Alan and his eight remaining companions stared down at the murky water that had swallowed up Efrafa, along with Woundwort's Owsla, taking them all to a watery grave. Where there had been an island of nearly two square miles in circumference, now there was less than half a city block worth of dry land left for the nine survivors to stand on. The drowned bodies of the Efrafans that had perished in the destruction bobbed up in the water at the foot the cliffs. Not a single one had survived; only Campion was left to mourn his people.

Despite having pulled through, Alan's party felt anything but victorious. Their mission was but a total fiasco; all of their hardships, their losses, had all been for naught. Derek, McEwen, Dandelion, Blackberry, Holly, Speedwell, Acorn, Buckthorn, Strawberry, Nildrohein, Clover, Bluebell, Violet, Silverweed, Hyzenthley, Thethuthinang, Nelthilta, Vilthuril, Blackavar, and even the Efrafans themselves, had all died in vain. Although Woundwort had been defeated, his plan of destruction had not been thwarted; Black Inferno had launched and the real disaster was still to come. Now, it was only a matter of time before the satellite settled into orbit and deployed its lethal microwave bursts at the survivors. The end was imminent.

Alan looked at McEwen's possessions, which the pilot had given him just before he died, still clutched in his hands. That man had done so much for them and yet Alan had been unable to protect him from Robbins…Robbins! That bastard had taken away everything from him; his wife, his daughter, Derek, and so many of his rabbit friends too. Everyone he had even held dear in life had been ripped away from him by that insufferable butcher - and pretty soon his own life and those of his few remaining friends would follow, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

He was so overwhelmed by his miserable thoughts, that he didn't notice Hazel approach him, "Alan, there's no point blaming yourself. It was beyond our control. You helped save my brother and Pipkin; you did what I asked of you. Thank you."

"Cheers Hazel," replied Alan grimly, without even looking at him, feeling no consolation at his Chief's words whatsoever. After all, they were all going to die soon – all because of him. His guilt only intensified when Bigwig, who seemed non-too content with their fate, began pestering him for solutions.

"What can we do? Is there any way, any way at all, we can stop this?" the burly veteran demanded over and over again. But Alan only shook his head, "I'm sorry Bigwig. Like Hazel said, the situation is beyond our control anymore."

"How much time do we have before the end?" asked Campion. Alan considered for a moment, "Hard to tell…one, maybe two hours. Unless, of course, the satellite malfunctions and de-orbits before it can fire. But, knowing our rotten luck, we shouldn't hope for such miracles…" Bigwig was furious.

"Unacceptable! Remember what I said? You either keep fighting, or you let your friends down. Now, what do we do? Think!" Alan, now getting extremely annoyed, rounded on Bigwig.

"When will you get it through your thick skull, Bigwig? It's impossible! Even if we tried hiding in some hole and waited for the danger to pass, we would only survive long enough to starve in a desolate wasteland of ashes after everything has been incinerated by the sweep. So stop pestering me for false hope!" Bigwig, looking extremely scandalised, was about to retort when Hazel stopped him.

"Bigwig, leave him alone. He's done enough for us already. Come, Silver has found a bit of flayrah back there to make you feel better." They retreated, leaving Alan alone with Pipkin, who refused to leave his friend's side. Together, they sat under a tree, Alan lazily stroking the tiny buck's head in silent fondness, offering his little friend whatever little comfort he had left to give while he still good.

An hour passed in silence, as the eight survivors sat around the remaining portion of the island, waiting for the storm to hit. As the devastation had taken out the bridge, they couldn't leave to return to Watership Down anyway, so they just resigned themselves to dying here instead and settled down, pending their approaching hour of doom.

Alan was amusing himself by holding McEwen's keys above Pipkin's face, as the buck playfully jiggled them with his paw, laughing at the sound they made. He smiled grimly, remembering how he used to play similar games with his daughter when she was a toddler. Perhaps he would finally reunite with his family in Heaven?

