Author's Note- How'd the last chapter go? I figured that Perrine's bitterness, and embarassed reactions, were all a facade. I figured I'd try to carve into her and give you, the reader, a look into why this is so. War changes us all, and there are none who benefit. Only victims. Those who feel it has a benefit are either fighting for a worthy cause, or are only becoming more fanatically twisted with the power. It's insane.
Through The Storm
Chapter 9-
The big engines of the DC-3 rumbled, echoing through the fog like a massive ghostly presence. The transporter sat where it had earlier come to a stop for the past couple of hours, awaiting its chance to leap into the sky once more. Cambridge sat idly, reading a book in the cockpit, whilst the flight crews had refueled the plane. During the hour following the dispatch of his messages, Taylor himself had carefully reworked the plan. With little time to spare, he made the simplest decisions possible, whilst still keeping some sort of insurance. In the meantime, he had questioned Perrine over the qualities and backgrounds of her fellow fighters, hoping for some sort of excuse to come of his presence.
"So, tell me the names of your wingmates, and their countries of origin," Cameron asked as he and Perrine readied the Spitfire, the deep rumble of pistons entering the hangar through the open doors. "Nicknames are important too, in case some of those boys know the girls personally."
Perrine nodded. "Yes, there are eleven of us. The wing has pilots from Karlsland, Fuso, Suomus, Orussia, Romagnia, Liberion, Britannia, and of course Gallia," she finished, gesturing to herself. "Three are Karlslandic, two are Fuso, and there are one of each from the other countries to fill in the gap."
Cameron threw back the canopy, and turned on the avionics. "Alright, that's good! I'm hoping to enter under the guise of a family member, so it gives me plenty to work with."
After checking the aircraft's systems, Cameron stopped and lingered over the open canopy. He began to think of what items he would want during the flight, and gave himself a moment to think. After the time had passed, he snapped his fingers, and leaned into the plane.
"Are there any from the United States?" he asked with a grunt as he went head first into the cockpit.
"Yes, I just told you!" Perrine replied, watching his feet stick up comically from the open canopy. "We have one Liberian within our ranks."
After a few moments of grunting and cursing, Perrine watched as Cameron reemerged from the cockpit. In his hands, he held two items which appeared unfamiliar to her.
Sliding from the wing, he faced the Gallian. "Well, you could be a bit more understanding. I'm not from here you know, so I don't know any countries apart from Britain and Britannia; on a whim I'll assume Gallia is France."
Perrine rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, Cameron," she said sarcastically. "By the way, what did you grab from the plane just now?"
"What?"
"Those things in your hands... looks like one's made of leather."
Cameron glanced at the items, a black cap and sunglasses, and held them up with a puzzled look. "Oh, just some personal effects, my eight panel cap n' sunglasses," he explained. "Don't want to lose them if the plane goes down."
Perrine glared. "Was that an insult?"
"No, only a contingiency," he continued. "So... tell me about this Liberian witch, and explain the name of the country. I only know it as the United States of America."
Perrine tilted her head confusedly. "You mean Liberion, don't you? It's known as the United States of Liberion around here."
Cameron looked at the landing gear, and noted the chocks in front of the wheels. With soft grunts, he angrily kicked the blocks free.
"Sure Perrine, I'll take your word for it. What's the girl's name?"
"Charlotte Yeager."
He nodded as he returned to where Perrine stood.
"Nickname of any sort? Anything personal you know? What's her rank?"
"In a casual sense, we call her Shirley," Perrine explained. "She hails from the Liberion Air Force, though the organization is still in its infancy, so she's technically part of their Army Air Force. She holds the rank of Flight Lieutenant."
"Any close family? Get any visitors?"
Perrine shook her head. "Despite working with her for a few years I know very little of Yeager, other than she keeps one of our Pilot Officers, Francesca Lucchini, in check. She is particularly adament in her goal of fondling everyone's breasts."
"Charlotte?"
"No, Lucchini."
Cameron laughed, and shook his head. "What has come of this world? My god! You never heard of things like that when my grandfather was in service," he said with amusement. "Then again, in my world the people you call Britannians, Gallians, and Liberians were pitted against other people in a big slaughter, whilst Adolf Hitler shot 'Gallia' in the kneecaps and took the entire country in no time. Meanwhile in your world, the Allies are all of humanity, and the Rome, Tokyo, Berlin Axis are the aliens. It's almost like some sort of prank to me!"
With a sigh, he stared at the fighter for a few moments. He imagined what would occur, and what obstacles they would encounter. Finally, he shook his head.
"We... are ready," he said slowly turning to Perrine.
The Gallian's face turned to a mask of shock. "Wait, you're not... after one witch, you've already decided?"
Cameron nodded. "We're short on time. I'm dressed as an American, so an American I'll be."
The two faced each other, and stared for a moment. Cameron began to smile, as did Perrine, though only half-heartedly. The two glanced at the open hangar doors into the fog, and back again. It was time.
"Perrine!" he exclaimed suddenly, clicking his heels together and throwing a stiff salute. "Vive la Resistance!"
