It was long after dark. Night crept over the Meadows of Fenlo and all of Frith's creatures had retreated to the sanctuary of their warrens and dens, while the hungry elil prowled about on their hunting grounds. The only exception was one restless human and two semi-frightened does trying desperately to wait the night out. Alan sat a little ways away from Hyzenthlay and the trapped Nyreem, giving the two does some privacy. He would have gladly made a campfire but with Nyreem still on edge at the very sight of him, let alone having a fire built right next to her, on Hyzenthlay's advice, he had just let them be and took the first watch.
Hyzenthlay, although feeling somewhat comforted by the fact that Alan was nearby to keep them safe, was having a hard time controlling her fear. In the future world, every sensible rabbit or human for that matter knew that the night was very dangerous and being out in the open made you easy prey for elil. Owls hooted in the trees around the crash site, while the constant rustling of animals from the forest made her shudder. Any one of those noises, she knew, might easily be a lendri preparing to pounce, or an owl preparing to swoop down and snatch a victim away... She silently prayed to Frith that Alan was still on his guard.
In a desperate attempt to distract herself from her worrying, she had told Nyreem all the stories she knew, until the frightened doe had finally drifted off to sleep. Hyzenthlay thanked Frith for His albeit small miracles. Frightened and unable to sleep herself, she was just thinking of calling Alan over to keep her company now that Nyreem was asleep (she dared not leave the trapped doe alone and unprotected), when she suddenly picked up a new, worrying scent in the night air, getting closer and closer...
Meanwhile, Alan was fighting the urge to doze off where he sat. He had taken up his post over at one of the loose aircraft seats in the debris field close to the tail-cone, using a chunk of wreckage for a footrest. Although comfortable, he knew he couldn't afford to fall asleep; if he did, he could easily wake up to some elil's jaws around his neck. He was hungry, bored and more tired than he had ever felt before in his life. It reminded him of the good old days in the SAS, where long, boring guard duty such as this was the first lesson in military life rookie Marines learnt to cope with, with severe consequences for anyone caught sleeping on watch by the CO. Frankly, right now, he'd gladly welcome a court-martial and get some sleep, but this wasn't an option. Nature was the only judge out here and failing to comply with her rules meant death by any of her countless ways of killing off the weak – Mother Nature's way of saying that you were in the wrong job, as he always used to tell Lucy.
Drowsiness had almost overcome him at last, when suddenly he was jolted awake by an instinctual feeling he had developed over his years of living in the future world – the feeling that he was being watched... Then, he heard it; a nerve-wracking squeaking sound. In an instant, he had bolted from his seat and was back at Hyzenthlay's side, as the pair scanned their surroundings for signs of danger. Suddenly, they both saw it; standing atop a chunk of overturned fuselage nearby was a rat.
Although thankfully not something big like a lendri or the wolves that had chased them during their sojourn to Lord Brock's Wood last winter, rats could still be very dangerous. A single one of those wretched creatures, although not big enough to kill, could give the average-sized rabbit a nasty bite if caught unawares; a whole bunch of them swarming could be as deadly as the strongest of elil. Alan cursed himself for not anticipating this sooner, remembering from the book; even after the Battle of Efrafa, when the cycle of events Richard Adams had prophesized in his novel centuries ago had supposedly been closed, a few familiar incidents kept popping up when he was least expecting.
The tar-black little beast was staring at them with its mean, beady red eyes, its buckteeth gleaming hungrily in the light of Alan's flashlight. Alan and Hyzenthlay moved in a protective stance in front of the trapped Nyreem, shielding her from the rat's gaze. Alan wanted to tell Hyzenthlay to take cover behind him, but he knew he'd be wasting his breath; although a doe, she was also a warrior at heart, as protective towards her friends as a loving mother towards her kittens. Nyreem woke with a start and gasped in fear at the terrifying sight of the rat.
