Sam watched as Alan and Derek prepared for their mission to Vleflain. Although Campion hadn't explained much, other than it required the Watershipers' presence there, particularly the humans', Hazel hadn't wasted any time and ordered Bigwig to get a scouting party ready. On Campion's consent, Derek had invited Sam and Stonecrop along for the ride too.
Alan had unlocked a heavy metal cabinet in the lodge's office, to which only he had the key, and was taking out guns. For safety reasons, all guns and ammo were by rule kept under lock and key at all times when not in use; and the only times they were taken out were for long excursions beyond the safety of the Down.
Passing a semi-automatic M16 to Derek and a Beretta for a sidearm, Alan opened up a sealed box and counted out ammunition; six cartridges for the primary weapon and a clip OF another six for the sidearm. After four years, their supply of ammunition was beginning to run dangerously low and they lacked the means of producing more. Once it was completely used up, their entire arsenal of guns would be as useless as museum props. Therefore, they were forced to ration it, saving it for emergencies only. No bullets to spare for target practice or hunting.
Grabbing his own shotgun, Alan passed Sam a customary utility belt the colonists use outside, containing a knife, canteen, flashlight, matches and a walkie-talkie – the basic means of keeping you alive out there in case you got lost. This was to be Sam's first outing and, being inexperienced, she'd have to be brought up to speed on the basic safety rules and protocols first.
"First safety rule: Never wonder out of sight of the group," said Alan, "You get lost out there will ruin your whole day. If you do get separated, stop walking immediately and stay put until you're rescued. Avoid shouting or making unnecessary noise. If you find yourself stranded after dark, build a fire; it'll keep most wild animals at bay as well as signal any rescue out searching for you. Any questions?" Sam shook her head, trying to appear calmer than she actually felt. This wasn't exactly her element. Alan gave her a reassuring pat on the back.
"You'll be fine. Now, remember, your group buddy is Stonecrop; mine is Derek. Make sure you check regularly on each other. And always acknowledge everything is a-okay whenever I do a roll-call on the radio. All right then, ladies and gents, arses into gear! Check weapons, check radios!"
With the motortrike still out of service from their rescue escapade last winter, the humans would have to travel to Vleflain on horseback. The colonists kept four large stallions in their stable, captured from the wild, domesticated and trained. These majestic beasts, almost twice as large and as strong as their 21st century ancestors, born of this world, provided the best means of transport on this future Earth.
They joined Bigwig and his scouting party outside, which consisted of Hazel, Holly, Silver and even Hyzenthlay, who had insisted on coming along to see some of her old Efrafan friends in Vleflain. Stonecrop was there too, whom Bigwig was giving a crash course in Owsla safety drills.
"...When I say run, you run," he was saying to the rookie, "When I say take cover, you take cover. You don't hesitate and you don't question instructions. Understood?"
"Excuse me, but why do you always run from danger at every turn?" he asked incredulously, "With Alan and his guns you should stand your ground and fight...!"
"Some elil you can't fight; they're just too much for either ithe or rabbit," said Bigwig sternly, "You've got an awful lot to learn, my old son. And don't you go about chasing any heroics out there, you hear? You'll only be putting us all in danger." Stonecrop seemed to want to argue but the prospect of Bigwig losing his temper and making him stay behind, to be subjected to more of Sandwort and Primrose's bullying, simply wasn't worth it.
"All right, let's move out!"
With the humans following the Owsla on horseback, they set off towards the east. Alan galloped alone on his favourite white stallion, Churchill, while Derek rode with Sam on his own black she-stallion, Bess. Sam, who had never been on a horse in her life, was quite petrified by the swift-moving stallion jerking and kicking beneath her, as she nervously clung to Derek's shoulders for support. The engineer, who was listening to Beethoven on his old iPod headphones as they rode along, like he used to do on his car stereo in his previous life, smiled, glad for her company.
Vleflain was only about ten miles from Watership Down, but in this rugged wilderness the journey did take a good several hours. Sam was amazed at the transformation of the English countryside into this untamed, yet pristine environment that only a precious few 21st century people got to experience firsthand.