She stared blankly for a moment, and blinked. Soon enough however, Perrine began to laugh with amusement, and she too returned the salute with a chuckle and a smile.
"Yes, and good luck to you! Here's wishing a successful mission."
"And to you, a good flight," Cameron replied, shaking hands firmly with the Gallian. "You okay with a Spitfire?"
"I trained with the Free Gallian Forces in one, just like Lynette," she replied assuringly.
Cameron nodded, and began to head for the exit. "I'm going to get Lynne now, okay? The C-47 will be waiting at the end of the runway for you, with our strobes on. The tower will be monitoring their radar, and will inform us when Maloney shows up. As soon as he's on scope, we'll kill our lights and be off. Fly straight, and we'll meet above the clouds."
"Understood! Have you got my strikers?"
"Lashed down with the cargo!" he shouted as he disappeared around the corner.
As Perrine set to awakening the silent beast, Cameron quickly strode down the side of the runway. Traveling past a couple of barracks and an administrative building, he arrived at the medical barracks where he had been an hour earlier. Opening the door, he burst into the room with a vibrant flair. His mind was churning, his eyes had turned mischievious. He was savoring every opportunity, and this was his moment.
"Ah, Cameron!" Ireland greeted cheerily upon his arrival. "Are we ready to go?"
Cameron grinned sadistically. "Right-o Squiffy!" he exclaimed in unknown reference to Monty Python RAF banter. "We're going to taxi to the end of the runway, and take off when our opposition enters the airspace. This fog may be meddlesome, but it works to our advantage if we kill our running lights."
Ireland smiled. "That was a hell of a gamble, luring Maloney here. I'm surprised he took the bait."
Cameron nodded. "That man is the kind who likes to personally relish in a moment. He wouldn't have dared pass up the opportunity to ruin everyone's day, and flaunt it like a new suit or a diamond ring," he said coming to a pause. "Say, is Lynne awake?"
Ireland stared dumbly at Cameron. Waiting for a response, his brow rose in puzzlement when none came. Looking around Ireland, Cameron found he was sitting on one of the beds. Nothing in particular seemed to be amiss... or so he though. Scrutinizing the white pressed sheets, he suddenly realized what was different.
"What in the... hell?" he said with awkward surprise, seeing the wrinkled sheets and skewed pillow. "Where's Lynne?"
Ireland fixed his gaze upon Cameron and continued to wear the dumb look. Cameron glared at the armorer, and held his palms up to gesture around the room.
"Where is Lynne?" he asked again, expression showing confusion.
Ireland continued to stare silently. Cameron stared the man down, watching his expression with an uneasy curiosity. Staring, second after second... soon a minute had passed. He watched closely, still waiting for the answer, when suddenly there was movement. A tiny flicker on Ireland's face, barely noticed. A slight fear began to tingle in Cameron's extremeties, and a cold wash ran down his back. Taking a step backward, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
"I-Ireland," he sputtered slightly. "Where's Lynne?"
At that moment, the armorer grinned instantly with a devilish look. Cameron's eyes widened, and he stumbled backward.
"Ireland! Answer the question!" he shouted.
His senses heightened, Cameron heard a shuffling from the shadows behind. Before he could spin around to face the assailant, the form lunged from the dark. Confusedly, he froze in his tracks like a trapped animal as a pair of arms wrapped around his torso. Hands meeting at his abdomen, they traveled past each other slightly as their fingers pressed into his gut. The thing 'sinched' itself now, wrapping its arms firmly, and pressing something soft against his back. Cameron, caught completely off guard, stood weakly as events continued to unfold. The sirens in his mind rang in a silent cacophony, his heart leapt into his throat, and his limbs refused to move. His mind had frozen in a surprised overload of confusion. Suddenly, and to Cameron's surprise... the thing spoke.
"Surprise," someone muttered softly into his ear with a giggle; a familiar sound soft and feminine with a native Londoner's accentuation.
Cameron remained still, holding his breath. The shock still gripped his mind, and he knew nothing of how to react. Eventually however, he relaxed.
"Ooough," he half-sighed and half-groaned, sagging in Lynette's arms.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Lynne began to laugh again. With a bitter look, Cameron freed himself and turned to face her with his lips pursed.
"Not amused, Lynne!" he said flatly. "You scared the hell out of me! I thought we had a spy!"
Ireland now wore an extremely bemused expression, smirking with his lips turned in a way which suggested the mind of a deviant who had just mooned the Prime Minister.
"She got you good, didn't she?" he said snorting with laughter.
Cameron glared at James, and looked away with a huff. "I don't know what to say, other than we're ready to go. The transport is ready and waiting, and our eyes are watching for Maloney's plane to show up."
Lynne nodded. "Well, I'm ready to go when you are!"
"Then let's do it!"
The trio left the barracks, and began to advance toward the distant aircraft. All that could be seen was a silhouette of the great aluminum behemoth, it's tri-blade propellers churning the cold and damp afternoon air. It's landing lights burned through the gloom, and it's navigational lights blinked in a steady rhythm.
