Chapter Twenty Seven - Airfield
Her eyesight had always been good, he knew that. Much better than his, so she saw it first. It was so tiny that Pazu couldn't even see it, he needed the brass spyglass to see it, it was so tiny.
He'd been walking up and down the ridge looking at the view, the countryside, the war. War was all around them now and they needed to eat and move somewhere less exposed, not just out of this biting wintry wind but off the high ground. Why the army didn't have an observation post up here he didn't know, it seemed a perfect place. Surely they would use the hill soon. So they needed to eat and get going.
He crawled under the big dry brown gorse bush into the den she'd found. The chemical stove was set up and a pan of water was boiling. Against the cold she had wrapped herself in the poncho, she almost lived in it these days, walking in it when it got cold or wet, she slept in it too and he would crawl in with her into the warm space her body had made and which they shared at night.
"Hey, pewlet slime for breakfast, yummy!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Pewlet soup. My favourite."
"You said slime."
"I did not!"
"Yes you did, I heard you."
"Must have been the wind."
"How dare you be so rude about my cooking?"
He checked her eyes. They were smiling. Good.
"Uh, no, soup. Pewlet soup. It's great."
He smiled back.
"In that case, as you like it so much, I'll pick more, and we can have it for dinner and breakfast tomorrow and then…"
"Alright, alright. It's not exactly my favourite, but, well, you are a good cook."
"I know."
She stirred the pan. He stared at her, that wasn't like her. She looked up at him. Her fringe was getting long and shaggy, it hung over her eyes. The smile came back.
"Compared to the useless lump sitting opposite, I am."
He folded his arms, said nothing. He depended on keeping the cook happy, so he shut up. He stuck his tongue out though.
"Is that an offer to taste it? Offering to do the cooking are we?"
"No, no, you're in charge of cooking, don't let me interrupt, you're the best at it."
"That's good, we're a partnership. I'm good at cooking, so I cook."
"Uh-huh."
"You're good at being an annoying useless lump, so you carrying on doing that."
She smiled sweetly at him and continued stirring. He cleared his throat and pretended that being an annoying useless lump was a good thing.
He packed away the cooking things and swept away signs of their presence. Sheeta bent and ducked outside, she kept the poncho on, the breeze was so cold. He'd nearly finished when she called to him.
"Paetsu."
She stood, pointing to the north east. He followed her finger. He stared into a clear crisp autumnal distance of brown trees, brown fields, brown barns, low hills rising in the distance. He couldn't see anything.
"Where? What?"
"That big wood there below the hill. To the right of it, that field."
He could see the hill and the wood and some fields.
"What am I looking for?"
"Urh, are you blind? It's red."
He pulled the spyglass from the bag. He even needed to look carefully through that for a while. Then he saw it. It was indeed red. It fluttered stiff in the breeze, a flapping red banner on the top of a pole. Below it huts, tents. And then, made silent by the distance, a tiny moving cruciform shape went across the field and reached the far side and went up into the air, climbing in a curve.
A windsock. An airfield. An aircraft.
"Oh, yes! Aircraft! Sheeta, you're amazing! I love you!"
He gave her a peck on the cheek and started off down the hill. She stood there.
he loves me? oh. oh, I suppose he does
Sheeta had imagined a romantic fireside setting for that line. Him staring into her eyes, his hand reaching to touch her. But no matter; now, here, on a freezing cold autumn hilltop, she burping up the taste of pewlet grass, it was fine. It would do. At least her eyes had been involved.
he loves me? that's good
She shrugged and went down the hill.
--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I
Seeing the airfield was one thing, getting to it quite another. As they came off the higher ground they saw a town to the north, burning, in the air above it specks moved and buzzed. The day was clear and cold, the sky almost cloudless and there were a lot of airships flying. On the northern horizon there was more smoke and from time to time big shell bursts. Down on the lower ground near at hand was a field filled with tents, and horse drawn ambulances came and went, a hospital.