It was late afternoon by the time they reached Vleflain, located in the heart of a dense stretch of woodland. The scouting party halted and the humans disembarked from their horses, as they quietly followed Captain Campion along a narrow path.
"Move quietly through here!"
An eerie silence filled this part of the woods, making Sam very uneasy, feeling almost as if they were being watched – a suspicion that was soon confirmed when she and her companions suddenly found themselves surrounded by a bunch of vicious-looking rabbits who sprang at them from the trees.
Sam recoiled at the sight of all those menacing rabbits closing in a circle around them, cutting them off. These rabbits were huge, much larger than the Watershipers and much stronger too – and by the looks on their faces, they weren't too happy to see them here. The rest of her companions surprisingly enough were perfectly calm, although she did notice Alan place his hand on the hilt of his holstered knife. Beside her, Stonecrop, thinking this was an attack, seemed about to spring at the strangers, but Holly stopped him.
"Don't! It's all right, just standard procedure."
"What do you mean standard procedure?" retorted Stonecrop incredulously, "Can't you see that riff-raff is about to attack us...? Ow!" Bigwig had cuffed him hard over the head, cutting off his insulting remarks before they could be heard by their reception committee.
"Be quiet, you fool!" he hissed, "Or you'll be provoking a real attack!"
For an instant, it seemed a violent conflict was imminent; but then, the thuggish rabbits spotted Campion and, recognising a familiar face, calmed their nerves. Campion took charge and spoke to a young, well-built rabbit, who seemed to be their leader.
"It's all right, Moss, they're with me."
"Oh, Captain Campion, it's you," said the rabbit called Moss, "Terribly sorry about that, sir. The sentries thought they could smell Man in the air and sounded the alarm... It's good to have you back, sir...and your friends too," he added, nodding in Alan's direction, who gave him a wink.
"It's good to see you too, Moss," said Alan, approaching to give Moss a friendly pat, "It seems you're doing a real fine job filling in your new post as Lieutenant, old boy." Moss smiled at Alan.
"Yes I am, thank you, sir."
Lieutenant Moss, formerly a lowly young Corporal in General Woundwort's Owsla and a good friend of Campion's, had been another of the few level-minded Efrafans to stand up to their dictator leader during the Battle of Efrafa. After Woundwort's downfall, he had risen to Campion's second-in-command in Vleflain's Owsla. Alan still remembered how they'd first met in the midst of the battle, but rather than being forced to kill him, had managed to get through to him, urging him to get as many injured Owsla rabbits to safety rather than continue to fight. After the Battle of Efrafa, the newly reformed Moss had found a mate and fathered a family of his own in Vleflain, intent on putting the shame of his dark past behind him, like most of the Efrafans.
The Vleflain Owsla escorted them back to their warren. In direct contrast to the Honeycomb, this warren was carefully concealed under the trees; Sam could see several sentries standing watch around the perimeter, while a few scattered groups of rabbits, probably commoners, silflayed. Obviously, security in Vleflain was much tighter and stricter than on Watership Down. Stonecrop was eyeing all these security measures apprehensively.
"Cor blimey, it's like a bloody boot camp here!" he whispered to Campion, "Do you chaps actually live like this?" Campion, despite the negative criticism, raised an eyebrow at Stonecrop.
"If you think this is bad, young bucko, then you might want to ask what life was like in Efrafa – those remarks of yours alone in front of General Woundwort would have cost you your ears! Every rabbit in Vleflain is allowed to come and go as he pleases, at his own risk; but we still have sentries and a large, seasoned Owsla to keep the warren safe. Our Wide Patrols are the best..."
Wide Patrols were long-range exploration parties, originally part of Woundwort's raiding squadrons, which he'd send beyond Efrafa's borders in search of other warrens for his Owsla to destroy and enslave. Even after his demise, the Wide Patrols were still being used and remained popular among young Vleflain cadets thirsty for adventure.
