Coast of North Africa
21 Days out of Watership Down
The El-ahrairah-One was cruising above what was once the Algerian coast in North Africa. To the south stretched an ocean of barren sand dunes, which was the Sahara Desert. Following their spectacular escape from the Crypt of Wealth ten days ago, the Watershippers had departed Romania, backtracking south to the Aegean Sea and across the Mediterranean, to Africa. From there, they had made their way west along the coast, passing Egypt, Libya and Tunisia, all the way to Algeria. Their next destination: the Crypt of Science, situated somewhere far inland, in the Tassili n'Ajjer region.
Their journey had taken a significant turn for the better with the rescue of Lucy, as well as the 'joining' of Derek and Sam. The humans had spent several days pondering on what to call this new form of bonding. 'Marriage' seemed an inappropriate term as there was no way to conduct any kind of religious ceremony and using the rabbits' simple term of mating felt a bit too crude for civilised humans, even the colonists of the future. So, instead, they had agreed on 'joining' as the right expression.
The Watershippers had spent their journey across the Mediterranean celebrating and congratulating the new couple. During a stopover in Egypt for water and repairs, as a wedding gift from the whole group, Alan had given the pair a few days off, for a honeymoon. Derek had taken his new wife and the pair had gone backpacking, visiting several surviving relics of their vanished world, including the Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx, half-buried in seven hundred years worth of shifting desert sand, but still standing intact. This was one of the happiest times of Sam's life. She still couldn't believe she was now married with a caring and loving husband.
Upon their return to the airship, the Watershippers had resumed their journey along the coast, until they had reached the longitude of the Tassili n'Ajjer, about 1000 miles inland to the south. By following that line of longitude would put them in the proximity of the second Crypt. Of course, the Tassili n'Ajjer plateau was over 28,000 square miles big and there were over 1000 miles of open desert between them and their destination. Without Drake's journal to give them more clues, they had no way of knowing the exact location of the Crypt. They could only hope to cross that bridge when they got there. This was no doubt going to be the most dangerous part of their journey so far.
"Well, my friends, this is the point of no return," said Alan to his companions. "Once we lose sight of the coast, we'll be completely on our own. If something goes wrong, they'll be no turning back." One needn't explain that if their airship suffered a critical failure or any other mishap that would leave them stranded, it would mean certain death for all of them. There would be no rescue and they would have no hope of making it back to the coast on foot.
"Well, only those who dare, win," said Bigwig, reciting his old motto, "We still have a mission to accomplish and we're not backing out now. Forward!" On Hazel's command, Hotdog changed course to the south, heading straight into the heart of the Sahara, otherwise known as the Burning Wastes of the Glanbrins, a graveyard for countless humans and animals that had perished out there over the centuries.
Following a river they had found upstream, which they figured had been used by Drake's people long ago to transport the goods to the Crypt on barges like they had done at the Carpathians, they made their way far inland. Within hours, they lost sight of the coast, finding themselves surrounding by an ocean of sand, with only a rapidly shrinking river to point the way, as well as sustain them.
The river stayed with them for several days until eventually, when they were about halfway to the Tassili n'Ajjer, it abruptly changed course towards the east and they lost sight of it. It was also there that they made a worrying discovery.
In a hidden cove close to where the river changed direction, they spotted Derek's modified barge from the Crypt of Wealth, which Crowley's marauders had salvaged and rigged for their own passage across the Mediterranean. Like the Watershippers, they had been following the river inland, hoping it would lead them to the Crypt, only to find it dead-ended halfway there. Now the barge sat moored but empty at the water's edge. Nearby, they spotted dozens of fresh footprints, as well as two familiar sets of rabbit paw-prints, heading south into the desert, indicating the enemy party was continuing on foot.
"Looks like the race in still on, lads," said Alan grimly, realising Crowley was still far from giving up. They would have to haul arse if they going to get to the next Crypt first. He just hoped that, if they got there in time, they could come up with some better plan to secure their prize than they had with the practically wasted Crypt of Wealth.
It was late afternoon on the fourth day of their journey inland and 25 days since they'd left Watership Down. Inside the main cabin, it was baking hot, the sun beating down mercilessly on the fuselage, turning it into an oven. A thermometer on the bulkhead read a near-unbearable indoor temperature of 42 degrees Celsius, while the passengers lay dozing and thirsty, desperately waiting for nightfall when it would cool down. None of the rabbits had ever experienced even remotely so hot a place back in England. To them, the Burning Wastes of the Glanbrins, which was the Sahara, looked like the end of the world.
Although they had air-conditioning onboard, they couldn't spare any power for it, as they needed to keep the batteries fully charged at all times in case of an emergency. So far, they had been travelling mostly by sail, but if the winds didn't stay favourable, they would need every amp of battery power to make it back to the coast.
With only Derek's crude alternator/wind-turbine system that could only give them a full recharge for every 24 hours of charging, and only if there was a good wind, power had to be rationed, as was water. Without the river following them anymore, all they had were the 15 gallons in the drinking-tank. In this heat, 18 thirsty mouths would use up that much water very fast and they had no way of knowing if they'd find another water source out there. Therefore, it was agreed that the water supply be rationed to half a pint per person every twelve hours and all unnecessary physical exertion suspended. It they were lucky, it just might last them a week. This was quickly leading to short-temperedness among the Watershippers, especially Hawkbit.
"I'm burning alive!" he moaned, his voice raspy from a dry throat. Around him, his friends weren't holding out much better either, all looking close to fainting from the heat, the thirst killing them. "Can't we at least have some more water?"
"We can't afford any more water at the moment," said a sweating Derek firmly, in spite of his own thirst, "Hazel's orders. We might need it if something goes awry and we have to walk out of here. You'll have to wait for your next ration, tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?!" yelled Hawkbit in exasperation, "Can't you see we're all dying of thirst, you fool ithe!? Why should we be made to suffer like this? You gave you control of our water anyway?" Seeing a conflict was imminent, Bigwig stood up.
"If you utter one more complaint about the water, Hawkbit, I swear to Frith I'll rip your throat out and squash my thirst with your blood!" Although the threat shut Hawkbit up instantly, it caused several gasps from the others, all of them wondering if Bigwig was finally going mad from dehydration.
"That's enough, Bigwig!" snapped Hazel, also standing up. He could barely stand himself, yet retained his calm air of leadership, even in this difficult lag of their journey. "We cannot have any fighting now! We still have a long way to go and we don't stick together, we're as good as finished!" He looked at his downcast friends staring back at him. They could not take much more of this, no matter how inspiring a leader Hazel was.
"I know you are all thirsty and tired and want to go home," he said, "But I urge you to have strength just for a little longer. El-ahrairah himself braved these treacherous lands when on the run from his enemies and so can we. We must see this mission through and we must triumph, if not for our Prince, then for all our beloved ones whom we've sworn to avenge!" Although his words seemed to restore some confidence, many of his friends were still far from convinced that this wasn't but a fool's folly. It was clear that none of them could endure the Burning Wastes of the Glanbrins for much longer.
"I know you're all suffering," said Hazel, trying his last card, "Alan asked for three days to find the second Crypt. If we haven't found it by then, then I give you my word, we will turn back." He knew Alan could hear this conversation from the cockpit and hoped it served as a reminder that they weren't just at a race with Crowley's gang, but with time too. With only a week's supply of water to survive on, they only had three days to reach their destination. If they couldn't find the Crypt by the fourth day, they would have to turn back or die.