As he sat there, admiring the stunning beauty of the future world across the canyon, which would soon be no more, he suddenly happened to notice a familiar number stamped on the key-ring tag: 232-G, the identification number of his Cessna! But how could McEwen have been carrying the keys to the Cessna, which they had abandoned in the marshes back at Sandleford...? Suddenly, everything clicked together in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle: the keys and the cryptic meaning of McEwen's last words… It was too obvious: he had meant for Alan to use the Cessna to escape back to their own time and attempt the impossible: to change the future!

McEwen must have snatched the keys from Robbins during the scrap down in the caverns, probably hoping to have a chance of seeing his family again. Instead, in death, he had thrown them a lifeline... Alan suddenly was on his feet, a new man, cheering like a kid in a candy store, his hopes restored. Pipkin, who had been startled awake by Alan's sudden excitement, looked up at his human friend, confused, "Alan, what's the matter? Why are you so excited?"

Alan, in his excitement, picked up the dwarf rabbit in a bear hug, nearly suffocating him in the process, "Pipkin, it isn't over for us yet! Go get the others, quick! I'll explain then…" Confused, but complying all the same, Pipkin hurried to get the others, who were striding aimlessly around the island, nibbling at any patches of grass they could find, hoping for a last meal before the end. Once they were all gathered, Alan told them of his plan. As he had expected, they were all struck dumb with amazement.

"Are you are suggesting we use this... this flying hrududu, or whatever it is you call it, to journey back to your time and prevent all this from happening? Change the course of history?" asked Campion, looking completely perplexed, "That's crazy talk!"

"I successfully travelled into the future, Campion," Alan insisted, "Why shouldn't travelling backwards in time also be possible? Besides, we have nothing left to lose; if we stay here, we die." Despite his own uncertainty as to whether such a crazy idea would actually work, not to mention wary at the thought of the possible consequences of tampering with time, it was their only chance of setting things right again. And, frankly, his sitting around waiting to die days were over.

"Well, what in Frith's name are we waiting for?" Bigwig bellowed, "On your feet everyone and find that damn hrududu, before the storm puts us out of our misery!" They all split up, searching for the plane's hiding spot, hoping it hadn't been lost with the warren. However, they weren't the only ones on a time crunch, searching for a ride out of here…

Meanwhile, Robbins was working furiously to start the Cessna's engine. After narrowly escaping the collapsing warren, he had made it back to the plane, ready to make his getaway on schedule. His joy had been short-lived however, when he realised he had lost the plane's ignition keys, leaving him stranded in the midst of his own death trap.

Lacking both tools and knowledge, he struggled to force the lock out of the panel with his fingernails, to reach the lead wires behind it and hotwire the engine, when he heard voices approaching. Quickly slipping out of the plane and taking cover, he saw Johnson and eight of his rabbit companions appear on the scene, looking overjoyed at the sight of the Cessna, the ignition keys in the man's hand. So that resilient bastard and his little friends were thinking of escaping in his place? They'd see about that!

Noiselessly reached into his back pocket, he took out his last remaining weapon: the strychnine dart he had snatched from Alan down in the caverns. Armed with the lethal weapon, he waited till Alan was standing in the most vulnerable position, from where he wouldn't be able to dodge the blow…

Snarling maniacally, Robbins suddenly sprang from his hiding spot, about to stab his unsuspecting target in the back with the deadly syringe and snatch the keys away. While those dumb furballs were preoccupied with tending to their precious human friend, he'd start up that damn plane and get out of here… But he never made it, when suddenly Fiver, sensing the enemy's presence, appeared out of nowhere, flinging himself straight into the path of the syringe. With a cry of pain, he felt the needle penetrate his abdomen, pumping a dose of lethal strychnine nitrate into his system.

"NO!"

Alan and the others spun round, just in time to see Fiver fall to the ground, mortally wounded, and a furious Robbins fleeing the other way as fast as he could, cursing in rage at having missed his intended target. Horrified, Alan knelt to tend to Fiver, expecting the worst, but Hazel shouted, "Go after him!"