Campion led them into the vicinity of the warren. Alan couldn't help but smile at the transformation the former Efrafans had undergone over the years. Yes, like Stonecrop had pointed out, the warren had a strict code of discipline and security, not unlike a 21st century human boot camp; however, without Woundwort's dictatorial influence, the rabbits here were no longer deprived of their liberty or rights as individuals. Slavery, the division of Marks, and the Owslafa, or military police, had long since been abolished, and Vleflain was on peaceful terms with their allies, the Watershipers. Although certain level of distrust for humans and outsiders, as Woundwort used to refer to any non-Efrafan rabbits, still persisted, that too was gradually dissipating over time. Alan hoped that by the time he and his fellow colonists died of old age, the legacy of Woundwort would be but a memory.
Campion led them down the entrance run into the warren, dug deep beneath the forest floor. The humans lit their flashlights, which they needed to find their way around the pitch-black warren, while rabbits used their hearing and sense of smell. Sam, who was feeling quite claustrophobic in these narrow tunnels, lined with tree roots, was doing her best not to panic, as she nervously clung to Derek's sleeve. The engineer gently took her hand as they followed the run underground, crouching because of the low ceiling.
They came to an assembly chamber, noticeably much smaller than the Honeycomb, where some of the officers were gathered. An adjacent opening led to the burrow of Groundsel-rah, the Chief Rabbit of Vleflain. A former Owslafa officer, stern and law-abiding but far fairer than most of his old subordinates, and determined to make amends for Woundwort's crimes, he had become the first ever Chief Rabbit of Vleflain after the fall of Efrafa. Under his and Campion's leadership, the former Efrafans had slowly made a fresh start, free of tyranny and oppression.
Instructing the visitors to make themselves at home and wait, Campion entered the burrow to report to his Chief that he had returned. Word of their arrival had spread already and several rabbits had come to greet the newcomers. Sam cringed at the sight of a tar-black rabbit with shredded ears and horrible scarring, indicating many years of abuse and torture, who enthusiastically greeted Hazel and Hyzenthlay.
"Hallo, Blackavar," Hyzenthlay greeted him warmly.
Blackavar was another former slave, bearing the scars of brutal punishment for attempted escape, one of Hyzenthlay's original group of Efrafan escapees that Alan and his friends had rescued and nursed back to health. After Woundwort's defeat, rather than settle down with the rest of his fellow liberated Efrafans in Vleflain, he had chosen to remain on Watership Down instead, along with Hyzenthlay, Thethuthinnang, Vilthuril and Nelthilta, as Groundsel's ambassador. All those years of abuse and misery were just too much for him to go on living with those who had once been his oppressors.
Then, at the beginning of last winter, during a routine visit, he had found himself stranded in Vleflain due to the bad weather. Strangely enough, although the snow had melted weeks ago, he was late coming home and the Watershipers had been wondering what had happened to him. Hazel had asked Campion on the way here how he had fared over the winter, to which Campion had replied, with a smile, to wait and see for themselves.
"We missed you on Frith's Eve," said Hyzenthlay, as the raven-furred buck nuzzled her in greeting, "How was your winter?" Blackavar only smiled as he leaned over and whispered something in Hyzenthlay's ear. The doe gasped with joy.
"You found a mate? Leaozen, that doe you knew from your old Mark? Oh, Blackavar, I'm so happy for you!"
Alan gave the mutilated buck a friendly pat on the back, while Hazel and the rest of the Watershipers beamed with joy. This sure was a spot of good news for them all; Blackavar, whose hideous disfigurement, courtesy of Woundwort, made it seem unlikely for him to ever find a mate, had finally overcome the odds and found someone who loved him despite his damaged appearance. Groundsel had kindly given his consent and allowed Leaozen to return to Watership Down with her new mate. This would be cause for celebration when they got back home. At that moment, the happy reunion was interrupted by an oily voice, dripping with hate and malice.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the outsiders and their ithe cronies again!"
The smiles on the Watershipers' faces instantly faded as they turned to face the latest newcomer: a skinny, black-furred rabbit with a pointed goatee and a sadistic-looking face, glaring at the sight of them – Alan's least favourite rabbit in the entire future world: Vervain.