"I trust your judgement, Hazel-rah," said Campion finally, breaking the silence. "I place my faith in you to lead us through this safely." There were several mutterings of agreement all around, albeit some half-heartedly. Hazel felt touched but, at the same time, scared by the responsibility than now rested on his shoulders. By agreeing with Alan to press on, he was literally taking their lives into his paws.
Two more days passed uneventfully. Lucy was up on the observation deck on watch, gazing at the view of the Sahara far below. Nothing but barren rocks and sand dunes. Having changed into her bathing suit, the only change of clothes she had onboard, and sitting cross-legged on a towel she'd spread out on deck to protect herself from the scolding hot fuselage, she kept scanning the horizon through her dad's binoculars for anything interesting. Although dull work, at least it was cooler out here because of the breeze of the altitude, not to mention to only place onboard to get away from the unbearable stench of sweaty clothes and bad rabbit breath that now filled the cabin.
They had crossed into the Tassili n'Ajjer region yesterday, but with no way to pinpoint the exact location, they were forced to comb the area in a zigzag pattern, hoping to spot the Crypt, but so far without success. Even Derek's homemade ground radar showed nothing beneath all that sand. If there were any directions, they were all in Drake's journal, which remained in Crowley's possession. Alas, they had lost the marauders' trail days ago, the shifting sand quickly erasing any tracks they had left behind them. No chance of catching up with them and following them to the prize.
Feeling terribly thirsty and the sun shining in her eyes making her dizzy, she backed away towards the edge of the railing, hoping to catch the shade of the overhead balloon. But the safety rope her father insisted she wore around her waist whenever outside on deck in case of an accident was too short. Not thinking straight from the heat, she unfastened it and moved into the shade in the back, leaning back against the railing so the breeze could blow in her face...
She never knew how it happened; one second she was standing there, taking the breeze, the next, everything was spinning and before she knew it, she was hanging upside-down from the side of the airship. Looking up, she saw, by the sheerest luck, her ankle had gotten tangled in a length of rope tied to the railing, arresting her fall. Confusion quickly giving way to fear, she began to scream.
"Help!"
Frantically swinging to and from, she tried to grab onto something to pull herself back up, but the fuselage was completely smooth on the outside with nothing to latch onto. Although not afraid of heights, Lucy certainly didn't envy the prospect of falling headfirst from a mile above the earth either! As she struggled, the binoculars still hanging around her neck came loose from their strap and dropped into oblivion.
Just as the tangled rope was about to loosen as well, she felt a familiar pair of strong hands grab her by her ankles, anchoring her down. Looking up, she saw her father, who, having heard her screams, had come running up the ladder like a shot, just in time to grab her. Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. Still dangling, she looked down at the binoculars falling away towards the desert floor. It was just then that she noticed there was something else down there too...
"Lucy! Are you all right?" called Alan, holding his daughter firmly by the feet. He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute. If he had been just five seconds later… The thought alone made him shudder. "Hold on! I'll pull you up!"
He pulled her back upright, back over the railing and onto the deck. He noticed she was shaking. "Are you all right? What happened? Were you trying to pull some crazy circus act or something?" he asked firmly. This wouldn't be the first time his daughter had tried some reckless stunt and narrowly escaped injury.
"I… I don't know," muttered Lucy, still trying to process what had happened, "I was just sitting at the railing and then it all suddenly went fuzzy and I was hanging over the side…" Alan could have kicked himself for accusing her of being reckless on purpose. Every seasoned wilderness expert should recognize heat stroke at first glance.
"It was the heat, sweetheart," he said, calming his nerves and pulling his daughter close to comfort her. "You've been out in the sun too long and you blacked out from the heat. It's nothing to be ashamed of," he added, noticing her upset expression. "It can happen to anybody."
"I'm so sorry," muttered Lucy, looking as if she was about to cry. The idea of nearly having gotten herself killed in such a ridiculous manner made her feel so ashamed, so weak. A true Watershipper was supposed to be stronger than that! "I should have kept the safety rope on. I lost your binoculars too… Frith above, I'm so stupid, so useless…!"
"No, you are not," said Alan, pulling her close, "We all have accidents sometimes and that doesn't make us stupid or useless. Indeed, it only makes us stronger and wiser." That seemed to calm down Lucy somewhat. She embraced her father.
"Thanks, Dad."
"Any time, honey," said Alan. "You get below now and get some water. You look as if you're about to faint." He picked up the unfastened safety line hanging from the railing. "And make sure you keep this on next time you are up here, or I'll tie it around your ankles and dangle you from under the ship all the way to the Crypt! Blimey, you're getting a bit too heavy for me!" He massaged his sore shoulder to make his point. Lucy giggled at the mock-threat, thinking of all the fond memories of her father playfully dangling her around the house as a little girl. Dangling by her ankles on a rope this high up might actually be fun… Then, suddenly, she remembered.
"Dad, there's something down there!" she cried, running back to the edge of the railing. Looking astern, she saw it again; a distinct shape clearly visible against the desert floor. "It looks like a plane…" Looking out to where she was pointing, Alan saw it too; the unmistakable outline of a downed plane. The first sign of human presence!
"Take the ship about!" Alan called down to Hotdog through the open hatch, "We found something!"
Very soon, the El-ahrairah-One was making its descent towards the crash site. Most of the Watershippers had crowded up on deck, wondering what they had found. As they got closer, they saw it was a commercial jet liner, a long-obsolete Boeing 707 of days gone by. Although several centuries worth of sandstorms and exposure to sunlight had bleached the fuselage clean of all its paintwork, they could still just make out the outline of a familiar logo featuring a globe marked with curved lines engraved on the rusted tail-fin.
"Pan-Am!" exclaimed Derek, who was an aircraft buff and therefore familiar with old airlines. "What the hell is a 60's American airliner doing in the middle of the Sahara?" Alan felt a wave of disappointment sweep over him; an old 1960s passenger plane could have nothing to do with the Crypt of Science, which was built in the early 2040s. Still, they ought to check it out.
Hotdog set the airship down on the sand close to the crash site and a reconnaissance party led by Bigwig and Alan approached the wreckage. Although still mostly whole, the fuselage had split in several sections on impact and entire chunks from both wingtips and the tail had been sheared clean off. Number Four engine, Derek noticed, had disintegrated completely, almost as if something had caused it to explode in flight.
The broken-up fuselage was lying on its belly, buried up to wing level, so they had no trouble accessing the forward boarding door with stood ajar. Campion, Bigwig and Holly went in first, their ears and sense of smell instinctively on full alert in case of any danger that could be lurking inside the wreck. But there wasn't a single living thing to be found.
"It looks all right," said Campion to Holly, who called to the others waiting by the door, "All clear, no elil!"
Stepping inside what was once the first class section, they met with an eerie scene of collapsed aircraft seats, all reduced to bare rusting frames, their upholstery having long since turned to dust. Most of the chrome wall panelling had corroded and fallen apart over the years, exposing the framework, which was lined with bundles of tangled wires and ragged insulation that hang loosely everywhere. The entire fuselage was riddled with holes caused by the impact, as well as galvanic corrosion, letting enough daylight inside for them to see without the need for torches.
Littering the sand-covered floor were many of the passengers' belongings; luggage, children's toys, articles of clothing, jewellery, but, curiously, no sign of human remains. In the galley, dozens of empty food containers and bottles lay on the counter-tops and floor, amidst discarded meal trays and smashed china, typical of the Golden Age of flying.
Prying open a ragged briefcase, Alan found a yellowing ticket, which, although badly faded, was still legible enough to tell them a few things about this mysterious flight.