Leaving Fiver in Hazel's care, Alan, accompanied by Bigwig, Silver, and Campion, gave chase, and soon had Robbins cornered on the edge of the cliff. Realising he was a goner so he might as well throw one last taunt at his nemesis, he sneered at Alan, "So what are you going to do now, Johnson? Another on-the-spot mock trial? Ha, like you have the guts for cold-blooded murder like I do! You're nothing but a pathetic loser, just like your family and all your friends, whom you so needlessly led to their deaths…"

But Alan didn't wait to hear the rest of it and punched his would-be killer hard in the face, breaking his nose and cutting off his snide taunts. Robbins crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dazed and groaning. Cold-blooded murder or not, this bastard had gone too far, and this time he would not be getting away with it. He was just about to kick Robbins off the cliff to his death, when Campion stopped him.

"Don't shame your honour over this miserable bit of filth. Leave him to me!"

He placed one paw over Robbins' windpipe, pinning him to the ground by the throat, almost chocking him in the process. He spoke in an icy, vengeful voice that made them all cringe, "You promised my Chief that your weapon would bring glory to Efrafa; instead you betrayed us, used us as instruments for your evil ambitions, and then let our warren be destroyed. This is for all those innocent rabbits you sent to their deaths!" Ignoring Robbins' pleas, he unsheathed his claws on his other paw and drove them straight into Robbins' eye sockets.

The evil man screamed in agony, clutching his grouched-out eyes, as Campion released him to his awful fate. They all watched as the maimed Robbins, blinded and trailing blood, struggled to feel his way around like a howling Polyphemus. No one moved to help him, satisfied to see that this brute had finally gotten his comeuppance. He would not be bothering them again. As they all turned to leave, Alan turned to stare at his nemesis for the last time.

"This is more than what you deserve, you bastard!"As they walked away, they heard a scream followed by a loud splash; Robbins had thrown himself off the cliff in suicide, putting himself out of his misery for good.

They hurried back to the plane, where they found a sobbing Hazel cradling the moaning Fiver against him. Although miraculously still alive, the young buck was moaning and twitching horribly in the midst of a seizure, the poison in his system acting fast. Alan picked up the battered syringe, which Robbins had dropped in his retreat; although not a full doze, enough of the strychnine had been injected to kill. A tearful Hazel looked pleadingly at Alan, "Help him, please."

Alan didn't wait to be told twice. Picking up the injured buck, they hurried back to Buxton Hall. Their hideout was just as they had left it a few hours ago, except for a few scattered items from the kits, probably by Robbins rampaging through their equipment for medicine or weapons.

Placing the semiconscious Fiver down on a discarded jacket, he turned him over so he could have a look at the puncture wound. It was small, with hardly any blood loss, but looks didn't deceive him. How much poison had been injected? Judging by the point of impact, most of it had ended up in the stomach, so the effects were similar to poisoning by ingestion. His first thought was to induce vomiting, to flush out the poison, but then remembered that rabbits couldn't physically vomit. Okay, scratch one procedure. What else?

Grabbing the first-aid kit McEwen had left behind, he rampaged through the trays, looking for anything he could use. Although he was no expert in poisons or antidotes, he knew strychnine caused painful muscle spasms, eventually leading to death by exhaustion and asphyxia. A sedative, to counteract the effects, would have done nicely, but unfortunately there was no morphine left. Then he suddenly realised the needle had splintered on impact, leaving the end half still stuck inside the wound, penetrating Fiver's stomach. The movement caused by the buck's muscle spasms were putting pressure on it, slowly opening the puncture wound wider. This wasn't good. He turned to Hazel.

"We've got to get this needle fragment out, or it'll rupture his stomach. I want you and Bigwig to hold him as still as you can, so I can try and remove it."

The rabbits complied and all together they immobilised Fiver best they could. Using an expendable pair of tweezers and a scalpel from the medical kit, Alan carefully worked his way into the wound, trying the needle fragment. The wound bled, causing Fiver to cry out in pain. Soon, he was able to get a firm grip on the needle; pulling gently, it came out and he tossed it away. Cleaning out the cut with some leftover antiseptic and slapping on a gauze to stop the bleeding, it was done. But it was of little consequence, as the poison still remained.

