The T8P-1 juttered and bounced along the surface of the water. Something heavy and uncomfortably close splashed down in Geegaw's peripheral vision, but he concentrated on holding the yoke steady. The T8P was a temperamental plane when he salvaged it and the extensive modifications which made it operable by a mouse had done little to improve its mood. Geegaw craned his neck to see over the dash as something else hit the surface ahead of them. There was a rumbling somewhere below and a plume of water erupted upwards. Something that sounded like hail battered against the side of the plane, striking the fuselage and pontoon.
Geegaw whipped his head around at Monterey Jack. The bulky mouse was pressed up against one of the windows and watching the chaos outside giddily. A projectile the size of a football screamed past the cockpit, so close that it had to have passed between the propeller and the fuselage, before striking the water and exploding. That was definitely not a mouse weapon.
"Holy hell Monterey, are there people shooting at us?"
"No pally, not people," Monterey shouted back gleefully from his perch. "Just a couple of boats!"
The plane was moving fast enough now – he hoped – and Geegaw began to pull the yoke back, easing the nose skyward. The starboard engine slowed, protested, and roared to life again. Finally, blessedly, the plane began to rise. The ocean retreated beneath them and the sound of gunfire receded. Geegaw's heart jackhammered painfully in his chest.
"What on earth did you do?" Geegaw twisted around to look at his friend again, squinting past the complicated spiderweb of bootlaces and pulleys that allowed him to control the human-sized aircraft.
Monterey Jack made his way towards the pilot's seat, carefully picking his way along the small catwalk built between it and the row of windows.
"You know how it is, mate. Just ran across a couple of ankles and they overreacted."
Geegaw leveled the plane at just below one thousand feet and aimed it east towards the Seychelles. In addition to avoiding any radar the Tanzanians might have - he briefly wracked his brain to try to recall if Tanzania even had an air force – he didn't want to take her up too high before he knew if the cabin had been breached. He began to unbuckle his harness so he could start a damage assessment when his heart suddenly made a fist in his chest, causing his vision to go gray and his stomach to lurch.
The mouse leaned back in his seat, opening and closing his left hand as waves of stiffness rippled from his chest and rolled down his arm. He reached into his flight jacket and produced a tiny tin pillbox. With a shaking hand he plucked out a minuscule flake of medicine and held it under his tongue. He closed his eyes and counted under his breath – One piece of cheese, two piece of cheese, three piece –
"You feelin' alright pally?" Monterey Jack's face filled his vision, close enough that his nostrils will filled with the smell of gouda, nicotine, and…hot pennies...?
"I'm fine; just gimme-" It suddenly registered to Geegaw that Monterey's face was streaked with blood, his mustache matted obscenely across his cheek. Geegaw snapped to attention, no longer so aware of the tightness around his heart. "Monty, what happened to you? Do you need the med kit?"
The larger mouse chuffed, ran his fingertips down his cheek, and then regarded his red-stained fingers with an amused smirk.
"Oh, don't you worry about that mate. It's not mine." Monterey caught the look his friend gave him. "Don't get yourself in a tiff; I'm not gonna tell you what happened. I know you don't wanna know."
Geegaw relaxed again, tentatively rolling his shoulder. He fished in his pocket for a cigarette and let it hang from his mouth. The fist around his heart slowly loosened its grip. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs.
"Hey Checkers," Geegaw called over his shoulder. "Check the plane buddy! If you see any daylight that isn't coming from a window, holler at me."
No response came. Geegaw took the cigarette from his lips and twisted the filter off before returning it to his mouth. He could swear the plane sounded different, and he didn't care for that at all.
"Monty, do me a favor and have Checkers do a damage report. I don't want to lose cabin pressure."
Monterey was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"Yeah, about that…"
Alarmed by Monterey's tone, Geegaw jumped to his feet and moved from one edge of the chair to the other, squinting into the darkness of the very empty passenger compartment.
"Monterey," Geegaw struggled to control his tone. "Where's Checkers?"
"Didn't make it."
Monterey hopped down off of the pilot's seat and made his way to the row of three tiny lockers set against the bottom of the control panel. He pulled out a hunk of extra sharp white cheddar, took in the aroma for a moment, and then gulped it down. The brawny mouse stiffened, then shuddered in ecstasy.
Geegaw massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger.
"Checkers was the VIP, Monterey." Geegaw abruptly turned and kicked his chair. "I mean come on, Monty! He was the whole mission!"
"The codes were the mission, mate. Checkers got the codes, he gave'em to me, and I've got'em," Monterey tapped his forehead. "Right here. So you don't you worry. We're still gettin' paid."
Geegaw set the automatic stabilizer – a Rube-Goldberg contraption of his own design made of carpentry levels, ball bearings, and a half dozen erector sets - then clambered down the rope ladder between his seat and the floor of the plane. He reached up and grabbed his larger friend by the shoulders.
"What happened, Monterey? What are we going to tell Katie?"
Monterey shrugged away from Geegaw's grasp. He took off his stained turtleneck and tossed it nonchalantly towards the rear of the plane, then withdrew a muscle shirt from his locker and pulled it over his head.
"That Checkers was right. Spetsgruppa boys were there. Still expecting the Brits, I'll reckon."
"No Monty, what happened to Checkers?"
"Broken ankle."
Geegaw raced back to the controls and the T8P rolled precariously as he began turning them frantically back towards the mainland. He heard Monterey stumble and swear as he lost his footing.
"He's still back there? Monty, we can't leave him!"
"No pally."
Geegaw blinked at him, shaking his head. He let the plane level off.
"He was dead weight, Geedge. It's okay. I done'im myself. It was quick."
The smaller mouse felt his heartbeat rushing through his ears.
"Monterey, he had a family!"
Monterey Jack scoffed. He unhooked the knife, made of the sharpened pop-tab of a can of condensed milk, from his belt. He regarded it for a moment then tossed it in his locker.
"Yeah, yeah. He had a family. Everyone's got a family back in the world, don't they? Only we ain't back in the world. We're in the middle darkest bloomin' Africa and he was dead weight."
Geegaw instinctively threw his hands in the air. The T8P-1 shook crazily for a second and he quickly resumed control of the yoke.
"Oh come on, Monty. Do you even hear yourself right now?"
Monterey climbed up into the pilot's seat and loomed over Geegaw, his mouth set in a grim line.
"Yeah Geedge, I hear myself. And I hear you too. Loud and clear."
Monterey twisted his head just slightly, popping his neck. Geegaw's eye's flicked back and forth between his partner and the sky beyond the cockpit. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck and his heart gave one spasmodic beat. Monterey leaned in closer to him.
"I hear a mouse who hasn't even gotten off the plane in the last five bloomin' runs we done telling me that I shoulda' laid my own life down for a one-eyed gerbil with a busted leg. Am I right?"
"He was our friend Monty!" Geegaw sputtered.
"Nah. We don't have friends, Geedge. We have partners."
Geegaw locked eyes with Monterey, who squinted down at him. After a few seconds of forever Geegaw snorted and looked away. The bigger mouse turned back towards the passenger compartment, huffed out a sigh, and enveloped Geegaw's shoulder with a strong hand.
"I'm sorry mate." His voice went soft. "Been a rough day."
"Yeah."
Geegaw turned his gaze to the picture of his daughter taped to the yoke. Not quite a toddler anymore, she sat on the floor in an oversized Nanooks t-shirt – her mother's – grinning proudly at a collection tinker toys that she'd cobbled into a crude but recognizable helicopter. A messy tumult of blond hair spilled down over her sparkling blue eyes. Geegaw traced a fingertip across her cheek and allowed himself a small smile.