"Pan Am Flight 219 from New York to Nairobi, departed July 10th 1962," he read aloud, the flight number triggering a memory, "Flight 219… Hang on! Wasn't that the flight that was shot down by insurgents during the Algerian War?" Derek nodded grimly.
"It was presumed blown up mid-flight by a missile strike with all hands," he said, "Only, apparently, it didn't blow up after all. I've never read of any survivors ever been found though." The Watershippers looked at each other grimly. It seemed they had stumbled upon a long-forgotten graveyard.
They made their way up to the cockpit. The archaic, three-person flight deck, although full of sand and the pilots' chairs missing their upholstery, was remarkably well preserved, most of the controls still looking pristine after all these centuries. Derek whistled aloud at the sight of this brain centre of one of the most remarkable engineering marvels ever built by man. This seemed a likely place to find something, so they began probing the flight deck for clues. They were soon rewarded when they found the captain's logbook wrapped in a strip of plastic canvas torn from a life preserver, which had protected it from decay.
Alan flipped through the crumbling pages. Although partially faded from age, the writing was still legible, "Flight 219 took off from La Guardia with 254 passengers and crew, mostly holidaymakers. Nine and a half hours into the flight, as they were crossing over Algeria, they were struck by an insurgents' missile, who apparently mistook them for a French military aircraft, destroying one of their engines. Although the pilots managed to keep the plane in the air long enough to get out of firing range, they couldn't make it to the nearest airfield, a French military base to the south, and crash-landed in the middle of nowhere."
"Apparently, most of the passengers survived the crash, but with their radio dead and having deviated from their original flight path by over 100 miles trying to reach the military base, they had no way to call for help. They were able to monitor the news on a passenger's transistor radio and realised the rescue parties were looking for them in the wrong place until the search was finally called off. Several passengers volunteered to try to walk out and get help, but they never made it. Eventually, after 17 days, their meagre supplies of food and water run out and they began to die one by one. The captain was the last one left." Tucked inside the logbook was a letter written by Captain Rodney J. Little to his wife and daughters back in the States, begging their forgiveness and that of the families of his passengers.
"Those poor souls," said Sam, lowering her head sadly, the others following her lead. The thought of 254 innocent people, women and children, stranded here, written off by the rest of the world and left to die slowly from heatstroke and thirst made them all shudder. Looking outside the cracked cockpit windows, a short distance from the wreckage, was a large metal cross fashioned from pieces of the wreckage, marking, what was undoubtedly, a mass grave.
"The Burning Wastes of the Glanbrins never give up their victims," muttered Fiver solemnly, staring at the ominous burial marker, where the crew and passengers of Flight 219 lay since long before any of them were even born.
"My heart has joined the Thousand for my friends stopped running today," chanted Hazel, lowering his head in respect for the dead, his companions following suit. After living with humans all these seasons, the Watershippers now openly included them in all their religious ceremonies.
"Well, there is nothing for us here," said Alan, feeling terribly disappointed at their discovery. This was just another long-forgotten crash site, completely unrelated to their mission. They were no closer to finding the second Crypt than they were before and wasting time doodling around here was only putting Crowley another step ahead of them. "We should get going..."
"Wait, if those are the passengers and crew out there, who buried them?" asked Lucy, realising there was something amiss here. The Watershippers frowned. A group of desperate people dying of thirst could not have had the strength or the desire to bury their dead. And even if they had, the last of them to die could not have buried themselves; they would expect at least to find a few unburied remains among the plane wreckage. The mystery was soon solved when Derek, examining a pile of old flight manuals lying on the desk at the flight engineer's panel, made an intriguing discovery.
"Hey, check this out!"
He held up what looked like a picture frame of some kind. But, dusting it clean, they realised it was no picture frame at all, but rather something far more intriguing. The humans all gasped in surprise.
"A tablet?" asked Sam in utter disbelief, recognising a familiar tablet computer from their own time, "Where on earth did that come from?" The rabbits were staring at it blankly, not realising its importance.
"What's so important about it?" scoffed Bigwig, clearly not impressed, "It looks just like any other piece of ithe trash to me." Derek rolled his eyes at Bigwig's ignorance.
"Look again, you fur-brained nitwit!" he said reproachfully, "This isn't part of the plane. This technology didn't even exist in 1962. It dates at least half a century later!"
"So we are not the first to visit the site," said Campion, connecting the dots, "So who was here before us?" The answer was found on a label on the back of the mysterious, out-of-place tablet. Wiping several centuries worth of dust and grime off it, they read:
'DESIGNED BY CYREX TECHNOLOGIES AND CONTRACTORS LTD
PROPERTY OF THE BRITISH ARMED FORCES
BASE OF OPERATIONS: HAB-001, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND
RENEWAL DATE: 01/12/2045
DO NOT REMOVE FROM SERVICE VEHICLE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION'
"Drake's people were here!" exclaimed Alan. How easily they could have missed it, he thought. At last, they were on the right trail! Excitedly, he took the tablet and passed it to Hotdog. "Get this back to the airship and see if you can get it to work. Let's see if there are any useful clues on it."
Hotdog hurried back to the El-ahrairah-One and got to work without delay. Taking the tablet apart, he began cleaning its corroded circuit boards of sand and dust. The tablet's battery was of course long dead and the screen was cracked from baking in the sun all these years, but he hoped at least the data drive had survived. Finally, after several hours of hard work, he was able to get some power into it and access the drive. Hooking it up to the periscope screen using a wire he'd spliced into the circuit board, he brought the contents up on screen.
They could see the tablet was once part of an aircraft's dash-cam system, probably a helicopter, judging by the aerial footage. Although only a few distorted and without sound fragments of the video survived, it was enough to give them a fairly good idea of the previous visitors' intentions.
Random bits and pieces of video feedback showed a bird's eye view from onboard the helicopter as it flew between rocks and sand dunes until finally reaching the crash site of Flight 219. Although still looking like an old plane that had been lying lost in the desert for years, the wreck still had most of its paintwork and looked much more pristine than what they had found, as it had only been there for several decades, rather than centuries. Lying scattered around the wreck and in the interior were the unmistakable skeletal forms of mummified bodies, which were its long-dead crew and passengers.
Further fragments of footage showed servicemen carting away the bodies in body-bags and placing them side by side in the same mass grave they had found beside the crashed plane, while a chaplain conducted a simple burial ceremony. Several soldiers carrying similar tablets to the one they had found were taking photographs of the dead and of the crash site, probably for official identification and documentation. But, if there ever was a full report written up about the discovery of Flight 219, it had been lost under the dust of history long ago. So far, nothing to key them in as to where the Crypt might be located. Then, they struck gold when they reached the last few seconds of the recording.
"Oh, my God, look!" cried Sam, "It's Dr Drake!"
The Watershippers all gasped as they recognised a familiar face looking at the camera; an aged and greying Dr Cole Drake, who must have been flown in to Africa to oversee the construction of the second Crypt. It seemed, while scouting for a good spot well off the beaten track, they had by chance discovered the wreck of Flight 219. They all watched closely. Drake stood beside the crushed nose of the plane, pointing out in the direction of the dunes in the distance with one hand, the other clutching his precious journal under his arm, as if in a meaning gesture... In an instant, the Watershippers understood. It was a message to them!
"It's another pointer!" exclaimed Alan. He couldn't help but admire his former colleague's knack for hiding secret clues in plain sight; the use of symbolic names of places from Adams' book, King Darzin, and now this. It was simply brilliant how the man had ensured the Crypts would remain undiscovered all these centuries until they, the true heirs to his legacy and that of El-ahrairah's, would come along and find them. His hat was off to the long-dead scientist. "He used the plane wreckage as a pointer to the Crypt!"