"Alright Lynne!" Cameron shouted over the idling engines. "Ladies first!"
Walking closer to the aircraft, Taylor fell into step next to Lynne. Slinging his arm over her shoulders, he placed himself between her and the prop wash which gushed from the engines. Holding a hand up to block the cold winds, Lynne huddled close to Cameron as her braid flapped sidways in the blast. Eventually Cameron stopped at the lowered aft stairs, and gently urged and guided her into the plane with one hand. Once she was inside, he glanced over his shoulder. Ireland was making his way after them, and once satisfied, he joined Lynne in the 47s cabin.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said as he gazed about the cabin. "Wind-blown enough?"
Lynne huffed as she patted down the strands of her hair which had freed themselves. "Yes, thank you."
Cameron laughed, as Ireland clomped up the steps behind them. With a hiss of air pistons the door lifted shut by the armorer's hand, and for the first time since entering the aircraft, the three of them gazed around the cabin. It was cramped with crates, all secured by cargo rings throughout the aircraft. Perrine's striker units were snugly tied in the center aisle about midway down the aircraft. Light filtered into the aircraft through the windows, revealing stamps on the wooden surfaces. Each contained info about the contents, a military code, and a date of distribution. Lastly, each had the address of the destinations they were bound for.
"Some Mile-High club this is," he blurted with a sarcastic snicker as he stared up toward the cockpit. "They even forgot the champagne and the complimentary bag of peanuts!"
Once the door was secured, Cameron began to work his way toward the nose of the aircraft, which sloped sharply uphill due to the fact that the DC-3 was a tail-dragger type aircraft. Nearing the cockpit, he found a very small section of seating; one row of very simple passenger seats, two on each side of the aisle. Gesturing to the row, Cameron waved the Ireland and Lynne forward.
"Hey folks, there's plenty of seating up here! I won't be joining you for the takeoff though... I have to co-pilot with Cambridge to keep an ear on the radios."
Without a word, the two clambered their way up the aisle taking care not to trip, and sat down on opposite sides of the aircraft. Both claimed a window seat.
"Alright, let's buckle up. I'll come back for a bit once we're on our way, but don't hesitate to come and see me if you have any sort of issue."
"Alright," Ireland said as he snapped the belt latch. "Let's hope for a good go of it."
With a nod, Cameron turned for the cockpit door. Twisting the knob, he entered a worn, and sparsely finished cabin with insulation and exposed components. Above and below, Cameron faced a large, dark green set of panels filled with dozens of switches and gauges, all with paint chipped away beneath from dozens of fingers rubbing on the finish. The left hand seat was obviously occupied, evidenced by the peaked cap whose brim turned in his direction. The right seat was vacant.
"So we're leaving now?" Cambridge asked gruffly upon his entry.
Cameron shook his head. "No, but we will taxi to the end of the runway and face the headwinds, as per normal takeoff procedure. We're to wait for a signal from the contoller, and leave as Maloney shows up on their scope. Before we take off though, we need to douse every light we can."
Cambridge cleared his throat as Cameron settled into the copilot's seat. "Sounds simple enough..."
"Good. We can taxi with the lights on for now then," he finished, glancing around the cockpit. "Say, you haven't got a second headset have you? I've got a frequency to tune us to."
The pilot pointed to a nearby hook, where an aged headset hung on the side of the cabin. Lifting the set from the hook, Cameron dropped it neatly onto his head and adjusted the speakers. Once ready, he then gazed around the cockpit until he found the radio dials, which he then tuned for the base's 'ground frequency.'
"Oi Perrine, you pick us up okay?"
On the other end of the radio, Perrine tuned in on their frequency. "I've got you, and can hear you clearly."
"Good," he said with an affirming tone. "We're beginning our taxi. Just follow our lights out, and turn one-hundred eighty degrees at the end. I'll let you know when to start your takeoff and kill your lights."
"Understood," the Gallian replied.
After communications were finished, Cameron turned to Cambridge. "Alright, let's get this thing rollin'."
With a nod, George advanced the throttles on the port engine. Its roar rose in pitch, and the plane began to lurch forward down the runway. Cambridge allowed the C-47 to gain some momentum as it rolled, before shoving the right rudder pedal forward and pressing into the right differential brake. In a whiplash move, the tail of the old plane swung around on the runway, while the port throttle slid to its stops. After a bouncy turn, the plane faced the opposite direction and the opposite differential was applied as well as the other throttle. Soon, the plane began to roll down the uneven ground toward the end of the earthen runway.
As the plane began its taxi, Lynne stared silently through the window to her right as the ground scrolled by. "I never thought that anything like this could happen to me..." she mumbled. "So many things, all so sudden."
Ireland glanced at Lynne from where he sat. "What do you mean?" he asked with puzzlement.
Lynne flopped back in her seat. "Well, it's... I... I've been thinking over the past events. The things that have happened during the last few days. My fight with the Neuroi... Cameron's arrival... it's all so weird!" she said as she rubbed her eyes and stretched.