Formerly Captain Vervain, the dreaded Head of Owslafa in Efrafa and Woundwort's most fanatically loyal supporter, Vervain had a long history of abusing his position, taking out his sadism on slaves and fellow officers alike for his own sick satisfaction. After Woundwort's death, he had been left friendless and with no real purpose in life, until Groundsel had taken pity on him and let him join Vleflain as a powerless advisor.
In direct contrast to his fellow Efrafans, Vervain was the only rabbit who hadn't been reformed over the years. Hateful, repulsive, and longing for his glorious old days under Woundwort, Vervain remained the same cowardly little scoundrel, always on the lookout for making trouble. Alan narrowed his eyes distastefully at the evil-natured rabbit, with whom he'd been bitter enemies from the moment they'd first met.
"Look what garbage the cat dragged in. Not changed much I see, have you Vervain?" he asked coolly, throwing his own insult back at Vervain, who glared, but said nothing. His eyes stared at each of them in turn until they finally came to rest on Sam and Stonecrop.
"Who are they? No strangers are allowed in the warren without prior permission from the Chief Rabbit!"
"This is Sam and Stonecrop, the latest additions to our warren," said Hazel, calmly introducing the newcomers. Vervain just stared at the pair as if they were scum of the earth.
"I see; more low-life ithe filth, come to soil the sacred lands of General Woundwort..."
Unfortunately, Vervain hadn't bothered to keep his voice down enough. A buzz of anger broke out among the Watershipers. Sam shrieked in outrage, feeling utterly insulted.
"What? Filth? I beg your pardon!"
"How dare you!" yelled Derek. Beside him, Silver had to restrain Stonecrop from striking Vervain for insulting his stepmother like that.
"You're a despicable creature," spat Hyzenthlay, glaring at the rabbit who, in a previous lifetime, had made her life and many others' miserable. Vervain shifted his hateful gaze over to her, making her recoil.
"Was I talking to you...slave?" he sneered spitefully, "Then again, you're no better – mating with a lowly outsider and befriending ithe scum. Where's your self-respect? If General Woundwort were still here, he'd put you in your proper place, you little slut of a doe...!" Hazel, his fur bristling with rage at hearing his mate being insulted like that, seemed about to strike Vervain but Alan stopped him. After years of dealing with Vervain's attitude, he knew just how to get under the sadist rabbit's skin.
"Only your precious Woundwort is no longer here, is he, Vervain?" he asked Vervain coldly, "That waste of a rabbit had a fitting sticky end, just as he deserved. Such a pity you didn't join him in death though, so that you could worship him in hell like the pathetic little slimeball you are..." At this, Vervain's sneering expression turned furious. One thing he couldn't abide with was hearing his long-gone master being insulted in his presence.
"How dare you insult the General's memory!" yelled Vervain, "He was the true sovereign master of all rabbits – rabbits worthy of his noble cause that is. You should have died that night, Johnson, not him! You didn't even beat him in a fair fight...!"
"He was nothing but a fraud and a murderer, just like his ancestors," Alan corrected him, "And I did his victims justice by destroying him and his legacy. You should be grateful you didn't end up sharing his fate – if it were up to me, I'd bury you in the same grave with him!" Vervain seemed to want to strike Alan, but then his eyes instead turned back to Sam and Stonecrop, the wheels in his sickly mind turning. The little sadist, too cowardly to pick his own fights, instead sought ways to get even with his nemesis by hurting those close to him.
"Those two are trespassers here and you snuck them into the warren!" he said, loud enough to get the attention of several guards standing at attention nearby, "Guards, seize these intruders!" Before the Watershipers knew what was happening, the guards had sprung forward and seized both Sam and Stonecrop. The latter struggled, but his captors held him down tight.
"Let go, you're hurting me!" screamed Sam, but the burly guard pinning her down ignored her.