According to the frozen flight compass in the cockpit, Flight 219 had come to rest on magnetic heading 195 when it crashed. All they had to do was follow that course in a straight line to get to their destination. Now they just had to work out the distance, which would be somewhat trickier.
"Can't we just follow the direction indicated in a straight line until we find the Crypt?" suggested Silver, "Maybe we will find more clues along the way to guide us..."
"We might, but then again we might not," argued Alan, "Don't forget, the Crypt is underground and the entrance will most likely be concealed. Unless we know at least the approximate distance, we could end up going right past it a hundred times over and never even see it. We need a way to narrow down the spot." The Watershippers looked at each other glumly; no one could possibly think of a way to work out the distance without further clues. Unless, of course, one takes the time to look at what's sitting right under their noses.
"The time stamp!" piped up Lucy, pointing at the recording still playing on screen in a loop, with the telltale digits of the playback timer clearly visible on the edge of the screen. "The recording has a time stamp from the moment the cleanup crew deployed to their arrival at the site! We can use it to work out the distance they travelled!"
"By Jove, she's right!" exclaimed Derek, while the rabbits cheered excitedly at their friend's clever suggestion. Lucy looked very pleased with herself. At last, she was playing an active role in their mission, instead of just being the helpless hostage waiting to be rescued. Alan playfully grabbed his daughter in a bear hug and ruffled her hair.
"You really make your old man proud, you know that?"
"Dad, geroff!" screeched Lucy, red with embarrassment, trying to wriggle out of her father's strong embrace. Alan released her, leaving her vibrant red hair all over the place like a banshee. Pipkin and Fiver giggled. Lucy shot them a dirty look, although Alan could see she was trying hard not to laugh along with them.
Studying the recording again, they counted 22 minutes from take-off until the crew's arrival at the crash site. Hotdog estimated the helicopter's speed to be about 80 knots. Crunching these numbers together, they estimated the Crypt to be about 40 miles away – a good two-hour flight in their airship. Hotdog drew a line on his flight chart using the heading and distance. It pointed to a region dotted by rough terrain, including rock formations typical of an area usually filled with caves. Somewhere out there was the Crypt of Science, waiting for them.
"There is no point going now," said Alan, looking at the setting sun, "It will be nightfall soon and there's no point looking for the Crypt in the dark. We'll camp here for the night and set off again at first light."
With several hours to kill until the next morning, the Watershippers began making preparations for the night. Bigwig, Holly, Silver and Campion were assigned lookouts for the night, patrolling the perimeter of their camp in shifts, in the unlikely event that Crowley's thugs happened to pass this way, while the humans tended to their routine task of probing the wreck for any useful resources.
As expected, there was little to be found onboard the 707. There was absolutely nothing in the way of food or water, the passengers' luggage was mostly useless junk and the plane itself was so badly corroded after sitting in the desert sun for nearly a millennium, there was little hope of finding anything to use as spare parts for their own ship. Still, they did manage to find a few welcome pickings.
Prying open a hatch in the cockpit floor, they found the luggage compartment in the lower deck, brimming with suitcases. Many had already been opened and emptied, no doubt by the plane's desperate passengers scavenging for food and water, but others still remained sealed and untouched.
Shifting through the luggage, Lucy found an army-issue backpack that probably belonged to a travelling soldier, which, once cleaned of sand, was found to be in good enough shape for her own use, as she had no gear of her own save for the clothes on her back. In the cockpit, Hotdog found in a drawer the pilots' air navigation calculator, course angle corrector, parallel rulers, dividers, callipers and flight charts, complete with a full reference handbook. As Flight 219 predated the digital age, in this post-apocalyptic future age where technology was practically non-existent, these vintage navigation instruments would improve their navigational skills tremendously. Then Derek found the crème-de-la-crème when, prying open a service panel from the bulkhead wall in the rear galley, he discovered the plane's APU generator nestled inside the undamaged tail-cone.
Although ancient from age, the APU still appeared to be in workable condition and Derek was not the type to turn down an engineering challenge that might provide them with one of their most needed resources: power. Although the APU was too heavy to take with them onboard the El-ahrairah-One, it could still be used as a charging station for their batteries. Assuming, of course, they could get it working again.
Unpacking his tools, he got to work, with Sam and Bluebell assisting him in his endeavour. Dissembling the APU, he cleaned out the sand clogging its inner components so the generator's engine could run again. Using some leftover engine oil he had drained from its tank in one of the wings to lubricate it, he just needed to find a source of fuel and they were good to fire it up. Alas, whatever jet fuel was left in the 707's tanks had either leaked away or solidified into useless solid gunk over the centuries, leaving them with nothing to power the APU with. Then, Derek remembered a bottle of methanol he carried onboard for just such an emergency.
Pouring the methanol into the small reserve tank on the APU and hooking up a pair of jump-cables drawing power from their airship's batteries, he spliced together the wires to close the circuit that triggered the automatic starter that powered up the APU in the event of total engine failure.
After several futile tries, at last there was a familiar whirring sound, which was the APU rising from the dead, producing 115 volts AC current. Satisfied it was running smoothly, Derek turned his attention to a bundle of wires next to the APU that were used to send power to the 707's systems. Selecting a circuit that powered the lights in the rear cabin, he connected them to the APU. An overhead light-fixture on the edge of the aisle momentarily flashed and exploded in a shower of sparks and broken glass, the debris barely missing Violet who happened to be standing underneath.
Cursing his clumsiness, Derek went on connecting wires. At last, he got a couple of emergency lights in the galley area working without the ancient bulbs exploding in his face. Sam smiled as her face was bathed in light.
"I don't believe it! Well done, Deke!" Grinning from ear to ear at his success, Derek lovingly kissed his wife.
"The Renaissance Man has done it again!"
There was no time to waste celebrating however; their meagre supply of methanol could only keep the APU running for a couple of hours tops, so they had to make good use of that time. With a rigged utility cable sending power from the 707 to the airship, topping up the batteries, the Watershippers were able to enjoy some of their creature comforts for a change.
With the airship's air-conditioning back online and running on full blast, they were able to lower the cabin temperature to a comfortable level for the night. Back in the 707's galley, now that he had proper lights to work by and wanting to do more with his newfound source of power while it lasted, Derek had repaired the plane's refrigerator and shoved all their canteens of water inside, turning them ice-cold. Alan also added their remaining supply of oranges from Rome, which were beginning to spoil in this heat.
That evening, the Watershippers retreated to the new comforts of their airship to eat and rest. With plenty of power for light and the air conditioning to keep them cool, they were able to stay up late into the night, playing Bobstones or trading stories. Lucy had even found a small treasure in the form of a child's suitcase filled with dozens of 1960's comic books for herself and Pipkin, as well as a chessboard for Derek and Sam, and a deck of cards for Hotdog. Sam, who had wanted to give a woman's touch to their ship, had salvaged and cleaned all the intact china and silverware from the 707, so they were able to enjoy dinner first-class style. As for Alan, he had found a vintage electric razor in the luggage that still worked and was able to treat himself to a decent shave.
Just after midnight, the APU finally run out of fuel and the 707's lights went out for the last time. With their airship's batteries now fully charged, the Watershippers put out the lights and settled down to sleep, feeling comfortable and content.
They made an early start the next morning, heading further south, following the course they'd worked out from the footage they'd found on the tablet. Before departing the crash site of Flight 219 for the last time, Alan had scribbled a message on the mirror in one of the lavatories for any future visitors who might visit the site someday:
The Watershippers were here on their 25th day in their search for the Crypt of Wealth. The race is still on. Beware of Woundwort and Crowley.