Ireland grinned. "Well Lynne, look at it this way. You're still alive, and you've got a new friend who has kept you alive... a protector of some sort."
"Yeah... a guardian angel."
"Exactly," Ireland replied with a nod. "And thus far, I think we're all satisfied with his work. You should've seen that boy when you were out... fussing over you."
Lynne shook her head in disbelief. "He was, was he? How long was I out for?"
"A couple of hours, give or take," the armorer answered sheepishly. "But there was one point that really surprised me when you and him were together. It caught me off guard for a moment, but then I realized it was rather innocent."
"Innocent?" Lynne gasped with concern. "What... what on earth did he do to me when I was out? Grope me?"
Ireland's eyes widened, and he held his hands up in Taylor's defense. "Oh no! Nothing of the sort, he would never! You two were... well... in a sort of..."
Ireland hesitated.
"Well, out with it!" Lynne prodded.
"But..."
"Now."
"I can't say!" Ireland shot back.
Lynne glared. "James, you best tell me now or so help me I'll do something that both of you will regret!"
James sat with his lips pursed, holding his breath. He waited for Lynne to do something, change her mind... but nothing happened. After a moment of silence, Ireland had no choice but to give in.
"You were holding each other, or givin' each other a hug!" he gushed suddenly. "Something of the like... I could only see, but I didn't hear anything! I was comin' to check on the two of you, and took a peek in the window of the barracks. He was... leaned over on top of you, but not lying on you. His legs were off to the side, like someone givin' their sister a kiss good night from the bedside, but it was a hug."
Lynette's face reddened. "Y-y-you're joking," she sputtered. "What on earth was I doing?"
"You had your arms wrapped around him too, and your face was buried in his chest."
For the next few minutes, Lynne knew nothing of what to say. She stared blankly and silently at the bulkhead in front of her seat, and the cabin was quiet apart from the distant thunder of the engine. Quietly, Ireland sat gathering his thoughts.
"Lynne... there are some things men wish others to know nothing of," he said philosophically. "This, I believe, is one of them. Taylor would probably kill me if he knew I told you this. He's trying to hold an awful lot of restraint, and you seem to be the only way he can be here."
Lynne stared at the floor. "You think so, James?" she asked quietly with embarassment.
"Most certainly!" he said with a nod. "I mean, he could have done something else... just as easily could he have left you here, and taken off one night. There's nothing really holding him back."
Lynne turned Ireland's words over in her mind. The event that he had explained seemed simple enough... he just hugged her. When she was unconscious. There was nothing she could do really, and he hadn't done anything wrong. But there was something... something different. When she found out what had happened, the events that had occurred, they left a numbness in her body. A feeling as though she had been paralyzed. The feeling wasn't bad, but the experience left a nausea in her stomach, and a loss for words.
Meanwhile, the men in the small control tower watched their radar. They scrutinized every single possible point that appeared, and the radar shadows that were produced. After roughly thirty minutes, one of the men yelled that a return had been made.
"Sir, about fifteen nautical miles out, radar contact at three-thousand feet!"
Another man turned toward the man at scope. "Hmm... has he radioed in?"
"Yes sir, called in requesting landing clearance. It's an unscheduled flight, didn't detail much."
The other man nodded. "Call the folks down at runway."
Cameron was listening to the ground frequency with anticipation, when suddenly a voice squawked through.
"Possible target, fifteen miles out Mister Taylor. Clear him?"
"Yes, do!" Cameron replied. "We're off then?"
"Yes, good to go."
Cameron nodded, and called to Perrine on the same frequency. "Okay Perrine! You ready to fly?"
About ten feet behind, the Spitfire idled with a seductive purr of its Merlin engine. "I'm set to, Cameron. Lights off?"
"Lights off!"
First, one by one, the lights on the Spitfire blinked off. Once that aircraft was dark, Cambridge too flipped his fingers down the switches like piano keys, and the transporter went black. The same happened to the interior cabin light, pitching the cabin into near-darkness. Blinking, Ireland stared around the aircraft, and settled his eyes on Lynette.
"It must be our time, Lynne," he said with a sigh. "Here she goes!"
George slid the port and starboard throttles to their stops, and lowered two slots flaps. The old engines rose to a roar, and the plane began to bounce and rock down the runway. Both the pilot and Taylor kept their eyes through the windshield, making sure to watch for obstructions. Soon, the buildings loomed ahead, and Cambridge threaded the old plane through the gap of the runway. He then pushed the wheel forward, and the tail lifted into the air.
"Making takeoff speed, tail's up."
Cameron watched as the airspeed needle continued to climb. Faster and faster the aircraft traveled as it sprinted down the runway. Finally, at ninety knots, Cambridge pulled the yoke in the opposite direction. With a slight pull, he gingerly lifted the main gear into the sky. For a moment, the plane hovered scant inches above the wrinkled ground... but then Cambridge gave another pull on the controls, and the nose lifted into the air.