Alan cocked his shotgun just as the rat gave a loud snarl and pounced; his bullet found its mark, blasting its skull to smithereens. Nyreem screamed in terror from the sound of the gunshot. But the worst wasn't over yet; looking with his flashlight, Alan spotted another of those little beasts moving in for the kill. A second shot and that rat was also blown away. Then, his flashlight suddenly dimmed and went out; the aging batteries, unable to hold a charge after all these years and unfortunately irreplaceable, were dead. Listening in the dark, the pair realised, with horror, that there was a whole crowd of them lurking around. And their troubles had only just begun.
Alan tried to shoot another rat, only for his gun to produce an insignificant 'click'. Hurryingly reaching for his pouch clipped to his belt for more ammo, he discovered it was gone! Somewhere, somehow, he must have dropped it and not noticed.
Stupid, stupid bloody bastard...!
"Alan, behind you!"
The man barely had time to hear Hyzenthlay's warning; he spun round, just in time to see another sneaky rat that had snuck up on them from over the wreckage spring at him, latching itself onto the front of his shirt, its sharp, snapping little teeth going for his throat. Frantically shaking off his attacker, Alan threw the rat down and bludgeoned it hard with the barrel of his empty shotgun, crushing its spine. Luckily, it hadn't injured him, save for ripping one of his shirt-pockets open. Beside him, Hyzenthlay had intercepted another rat that was going for Nyreem and with a powerful kick of her hind legs sent it flying. It hit a nearby tree and, with a sickening squeak of pain, fell to the ground, bloodied and unmoving.
Now unarmed, Alan turned to look desperately at the many remaining rats closing in on them. He could take Hyzenthlay and run and maybe they'd find some shelter to hole up in before the rats caught up with them. But that would mean abandoning Nyreem to die and Alan Johnson would never abandon someone on his watch. Doing some quick thinking, he turned to Hyzenthlay.
"Try and fend them off for two minutes," he told her, "I'll be right back!" Hyzenthlay, either too frightened or too desperate, seemed to think Alan was abandoning them to save himself. In desperate situations, when things seemed hopeless, even the bravest of Owsla rabbits could sometimes lose their courage and choose to run rather than die fighting a losing battle...all except General Woundwort perhaps. She desperately called after him.
"No, Alan, please don't leave me! For Frith's sake, come back...!" But the man had already vanished among the debris, seemingly fleeing for his life. For an instant, Hyzenthlay was half-tempted to follow his lead and save herself but she couldn't just leave Nyreem to her fate. No, she decided, she'd rather die protecting this helpless doe, rather than live with the shame of leaving a fellow rabbit to be mauled to death by the rats. She stared sadly one last time towards where her friend had fled.
"May Frith forgive you, Alan, you coward..."
But Alan was all but fleeing for his life. Racing in the dark across the debris field, tripping and falling as he went, he made for the nose section of the downed plane. How much more time did Hyzenthlay have? One minute? Two? He had to move fast.
Scampering onboard the wreck, he dashed up to the cockpit. Ignoring the stench of the rotting dead, he reached for Major Haywood's body, lifting the dead man's gun still tucked in its holster at his side. He unclipped the magazine; five rounds left, not exactly sufficient when a sidearm only did half the damage of a shotgun at best, but it was better than nothing. Desperately looking around for anything else he could use as a weapon, he saw something that just might do the trick: the cockpit fire extinguisher, still sitting propped up on its rack behind the captain's seat, would make a good pest repellent.
Hurrying out through the forward galley door that had burst open in the crash, he stopped when he saw yet something else he could use: a puddle of hydraulic fluid beside the nose of the plane, which had leaked out from a broken service panel. Due to its high oil content, the stuff hadn't completely evaporated yet and Alan knew it burned much like the poorest grades of cooking oil. Fire...the one thing every living creature feared the most.
Ripping some strips off a battered seat lying in the debris field and wrapping them around a titanium pole he had scavenged, he dipped the bud in the puddle of hydraulic fluid, improvising a makeshift torch. His new weapons in hand, he hurried back to the tail-cone, hoping it wasn't too late...