"Hey, unhand them, they're with us...!" shouted Derek, about to intervene, but more guards blocked his way. These rabbits, formerly of Woundwort's Owsla, were trained to obey orders without question, too disciplined to stop and think that maybe it might be just a false alarm sounded by a troublemaker with a vendetta. Vervain gave Alan a look of pure malice as he spoke to the duty guard.
"They could be spies. Take them away!" Before the situation could turn violent however, another voice rang out, freezing the guards in their tracks.
"Belay that order! They're with me!" Campion had returned just in time to ruin Vervain's attempt at making a scene. The guards immediately obeyed and released Sam and Stonecrop and, muttering their apologies, returned to their posts. Campion angrily rounded on Vervain.
"What's the meaning of this, Vervain?"
"Nothing much, Campion," said Vervain, using the most unconvincing innocent tone of voice imaginable, "I didn't know these two were here on your invitation..."
"You lying, cowardly...!" bellowed Bigwig, taking a step towards Vervain, eager to beat the tar out of him. But Campion held him back.
"You no longer have any authority to authorize any arrests without permission from a superior, Vervain, and well you know it," he said sternly, "I suggest you hop it before I decide to have you confined to quarters for creating a disturbance!" Not so long ago, Vervain would have gladly reported Campion to the Owslafa for undermining his authority – only now both the Owslafa and his authority as a senior officer no longer existed. He was the powerless commoner here, who had no choice but to obey those above him – but not without having his own taunts to throw back.
"You used to be such a respected Captain of Owsla, Campion," he sneered at his long-term nemesis, whom he despised almost to the same extent as Alan, "The General trusted you like a son and you betrayed him...!" Campion's nostrils flared; his former allegiance to Woundwort as the dictator's right-paw rabbit still haunted him to this day and it stung whenever someone brought it up. However, refusing to be baited by the bullying Vervain, he held his temper.
"The General was nothing but a traitor to rabbithood," he said coldly, "And it's good riddance to him!"
"Only they never found his body, did they?" retorted Vervain. Indeed, even after Woundwort's apparent death, the lack of a body had led to a lot of uneasy speculation and rumours among the superstitious lagomorphs that perhaps the infamous warlord had somehow survived and would someday return for revenge – something Vervain was determined to stand by till the day he died, "Just you wait, all of you – someday he will come back and rule again with me at his side. I'll have the last laugh yet, outsiders, mark my words!"
The Watershipers watched in disgust as Vervain scurried away. Silver shook his head, "I can't believe that idiot actually still thinks Woundwort might come back!"
"I don't know why you don't just get rid of him, Campion," grumbled Bigwig, "That rabbit means nothing but trouble!"
"If we started killing every rabbit for voicing his opinion, we'd be turning this place into a new Efrafa," said Campion sternly, "Vervain is still on a lifelong ban from the Owsla and the rank of officer for his crimes in Efrafa, so he's in no position to pose a threat anymore. Let him waste his breath about the General if he wants. Come on then, Groundsel-rah's waiting."
Putting their little run-in with Vervain out of their minds, Campion led the key government members of Watership Down (Hazel, Bigwig, Alan, and their ambassador Holly) into the Chief's burrow, who was expecting them. They all settled down in a circle, facing the Chief Rabbit of Vleflain. Groundsel-rah was a large, stern-faced rabbit, like most of the battle-hardened former Efrafans, yet his gaze retained none of Woundwort's savage, bloodthirsty looks Alan remembered. He greeted his visitors gracefully.
"It is good to look on you again, Time Traveller," he said to Alan, bowing his head as per protocol salute between leaders, which Alan returned in kind, "You too, Hazel-rah. Your presence honours us." Despite his deep Lapine accent, Groundsel's English was excellent.
"I'm honoured that you sent for me, Groundsel-rah," said Alan, "But what exactly are we here for? I was under the impression that there was some trouble going on here. It isn't about Vervain, is it...?"
"No, it isn't about him," said Groundsel, "To be honest, we aren't even sure if we're in any danger at all – I was hoping you and your friends could tell us once you've seen it." Alan felt utterly perplexed; what was all this mystery about? See what? But Groundsel refused to elaborate any further and simply told them to follow him for a little walk.
