar high. He would have liked to talk to Henry or the Black during the last few seconds. His hands gripped his legs more tightly while he closed his eyes in prayer. Too bad it wasn’t daylight; they would have had a better chance. There was nothing to guide them below but floating flares. Better than nothing, he told himself. Better than nothing.
An engine choked to a stop, then another, and the wind ceased whistling over the wings. The sea reached with white, foamy fingers to grasp the plane.…
At first it was not so different from coming down on a concrete runway, and fleetingly Alec reminded himself that he had experienced many rougher landings. But then he recalled the navigator’s warning of the second jolt to come and he tightened his grip about his legs.
Then it came, and with it the frightening sounds of twisting, crumpling metal, followed quickly by the even more terrifying rush of water into the cabin. Alec felt the spray of the sea on his head! Now! Now! he thought, for the plane’s forward movement had ceased. Cautiously he raised his head. The cabin was pitch-dark.
“Henry! Henry!” he shouted.
There was utter silence at first. Then the horses began neighing shrilly.
“Henry!” Alec called again.
This time an answer came from the darkness. “I’m okay, Alec. Twisted some but okay. You all right?”
“Yes. Can you get your seat belt loose?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
A flashlight beam suddenly broke the darkness. “This way,” the navigator ordered. “Watch your step. Follow the light.”
The cabin was filling fast. As Alec went forward, the water was already sloshing against his knees. The horses screamed. Some of them, Alec thought anxiously, might even be loose, their boxes shattered.
Another beam of light came from up forward and two figures, the pilot and copilot, appeared in its glow. They’d been lucky to get out of their cabin alive, Alec guessed, for the weight of the engines must already have dragged down the flight deck below water level.
The navigator called out to his crewmates, “Our tail end’s been broken off. We’ve got maybe a minute more!” He pressed down on the heavy door handle and pushed.
Alec watched him, praying that the big door wouldn’t be jammed, for only through it could they get the horses out. Luckily the door opened easily. Then the night came in with a roar, making their plight seem all the more horrible. The water line was almost level with the door; there’d be no need for the escape rope. The life raft was pushed outside, the CO2 already filling its chambers.
The captain took hold of Alec’s arm. “You first, kid,” he ordered. “Get in and lie down. No standing.”
“I’ve got to free the horses—” Alec broke away from the captain’s grip and in the light from the flash he saw the shattered box stalls with the horses almost free and plunging in fear and panic. He was reaching for the Black when a hard blow landed on his jaw. His last conscious effort was that of trying to make sense out of the captain’s words: “I caught him. Now jump for it. We’re going down fast!”
THE PIRATE
4
The black
night was almost over, its fury spent. First it surrendered to the pale gray streaks of dawn rising higher and higher into the heavens. Then came the fiery sun to pierce still greater holes in the lifting curtain.
The sea grew quiet. Shadowy waves slowly lifted and rolled forward, no longer hateful and ugly but brilliant reds and golds. A most peaceful scene, yet a lonely one, too, with nothing but the sun riding high above the now-slumbering sea.
As the great golden ball of the sun sent its rays farther and farther westward, it shone on a dark, solid object between the unbroken sea and sky.
The man-o’-war bird was all wings and it soared in the air like the great black pirate it was, seeking prey. Then it hung motionlessly on its seven-foot wings, its forked tail trailing loosely behind. It was a somber, satanic-looking creature, better suited in appearance for night than for day. And yet it lived close to the sun, glorying in rays that turned its wings the color of glowing sable and in the air currents that lifted it higher and higher and higher. No land was in view so the ocean rover must have come a long way to be alone with the morning sun.
As it searched for something to attack, it continued to hang effortlessly in midair, its wings crooked at the shoulders and its head turning from side to side without disturbing either its buoyancy or balance. Natural instinct made it a plunderer, a hawk of the sea in search of surface life, usually fish. Its bill was long, narrow and powerful with a horny hook at the end.
For several minutes more the marine vulture hung suspended, then suddenly it swooped skillfully toward the water. It seemed to reach its goal with one stroke of its great wings, leveling off just above the sea with its long bill turned down.
Floating below was a huge blob of bright green fluorescent dye in the center of which was a tiny speck—a yellow, inflated life vest with the straps untied.
The ocean rover flew on, its powerful strokes rocking its light body, its forked tail trailing. After a short distance it stopped just above the water again with its head bent down.
A plane’s wing, kept afloat by air in one of its tanks, gleamed in the morning sun. Just beyond were several floating cushions, an oil slick and scattered pieces of wood—all that was left of BAT 29167.
The man-o’-war bird rose into the heavens and began circling. Higher and higher it soared as if following the air paths to the very sun itself. It seemed to be little more than a black sail in the sky when its head stopped turning from side to side and its eyes became fixed on a small, bobbing object in the distance.
An occupied life raft rode gently on the rolling sea.
Henry Dailey pulled his life vest closer about him and looked skyward. “I’m glad to see the sun,” he said to no one in particular. “For a while I thought I wouldn’t.” He turned to Alec, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The Black’s a good swimmer, Alec. Don’t worry about him none.”
The navigator spoke up. “I wish that groom could’ve swum a little. He fell off the wing when the raft slipped away from us. I still thought he’d make it but his straps must have come loose. He went down and didn’t come up.”
The captain said, “You’ve told us all that before. Stop blaming yourself. You did what you could for him in the time we had. We all did … and we’re still a long way from being safe.”
“Sea-Air Rescue must have been alerted by now,” the navigator said a little desperately.
“Don’t sound so grim, ol’ buddies,” the copilot said.
“We’re long overdue,” the navigator went on, even more urgently than before. “Somebody oughta have missed us by now.”