Meanwhile, Hyzenthlay, all covered in rat bites and exhausted, couldn't hold out much longer. Standing between the helpless Nyreem and the rats, fighting like a desperate mother trying to save her kittens, she knew she was soon going to meet the Black Rabbit of Inle. She pitied Alan who, hopefully would make it to safety, but would have to answer to Hazel for leaving her behind. Her mate would never forgive him... Resigning herself to her fate, she curled up against Nyreem, as if in one last desperate attempt to shield her with her own body and shut her eyes, bracing... But the vicious mauling of dozens of rats feeding on her flesh never came when, at that moment, the familiar thundering sound of a thunder-stick rang out. The rat about to spring at her dropped to the ground, dead as an acorn.
Hyzenthlay instantly felt her heart soar; it was Alan! He hadn't abandoned them after all! She felt a slight twinge of shame sweep over her for actually thinking he'd run off to save himself. She and her family knew him better than that.
Brandishing Haywood's gun, Alan furiously blasted away at the rats, killing off those nearest to Hyzenthlay and Nyreem, taking care not to hit the does by accident, trying to drive them off. But although they momentarily withdrew, allowing Alan enough time to make it back to his friends, they regrouped and continued to swarm, hungry and determined to get their prize. But Alan still had a few more tricks up his sleeve.
Discarding his empty weapon, he pulled out the safety pin from the fire extinguisher he was carrying. Just as the rats moved in, he pulled the handle, repelling them in a spray of white foam, much like a fireman hosing a fire. Blinded and put off by the chemical scent of the foam, the rats scattered but that still didn't send them running. Like a swarm of hungry locusts, they stubbornly continued to advance. His fire extinguisher depleted and quickly running out of tricks, Alan switched over to his last alternate weapon: his torch.
A lit match in his hand, he set the torch he was holding in the other ablaze. The hydraulic-fluid-drenched bud whooshed and lit up. Now armed with a ball of fire on a rod, he continued fighting, waving it in the rats' dazzled faces. That did it. The rats, squeaking in terror at the sight of the fire, scattered like mad in all directions. But Alan knew their victory was only temporary; in a few minutes, the torch would go out and the rats would swarm them again. The flame, he noticed, was already starting to dim, the melted upholstery he had used for kindle smothering the torch, as per aircraft safety regulations regarding the use of non-flammable materials onboard. He had to build a proper campfire and fast! But he never got the chance to because at that moment, something totally unexpected occurred.
Alan didn't even know why one the rats had suddenly started shrieking in its death agonies until it came flying literally in front of his eyes, clutched in a pair of razor-sharp talons. An owl, as silent as it was deadly had swooped down from the sky and acquired some easy prey. Frankly, Alan didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified; although an owl was the perfect weapon against an entire army of rats, it didn't make them any safer. Rabbits were game for owls and humans, albeit rare, were no exception; Alan had once examined an abandoned owl's hollow and found the remains of a humanoid child that had been light enough for an owl to snatch away. They needed to take cover right now!
Unable to see the owl in the dark, but knowing it was about to make another run any second now, he frantically looked around for some way of providing shelter for himself and the two does he was tasked to protect. Then, looking above the trapped Nyreem's head, he noticed the protruding elevator fin on the end of the tail. It was battered and had split at the taper joints from when the tail had barrel-rolled around after becoming severed from the main fuselage on impact, only remaining loosely attached by the control cables.
Leaping into the air, Alan grabbed the end of it and put all his weight into it, trying to bring it down. For a few tenuous seconds it refused to come loose. Then, just as he was about to give up, the last broken taper holding it in place finally gave way and it came crashing down, becoming wedged lengthwise right above Nyreem. With one side resting against the fuselage, it offered a cramped, makeshift shelter that would provide some cover from the circling owl. Alan suddenly noticed a shadow blot out the moonlight – the owl was swooping down on them for the kill! He quickly grabbed Hyzenthlay by the shoulder.
"Come on, girl, don't just stand there! Get in!"