"Isn't there something more we can do for him?" asked Bigwig, as they watched Fiver continue to moan and twitch, the spasms getting worse by the minute. It wouldn't be much longer before the strychnine would enter its final cycle, at which point he wouldn't be able to breathe anymore and that would be the end of him. And in the meantime there was the threat of Black Inferno to consider. There was only one thing for it.

"We have to get that plane started and try to reverse the time travel process. Back in my time, we have treatments for such injuries; it's our only hope to save him." Leaving Hazel and Pipkin to watch over Fiver, Alan and the others hurried back to the Cessna. Climbing onboard, he flipped the master switch, doing a pre-flight check. Everything was in the green; engine oil, coolant, avionics, battery power… All but one: fuel. Glancing at the fuel gauge, he saw a warning red light blink on the indicator, the needle wavering on zero.

"No fuel? What the hell?"

Thanks to Robbins having used the plane to fly himself, Vervain, and Mallow to Efrafa, he had wasted most of the fuel, apparently without noticing. Instead of reading three-quarters full, which Alan remembered they had after landing at Sandleford, now there were less than two gallons left in the tanks, nowhere enough to make it to New Forest, where the warp was, and back. They weren't going anywhere.

He sunk back in his seat, his renewed hopes shattered at that indicator reading. Now what do they do? It wasn't as if they could dash to the nearest refuelling station down the road with a petrol drum! There might be some fuel reservoirs back at the HAB, but by the time they got there, it would be too late. Alan slapped his forehead in exasperation. Come on, think…! Then he remembered: the old generator they had seen down in the mine had a full reservoir they could tap into. He got to his feet.

"Silver, you and Hawkbit get back to the hideout and help the others move Fiver onboard; Bigwig, Campion, you two come with me. We have a little job to do." He led the two rabbits back to the secret passage that led down to the mine. Making their way through fallen debris obstructing the semi-collapsed tunnel, they headed for the generator room, hoping the generator hadn't been lost when the caverns collapsed.

Heaving aside piles of fallen earth and debris, they entered the mine's assembly point. The entire wall at the far end had disintegrated in the catastrophe, turning the cavern into a ledge on the side of a new cliff overlooking the churning water below, where Efrafa now lay submerged. The generator was fortunately still there, horribly crushed and deformed from fallen debris from the collapsed cavern roof. A trickle of yellowish fuel was coming from a leak in the toppled reservoir, confirming it was indeed still full.

Picking up one of the empty containers to use as a bucket, Alan placed it under the leaking tank, catching the fuel as it leaked away; he watched the container slowly fill up, his anxiety building at the delay. How much time had they left before the microwaves rained down upon them? He was almost done, when Bigwig suddenly shouted, "Alan, look out! Behind you!"

The man spun round just in time to see a battered Vervain spring at him from the shadows behind a pile of debris where he had been hiding. The sadist rabbit, bloodied and drenched in dirt, looked angrier than Alan had ever seen him before, all cowardice forgotten, completely deranged. In an instant, he was pinned to the floor, with Vervain furiously biting and clawing at him like a rabid dog, screaming and cursing hysterically.

"This is all your fault, you damned ithe of Inle! You've ruined my life, but I'm not letting you have the satisfaction! I will avenge the General…!" In an instant, Bigwig and Campion were upon him, knocking the insane rabbit off of Alan, cornering him.

"You cowardly, back-scratching, low-life scum!" Bigwig growled, "Strike an unsuspecting opponent from behind? Well, my friend, you've crossed the line for the last time…" But Vervain seemed to have snapped completely, beyond the point of feeling any intimidation by the larger rabbit advancing on him.

"You haven't won yet, you fools!" he screamed, an insane gleam in his eyes, "I'm the heir of General Woundwort's legacy! I was the one closest to him, his most trusted servant, to whom he confined all his deepest secrets. I will rebuild his empire and rise as the new ruler!" It was clear that the shock of Efrafa's destruction had completely sent Vervain around the bend. Bigwig, tired of the madrabbit's wild ranting, knocked him down with one rough push.

