Chapter 10
What Happened To Ginger
When the little machine lifted off and banked away, Ginger lost sight of his comrades as the airfield faded astern.
He knew, from looking at the instruments over the pilot's shoulder, that the aircraft was headed south. The control sensitivity of the laden Bonanza was already apparent, and he felt they were in for an uncomfortable journey if no worse. He hoped the man in the right hand seat was no ham-fisted amateur. Drop a wing and the aircraft would just smoothly roll into a spiral dive and the pilot would need to push on the yoke when he levelled the wings or the plane would pull a lot of g when all the horizontal component of lift in the spiral became vertical.
As the flight progressed the centre of gravity moved noticeably aft. It was clear the pilot was having more difficulty keeping the aircraft in trim. Ginger moistened his lips. He was seldom afraid when flying, but he was more than uneasy about the situation he found himself in now. He knew things could only get worse.
By the time they had passed Nimes, the pilot had finally decided that landing was their only chance. He appeared to be torn between landing at Frejorgues or Marignane. The former was nearer and Marignane was a busy airport, so he made up his mind to go for Frejorgues. Unfortunately he had left it too late. The nose crept up, and the aircraft started to stall.
Ginger grabbed Mary-Lou. "Get forward!" he told her desperately. "Sit on your husband's lap, I don't care, but move your weight nearer the nose!"
She looked at him as though he was mad, but the urgency in his voice moved her. Clumsily she tried to squeeze through to the front seat. The pilot, struggling to control the plane, was relieved to find that even the slight shift helped.
It was touch and go. The aircraft flew at just above stalling speed, the angle of attack near critical. Ginger was grateful that the machine would normally fly very well with gear and flaps down at 60kts.
They did not reach the airfield. Levelling out over the marshy lands that eventually form the Camargue, the aircraft suddenly sank like a stone and slammed onto the ground. Fortunately the area was flat and the landing gear, being over-designed for the single-engined aircraft, stood up to the rough treatment.
Ginger breathed a sigh of relief. 'Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing,' he thought. Ten minutes ago he would not have given much for their chances.
'What now?' he wondered. The pilot had been talking on the radio, presumably with the other members of the gang. Would they come and pick them up? If they did not have another aircraft at their disposal they would be a long time coming, he surmised. Could he, with the professor's help, overpower the pilot before they arrived? As if the man could read his mind, their captor produced an automatic and gestured for them to get out of the machine.
When they had all descended, Ginger looked around. The area was flat, with occasional scrub. There was no cover anywhere. Although the sun was shining, the wind was chill. He supposed the Mistral was getting up. He felt tired and sat down with his back to the wheel faring, but he was not allowed to rest. The pilot motioned him to get up.
Ginger told him, in French, that he could understand if he spoke to him, he was going to co-operate and there was no need to threaten him with a gun. The man acknowledged the information and informed him that they would have to walk.
"I'm tired, too," moaned Mary-Lou. "And hungry. What ya gonna do to us?"
Ginger put the same question in French but received little useful information in return. They had to walk. There was a gardien's hut about a mile further on. They would rest there, their captor informed them.
They left the Bonanza where it had come to rest and made their way round the edge of the étang near which they had landed. Footsore and weary Ginger slogged along with the rest of his party. The professor and his wife were in worse case than him, he thought. At least he was young and fit and used to this sort of life. It must be a severe strain on their overweight bodies, used to sedentary lives as they were, he mused.
It took them almost an hour to cover the mile. Mary-Lou complained all the way and wanted frequent stops to rest. Ginger felt tempted to tell her to save her breath for walking, but restrained himself. He felt profoundly relieved when the hut finally came in sight.
Once inside, they all sat down gratefully. The professor looked very red in the face and Mary-Lou was not much better. They were both puffing from their exertions.
Ginger allowed himself to sink down, his back against the wall. He was very hungry. He had not noticed it until now, but with the temporary respite from anxiety and action, he felt it gnawing at his vitals. He mentioned this to his captor and was told that there was some food in the cupboard. Rousing himself, he got Mary-Lou to her feet to help him prepare something.
The food was not appetising, consisting as it did of tins of meat and vegetables, but when made up into a sort of stew, it was at least nutritious. Ginger ate his portion, grateful for the chance to assuage the hunger pangs. He felt much better once he had eaten.
He persuaded Mary-Lou to help him wash up the dishes after the meal. She looked at his hands.
"I thought those fingernails were false," she commented, seeing his denuded finger tips.
Ginger regarded his hands. "I ride a lot," he explained. "Long fingernails get in the way and are easily broken, but I like to look elegant when I'm dressed up."
She looked him up and down. Despite the difficulties of the situation, he still looked quite smart. "You sure do that, honey," she reassured him.
The pilot evidently thought so too, for when Mary-Lou had returned to her husband and Ginger was just putting the last of the crockery away, he came over and started to talk to him. With a shock, Ginger realised the man was making advances to him and his mouth went dry as he realised the danger of his situation. It left him in something of a quandary as he did not want to encourage the man for fear of where it might lead. He doubted very much that his French was good enough to keep complete control of the situation. On the other hand, he thought, it was an opportunity that he ought not to pass up as, if the man had his mind on other things, he might relax his guard. Cautiously, Ginger began to play along.
When the pilot put his arm around his waist, Ginger's initial reaction was to push him away, but then it occurred to him that this might be the opportunity to catch the man unaware and seize his gun that he had been hoping for.
Forcing a smile, he put his hands on the man's hips, discreetly feeling for the pistol. He had just managed to get his fingers round the butt when his wrist was seized in a painful grip, as the pilot, enraged, discovered the deception. The two of them struggled and Ginger managed to get the gun clear, but his wrist was still held and his fingers were growing numb.
Ginger battled desperately with his opponent. He was considerably lighter than his assailant and he knew that if he did not get control of the gun soon, he would lose the fight with possibly disastrous consequences. He felt his strength beginning to fail.
Mary-Lou, seeing what was happening, went to his aid and added her not inconsiderable weight to the contest. The result of this unexpected intervention was to cause the pilot to lose his balance and reel back, breaking his hold on Ginger. By sheer bad fortune, it also caused Ginger to let go of the weapon and in the confusion the gun went off.
Ginger felt a heavy blow to his chest and a sharp pain in his ribs. He staggered back, hit his head and collapsed unconscious. The last thing he heard before he passed out was Mary-Lou screaming.