The message was signed with his name and the date. Captain Little's logbook and letters completed his take, to ensure the passengers and crew of the fatal flight would have an enduring legacy.
By noon, they had arrived at the location. Stretched out before them was a rocky mountain range where the Crypt of Science was supposed to be. Alas, as they surveyed the landscape with their binoculars, there was no sign of any Crypt entrance anywhere. If there were once any roads or railway lines used to transport the goods to the Crypt that they could have now used to lead them to their prize, they were long since buried under the sand.
Inside the cabin, Derek had powered up his homemade radar and was surveying the terrain for any signs of hollow cliffs that might indicate a hidden cave. So far, his efforts were fruitless. That, and the rapidly worsening heat of the day, was making them all irritable. Worse still, they were chopping into their fourth day on water rations, with only three more days of water left. If they couldn't find the Crypt by the end of the day, they would have to turn back or else suffer the same fate as the passengers of Flight 219. Even then, they would still have to go at least a full day without water.
Up on the observation deck, Alan, Derek and Fiver were surveying the surrounding area, using one pair of binoculars between them, having lost the other pair during Lucy's near-fatal accident the other day. Lucy, currently off-duty, lay sunbathing on the deck with Pipkin, who had found he enjoyed this weird human pastime as much as his stepsister did.
Alan passed the binoculars to Derek and turned to Fiver, who was staring at the view, lost in thought. Alan snapped his fingers in front of his heart-brother's face, snapping him back to reality.
"You all right there, Fiver?" The small rabbit nodded.
"I'm fine, Alan, just a little thirsty," he muttered, trying not to appear as weak as he felt. The heat was making them all fatigued and living on only half a pint of water a day in this climate didn't help things in the slightest. They couldn't wait for dusk, when it would be somewhat cooler. How Fiver wished at times like these he could have another vision that might help his friends find out where they were going. Alas, the only kind of visions he seemed to get were of the sort that announced more unwanted trouble coming their way. Not counting the trouble already brewing down in the main cabin...
Hawkbit sat huddled in the shadows behind a partition that separated the main cabin from the battery compartment, out of earshot from the others, having a hushed conversation with Dandelion, Strawberry and Silver.
"This has gone far enough," he was saying to his fellow Owsla comrades, "It's suicide to keep looking for that accursed Crypt! Hazel-rah may be our Chief Rabbit, but he has no right to gamble with our lives just because he trusts Alan's hunch. We have to make them turn back now!" The trio nodded in agreement. Although, a few days ago, the very thought of what they were about to do would have been unthinkable, the heat, the thirst and the lack of progress in their mission had finally driven them to breaking point.
"Are you suggesting...mutiny?" whispered Strawberry, having to force himself to even say the word. Going up against one's own Chief Rabbit, whether a compassionate leader or a tyrant, was a terrible taboo among the lagomorphs. Although Hawkbit didn't seem to give it another thought, the others were still extremely hesitant to go ahead with such an extreme plan. "That's treason!"
"You can't be serious!" gasped Dandelion, "Those are our friends up here with us! You are willing to just throw away your friendship and loyalty and fight them, maybe kill them in the process? How would that rest on your conscience?"
"Doing everything in your power to stay alive is not madness, you fools!" retorted Hawkbit reproachfully, "What is madness is walking straight into the jaws of the Black Rabbit of Inle! These barren lands are cursed! If we keep going, we'll surely die! Hazel's not right in the head, I tell you! We have to put a stop to this before it's too late! Frith of Inle, do you want to live or die?"
At last, his words seemed to win the others over. In truth, none of them wanted to end up permanent residents of the treacherous Wastes of the Glanbrins, but the idea of mutiny still wrestled strongly with their conscience, as did their slim chances of actually pulling off such a desperate plan.
"What about Bigwig, Campion and Holly?" asked Dandelion, pointing out the biggest obstacle of all, "And Alan and his lot? We can't possibly fight them all!"
"We don't have to," said Hawkbit slyly, gesturing at the open hatch that led up to the observation deck. Although not the type to usually listen to instructions with a keen ear, he did recall a warning Derek had emphasized on their first day out. The hatch, originally an escape hatch for the passengers back when this fuselage was still a plane, could only be opened from inside. That was why whenever someone was outside on deck, it had to be held open with a safety bar, much like the hood of a car. And now, Alan and Derek, the strongest of the humans were both up there, waiting to be trapped. That just left them with the rest of the Owsla to worry about.
"Sam doesn't have much of fighting spirit in her and Hotdog is preoccupied with flying this hrududu," said Hawkbit, outlining his plan, "As for Bigwig and the others, all we have to do is get to Hazel first. They won't dare make a move against us if it is the Chief Rabbit's life on the line. We take control and force Hotdog to turn around. I'm sure the others will eventually agree it was the only way," he added hastily, noticing the appalled look on his comrades' faces. As if starting a mutiny wasn't bad enough, the idea of taking their own Chief Rabbit hostage in order to coerce the rest into complying with their demands sure clinched it.
"There will be no killings," said Silver at last, his tone implying there would be no room for arguments on this one. "I want your word that absolutely no one is to be harmed, or I'll have no part in this." He wanted to curse himself for even considering going along with this insanity, but the thought of never seeing the beautiful views of Watership Down again overrode his Owsla code of honour. Hawkbit nodded.
After going over their plan one last time, the mutinous quartet discreetly took up positions around the cabin, moving slowly and inconspicuously as not to arouse suspicion, waiting for the signal to strike. First thing was to get Bigwig out of the way. Gingerly, Strawberry approached Bigwig, who was snoozing under a hammock. He nudged him awake.
"What is it, Strawberry?"
"It's Bluebell, Bigwig," said Strawberry softly so the others couldn't hear him, "He's not feeling well. You better check on him." Bigwig frowned; so far, they had been lucky enough not to have had any episodes with Bluebell's delicate condition. Another seizure was all they needed now. He turned towards the cockpit to have someone call Alan below, in case he needed assistance, but Strawberry stopped him. "Don't worry, I'll get Alan. You just check on Bluebell. Go on then, Bigwig!" Detecting the sense of urgency in his voice, Bigwig rose to his feet and hurried aft to investigate.
Strawberry smiled. Everything was perfect. Bigwig was in the rear cabin and as far away from them as possible, as were Campion and Holly. Now, the only thing left between them and Hazel was Blackberry, who was currently engaged in conversation with the Chief Rabbit, neither of them suspecting anything. But only for a moment. Turning, Strawberry nodded to Hawkbit, who turned to Dandelion poised at the foot of the ladder.
"Now, Dandelion!"
Giving a spectacular leap, Dandelion knocked away the safety rod that held the hatch cover open. The hatch slammed shut with a thud, locking Alan, Derek, Lucy, Pipkin and Fiver outside on deck. Now was the moment to make their final move. The quartet turned their attention to Hazel.
"What in Frith's name is going on here?" demanded Hazel, noticing four of his own rabbits surrounding him with menacing expressions. "What are you doing?"
Before he could inquire any further, he found himself tackled by Silver, who easily pinned him down with his massive weight. Seeing his Chief Rabbit attacked, Blackberry was about to intervene, only to also find himself tackled to the floor by Strawberry. In an instant, all hell had broken loose in the main cabin...
"Hey, someone open the bloody hatch!"
Up on the observation deck, trapped, Alan and the others were struggling to pry the hatch open. Fiver had been the first to notice the hatch close and pointed it out to the others. While calling to attract attention, they had heard the commotion down below and realised there was trouble.