"Woundwort is gone and so is his legacy, you waste of a rabbit! You're nothing now, Vervain!" he spat in disgust, "And there's no one to blame for it but yourself - you chose the losing side!" They turned to leave; Campion however, feeling more sympathetic towards his former comrade-turned-enemy, despite everything Vervain had done, trying to reason with him.

"Vervain, come with us. It isn't too late to repent for your crimes by helping us correct the mess we caused…" That was a big mistake. Vervain, outraged at being pitied by his own nemesis, suddenly sprang at Campion screaming, "Never, you traitor! Die!"

Caught by surprise, Campion was knocked backwards, as they both tumbled over the edge of the cliff, plummeting to their deaths on the jagged rocks below. The others stared over the edge in horror, but saw no movement. There was no way either of them could have survived that fall. Vervain, having lost every sense of purpose, had chosen to join Woundwort in death instead, but had succeeded in taking Campion with him in revenge. But there was no time to think about that now.

Alan turned back to the container that was now filled with fuel. But something was wrong. Looking at the fuel now, Alan noticed it was strangely sludgy, its usual strong odour rarefied, like old corn syrup rather than petrol. Pouring a little into a puddle nearby, he tested it out. The flame from McEwen's lighter failed to set it ablaze. He tried again. Nothing. Finally, a weak, tiny flame momentarily appeared, nowhere good enough to power the Cessna's 180-Horsepower engine. Petrol, like every petroleum-derived fuel, was made from organic compounds found in oil, which contained anaerobic, biodegrading bacteria that caused it to spoil over time, making it useless. They might as well top up that plane with rabbit piss.

Yelling a curse of anger and frustration, Alan kicked the bucket over, spilling the useless, non-combustible fuel everywhere. Their little errand had been for naught; no fuel and another name added to their long list of fatalities. But sometimes fate worked in mysterious ways.

Pacing around in anger, he spotted the sealed canister of chloroform from Sven's backpack lying on the floor. Chloroform...an anaesthetic. Strychnine caused severe muscle spasms, whilst chloroform caused anaesthesia, effectively counteracting the effects. He had found a possible antidote for Fiver! But would it still work after all these years? Maybe he'd end up killing Fiver if he used it on him?

He'll die anyway unless we can buy him more time till we can reach help, he thought, weighing out the odds, At least it's slightly more sophisticated than a bottle of Scotch... Then he remembered: the bottles of moonshine vodka they had found in the Buxton safe! Alcohol, in direct contrast to petrol, created aseptic conditions, allowing it to last for last hundreds of years, short of evaporation. Derek always used to say that petrol engines could run as a last resort on homemade methyl alcohol; so why shouldn't they run on moonshine too? Well, they'd soon find out.

Pocketing the chloroform canister, they hurried out, making their way back up top, to their hideout. Alan dashed over to the safe and began emptying its supply of vodka: a total of ten hermetically sealed bottles, or around five gallons. Only a sip for a fuel-starved aircraft engine, but at least it was better than nothing.

With Alan laden down with booze, they returned to the plane, where they found the others waiting. Hazel was nuzzling Fiver, who was barely conscious by now, his mouth foaming; the poison was entering its final stages. Hazel was sobbing softly, muttering some sort of Lapine prayer under his breath.

"Where's Campion?" asked Hawkbit, noticing the Efrafan Owsla captain's absence. Bigwig shook his head sadly, "He's dead. That stinkweed Vervain ambushed us down there and pushed him of a cliff." Even Hawkbit didn't dare utter any of his usual sarcastic remarks at the news. Although he had never fully trusted Campion because he was an Efrafan, not to mention Woundwort's right-hand rabbit, like the rest of his friends, he respected his courage and loyalty, all of which was now wasted.

Alan put down his stash of vodka bottles, took out the chloroform canister and cracked its airtight seal. Like a white mist, the chloroform leaked out, evaporating upon contact with the air. Soaking a rag in the noxious substance, he clamped it over Fiver's mouth and nose, letting him inhale the anaesthetic, using his other hand to feel his pulse. Burn marks appeared on the buck's nostrils and lips as the caustic chloroform made contact with his skin, making him moan and twitch in pain.