Aluminum skin gleaming, the DC-3 disappeared into the foggy skies of Britannia.
Perrine watched as the fog swirled mysteriously, and in an instant the transporter was gone. Pushing her throttle forward to a point where the Merlin's supercharger remained dormant, Perrine grimaced as she began to bounce after her quarry like a little bird following its mother. Moments later, she too was in the air. Pushing the gear lever forward, the wheels folded into the belly of the Spitfire.
Once off the ground, both aircraft tuned to the agreed frequency.
"I'm willing to bet... that this fog layer will peter out about oh... two-thousand?" Cameron said to Cambridge as he worked the radio.
The pilot nodded. "Eh, sounds about right."
Twisting the dials, Cameron switched the frequency and made a check of the radio.
"So Perrine, are we on the new frequency?" he asked over the radio.
After a moment, the Gallian replied. "Yes, I hear you just fine. Do you want me to remain on the current heading?"
"If you can. I'm thinking we'll be able to see each other at around two-thousand feet, so keep climbing. Level out and join us as soon as you're out of the clouds a bit."
"Understood."
With a nod, Cameron slipped the headset off. "Hey Cambridge, keep an ear to the ground would you? I'ma gonna' check on de folks in back."
Recieving a grunt of acknowledgement, Taylor slipped from the copilot's seat, and made his way to the cockpit door. Twisting the latch, he stepped into the dimly lit cabin to take a stock of the passengers; he noted Ireland staring aimlessly out the window, and Lynne slumped down with a somber expression.
"Alright everyone!" he said cheerily clapping his hands together. "As you well know, we're now off for Dover. It's a little under one-hundred nautical miles away, so it'll be a bit of a flight."
Ireland nodded, but said nothing. Sensing nothing wrong, Cameron shrugged his shoulders and faced Lynette with a smile.
"So, mind if I join you?" he asked eagerly.
Lynne ignored him, and turned with an expressionless stare out the window. Taylor failed to recieve the hint, and so moved without thinking toward the seat next to Lynne. As he turned to sit, Ireland glanced over his shoulder.
"Ah... I... wouldn't do that, if I were you," he said with a nearly indetectable laugh.
Cameron froze, hovering above the seat. "Oh? And why not?" he said as he turned to get a glimpse of Lynne.
Before the armorer could reply, Lynne looked up at Cameron. "Oh... ah... go ahead. I'm fine with it."
James' mouth hung open mid-word. His expression soured with confusion moments after, not understanding the sudden swings of mood. With a confused shake of his head, he closed his mouth and returned to staring through the window. Cameron rolled his eyes, and settled into the seat with a sigh.
"Ohkaaaay... we are off!" he said with satisfaction. "So... while dear Miss Bishop was out, I reworked our operation and... you will be our navigator, okay Lynne?"
Lynne glanced over her shoulder. "What do you mean, navigator?"
"Through the building. I've never been there myself, obviously," he said with a smirk. "If and when the time comes for our little stunt, I'll do my best to cover you okay?"
"Ah... okay," she replied uneasily, shifting in her seat. "Why not Perrine?"
"She needs to hang in the Spitfire for as long as possible. Hell, if we're lucky they'll put her on a patrol and hide her for us," he said optimistically. "When the time comes, we'll call her out... or down, depending," he continued. "Plus... after that whole fiasco, I don't want you passing out behind my controls. Not so much for the aircraft, moreso that you're more valuable than the damned plane in my humble opinion."
Lynette blushed slightly. "Ah... was that a..."
"Sort of a compliment, yes, but more of a tactical assessment."
Before she could reply, Cameron then turned to face the armorer.
"And you... did you get the hat?"
James stared uncomprehendingly. "What hat?"
"That hat. The one with the gun? To smuggle in?" Taylor continued to push.
He continued to stare, but not for long. Moments later, he brought his hand to his face with an audible 'slap,' afterward dragging it down. "Oh bloody hell."
Cameron shook his head. "Oh well... we can improvise later when we're on the ground," he said changing subject. "Anyway... assuming that you both figure I'm back here to chat and be friendly... well, I'm not really. I'm here to start a little powwow and discuss our plan of operations. Lynne? Ireland?"
With a rustle, the armorer and the witch both turned in their seats. The plane continued to roar through the sky at 180 knots. Minutes continued to tick by.
"Here's what we're going to do. Firstly, we'll drop in low and fly in under the radar. Once at the runway, we'll jump up onto their lap. I'm hoping that they'll circle the aircraft with a defensive peremeter, so Perrine will have an excuse. Once we're on the ground, we'll figure out our plan of attack from there. After that we'll pick up Liz, go to your Mum's and take care of Phillip, have a cup of tea, and wait for all of this..." he said gesturing around, "to blow over."
"And Perrine?" asked Ireland.
"As I said, will either land or fly that patrol they mentioned," Taylor continued.
"Ah, Cameron?" Lynne interrupted. "Don't you have any other sort of plan besides improvising?"