Getting the hint, she hurryingly squeezed under the collapsed elevator fin beside Nyreem. But unfortunately that delay left Alan exposed a second too long and by that time the owl was upon him. Before he had time to duck, he felt the owl's sharp talons close in around his shoulders like a pair of giant pincers and lift him off the ground.
Hyzenthlay and Nyreem both screamed in terror; the latter shut her eyes, trembling violently with fear, expecting to be next. Hyzenthlay could only stare petrified at where Alan had been standing a second ago. She had never seen someone snatched away by elil before, let alone a friend, and it was an utterly terrifying sight to behold. Then the grief kicked in.
"Alan! No, Alan! Please, Frith, no...!"
Alan struggled against the iron grip of the owl's talons around his shoulders, piercing his flesh and nearly crushing his bones. No effort on his part whatsoever could loosen their tight hold. The owl carried him up high over the treetops. But Alan wasn't ready to die tonight. Reaching into his belt, he drew his trusty knife, a gift from his late father, which had served him well all his life. This would be a dangerous gamble; the fall might kill him or at least severely injure him, but it was preferable to being eaten alive.
Struggling frantically, he began slashing away at the owl's talons. The eli screeched in agony as one of its toes came off in a splatter of blood and losing its grip on Alan, who suddenly found himself in a freefall. His scream carried across the dark landscape as he fell through about thirty feet of open air. A fall from any height greater than one's own height always carries a certain risk of injury; and a fall from anywhere higher than twenty-five feet is almost always fatal, or otherwise results in devastating injuries, unless there's something soft to break the fall...
With a yell of pain he hit the ground hard, landing on his back. The impact hurt like hell, but to his utmost amazement, no bones had been broken, save for some nasty bumps and bruises. He was still in one piece! Feeling the ground behind him, he realised that, by the sheerest luck, he had landed on a carpet of loose seat-cushions torn from the dozens of smashed aircraft seats littering the debris field. Talk about his lucky night.
Not counting on fate to grant him another miracle in one night, he hurryingly got to his feet and, ignoring his many painful aches, ducked into some nearby bushes to hide. Using the thick undergrowth for cover, like Bigwig's Owsla often did, he made his way back to the does...
Hyzenthlay, meanwhile, was trying to reassure the crying Nyreem, "It's all right, dear, the owl is gone. Try and go back to sleep..." In spite of her calmness, mostly for Nyreem's sake, she could feel the tears of grief building in her eyes.
Alan was gone because of her; after getting them though a war, helping them start a new warren, and spending hrair happy seasons with them, now he was dead, all because of her stupidity. If she had been moving faster, rather than wait for him to tell her to take cover, this wouldn't have happened. How would she ever explain to his friends, explain to Lucy? She and that human girl were close, almost like family, and now she'd betrayed her trust by getting her father killed...
"Do you ladies mind if I enter?"
Hyzenthlay could swear to Frith that at that moment her face formed into the largest ear-splitting smile she'd ever had before in her life.
"Alan! You're alive!"
The man squeezed into their little refuge under the wreckage beside Hyzenthlay and Nyreem, who were both staring open-mouthed at seeing him still in one piece, if not a tad bit battered.
"No harm done. Ow...!" he groaned, nursing his shoulder, which, Hyzenthlay noticed with a gasp, was bleeding badly from where the owl's talons had held him. Blood was oozing out from an open wound, staining his ripped shirt red and he seemed to be in quite a lot of pain. Unbuttoning his shirt, Alan saw an ugly, ragged cut right above his left shoulder blade.
"Oh, Alan, you're hurt! Here, let me see that," said Hyzenthlay, reaching over to lick the wound, cleaning it out. Although luckily nothing serious, it had to be irrigated and dressed immediately. In this future age, even basic medicine was a luxury, which meant even a small cut becoming infected could have dangerous consequences. Therefore, all the colonists were trained in first aid and knew just what to do in such a situation.
Reaching into his hip-pocket, Alan took out a small zip-case, which was his field first-aid kit. Nothing much; a length of bandage, some compressors, band-aids and a bottle of homemade surgical spirits. Drenching the wound in alcohol, wincing with pain as he did, he slapped on a couple of compressors and secured them in place with a bandage. The dressing held. Then, he rinsed off the bloodstain on his shirt with more surgical spirits, to mask the scent of blood. The last thing they needed now was for the smell of his blood to attract all the elil in the vicinity.