"What in Frith's name are you doing? Stop it!" cried Hazel, noticing the burn marks appear, trying to swat Alan's hand away from his brother's mouth. Alan shoved him back, "He has to inhale this stuff, to be anaesthetised. Come on Fiver, take it down!"

Soon, Fiver lay peacefully, the spasms easing up. The chloroform had done its job; it had put him to sleep so that the strychnine in his system couldn't generate any further spasms. If they could keep him anaesthetised long enough till the poison wore off completely, then he might have a fair chance of recovery. Wrapping him in a space blanket to keep him warm for transport, Alan stood up.

"This should buy him enough time until we can reach help. Now, we refuel and we're getting the hell out of here!" Unscrewing the fuel caps on the top of the wings, Alan uncapped the vodka bottles as the rabbits passed them up to him one by one, pouring the booze into the empty fuel tanks. After several frantic minutes of hard work, they had the last drop of moonshine in the tank; on the pilot's console, the indicator rose to about a quarter full. Not much, but it would suffice - assuming the engine started at all. A plane running on booze...talk about drunken flying, thought Alan.

Another problem solved. Then came the next big bump in the road: there were seven of them, and their plane was only built for the weight of four. Alan rolled his eyes; fate definitely seemed to be doing its damn best to make sure they never got out of here in time. It was time to put the math and to the test: With his own weight, and at the estimated guess of two-thirds the average weight of an adult per rabbit, combined, they could manage five; five out of the seven of them. But what about the other two?

"All right, time to start stripping this thing," said Alan, taking out a screwdriver and pliers he had taken from McEwen's kit and got to work. Like a wrecking crew, they probed the Cessna, carefully examining every inch of the aircraft inside and out, removing anything non-essential. Alan passed one thing after another out to his companions, who dragged the junk away, pilling it up on the grass.

Soon, they had stripped the cabin bare; by removing the aft passenger seats, as well as the co-pilot's seat (only Alan would need one seat for himself to fly the plane), they enlarged the seating space, enough for the rabbits to scrunch up together inside. In addition, everything loose, including the fire extinguisher, life jackets, pilot's manuals and charts, radio headsets, all the cabin padding and carpeting, and whatever remained of their baggage, went. In the luggage locker, they found Robbins' bag, containing his precious voice recorder, Alan's camera and their notebooks; all the evidence of their journey in this future world. Alan was about to dump it as well, but then, as an afterthought, he decided to hold onto it for the time being.

Doing some rough calculations, he estimated that they could now accommodate the weight of one additional passenger; six passengers in total, including Pipkin, whose small weight wouldn't count as much. Unfortunately, that still left them one place short and there was nothing left to dump to compensate. Even as they were, taking off would require every Horsepower of engine thrust they had; anymore excess weight and they would drop like a stone the moment they left the ground and crash. They were stuck.

"We're doomed," groaned Hawkbit miserably, as the truth sunk in, "We come all this way, just to be left to die here, helpless and forsaken? Why?"

"You can blame me, Hawkbit," offered Alan glumly, "It's because of Robbins' hatred of me that we're stuck here now. For what it's worth, I'm sorry…" As he uttered those words, suddenly, something on the eastern horizon caught their attention. The thick cloud cover of gray rainclouds was suddenly splitting apart, as if some invisible force from the heavens was eating away at it. On the ground, the unmistakable blood-red glow of a massive bushfire rose up from the trees. Instantly, Alan realised what he was seeing.

"Oh my God, that's a plasma burst. It's starting," he said, feeling his insides turn to ice. Black Inferno was activated, firing its ion cannon, which was penetrating the atmosphere like unfiltered solar winds, incinerating everything in its path. Any minute now, the weapon-satellite would zero in on Efrafa and incinerate them all. They had to get out of here right now! But how? They all stared desperately at each other, realising the only solution left to them.

"One of us will have to stay behind," said Hazel slowly.