Try as they might, the combined strength of Alan, Derek and even Lucy to pry the hatch open with their fingers was no good. Nor did they have any tools up there with them to force it open.
"Damn it!" cursed Derek, thumping his fists on the hatch in exasperation, "We're not getting back in there unless they let us in. They've locked us out!"
"What in Frith's name can they be doing?" asked Pipkin, trying to make sense of this madness. If this wasn't some kind of a bad joke, then why would someone want to lock them outside the ship on purpose? Listening, they could hear the sounds of shouting and fighting intensifying.
"We can't just sit here," said Alan urgently, "There's trouble brewing downstairs." Thinking hard, he turned round and grabbed a mooring rope that sat coiled on a hook against the railing. Unwinding it, he passed the end to Derek.
"Lower me over the side," he said, "I can reach the aft boarding door and get in through there. It opens from the outside." But Derek was hesitant, realising a potential hazard as he noticed the smooth, slippery aluminium floor of the deck, which was the fuselage. The strapping bull of an Irishman might be more than strong enough to hold his friend's weight, but the slippery floor was another story.
"You're too heavy, Al," he pointed out, "Even with all of us on the rope, you'd pull us over the edge! We need someone lighter."
"I'll go," piped up Fiver and Pipkin, both eager to help, but Derek shook his head in exasperation. "Neither of you half-pints would be able to operate the door handle. You need human hands for that!" They were stuck, but then Lucy stepped forward.
"I'll do it. I'm light enough." She took the end of the rope and tied it around her waist. Alan wanted to protest, but, with no other choice open to them, he relented. Making sure Lucy was firmly strapped in, the two men lowered her over the railing and down the side of the fuselage, where the boarding door was. Looking through the window in the door, she saw a wild commotion raging inside the cabin. Whatever the trouble was, it looked far more serious than someone having let a fart go and stinking up the cabin.
Grasping the handle firmly with both hands, she twisted it over, undoing the latch; immediately, the edge of the open door was in the wind, swinging violently backwards and pinning Lucy to the fuselage. She cried out in pain, as it slammed into her hard. Alan gasped.
"Hold on, Lucy!" he shouted, "We'll pull you up!" But, as hard as they tried, the rope wouldn't move; it had gotten snagged around one of the hinges when the door had swung open.
"Hold on, Lucy! I'm coming down to get you!" But Lucy was through with being the poor little girl waiting to be rescued. She had volunteered for this task and she would see it done on her own power.
"I'm going off-rope," she called. "I can reach the doorway and climb onboard." Ignoring her father and Uncle Derek's desperate yells not to do that, she unfastened the karabiner that held the rope attached to her body. With nothing else holding her from a deadly fall but her hands grasping the top of the swinging door, which wasn't even designed to hold her weight, she tried reaching the open doorway with her legs. But it was too far out of reach.
The edge of the metal door was sharp and hot to the touch because of the sun, hurting her hands and arms. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer and she couldn't even tie her safety line back on one-handed. That left her with only one final dangerous gamble to try. Muttering a silent prayer to Frith that she wouldn't foul this up now, she pressed her feet firmly against the fuselage and swung the open door back around. Alan felt his blood run cold.
The momentum caused the door to swing inward. Lucy positioned her legs forward, ready to grasp the edges of the doorframe the second it was within reach. She knew that if she missed, the door would swing back open again in the wind and she probably wouldn't get another chance before she lost her grip and fell.
She flew through the doorway feet-first. Anchoring herself down, she grasped desperately for the nearest thing she could reach – an overhead pipe on the rear bulkhead wall. Before the door could swing out again and cast her into the void, she had a first grip on the bulkhead. She was back inside the main cabin! Up on the observation deck, Alan, pale as a ghost, breathed a sigh of relief. My little girl is one balsy little tiger...
"Frith of Inle, look at that!"
Pipkin's shouting drew their attention back to the horizon. Looming up ahead was a large cliff face on the side of a rock and the airship was flying straight towards it! They were on a head-on collision course with a solid wall of sandstone, yet, the airship was not altering course! To their horror, they realised no one was at the controls anymore. Whatever trouble was happening below, it must be keeping Hotdog and Sam preoccupied so they hadn't seen the danger, thought Alan.
Whatever you are going to do, Lucy, you had damn well better hurry...
When the trouble started, down in the cockpit, Hotdog and Sam were at the controls. With Sam having relieved Derek at the flight engineer's station, Hotdog, sweating torrents, was anxiously waiting for Alan to come and relieve him so he could get out of this hot, stuffy cockpit and get some air up on deck.
Suddenly, the pair were caught off-guard by a commotion in the main cabin. The sound of ugly fighting was evident and both humans felt their blood curdle as they heard Hazel's desperate voice.
"What in Frith's name do you think you are doing?" he cried, in a tone filled with fear and confusion, "Stop this madness at once, all of you!"
"Silence, Hazel-rah!" came the voice of Hawkbit, sounding angry and threatening, unlike anything anybody had ever heard him speak before. "Be quiet, or you'll force us to do something we don't wish to do!" Then followed the sound of a cuffing, followed by Hazel's cry of pain.
Alarmed, Sam got to her feet and hurried aft to investigate, but found her way blocked by Dandelion, who sprang at her, pinning her to the floor, his forepaw pressing hard on her mouth to muffle her screams. Sam, unable to believe this was happening to her a second time, struggled to free herself but it was no good. Even for a storyteller who was technically only an Owsla reserve, Dandelion was still a pretty strong rabbit, mostly thanks to Bigwig's never-ceasing, all-mandatory Owsla exercising regime.
"Please don't try anything, Sam," he said in a cold voice, very unlike his usually friendly, cheerful tone, "I don't want to have to hurt you." He turned to Hotdog, who was watching the whole scene from the pilot's seat with wide eyes.
"The mission is aborted!" he said, "Turn this thing around at once! We are heading back to the coast!" But Hotdog, who had dealt with unsavoury individuals before, mostly during his former career as a smuggler for the French Mafia, was not about to be intimidated by some wannabe mutineer who thought he could play tough on his ship.
"Not bloody likely, you long-earned pea-brain!"
Figuring Dandelion expected him not to be able to intervene because he was piloting the airship, Hotdog decided to use that to his advantage. In one swift move, he flipped the autopilot switch on and rose from his seat, tackling Dandelion, not realising there was a new, bigger danger looming right in front of him...
Meanwhile, back in the main cabin, an enraged Bigwig, flanked by Campion and Holly, stood in attack formation, facing Hawkbit, Silver and Strawberry, the latter two pinning Hazel and Blackberry to the floor.
After buying the bluff with Strawberry's false alarm, he'd gone aft to check on Bluebell, only to find the bewildered buck just fine, playing a game of Bobstones with Holly. Before he could realise this was not just a hoax, he'd heard Hazel's cries for help from the forward cabin. He, Campion and Holly had hurried forward, only to be confronted by their worst possible nightmare: a mutiny and their Chief Rabbit being held hostage by four of their own rabbits.
"I'm warning you, you miserable, traitorous, stinking miscreants!" he growled dangerously, "You let your Chief Rabbit go right now and maybe I won't kill you!"
"Have you idiots all gone mad?!" shouted Holly, whom no one had seen so angry since the time he had first met Alan's group years back, when he was Captain of the Sandleford Owsla, mistakenly thinking they were enemy spies being aided by the outskirters. "You dare betray your own Chief Rabbit? You traitors!" He locked his gaze on Silver, the last rabbit in the world he expected to be part of such a plot, who steadily refused to meet his gaze.
