Hey guys! Sorry this has been so long, I was on a hiking trip. Thanks for the reviews! It makes me so happy! But anyway, to Daft Pricnce, (and everyone else) I'd like to apologize that the chapters are kind of short. Just a warning, the chapters will be a little short (sorry again!) but I'll try to post frequently. Anyway, this chapter may feel a little rushed, but enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not Scott. :(
"Mr. Newkirk!" The coxswain's voice boomed down the mess hall. Newkirk turned, puzzled. "You'll have to clean up Mr. Sharp's old cabin. We have ourselves a new middy aboard in two hours' time and we need that bunk looking sharp."
"Aye, sir," said Newkirk, but he doubted the coxswain heard him, because was already striding off. Newkirk scowled. He'd gotten used to being treated better, being the ship's only middy. Sure, he missed Dylan, but he admitted that he was somewhat miffed that Dylan had left one friend for another. That just told him that a barking prince was worth more than a fellow middy- in a lot of ways and for other reasons. Oh, and to add insult to injury, he had to clean out Dylan's old cabin, which meant dusting, sweeping, airing out the sheets- and not to mention that the flechette bats needed feeding... He groaned. It was going to be a long morning.
Of all people, Raymond Hatfield was maybe the oddest person to be a middy for the British Air Service. Apparently, he was an American farmer's son, sent off to find work because there were too many mouths to feed at home, and relatives in London had offered to take him for a few years. He wound up finding out that he could join the British air service, and passing the exams with flying colors, but what an American crop farmer's son would know about aeronautics was beyond Newkirk.
It was all very strange, he thought.
The boy himself wasn't too bad. He was a lanky five foot six, with close-cropped dark hair, intense brown eyes, and fine but serious rugged features. He didn't really talk much, but he would do the nastiest jobs without complaining, and get them done faster and better than any of the other crewmen. He was very dependable, outclimbed the hydrogen sniffers, and was a whiz at signaling and taking sextant readings, all done with a quiet grace. He never bragged, but always looked serious and maybe somewhat sad.
Yet every molecule in Ray's body, the way he moved, the way he talked, the way he wouldn't back down from anything, even his American accent (Ray called it a Kentucky drawl) sent some kind of message that he was a fighter.
In that sense, he was a lot like Dylan- at least the Dylan Newkirk had first known.
So Newkirk found himself getting closer and closer to Ray, who was quite the loyal friend. Ray had even once done his chores for him one day when he was in the infirmary-
"Mr. Newkirk!" Suddenly Newkirk's thought process was interrupted by the bosun's shout. He realized that he was still cranking the Huxley's winch in, and Ray was waving signal flags for him to crank the winch out again a hundred feet.
"Sorry, sir!" he called to Mr. Rigby. The bosun just scowled.
"How'd you like it if Mr. Hatfield there were to miss spotting a zeppelin or aeroplane, and then we were attacked, eh?"
"Terrible, sir."
"Well, then let out more cable," snapped the bosun, marching off to somewhere else.
Newkirk sighed, and then complied. The bosun seemed more and more irritable these days...
"Zeppelin!" shouted a rigger. He was pointing at a dark shape to the east. Newkirk realized, with a belated start, that Ray's signal flags had been waving out the same message, and had he been watching, he might have caught more than the last letter of it. Annoyed, he squinted, and the signal repeated.
C-L-O-S-I-N-G F-A-S-T H-A-L-F M-I-L-E, it read.
"Closing fast half mile!" Newkirk yelled. A rigger swore, running off to fetch air guns, and the bosun ran toward the Huxley winch.
"Go help the rook men outfit the strafing hawks," said Mr. Rigby, implying the unspoken message, I told you so. "I'll take the winch. Once you're done, report back with me. If they launch gythrocopters, those flechette bats need to be in the air."
Newkirk nodded, taking off down the ratlines.
Okay! I hope I did a good job, yes, I know it's kind of dull and that I also left y'all hanging from Chapter 2, but I really needed to introduce Newkirk's side of the story. :) And yes, I realize, I am the bilionth person to bring a new middy aboard the Leviathan. But hey, it makes sense that they'd pick up another middy, because Newkirk would probably be overwhelmed by all of the chores. ;)