Alec lifted his face; it was that of an old man, tired and beaten. “You’re sure … you’re sure the Black didn’t go down with the plane?” he asked Henry again.
The trainer nodded his head. “I’m sure. All the horses got clear right after we did; that’s what cut the raft loose from the ship. One of them got caught in the launching line and broke it.”
“You saw the Black? You’re sure?”
“He was right there with them. An’ I saw him again a minute later when they started swimmin’. We had to keep them away from the raft so their hoofs wouldn’t tear it wide open.”
“That … that was the last time you saw him?” Alec asked.
Henry nodded again. In the rough sea he’d been lucky to see the horses at all, but he wasn’t going to tell Alec that. It was enough that only one human life had been lost … so far. As the captain had said, they were still a long way from being safe. Henry turned to the copilot, who was letting out a small hydrogen balloon to which a radio antenna was attached.
The crewman caught Henry’s gaze and smiled grimly. “This is a friend of mine,” he said, patting the small but compact radio transmitter at his side. “It’s called the Gibson Girl. Maybe you know the reason better’n I do, hey ol’ buddy?”
Henry tried to smile. “Yes, I guess I do,” he said, his eyes finding the curved waterproof case. “It has something to do with her lines.”
“Anyway,” the copilot went on, “she’s a very remarkable little girl. We’ll crank her up an’ our SOS will be heard for more than a hundred miles. Any ship or plane will be able to take a bearing on it.”
“If there are any ships or planes within a hundred miles,” the navigator pointed out.
“Ol’ happy buddy, buddy,” the copilot said. “Making us feel real good about everything this morning, aren’t you?”
“Cut it out, you two,” the captain ordered. “Anyone hungry?”
They all shook their heads.
“Just as well, I guess,” the captain continued. “We’d better go easy on our emergency rations. It might be a long time before we’re picked up.”
“At least we’re going to get dry,” Henry said, turning again to the sun. “It was so cold there for a while.…”
“I just hope it doesn’t get too warm for us,” the captain said, his gaze following Henry’s. “We’ve got to be very, very careful with our drinking water.”
“Water, water everywhere and not—” the copilot recited until stopped by the captain’s eyes. A cloud drifting across the sun cast a shadow over the small raft and suddenly the cool air felt very damp and penetrating.
The copilot tried all over again. “Well, what I meant is that now all we have to do is wait.” He wiped his hands on his pants and began cranking the Gibson Girl.
Henry’s gaze remained skyward. There was a big bird up there; for a moment he’d thought it was a plane. Might be a good omen at that … a bird had to have a nest on land, didn’t it? Maybe if they were real lucky they’d find its home. But for now, as the copilot had said, all they could do was to wait … and, Henry added to himself, to pray.
The man-o’-war bird did not swoop to the sea to investigate the life raft. After hovering high over it for several minutes, it flew on. Far to the west it traveled before dipping lower and lower and lower toward the sea. Finally it hung motionless not more than a hundred feet above the water.
Below swam a small group of horses.
* * *
The Black, leading the band, was very tired. And he was afraid. Water was not his element and he’d spent terrifying hours in the darkness fighting to stay afloat in a cold and high-running sea. Only when the black night had been broken by pale gray streaks of dawn had he taken heart. But with the morning had come, too, an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He neighed repeatedly, looking for the one he loved, and swam on trying to find him. But no familiar scent filled his nostrils—only the odors of the sea, iodine and salt.
The waves lifted him high, then swept him down into deep troughs with walls of water closing out the gray dawn. The sun rose, a pale disk scattering isolated patches of fog until they looked like flimsy veils hanging close to the sea. As the Black felt the pull of currents on his body, instinct told him not to fight them. He let them take him where they would. The soft wind blew persistently, its warm breath soothing. The water, too, grew warm, slowly becoming an indigo blue. For the first ti
me the Black felt a strong surge of hope stir within him. He had entered a “river” in the sea and he let the fresh, strong current carry him on, his long legs moving only enough to keep him afloat.
He was aware of the huge bird above him but he ignored it, instinct telling him that he had nothing to fear from it. His enemies were below, deep in the water where he could not see them. A short distance away the sea suddenly boiled with little fish, leaping and splashing, their bodies silver in the sun. They were not playing, he knew, but struggling to survive. What was going on below the surface to scare them so? Whatever it was, he, too, feared it.
The man-o’-war bird continued to hang motionless in the air.
A dorsal fin and tail knifed the blue water, wove gracefully in and out, then disappeared below. A few minutes later the big fish rose again, this time leaping clear of the sea in a long graceful arc, its body a lustrous blue and silver in the morning light. It was a marlin, and it must have eaten its fill, for when it submerged again the boiling waters became still.
Yet the Black knew that a choice between life and death remained and that there was no time to rest. He watched the sea about him for strange shapes that could only be dangerous, fierce and horrible because he had little means of fighting back. Suddenly two monstrous eyes stared at him from a few feet away. He kicked out savagely, and the eyes and snout in the big forepart of the creature disappeared below, its tentacles clawing the air. The giant squid skidded away.
The broodmares and fillies swam closer to the Black, and he looked up at the big bird hovering alongside, wondering why it remained. His gaze returned to the sea around him but his ears stayed cocked in the bird’s direction as he listened to sounds inaudible to the human ear. The other horses, too, pointed their ears in the bird’s direction.
The man-o’-war bird suddenly began moving its wings, flying higher into the sky. It gave one shrill call, then was quiet again except for the beating of its tremendous wings. After a short while it was no more than a black sail in the heavens, circling and rising with the upper winds.
The Black Stallion and Flame Page 3