The Watershipers, led by Campion and Groundsel, made their way deep into the forest, away from the warren. Alan was wandering just where they were taking them, as he hacked a path through the thick foliage with his machete. Then suddenly, they came to a clearing – or more precisely a spot in the middle of the forest where all the trees had been knocked down by something large that had come ploughing into the ground from the sky it seemed, now lying smashed to bits all over the forest floor...something manmade.
"Now this is something you don't see every day..."
The group gazed in frozen astonishment at the debris field of twisted metal, broken glass, insulation foam, lengths of shredded wiring and dozens of battered seats...aircraft seats. They were staring at the crash site of a downed plane. The debris field was large, spread across an area the size of several adjacent ballparks, where the plane had come slamming down on her belly it seemed, causing the fuselage to break up and scatter in a thousand pieces in all directions. The sight of all this destruction was utterly unsettling.
"It looks like a heavy jet, maybe a jetliner," said Derek, examining some fragments of the fuselage. It didn't take a genius to figure out where this plane had come from, "It looks like we've found our mysterious plane we saw circling in the sky last Christmas."
"Think anyone survived?" asked Stonecrop, staring at the crash site with dismay. Nobody answered him, all of them wondering exactly the same thing.
They waded their way through the debris field, examining more of the wreckage. The fuselage was completely broken up, with little detail still visible, but strangely enough there was no sign of fire often associated with plane crashes. Stranger still was the curious absence of bodies; all the seats scattered around the debris field were empty, their seatbelts unfastened. Examining one trio of seats, Alan noticed they were all fitted with handcuffs and other prison restraints, which were all unlocked. He frowned; finding handcuffs with no hands in them wasn't a good sign. Something real fishy was going on here.
Exploring further, they found one of the plane's severed wings with the starboard engine still attached to it and still almost completely intact. Examining the wing's fuel tanks, they found they were bone-dry, explaining the lack of explosion on impact.
A less pleasant discovery further down included a single decaying body – what little was left of him anyway – pancaked under a chunk of fuselage. Wolves and other scavengers had eaten away most of his flesh, making it impossible to identify him. But then, examining a chunk of the outer fuselage, they saw the plane was painted in distinct khaki colours, and bearing a familiar red/white/blue roundel.
"Royal Air Forces!" exclaimed Derek to Alan, "This was a military jet. But what was it doing way out here?"
"What I'd like to know is what the hell happened to whoever was flying on it," muttered Alan, "Or should I ask who was flying on it?"
Groundsel and Campion meanwhile were curiously watching the humans pawing around through the debris. Like most rabbits who had humans for neighbours, they had heard about these strange hrududil humans built so they could fly like birds. Best to their understanding, this hrududu had come from that same ithe world of the distant past. So did this mean more talking ithel? Were they friendly or hostile? And more importantly, did they pose any threat to Vleflain? They had to find out.
"Best we can figure, it arrived sometime around last Frith's Eve," Campion explained to Alan, "There was a loud sound like thunder and the ground itself shook. One of our early spring Patrols found it. We cordoned off the site until you could tell us more. What do you think?"
"I think, Campion," said Alan, "that your warren is damned lucky not to have been wiped off the face of the Earth." This crash reminded him of a similar accident that had befallen Sandleford Warren years earlier; had this plane happened to hit the ground in the vicinity of Vleflain, there would have been a major catastrophe with a staggering high death toll. This had been one tragedy narrowly avoided.
At the far end of the debris field, they found the nose section of the plane, housing the cockpit, forward galley, first-class lavatories and the nose landing gear, still packed in the wheel-well. Although badly crushed, this section was still in one piece, with plenty of detail still visible. Entering through the gaping hole in the fuselage, where the plane had split apart, they shifted their way through jagged metal and collapsed cabin panelling, towards the cockpit.
The overpowering stench of rotting flesh told Alan what was in there before they'd even pried the battered cockpit door open: two dead bodies, still strapped into the pilots' seats, where they'd died. After nearly three months, the corpses were in a terrible state of decomposition; their skin had turned a rancid, tar-like black and infested with maggots that crawled in and out of their orifices. The buzzing of flies and other insects filled the air.