With nothing left to do than to wait for daybreak and hope, Alan settled down beside the does, who cuddled up against him, seeking comfort in each other's embrace. This time, even Nyreem didn't protest; between death and spending the night with this talking human, she'd choose Alan. Hyzenthlay was resting her head on his lap, not looking the least afraid, her trust and affection for the human obvious. The Chieftess of Watership Down sure was a strange rabbit! Finally giving in to her exhaustion, Nyreem followed her example, albeit hesitantly. The man smiled down at her, silently reassuring her that everything was going to be all right...
The next time Alan opened his eyes it was daylight. The does were both fast asleep on his lap. Alan was amazed any of them had actually managed to get a wink of sleep after last night's adventure. Trying not to disturb them, he examined his shoulder; a little bloodstain had appeared through the bandages, but luckily the wound hadn't reopened. He was just about to doze off again when he heard the familiar sound of a jeep approaching. Sure enough, he heard footsteps outside the shelter and the winking face of Derek Shaw looked in at them. Noticing the two does sleeping on Alan's lap, his face formed into an amused grin.
"Am I interrupting you three lovebirds?"
"Don't start, Deke," groaned Alan, rolling his eyes, "It's been a very long night." Derek snorted. His speech awoke Hyzenthlay and Nyreem, giving the latter quite a scare in the process at seeing another human. Giving Derek a reproachful glare, Hyzenthlay hurryingly turned to calm her, explaining that help had finally arrived. Hazel, who had come to supervise the rescue with Bigwig and his Owsla, threw himself at Hyzenthlay, overjoyed to see his mate had survived the night.
"Oh, Hyzenthlay, thank Frith you're all right!" he said, as the couple lovingly touched noses. He had already heard of the owl attack and Alan's injury, and was grateful to Frith that nobody had been killed. Hyzenthlay smiled at her mate's occasional over-protectiveness, "Everything's fine, my love – Alan was there to watch over us." Hazel turned to Alan, muttering his thanks. The man merely nodded with a smile.
"Just doing my duty, Hazel."
Derek and the others had also been up all night getting the rescue operation ready and had returned at first light in their repaired jeep, bringing all the gear. In the back, Alan noticed the folded-up envelope of their hot-air balloon, which they'd been keeping in storage, along with hoses, cables and pulleys, but still couldn't quite work out what brilliant plan the engineer had in mind. Surely a hot-air balloon didn't have enough lift to shift a 5,000lbs tail-cone of a crashed jetliner?
The balloon was unloaded and spread out on the ground beside the tail-cone. The envelope had undergone some serious modifications; by sealing off the vent and installing a pressure-valve to the neck opening where the burners usually pumped hot air, Derek had made it completely airtight. A homemade still filled with iron filings was unloaded from the jeep and sulphuric acid was added to the mixture, which in turn produced lighter-than-air hydrogen gas for Derek's modified balloon. Although Alan was beginning to see where his friend was going with his mad science, he wasn't too sure about playing around with a hot-air-converted-to-gas balloon, filled with highly-flammable hydrogen gas under high pressure. Unfortunately, they had to choice.
While Alan and Josie rigged up a hose from the hydrogen still to the balloon's entry valve, Derek and Hotdog fastened strong steel cables from an old pulley around the tail-cone. Hyzenthlay stayed close to Nyreem's side while the humans worked, trying to keep her calm, constantly reassuring her that her ordeal would be over soon.
The balloon was rigged up to the tail-cone with sturdy harnesses and then they were ready to inflate. While the others moved to a safe distance, Derek, alone, turned on the valve on the still. Once he was satisfied there were no traces of white mist, which would indicate a hydrogen leak, he got to work. Using an air-pump rigged to the hose, he began pumping the hydrogen into the envelope. They all watched as the wrinkled nylon envelope slowly took shape and rose skywards, much faster than what it would with hot air. The humans and rabbits all held their breaths, their hearts pounding in anticipation, expecting that floating bomb to suddenly go bang. But it didn't.