He nodded. "They'll know me as Shirley's Cousin," he explained. "Assuming you know to whom I refer, I hope to go under the guise of a family member. If that doesn't work, then it's just improv from there."
"Okay..." she said, unassured. "And what will we do when we stop on the ground?"
"I'm leaving first. You follow closely behind, and Ireland will bring up the rear. I'll initiate the discussion with whoever we're confronted by."
"Understood."
Cameron sighed, and took glances at his compatriots. The plane rocked slightly in a bank, and the engines gave a dull roar, a grey and concussive noise which resonated through the aircraft. With a smile, he then cleared his throat.
"Now that that... is out of the way," he began slowly, "I have another order of business to attend to. This involves you, Lynette, and your appearance."
He then turned in his seat to face her.
"Pardon me?"
"Your look, your uniform, how you're dressed," he explained. "It has to change for my plan to work."
A puzzled expression crossed her features. "Excuse me, but why exactly?"
"Because I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that Maloney will be waiting. Not here, necessarily, but he may have described your appearance to whoever he left in charge."
She nodded. "Okay... so... how exactly do you want me to ah... change?"
Cameron smiled, and said, "I've got just the thing. If you would please oblige my request, follow me to the rear of the aircraft."
Two unbuckled belts and vacant seats later, Cameron and Lynne stumbled their way to the back of the aircraft. The cabin bobbed and weaved more noticeably here, much like the top of a ship's mast in stormy water. The sound of the engines was a dull hum now, but still enough to hide their voices. Also, the crates took up more space here, and offered a sort of 'wall.' Glancing over his shoulder, he guided Lynette around a corner and stepped in front of her.
Cameron smiled again. "Okay Lynne, sorry about keeping you in the dark about this, but I think we'll need to disguise you a bit," he began. "Have you ever heard of Carnaby Street style, or mod style?"
"Never."
"Alright then, this will be interesting, but understandable. You haven't seen the sixties yet," he said with a sigh. "So... first thing I want you to do is... lose the socks."
With a nod, Lynne eased herself to the floor of the aircraft. Resting her back against a crate to sit upright, she then slipped her thumbs beneath the band of one of two red and green thigh-highs; the red and green in large stripes which circled the leg horizontally. With care, she slid it down her leg, guiding the red and green fabric to accordion evenly inbetween her thumbs and index fingers. At first, he turned away from her in courtesy to avert his eyes. However after a stealing a quick glance, Cameron could not help but to allow his eyes to focus on her long, slender, and lithe legs as more and more of their skin was revealed. Lynette slipped the roll over her toes, and removed the opposite sock with the same method. Keeping her head down, she glanced out the corner of her eye, watching Taylor carefully. She could tell she was being watched, and with pleasure too.
"You know Cameron, with that lustful stare you're giving me, I'd have to assume you're drooling by now."
It took him a couple seconds, but then he realized her statement. He turned red, and spun on his heels.
"It's a bit late now," she said with feigned annoyance. Cameron glanced over his shoulder once, and then turned.
"So... now what?" she asked as he helped her to her feet.
"Now... if it's, heh, not too much trouble... I want you to take off your uniform and vest. I need to take a look at your dress shirt."
Reaching forward, he carefully folded back the inside edge of one of the uniform's dark lapells.
"Alright, button-down collar," he said with a nod.
Lynette stared at his hand. "Excuse you, but watch those hands."
"There is no excuse for me, sorry."
A few seconds later, Lynne was stripped down to her dress shirt, her green silk tie hanging away from her stomach as it dropped over where her breasts pressed from beneath. Uniform and vest hanging from the corner of a crate, Cameron nodded approvingly as he gazed upon Lynette's figure. As he began to think, a voice called from the front of the aircraft.
"Oi, you two! I see those clothes hanging there!" shouted Ireland. "What are you two doing?" he asked with a mischievious tone.
Cameron glanced around the corner of a crate. "Oh, just dirty, dirty, rather perverted things James!" he said jokingly. "Lynne and I are having so much fun back here, nothing ten-year-olds in adult's bodies need to know about!"
"Haaaaaay! You knock that off, or else I'm coming back there!"
Cameron laughed at Ireland. "Yeah sure thing officer, but we aren't parked!"
Meanwhile, unnoticed by Cameron as he joked, Lynne began to creep silently toward him. He knew nothing, and continued to poke his head around the corner. Laughing again, Cameron pulled back seconds later. He was shocked to find himself face-to-face with Lynne upon his return.
"Oh, ah, what do you..."
Before he could finish however, Lynne struck fast, raising her arm. Her face red with embarassment, she brought a fist down hard on the center of his head. Cameron whimpered, and clutched the top of his skull. He was more shocked than anything.
"Hey, what was that for?"
"You dirty old man! Don't say such embarassing things! He's a close friend of mine you know!"
"They were but suggestions! Not once did I specify acts!" he retorted. "Besides, what did you think I was talking about?"
Lynne sputtered. "I... what... well... I dont know!"
"Out with it. What did you think I meant?"