Beyond the hospital two fields away a battery of guns was firing steadily, their muzzles would puff out a squirt of white smoke and then, seconds later the dull report would reach them. Like ants the miniature gunners scurried about feeding the hungry breeches of the big cannons. In many lanes and copses troops were waiting and to the north the sounds of battle were unmistakable. They had to avoid being seen and although the airfield was only five miles distant it took them all day to get near it. They had to crawl in ditches and walk in streams up to their knees in icy water and lay for ages under hedges while troops marched past. Pazu led them around in a big semi-circle to the north, a long right hand curve to reach the side of the hill where the wood was, on the north side of the airfield. As evening came they entered the wood and made their way to its south edge. There they sat, shivering side by side under the poncho, the blanket over their heads watching the airfield.
There was a fence here and trenches beyond but these seemed to be unoccupied. The entrance to the aerodrome was on the far side of the field and there was a cluster of wooden huts there and a long row of canvas hangars. Cars and lorries came and went, men worked. Aircraft seemed to take off from right to left across the field. Of most interest to Pazu however was a group of four canvas hangars close at hand to their right, backs to the fence. He had seen a small stout aircraft come out of one of them. It sat high up on slender undercarriage legs with wire wheels and large balloon tyres at the nose and under the wings. The fuselage was plump and egg-shaped and sat two crew side by side in a motor car-like seat. Behind the body two large contra rotating airscrews idled and behind them twin booms of the tail were joined at the rear by a tail wing and fins. The wings were broad and stubby and the thing was painted brown with darker brown markings randomly across the upper surfaces. Pazu couldn't work out what kind of machine it was, certainly heavier than air but whether scout or bomber or unarmed reconnaissance craft was a mystery to him. All he knew was that there were four tents here, hopefully an aircraft in each.
"We're going to take one. I want to watch the aerodrome tonight, see what the activity is like and then take one first thing in the morning, before it gets light. We fly low and fast and north. Alright?"
"Definitely," she squeezed his hand.
"We need to rest now. A fire would be good but we'd be seen."
"Cold pie for dinner then."
"Not pewlet sl… sorry soup?"
"You, Mister Pazoo, are heading for an extended period of no meals at all."
She poked him in the ribs.
They found a hollow in the ground against a tree, broke off some branches and pulled them around themselves for concealment and huddled together in a drift of leaves munching on the last of the wonderful vegetable pastry Sheeta had cooked that last morning at the farm. It was cold, bitterly cold. Pazu dug out his leather cap and gauntlets.
--I--
---o-o-oOo-o-o---
I I
Pazu woke, he ached, was stiff from the cold ground. It was still dark. She was pressed up tight against him, her softness against his chest, her arm tight around his neck. Her face against his. She was fast asleep. He kissed her forehead and carefully unwrapped the arm from around himself. He wiggled down out of the poncho, buttoned up the big aviators jacket, pulled on gloves and hat. Moving slowly and hugging the ground he crept down the slope to the fence. Here he paused and studied the field. The sound of an engine had woken him. In one of the four nearby hangars one of the aircraft motors was being run up. As he sat there another started up. It cranked over and over whirring and then fired up, ran roughly for a moment and then roared as the pilot test ran it, the revs screamed and then dropped off to a healthy meaty rumble. A man came out of the far hangar and stood, lighting a cigarette. In the brief flash of light in the doorway behind the man Pazu saw the brown nose of an aircraft and the hangar filled with engine fumes.
He slid forward and carefully climbed the wooden fence, dropping down on the other side. Keeping low to the fence he moved along to behind the first hangar and then scuttled across to it. He reached a doorway and listened. Silence. He pushed the door open and glanced in. The big room was dark and silent. And empty.
He dropped back down, and went around the back of the building and across the gap to the second hangar. This too seemed quiet. When he peeped in here there was an oil lamp burning high up on a metal frame. Below the frame, supported in part by a scaffold was a partly dismantled aircraft, different to the chubby one he'd seen before. This part disemboweled machine was useless to him, so he went back outside and along to the third hangar.
He could get no further. Men stood outside chatting and drinking tea. In the hangar he could hear the plane's engine running. He squatted down and watched.
"Hey! You!"
He looked round in alarm, his heart jumping in his mouth but the shout hadn't been directed at him. A car drew up outside the hangar, a man got out and spoke to the tea-drinkers. In response they put down their mugs and went around the front of the big tent-like structure. Doubling back around the back of this, the second hangar, Pazu went up the far side of it and looked around the front corner. He saw men working outside hangars three and four, pulling open the tarpaulin doors. Light spilled out of them and with it, aero engine fumes, thick and blue. The stink of hot castor oil lubricant came to him, foul smelling.