Sam cast one look at the bodies, watching one particularly fat maggot crawling out of what had once been the captain's hollow eye socket, screamed, and turned away in horror. Derek, right beside her, managed to hold together for a few seconds until the awful stench got the better of him and he turned away, losing his lunch all over the galley floor.
Alan was staring curiously at the bodies with the calm indifference of a scientist accustomed to such terrible sights. Although both decomposed beyond recognition, the men's clothes were preserved enough to offer him a clue as to their identities. The one in the pilot's uniform on the left-hand side, judging by his four-stripe insignia on his shoulders, had to be the captain. The man strapped into the co-pilot's seat was more interesting.
This one was dressed in a Royal Marines uniform, bearing the insignia and identity tag of a Major Thomas Haywood, RM, complete with a service vest and gun still tucked into its holster. This wasn't one of the flight crew at all – so what was he doing in the co-pilot's seat? Where was the real co-pilot? Then, turning to examine the captain's body again, his suspicions were confirmed.
The captain sported a bullet-hole in his temple, having been shot at point-black range it seemed. And, lying on the floor of the cockpit was the murder weapon: a false ballpoint pen, containing a single used 48-calibre bullet. At last, they'd shed some light on what had happened here...and it didn't look good. Alan passed the pen to Derek, who frowned.
"Nice zip-gun," he said gruffly, "Not exactly the stuff you usually find on board airplanes, these James Bond gimmicks. Any idea how it got here?" Alan shook his head.
The rabbits were waiting for them outside. Alan filled them in on what they'd found, "I think this plane wasn't brought down by accident but as the result of a hijacking." Remembering what Sam had said Drake had told her, he added, "We might not be alone in this future world."
Before any of the rabbits could comment on this however, suddenly they were caught by surprise by a young doe, a native of Vleflain, who came running in their direction through the debris field, shouting for help and looking utterly terrified. Groundsel frowned.
"What are you doing here, Riltha?" he demanded sternly, "I thought I said no spectators were to be allowed here. Why did you disobey me?"
"I...I'm sorry, Groundsel-rah," she stammered, realising she was in trouble, "It's my friend Nyreem. We...we were looking around and she got trapped. She can't get out! Please, you've got to help her!"
Putting aside all thoughts of their crash investigation, they followed Rithla to another part of the debris field on the edge of the trees, where they found the tail-cone section of the plane. Although reduced to a crushed-up ball of twisted metal, the battered rudder and elevator fins still remained attached to it, one of which was buried in the ground, where it had ploughed in on impact. And lying trapped underneath the wreckage by her hind legs was the young doe called Nyreem. According to Riltha, while they'd been nosing around, the wreckage had suddenly shifted, pinning poor Nyreem beneath it. Although by some miracle it hadn't crushed her, she was completely pinned, unable to move.
They gathered around the trapped doe. The poor little thing was beside herself with fear, even more so by the added presence of the humans crowding around her. Unlike the Watershipers, who were well accustomed to living around humans, the rabbits of Vleflain, with only a handful of exceptions, were not, their species' natural fear of ithel still remaining strong to this day. Groundsel didn't make things any better when he started shouting.
"I specifically ordered that no one was to come here!" he scolded the two does. He clearly wasn't pleased, "This is a reckless, deliberate act of disobedience! Now look what you've done... Explain yourselves, both of you!" Riltha, overcome by the sternness of her Chief and fearing punishment, looked as if she was about to cry; it had been her idea for them to sneak out to see the Owsla's strange discovery in the first place. No doubt she was regretting it now. However, she was spared from having to explain when Alan came to her rescue.
"Groundsel-rah, with all due respect, this won't help a bit. We've got a crisis on our hands and we need to keep our wits together, if we're going to sort this out." Groundsel reluctantly calmed his temper but pointed out that he and Riltha would be having a little stiff talk later on.