"So one of us will have to die," muttered Bigwig grimly. If any of them were going to escape, then one more sacrifice was needed. But how could they possibly make such a difficult decision?

"Who's it going to be then?" asked Alan, "Do we draw straws or something…?" Bigwig rounded on him.

"You stay out of this Alan. You are the only one who can fly this thing, so you're excluded; everyone is for that matter. I will stay behind." They all looked at Bigwig, horrified at his words. The mighty veteran remained firm, "Yes, you heard me. It's a Captain of Owsla's duty to sacrifice himself for his comrades in a time of danger. This is mine."

"Now look here, Bigwig, this is not the time for more of your noble heroics," said Hazel, "You've proven your valour more than once on this journey…" Before Bigwig could protest however, Silver interrupted.

"Look here, let's look at this logically: Alan is needed to fly the hrududu; Fiver is injured and needs to make this journey if he's to live; Bigwig is the most capable fighter among us and thus, too valuable to spare; Pipkin is the youngest and gets first priority; you, Hazel-rah, are our Chief and we need you, wherever it is we're going. I am the heaviest and the least important, so I can be spared. I will stay."

"You most certainly will not, you great big dandy!" Bigwig snapped back at him, "I'm still your Captain of Owsla and I'm giving you a direct order: do your duty and look after the others after my demise." Hazel however, remembering his authority, remained firm.

"No Bigwig, as Chief, I have the authority here, so I am giving the orders now: continue doing your job and protect everyone. Alan, I entrust Fiver into your care; for the past few days that I've known you, you have proven yourself a loyal and trustworthy friend. I'm staying behind, so you may all have a chance to survive. No one else needs to die on my watch."

"Hazel, sometimes you can be as irritating as Hawkbit, you duffer!" growled Bigwig, "Frith of Inle, I said I am staying and that is final!" He continued glaring furiously at his Chief, until Pipkin suddenly cried out, "Hawkbit's gone!"

They all spun round and saw that the grey rabbit had slipped away during the argument for an obvious reason: he was going to sacrifice himself for the rest of them to escape. Alan was just about to run after him, but Bigwig stopped him.

"No, you get ready for departure. I'll get Hawkbit. Wait for us for as long as you can; if we don't come back, then leave without us." Without another word, he took off across the island, chasing after Hawkbit. But what good would it do to bring him back if they couldn't take off?

Desperately, Alan turned back to the plane, thinking furiously of anything else they could jettison. Nothing. There was the fuel, oil and coolant still in the engine, which could be drained, but he dare not touch those, otherwise they couldn't fly. Then, suddenly, another radical idea sprang to mind: the flight instruments.

Quickly, he got back to work, unscrewing the GPS screen from the control panel; feverishly tossing away the screws, he ripped the screen out of its slot, wiring and all, followed by the VOR unit, transponder, and even the radio. Turning to the instruments, he removed any doubles and non essentials, leaving nothing but the four key instruments (altimeter, compass, airspeed indicator and artificial horizon), the control column, compass, master switch, throttle, mixture lever, and the ignition. From the outside, he also removed the radio aerial, navigation lights, door handles, the coverings of holes between the control-surface plating, and any loose nuts or bolts he could spare. Now, the little Cessna stood looking as if it had been through the worst parts of town. But at least now they just might be able to get it off the ground.

Quickly helping Hazel move the unconscious Fiver onboard, followed by Pipkin and Silver, he noticed that Bigwig and Hawkbit had still not returned, and meanwhile the microwave sweeps were getting closer. Another wave hit, causing the water in the river to boil away into clouds of searing steam. The sky on the eastern horizon was turning thick with smoke, as the land was slowly incinerated bit-by-bit by more strikes from the satellite. In another minute or two, it would hit Efrafa.

Unable to bear the thought of losing two more of his friends, Alan suddenly run away from the plane in the direction Bigwig had gone, ignoring the shouts of Silver, Hazel and Pipkin, "Alan, no! Come back!"

Author's note: Before writing this chapter, I consulted a pilot about the scenario of a plane being able to fly after being stripped like that and he told me it could actually work. Enjoy and please review!