"Alright, dawn patrol, these two machines, Schuman and Teller, thirty minutes. Shut them down."
The mechanics shut off the two planes motors and then they piled into the car and it bounced off across the grass towards breakfast.
now? two planes ready?
In half panic, half exultation, Pazu skittered back as fast as he could to the fence and scrambled over.
"Sheeta, wake up! Wake up! We have to go. Right now!"
She mumbled and moaned, muttered something about kiss me again, but he pulled at her shoulder roughly.
"Mmmm… wha?"
"We're going. Now. Right now, get up."
He picked up the knapsack, stuffed the gun in his belt, put a fistful of bullets in his jacket pocket, found the goggles, rolled up the blanket, grabbed her bag.
"Sheeta! Come on!"
He opened his water canteen and splashed freezing cold water in her face.
"Nyaa! Aah! What?"
"We must move, now, we're taking a plane. It's ready."
"Alrigh', alrigh', I'm awake. I think."
She got up, dopey and slow. He looked around, they had everything. Grabbing her hand he went back down the slope, half dragging her after him. By the time they'd gone the fifty feet to the airfield perimeter fence she was wide awake, bulky and rustly in the poncho, but awake.
They scrambled over the fence and he led her along it to behind hangar three, then, still running bent double, they cut across to the front corner of the building. Pazu quickly glanced around the opening of the hangar where the aircraft came out. Inside there was a lit lamp on a workbench at the back, but no-one around. There were tool cabinets and various pieces of equipment against the rear wall and the floor was made of wooden boards. In the middle of the hangar sat the aircraft, plump and brown and smelling of warm machinery, its motor ticking as it cooled. It was the most wonderful thing Pazu had seen since he'd spotted the Tiger Moth's glider tangled in the roots of the great tree on Laputa.
well, apart from the other night, in her bath…
"Ready?"
"Hm."
"Let's go."
He ran to the ladder and went up. The cockpit was open with two side by side seats. It had a low windshield in front. He dumped in the bags and gear and climbed in. For a moment Sheeta didn't come up but then she did and plopped down next to him.
"Wooden chocks! I kicked them away."
He gave her a thumbs up. He looked at the controls. A semi-circular yoke-stick, which was normal, foot pedals for the rudder, a throttle lever, a fuel mixture quadrant, propeller pitch control, oil temperature, pressure and engine revolutions gauges, a compass, altimeter. It all seemed to be there. Starter, no starter. There was an electrical on switch and a fuel start setting which he engaged, and the gas tank open valve.
"Hm, nothing's happening. It must be a crank start. Stay here, when I wind up, press that contact button and as soon as it revs up, close that lever there and also that one down to the first notch, yes?"
"Yes."
He climbed out over her, boots on her lap.
"Ow. Watch it!"
He scurried again down the ladder and round to the back of the machine. On the workbench was a big metal crank handle, a Z shape. He slotted it into an oily opening that was helpfully labeled "STARTER HANDLE ONLY. REMOVE UPON MOTOR RUN UP". He turned the big handle, winding it round and round. Inside the engine casing he heard the crankcase winding, building up pressure in the cylinders, pumping in fuel.
"Now!"
There was an electrical click and the starter motor whirred, winding the propellers around, the machine wobbled and wiggled and then there was an anti-climactic whine as the revs died off and the airscrews stopped.
"Too much fuel! Shut the left hand lever down completely, all the way forwards."
"Right!"
"Again, cranking up!"
He put the metal starter handle back in and wound again, it was heavy machinery and made his muscles burn.
"Oi, don't run the damn thing now, Ted, you'll waste fuel!"
Pazu looked around, a man stood in the side door, brown overalls, oil stains and a confused face.
"Contact! Sheeta!"
The motor wound again, it ran, faltered and then with a whoosh and a jet of blue smoke it roared into life. The airframe jittered and rattled, snuffling like a happy animal. Pazu moved. Fast.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?"
The man ran to the plane, Pazu shot up the stepladder and ran across Sheeta who squeaked, she reached out an arm and pushed the ladder over, the ground crewman leapt aside as it fell.
"Oi! Stop!"
Pazu sat, adjusted fuel mixture and airscrew pitch and pulled on the throttle. The motor behind them roared, the back of the canvas hangar exploded and things flew in all directions, hurled by the prop wash. The plane however sat still.