Lynne whimpered, turning even redder. Cameron inched closer, further intimidating her to give an answer. Before she could reply however, the aircraft lurched suddenly. Up front, in the cockpit, Cambridge fought the controls. He let loose a volley of obscenities, turning the cabin air blue. The plane had been slammed by a strong coastal crosswind.
"Hooooo scheisse!" Cameron spat, grabbing for the top edge of a crate. The tail of the DC-3 snapped up, and flung Lynne into the air.
"Oh dear god, look out!" she cried in surprise.
The tail lurched to the left, and a wing snapped up. Cameron nearly lost his grip, and Lynette was flung across the cabin.
"Oi, watch where you're going!" Cameron exclaimed. Lynne landed feet first on the opposite wall.
"What do you mean, you twit?" she said angrily. "You think I'm do-whoa, look out!"
The tail lurched again as Cambridge applied rudder. Lynette was now sent the opposite direction, which this time was now toward Cameron. She flapped her arms like a bird, in hopes that it would stop her from moving.
"Oh no, I'm coming across!"
Cameron put his arms out. "No, no, no, no... look out! Reach for something!"
Oblivious to his statements, Lynne began to spin in the air. Cameron changed his tactic, and instead of block himself, he spread his arms. A moment later, Lynette tumbled into Cameron, who released his grip on the cargo crate. Embracing her from behind, he tucked her head under his chin as they traveled the final few feet across the cabin. With Lynne on top of him, Taylor slammed into the bulkhead of the aircraft. His shoulders landed on a particularly high support, and he cried in pain.
"Damnit!" he said through clenched teeth. "Being the hero... doesn't have the benefit I thought it'd have!"
Clutching her shoulders, Cameron held Lynette on his lap. The plane began to even out then, and soon the wings were level. Back still pressed against it, Cameron slid down the bulkhead, and landed with a thud on the floor. Lynne, who was huddled against him with her eyes shut, opened one eye. Seeing that the aircraft was once again stable, she then freed herself from Cameron's grip.
"Ouch, my bum's going to be sore for a week!" she huffed, turning to get a look at Cameron. "How did you fare?"
Cameron clenched his teeth, and sucked in a breath. The feeling of where his shoulder blade had stricken the bulkhead was intense.
"Jesus!" he hissed. "It feels like someone... took an axe to my bones... and poured hot water in!"
Sliding to her knees, Lynne rose to her feet shakily. Taking a quick glance, she noted Ireland staring back at her. A look of concern crossed his face, and his expression asked a volley of questions.
"Don't worry James, I'm fine!" she said reassuringly. "I don't know about Mister Taylor though, he seems a bit shaken and stirred."
With a smile, Lynne extended her hand to help Cameron to his feet. Slowly, and painfully, she grabbed him by his left wrist. His right arm had gone numb from the pain now, but any substantial push or pull would set it off again. In a moment, she had Cameron on his feet.
"I don't know who is more in need of a doctor now," he grunted. "You or me?"
"Are you alright?" she asked concernedly. "That must hurt like the devil!"
"Damn right it does, but that's... not the problem right now," he said. "Let's get back to... the Carnaby Street thing."
Lynne stared with shock. "But... well... at least let me take a look at it!"
"Not important," he said waving her off. "There's nothing we can do anyway, so let's get back to work. I'll let you take a look at it later... if you want to. I'm sure there's a first aid kit on board."
He reached for her tie, and pulled it loose with a flick of his wrist. The green silk hanging loosely over his hand, Lynne grabbed his wrist gently.
"Easy, I've got it, okay?"
"Sorry."
"It's the buttons on the collar I'll have the bleeding war with."
Cameron nodded, and waited silently. Lynette carefully released the remains of the tie knot, and then set to coiling it around her finger. Her arm moving in a circle, she wrapped and wrapped until it was a nothing but a green spiral around her index finger. Gingerly slipping it free, she then handed it to Cameron, who tucked it away in a pants pocket.
"Okay. Shall I begin?"
Lynne nodded. "Go ahead... just... don't do anything you shouldn't. Do anything suspicious, and I'll bite you! I'm a cat you know!"
"And I'll tug on your ears and tell Ireland about it. Deal?"
Lynne's only response was a huff, which suggested a snort of laughter. With a smile, she then placed her hands on the top of her breasts, as though holding them out of the way. She looked down to the point that her chin touched her collar, and watched as Cameron began to work the small buttons which held the collar down.
"I like your look, Lynne," he said as kindly and as casually as a hairdresser. "I have a few button-collars, one white, black, and red. Mod ties, and of course this one that I'm wearing now to go with em'," he said as he nodded to the one which peeked from between his uniform's lapells. "I was born in the wrong damned era, in my opinion."
His thumb joint popped as he freed the left button. Lynne smiled and laughed softly, tilting her head to the side. "I don't know... maybe you were," she said with suggestion in her tone. "I feel as though I were born in the wrong place sometimes... It feels weird. I get the same feeling when I'm with me dad."