The balloon soared skywards; down by the tail-cone, Alan and Bigwig were in position, ready to pull Nyreem away the instant the wreckage pinning her shifted. The powerful lift of the modified balloon suddenly caused the tail to start rising off the ground, like a bundle of scrap-metal from a wrecking yard on a crane, only airborne. Alan and Bigwig didn't wait for the 'all-clear' – the instant the tail had moved off of Nyreem, they pulled her away and run for safety. The load was still dangerously unbalanced and could come crashing back to earth at any second. No point taking the risk.
With Nyreem safe and out of harm's way, Derek got to work on the final, tricky test of his new toy: to safely remove the hydrogen from the balloon, and bring it back down. There was no question of simply venting it away, like they would the hot air; any hydrogen concentration above twenty percent exposed to air would ignite on contact, blowing up the balloon. Instead, Derek had devised a simple system to 'blowtorch' it away; by installing a second exit valve on the envelope, he could pump it out through another hose with a butterfly valve on the end and burn it. The fail-safe butterfly valve would prevent the flame or air from penetrating the envelope and igniting the contents like a bomb.
Like an Olympic torch, the end of the hose lit up with a bright, lilac flame as the hydrogen vented out; the tail-cone, still attached to the balloon, which no longer had enough lift to keep it aloft, came crashing back down. Finally, the balloon was completely deflated and stowed away, all the hydrogen safely burned away. The humans all clapped and cheered at Derek's success. Where would they be without their engineer?
"The Renaissance Man has done it again!"
Josie examining Nyreem's hind legs for injuries. Luckily, there were no broken bones, just a badly sprained thigh, some bruises and cuts. Alan gave her some water from Derek's canteen and let her rest, with Hyzenthlay keeping her company.
Now that the rescue was complete, the Watershipers turned to their next task; salvage whatever useful they could find from the wrecked plane. Such pristine salvage from the 21st century was very rare and they couldn't just let it go to waste. But first, they had a far less pleasant task to do: give the dead a decent burial.
Alan and Josie moved out the rotting bodies of Major Haywood and Captain Gallagher from the plane, as well as several unidentified others they'd recovered from the debris field. All in all, sixteen bodies were found; the two pilots, thirteen Marines, including Haywood, and one prisoner, identifiable only by surviving remnants of their clothing. While Bigwig had his Owsla dig a row of graves on the edge of the crash site, the humans collected the dog-tags, identities and any other personal effects from the bodies and then wrapped them up in shrouds made from strips of insulation torn from the fuselage, preparing them for burial.
Finally, the sixteen crash victims of RAF Flight 911 were laid to rest with all the decency in the colonists' power. Crude crosses fashioned out of bits of h-section scavenged from the debris field were planted over the graves and Alan said a few words, just like he had done years earlier for Julio Andre, their former pilot who had died of a heart attack in flight, coming into the future. After observing a moment of silence, they turned back to their salvage.
For the next few hours, they searched the wreckage, collecting anything useful they could find. There wasn't much left, as the escaped convicts had taken all of the plane's cargo with them when they'd bailed out, but there were still able to recover some valuable pieces of salvage. In the galley, they found a still-loaded service trolley stowed in its locker, containing a small supply of beverages and snacks. Some of the soda cans had burst open in the crash and their contents spoiled, but most of it was still packaged and edible. Likewise, the forward lavatories contained a generous supply of much-needed toilet paper, soap and other toiletries. Josie also found the plane's untouched medicine chest in another locker, which contained a fresh supply of disinfectants, dressings, antibiotics and an assortment of other drugs needed for her infirmary.