"Get the hell out of there! Now!"
Pazu pulled the revolver out of his belt and gave it to Sheeta.
"Wave this at him."
She did, poking it out over the side of the cockpit. Pazu didn't see her but she cocked the hammer back with both thumbs and slid the safety off. The man saw this and moved. Fast.
"Hey!" Pazu heard an exclamation and footsteps running over wooden boards, he looked over, the man went out the door. Sheeta carefully lowered the hammer and slipped the gun's safety lever back to LOCK.
"What's that?"
"Where?"
"Down there? Red handle with a black button on?"
She reached for it, pulled the handle up, pressed the button and let go. The aircraft shot forwards smashing them both against the rear bulkhead, Pazu let off on the throttle.
"Oh! Wheel brakes!"
"I think so!"
They both had to yell at the tops of their voices. Behind them an alarm bell was clanging. From the wooden huts on the far side of the field a lorry came, men hanging out the sides. Some waved rifles. The aircraft bounced across the grass.
"You're going towards them!"
"Yes, runway's this way, need to get over there and turn left!"
"Take off anywhere! Now!"
"Can't! Cross wind! Need smooth grass!"
"Hurry up they're very close!"
"Hold on!"
Pazu kicked the rudder bar left and the plane slewed right, seeming to tilt on its tall undercarriage. He was taxiing much too fast. Pointing down the field he opened up the engine and the plane roared across the grass, bouncing and leaping, Sheeta, not holding onto anything, was almost thrown out.
"For heaven's sake, are we going to drive to Gondoa?"
At the end of the airstrip Pazu slowed and swung the machine around, facing up the smooth grass runway. The problem was that now, two thirds of the way along it, two trucks were stopped and a line of men were coming their way. For a moment he watched them, looked at the distances involved.
"Sheeta, we might not make this!"
"Oh!"
"But if we don't!"
He turned the flaps to their take off setting, wound the propeller pitch back to maximum angle so it would bite the air harder and opened the throttle. The motor screamed and the machine leapt forwards.
"WHAT?"
"I LOVE YOUR PEWLET SOUP!"
He grinned at her like an idiot. She held onto the cockpit rim.
"PAETSU! IF WE DON'T MAKE THIS, I WANT YOU TO KNOW…!"
Her voice was broken and stuttery from the furious bumping of plane over grass.
"YES?"
"YOU'RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL USELESS LUMP I'VE EVER MET!"
The aircraft accelerated down the field. Several of the men across the airstrip knelt and Pazu faintly heard the popping of rifles. There was a snick! Of a shot passing through something. It wasn't him, he glanced at her.
"ALRIGHT?"
She stuck a thumb up and made herself smaller in her seat. As the plane bounced towards them, the men scattered to the sides, some still shooting as the craft roared past. Pazu glanced at the engine revs indicator. It was over the red line. Nothing else he could do, they would either get airborne and live or they'd hit those lorries and die. He hunched lower instinctively. Her hand came out and pressed his arm.
Then, suddenly the bouncing crashing motion of wheels on grass stopped, he pulled back on the stick and they went. The two lorries passed beneath them, whooshing by. There was a bang as the nose wheel hit the canvas roof of one of them.
The plane climbed and Pazu eased back on the fuel mixture and propeller pitch, set the flaps for cruising flight. He kept the throttle open, they needed to be away from here fast. The roar of sound lessened. They could talk without tearing their vocal chords. They still needed to shout, just not scream any longer.
"Sheeta! I'm sorry! I lied to you!"
"What?"
"I feel bad about this! You see, I don't love your pewlet soup!"
He glanced at her and she gave him a stern, schoolmistress look.
"That's alright, Pazu! I lied to you!"
"Oh."
"You're not the most beautiful useless lump I ever met!"
"I see."
"Actually, I don't think you're a useless lump at all! Just the rest was true!"
She looked out of her side of the aircraft and watched the dawn as it bled pink across the sky, its inquisitive fingers searching into the valleys and farmyards, over the woods and the fields white with frost. Quaint little farms and tumbledown barns might be cosy, but now then, this was traveling.
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21 March 2007
For author notes about Chapter Twenty Seven, please see my forum (click on my pen name)