"Not so tough now, are you, oh, mighty Biggie?" taunted Hawkbit, the ringleader of the mutiny, unable to resist the bravado now that he was in charge. His plan was working even better than he expected. "You may be willing to follow Hazel-rah to the Shadowlands like some loyal ithe's dog, but you are not throwing our lives away!"
"Stop this foolishness!" cried Blackberry, pinned by Strawberry, "You are breaking your sacred oath of allegiance to your Chief Rabbit! Don't you realise the bad luck that will follow you everywhere for this? Stop it at once!"
"Shut up!" snapped Hawkbit, who had grown sick and tired of Blackberry's lectures. Of all rabbits, he would have expected him to be backing them up now, in light of his own not-too-long-ago act of revolt. He glared defiantly back at Bigwig.
"We never wanted it to come to this, Bigwig," he said, "But you have no right to lead us all to our deaths out in this barren, burning wilderness! You had your chance to find this Crypt, but now your time is up! We are going home while we're still alive to do so! And as for the rest of the Crypts, they can go to Inle!"
"So you'd rather back out like snivelling cowards, rather than honour your Prince who traversed these lands before you?" raged Holly in utmost disgust, "He gave his life fighting Hemlock so that our forefathers would not become his slaves, including your own, and this is how you repay him? Where is your shame?" Although his words seemed to have some effect on Silver and Strawberry, Hawkbit remained impassive.
"That was then, this is now," he said defiantly, "And you know what? We want to live!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm going to do you a favour and put you and your crew of hooligans out of your misery right here!" growled Bigwig, getting ready to spring. He knew that if he were a second too slow, Hazel would end up with his throat ripped out; but he'd rather chance it than let these good-for-nothing rascals forcibly take control.
"No, Bigwig, don't!"
The rabbits all turned in surprise at the sound of Lucy's voice, who had unexpectedly emerged from the rear cabin and came hurrying forward. She spoke to Hawkbit.
"You don't want to do this, Hawkbit," she said, "It's not going to do you any good and will only end badly for all of us..."
"Stay out of this, Lucy!" snapped Hawkbit, still on edge, "There is no point getting killed over some stupid..."
"Only we are all going to be killed if we turn back now," interrupted Lucy, "Sure, we could abort, write off this whole mission and return home. But Crowley and Woundwort won't stop. Think, Hawkbit! They still have Drake's journal and are on their way to the second Crypt right now. Everything mankind needs to rebuild is there, including weapons. Then, they'll move on to the next Crypt and the next, until they've seized everything and merged into a powerful army of destruction! I overhead Crowley talking with Woundwort when they had me prisoner; they intend to exterminate us all once they have the firepower! We would be returning to Watership Down only to wait for them to return and raze the place! Our only hope is to keep moving forward!"
At last, her words finally managed to get through to Hawkbit, who, despite his misgivings, was no fool. Deep down, he knew Lucy was right. Woundwort and Crowley would never stop hunting them down and if they got to the remaining Crypts before them, they would have the power to destroy them all without breathing hard. And here he was, the bloody fool, trying to force his comrades to abort their mission that would mean the difference between life and death for them and everyone they cared about! He was practically aiding and abetting the enemy! He had even gone so far as to hold his own Chief Rabbit hostage to get his way... The magnitude of what he had done hit him hard.
Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned to look at the floor, feeling more ashamed than he had ever felt in his life. True, he had, many times before, let his grouchiness and short-temperedness cause him to say things he'd later regretted, such as accusing Fiver of being a curse upon the warren because of his visions, among other things, although he'd always be forgiven in the end. But now, nothing could possibly justify his actions. Beside him, his partners-in-crime, also realising what they had done, released Hazel and Blackberry and backed away with their heads lowered in shame.
Bigwig, still in full battle mode and not feeling the least forgiving, was about to charge again, probably to kill, but Holly and Campion restrained him. Lucy had amazingly managed to get through to them without having to lift a single claw to defend herself. Despite the inevitable consequences that were bound to come to Hawkbit, Strawberry, Silver and Dandelion, there was no point resorting to violence now. Hazel shakily got to his feet, giving Lucy a look of great pride. She'd handled herself wonderfully in diffusing the situation, which would have only resulted in injuries, even death, not to mention destroying the unity of their group.
"Frith help us! We're going to hit!"
The group were suddenly caught off-guard by Violet's screams, who had just happened to glance out the window, wondering what that strange looming shadow blotting out the sun was, only to see the deadly rock face looming up right in front of them. The rabbits all gasped in horror; it seemed Hawkbit's foolishness by distracting them from flying their ship would inevitably spell out their doom...
Meanwhile, in the cockpit, Hotdog and Sam were all over the floor, struggling to restrain the struggling Dandelion, who stubbornly refused to give up the fight.
"Stop it, Dandelion, please!" cried a dishevelled Sam, trying to hold him down, "You're going to force us to hurt you... Ah!" she cried, as Dandelion gave her a nasty scratch on the forearm, causing her to lose her grip. She curled up against the bulkhead, cradling her bleeding arm. Hotdog, also struggling and quickly losing the battle, reached into his pocket and pulled out his knuckleduster. He hated to do this, but, whatever the motive was, Dandelion was endangering the whole ship. He held it threateningly in front of Dandelion's face.
"Stop struggling, you idiot, or I'll bash your brains in!"
The threat seemed to get through to Dandelion and he stopped struggling. Hotdog and Sam retained a firm grip on him, in case he tried attacking them again. Before any explanations could be demanded however, the trio suddenly became aware of a threatening-looking shadow that had fallen across the cockpit. Looking out the windshield, they saw the wall of rock dead ahead, looking tall and menacing, so close they could clearly see the different coloured patterns edged in the sandstone. Sam gasped. We are dead, she thought.
Yelling a curse, Hotdog jumped to his feet, making a beeline for the pilot's seat...
"Bloody hell, we're going to hit!" cried Derek, as he and Alan backed away from the nose of the airship and flattened themselves against the railings in the rear. Alan held the trembling Pipkin and Fiver protectively against him. There was nowhere to run; they were too high up to jump and there was no way of turning the airship from out here. Derek cursed himself for not thinking to add a second, outdoor cockpit for just such a contingency. Alas, too late to make any alterations to his design. "What the hell are they doing down there? Can't they see it?"
They braced, expecting the collision to rupture the hydrogen bags in the envelope and cause the airship to burst into flame, killing them all...
Hotdog flung himself across the cockpit, literarily landing onto the pilot's control column and swinging it hard over. But the airship wouldn't turn. The autopilot was still engaged, keeping the flight controls locked. Hotdog feverishly reached over and disengaged it, but, by that time, the rock face was only inches away.
In the main cabin, everyone was thrown to the floor as the airship swung violently to the right. Then followed a horrible scraping sound, as the fuselage scraped along the side of the cliff, creating sparks as metal met rock. Two windows cracked.
Up on the observation deck, Alan and Derek were knocked off their feet as the airship impacted the rock. Both men and rabbits held their breath as the exposed envelope above their heads also scraped the side of the rock, making a horrible rubbing sound like a giant party balloon being trodden on. On the side of the fuselage scraping the rock, one of the spare H2 tanks came loose as its nylon straps snapped. It fell away, landing on the ground far below, where it exploded.
Alan and Derek hit the deck as the shockwave and debris from the explosion hit the ship. If the balloon above them ruptured, they would all be toast before they even had time to take a breath. But it didn't. Its momentum dampened by the soft balloon, the airship moved away from the cliff face, to safety. Behind them, a massive landslide of broken rocks, loosened by the explosion, came crashing down the side of the cliff. This, in turn, caused more debris and sand on the bottom to shift, unearthing something on the ground that wasn't part of the landscape...