"Ah yes," Cameron said in recognition. "William Avery Bishop, a First World War Ace of the Royal Canadian Air Force," he said with a warm reverence. "He seems like an interesting fellow... he was a good shot, just like you."
At that moment, the second button popped free. Lynette found Cameron's statement puzzling, and she stared confusedly at him.
"What?"
"How'd you know my father?"
"I don't," Taylor said with a shrug. "I've read about him though... he died in my world before I was born, in the fifties. As I said before though, he was a helluva shot apparently. The man could put a bloody hole in a target the size of a dot in any normal man's vision. Started with a group called the Mounted Rifles, but then got tired of the mud and horseshit of the trenches as he put it. He loved flying."
Cameron gestured for Lynne to turn, but she stared uncomprehendingly. "How did you know that that man in particular was my father? Middle name and all, for that matter?"
Cameron smiled slightly. "Well... don't be angry with me, but back at the hangar in the woods... when you hit me with that snowball?"
"Yes?"
"Well, I picked my sorry butt up off the ground a bit later. Got dust, dirt and such on your uniform," he explained. "Seeing as I couldn't really hurt it, I shrugged out and gave it a good shake. Your locket popped out, that and your dogtags. Gave the locket a look."
To Cameron's disappointment, the dresden blue eyes blazed slightly. "You shouldn't have done that," she said in a low tone. "It's not polite to go through a lady's personal effects without her permission."
Cameron shrank slightly. "Oh... I'm... I'm sorry," he said looking away. "I should've known better."
Lynne shut her eyes. "Yes... well..." she said with a sigh. "I'll let it go this time, understand? Just because I've not been around men doesn't mean that I've grown lax in my standards."
"I understand," he muttered softly. "Sorry to have troubled you," he continued.
From up front, a voice called back to them. "You've got ten minutes before we begin our descent! I've kept tabs on Perrine, and she's hanging off our tail!"
"Thanks Ireland! Was that from Cambridge?"
"Yeah!"
With a nod, Cameron turned silently to face Lynne again. "If it's not too much trouble... could you turn for me? I have to get the back button."
"Oh, yes! Sorry."
She then turned in place, and waited patiently as Cameron worked the last button free. As it slipped through the buttonhole, a shot traveled through his arm. It jerked in response, and his fingers snagged on her collar. In moments, Lynne spun to face him.
"What are you doing!" she demanded.
"S-sorry, my shoulder!" he hissed pleadingly. "Forgive me!"
Her expression softened in understanding. "Oh, I see."
Cameron stepped back now, and nodded. "Now that that little scheme is over... do you know where the uniform and the vest went?"
Lynne gazed around the cabin. "I don't... oh, there they are!" she said pointing.
Cameron turned to look and found the items snagged on a nearby cargo rack. He crossed the few feet to the bulkhead, and gingerly unsnagged the fabric from the aircraft. In a moment, he was once again at Lynne's side.
"Alright, I think I know where to go with this," he said affirmingly. "So... here's what I'm going to do. In my world, there's this guy. Wonderful man, you've never heard of or seen 'im, and his name is Paul McCartney. He was one of four who sung that song that we danced to."
Lynne's eyes lit up. "Oh really? Where does he come from?"
"Liverpool. You can tell me about it later," he carried on. "So anyway, he's Sir McCartney now... and he had a wonderful wife whose name... was Linda. He was truly blessed."
Lynne nodded. "Okay... so he had a wife..."
"And kids..."
"And kids," she added. "What are you getting at?"
Cameron smiled. "Well, one day she was dressed up casually. Big deal, right?" he said with a shrug. "Someone got a picture, and it was published. Years later though, I come along looking for music by his band Wings. I saw this picture, and I thought it was really nice."
"It must've been something revealing..." Lynne muttered in a low tone.
Cameron laughed. "Ha ha! Oh, heavens no! I wouldn't do something like that to you," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But it was nice, and I've got all the things I'll need to dress you up right."
She nodded in agreement. "So, what was the outfit? Can't you tell me?"
He shook his head. "No, it'll be a surprise," he replied cryptically. "First of all though... I need you to slip back into that vest."
She sighed, and reached for the article. Cameron handed it off, and in short order Lynne wore the vest again. Cameron licked his lips in thought, staring at the breast and collar.
"Okay, that's the first part. Now... I need you to do two things. First of all, pull out the shirt collar so it's over the vest."
With a nod, she tugged the white shirt from beneath the vest. Its collar was spread slightly, but still looked buttoned. Staring at the collar, Cameron shook his head.
"Right... now... unbutton the first two buttons, and spread the collar."
Lynne's eyes widened slightly. "Why? That'll open up my shirt!"
"That's the intention," he concluded. "Just do it."
She unbuttoned the first two, and sighed. "There. Happy now?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I needed," he said with a smile. "You already are starting to look just smashing!"
"You just want to peek down my shirt!"
"Well, I'm not going to deny it, but I will defend by saying that it wasn't my intention."
"Are we done yet?"
Once again, Cameron laughed. "Oh dear, no! We're only part way through."