With the humans heaving against the tail, the rabbits grabbed hold of Nyreem by the ears (she wouldn't let any of the humans touch her) and tried pulling her out, making her cry out in pain as they did, but she was pinned too tightly. Using makeshift levers fashioned out of broken I-beams taken from the plane's infrastructure, they tried again. No use. The tail was simply too heavy and their levels, made out of flexible aluminium alloys, weren't strong enough to shift the load. Nyreem, thinking she would be left to die here, started to weep. Hyzenthlay moved closer to reassure her that everything was going to be all right.
"This isn't working, Hazel," groaned the exhausted Bigwig, "Maybe we could dig her out instead?"
"If you try that, you'll only end up squashing her like a bug," said Derek sharply, who could tell the tail was resting at a dangerous angle and that any shift in the ground could send it rolling right over Nyreem, flattening her like a rabbit pancake. Alan was glad Nyreem didn't understand English otherwise she would have surely freaked out.
"How about the horses?" he suggested, "We could fashion some makeshift harnesses out of all this scrap wiring and use them to shift this thing."
"It wouldn't work," said Derek, "None of the materials here would be strong enough for a harness."
"So what do we do now? Come on, Deke, you once figured out how to shift an entire chopper back at Sandleford for God's sakes! So put those little grey cells in your head to work!"
"We're going to need some more sophisticated tools than those crude levers," Derek said, "Problem is everything we need is back at the Down. We're going to have to double back for the right equipment." Alan turned to look at the sun, realising they had another problem.
"It's nearly nightfall," he said, "There's no way you can double back and make it back with the equipment in time."
"He's right," Holly backed him up, "It's too dangerous to be working out in the open after dark. We'd attract elil." They all fell silent. They were stuck and meanwhile Nyreem wasn't going anywhere.
"I'll stay with Nyreem until daybreak," Alan said finally, "You lot get back to the Down and get some proper gear out here fast." Nyreem seemed all the more terrified at the prospect of spending the entire night trapped out here with a human, who, for all she knew, might decide to eat her once there were no witnesses around.
"Oh, for Frith's sakes, do get a grip on yourself already!" snapped Bigwig, tired of her stupid whimpering, "Alan doesn't bite!"
"Stop it, Bigwig!" cried Hyzenthlay, "Can't you see she's just frightened?"
But Nyreem continued to whimper, pleading not to be left alone with Alan, until Hyzenthlay finally stepped in, "I'll stay with her too. She could use some company." As she had expected, nobody was particularly happy with her decision, least of all Bigwig.
"Sometimes you can be the most stubborn, fat-headed doe I've ever met in my life, Hyzenthlay! First you call yourself co-Chief Rabbit and then you're willing to put your life in danger just to indulge one miserable doe's every whim?" he barked angrily, "More like Chief Field Mouse, that's what you are! Hazel, tell her!"
But Hyzenthlay remained persistent, her devotion for helping another rabbit in trouble strong, until Hazel finally gave in. At least Alan would be with her and he trusted that human with his life. He turned to Hyzenthlay.
"Please be careful. You listen to what Alan says and don't take any unnecessary risks." Hyzenthlay nuzzle her mate reassuringly, "I promise, Hazel."
"We'll be all right, Hazel," Alan reassured him, "Nobody is getting hurt on my watch."
Derek approached Alan, "We'll be back at first light, Al. They'll be a nice cup of tea waiting for you when you get back. You just watch yourselves."
Leaving Alan and Hyzenthlay with the trapped Nyreem, the group departed. Half an hour later, Derek and Sam were galloping at full speed back to Watership Down, with Bigwig's Owsla in tow, to prepare for a rescue and salvage mission.
With no one for company but each other and a frightened, trapped doe, Alan and Hyzenthlay settled down as the dark of night crept over the countryside, hoping to survive till daybreak. This was going to be a long, dangerous night for the both of them...
Author's note: Sorry for the delay, but I was experiencing writer's block. At last, we're entering the main part of the story. Tribute to Loganberry's OC character Leaozen from Blackavar's Gift. Enjoy and please DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!