Inside the cockpit, Hotdog got the airship back under control and pulled back on the throttles, killing the engine. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned to inspect the damage. Meanwhile, Sam hurried up the ladder and opened the hatch, letting Derek, Alan and the others back inside. She embraced Derek, relieved that he was all right.
"What the hell happened in here?!" yelled Alan furiously, coming down the ladder. They had just had an extremely close shave with death and he damn well expected to get some answers! "What were you doing?"
"Ask those bramble-brains!" said Bigwig hotly, angrily gesturing at Hawkbit, Silver, Strawberry and Dandelion, who were huddled in a corner, looking terribly downcast.
"We had an attempt at mutiny," said Bluebell solemnly, as he explained what the guilty quartet had just tried to pull. Alan frowned; this was certainly not something he had expected, especially from those he considered his friends. He looked at the rabbits in question.
"Is this true?"
None of them seemed willing to answer, probably too ashamed to face their friend. But then, Hawkbit slowly raised his head and nodded.
"It was my fault," he said sadly, "I persuaded the others to join me in on this. I was afraid you were going to get us killed trying to find the Crypt. I was scared, I... I lost it. I don't know what came over me..." Alan was furious.
"What were you thinking?" he raged, "Do you think I wouldn't have thought it over carefully before bringing you out here? In case you've forgotten, everyone I care about, including my daughter, are here too! Do you really think I'd recklessly gamble their lives just to find the Crypt? Your damn stunt nearly got us all killed!"
"I'm so sorry, Alan," muttered Hawkbit, looking close to tears, realising what he had done. It had been foolish, selfish and outright sordid. "I don't know what to say..."
"Well, being sorry doesn't excuse what you did in the slightest, you thick-earned, backstabbing miscreant!" interrupted Bigwig, who was getting tired of talking and wanted to see some punishment dished out. He turned to Hazel. His expression was dark and vengeful.
"Hazel-rah, this lot have betrayed us," he said angrily, "They violated the chain of command they've sworn to serve and tried to kill you! I see no reason to shame our soldier's honour by killing these cowardly traitors ourselves. I suggest we throw them off the ship and let them fend for themselves." The quartet gasped, realising what punishment was in store for them.
"I second that," said Derek, staring at the ugly gash on Sam's arm, courtesy of Dandelion. Although luckily not deep enough to require stitches, it was very painful and would definitely leave a scar. "Nobody ever lays a finger on my wife and gets away with it! Chuck them out into the desert and leave them to rot!" Although a few others also muttered their firm agreements, someone else had very different ideas.
"Absolutely not, Bigwig!" said Hazel sternly, "As inexcusable as their actions were, I will not let you, or anyone else, have their blood on your paws, especially in such a ruthless manner. We are not killers!"
"We can always leave them at the nearest hospitable oasis we find," suggested Hotdog, playing it down a bit, "This way, they will survive, but forced to live in exile forever. That's the closest thing to banishment."
"He's right, it doesn't get any more merciful than that," said Blackberry, backing up Hotdog.
"I said no," said Hazel firmly, "In spite of their actions, I will not forget the fact that they are still our friends. They made a foolish mistake, but, unlike some other rabbits I could name, they didn't do it out of malice, but rather out of fear. Fear and uncertainty have been constant companions to all of us ever since we set off on this journey. Therefore, I am willing to give them a second chance, to prove they are still worthy of our trust and friendship."
While several members of the expedition, including Fiver, Pipkin and Lucy were supportive of Hazel's decision, some of the more hardened members were far from it. Bigwig was incredulous.
"You mean, you are just going to forget this whole thing happened?!" he cried, thinking his Chief Rabbit had gone insane, "The cowards betrayed our friendship! They don't deserve forgiveness! I will not have them in my Owsla...!"
"My decision is final, Bigwig," said Hazel, cutting off his Captain of Owsla's angry protests, "They are all reinstated to duty with immediate effect and we will not say another word about this again. But, be warned," he added, turning to the quartet, who couldn't believe their good luck in escaping punishment, "Don't mistake my forgiveness for weakness. If you wish to earn my trust again, then you must earn it. Next time, you won't be getting any more chances." Knowing they were expected to say something, Silver stepped forward.
"Hazel-rah, I realise there is no excuse for what I did – what we did," he said, looking at his equally disgraced associates, "But, I believe I can speak for all of us when I say that I'm deeply grateful that you've allowed us this chance at redemption. Very few Chief Rabbits would ever be so merciful, and I thank you deeply for this. You won't regret this, Hazel-rah. I swear upon my life and my honour!"
Bigwig was giving them a look of utmost disgust; as far as he was concerned, no one who was above betraying his own friends, no matter the circumstances, could ever be redeemed. Before he could voice his opinion however, they were interrupted by Pipkin, who was staring out the window.
"There's something down there!"
Crowding over by the windows, the Watershippers looked outside. At the foot of the cliff they had just hit was a rectangular, manmade object, which had accidentally been unearthed by the exploding hydrogen tank they'd lost in the collision. Alan burst out laughing.
"It's a shipping container!" he cried, recognising the familiar steel container, identical to the ones they had seen housing the goods back in the Crypt of Wealth, only rustier and collapsed onto itself after all these centuries. Trailing away from it, they could still make out the severed steel cables that had once been used to transport it by air, probably by jet helicopter. It seemed it had broken loose during transport to the Crypt, but, for some odd reason, had never been salvaged. By a complete stroke of luck, or rather thanks to Hawkbit's botched mutiny that had almost gotten them killed, they had stumbled upon a clear sign that they were on the right trail. How easily we could have missed it...
"Does this mean we're close?" asked Sam hopefully, "Could the Crypt entrance be around here somewhere?"
Looking more closely at the discarded shipping container, Alan noticed it was aligned with a narrow opening in the cliff face nearby that led into a gorge between the rocks. Could that be the way to the Crypt? Only one way to find out.
"Everyone back to your stations now!" he ordered, "We're following that gorge until we can see what's at the other end of it."
Keeping to a steady altitude just above the ridgeline, the El-ahrairah-One followed the gorge, which zigzagged in many directions. Towering, jagged rocks surrounded them on either side, making it seem like they were going the wrong way. Derek kept looking at Alan.
"You gents thinking what I am thinking?"
Alan nodded, "If the Crypt is at the end of this gorge, then no wonder we couldn't find it – it's well off the beaten track. Keep your eyes peeled now, lads," he added to the rabbits, "We're coming in!"
Up ahead, the gorge finally ended on the edge of a secluded valley deep in the mountains. The Watershippers' attention was instantly drawn to all the old, corroded machinery scattered around the valley, resembling a junkyard: parts of collapses cranes, drill rigs, excavators and other heavy digging equipment, all baking in the sun for centuries, sat long abandoned. Several large mounds of rock debris accounted for the spoil tips from, what undoubtedly had been, a major digging operation.
The crème-de-la-crème was waiting for them at the foot of a cliff at the far end of the valley. Partially obscured by sand, yet still visible, were a set of massive sealed blast-doors. Derek's radar honed in onto the cliff, revealing the whole interior of the mountain was hollow. The Crypt of Science!
"We found it!" cried Alan, thumping his fist on the console in joy, while all the rabbits cheered wildly. "At long last, we found it!" After coming all this way, enduring so many hardships and nearly having their group broken apart by turning on each other, the Watershippers had triumphed once again!
Author's note: My apologies for the lengthy delay, but I had extremely limited writing time these past few months and this chapter turned out much longer than I originally thought. Enjoy and please review!