Derek made sure to collect all the undamaged light-bulbs, wiring, and other electrical components he could find, including two large lithium-ion batteries from the avionics bay. Although completely run down, he hoped to recharge them from their windmill back on the Down. On one of the cabin doors, they found a packed evacuation slide, which they also salvaged, along with all the lifejackets they could find. Although useless for their original purpose, their blinkers all had working batteries, which the colonists could reuse for their own equipment. All of the plane's instruments and indicators were also removed from the cockpit for analysis and reuse.
"Oh, well, I found the black box, what's left of it anyway," said Hotdog, emerging with an armful of shredded film pasta that had once been the tape of the black box, which had been smashed in the crash. After finding the dead Major Haywood and the pilot with bullet holes in them, Alan had insisted on a thorough search for the plane's black box, hoping to get some answers. Alas, they wouldn't be getting anything useful out of this junk anytime soon. So instead, he had instructed Hotdog to make sure to photograph everything, including the bodies and the last settings of the controls in the cockpit, before they pulled out.
Of course, it was impossible to transfer all that stuff back to Watership Down on their small motortrike. The issue was soon resolved however when Derek built a trailer using four undamaged wheels from the plane's undercarriage and other bits the wreckage scattered in the debris field. By nightfall, the Watershipers and their cargo of salvage were ready to make for home.
They dropped Nyreem off at Vleflain on the way back. Campion had already gone up ahead and reported to his Chief that the Vleflainian doe had been successfully rescued without serious injury. Her friends were all waiting for her, most surprised to see her alive. What a story of adventure she would have to tell them all! Before going to join them however, the young doe turned shyly to Alan, muttering something in Lapine.
"She says, may Frith watch over you for saving her life," Hazel whispered in Alan's ear. The man nodded curtly to Nyreem, "You're very welcome."
Groundsel approached them, "My people and I are most grateful to you for your help, Hazel-rah. We will never forget this."
"Will Nyreem still be punished for being out of bounds?" asked Alan. Beside Groundsel, Vervain, who had come looking for just such an opportunity to administer punishment, smiled sadistically.
"No less than what that wretch deserves," he sneered, "Groundsel-rah, I recommend solitary confinement until next season and no silflay. Perhaps starving her will teach that doe some proper discipline." The Watershipers stared at Vervain with expressions of utmost disgust. Groundsel turned to look at Nyreem, whose joyful expression faded from her face, expecting some dire punishment. Her Chief was not known for his tolerance of rule-breaking and she had caused quite a lot of trouble with her recklessness. But Groundsel-rah, in all his sternness and stickling for the rules, still had a forgiving heart. Getting the hint and figuring he at least owed Alan a favour for his help, he made up his mind.
"I don't think that will be necessary," he finally said, "She's been punished enough with her ordeal out there." Vervain looked scandalised.
"Groundsel-rah, that doe has disobeyed regulations! She must be punished for this! This kind of leniency is making you too soft for your own good...!" Annoyed by Vervain's impudence, Groundsel rounded on his advisor.
"In that case, I presume you're volunteering to take her punishment instead?" he asked coolly, "How very valiant of you, Vervain. Very well then. Captain Campion, take him away and place him into confinement!" Derek had to fight the urge to laugh, as Campion and Moss seized the dumbstruck Vervain by the ears and dragged him away. That little blighter sure had it coming for insulting Sam.
The evil rabbit glared furiously at Alan and his friends as the Owsla dragged him down to the warren. Once a proud and powerful Owslafa officer who could do anything to anyone as he pleased, he had been reduced to being the laughing stock of this disgrace of a warren, all because of him. Someday, he swore to Frith, he'd have his revenge on Johnson! He's have revenge on them all...
That evening, the colonists of Watership Down yielded the rewards of their escapade, when they saw all the treasure Alan's party had brought home with them. All the stuff was unloaded and placed onto the kitchen table over at the lodge, to split into equal shares.
"Bless my soul, coffee!" exclaimed Derek, referring to a large tin of instant coffee they'd found in the plane's galley, along with a bag of sugar and sweetener. Alan's past attempts to plant 21st century coffee beans had failed, leaving the colonists with nothing but the happy memory of fresh coffee in the mornings. If carefully rationed, it might last them a couple of months, after which coffee would once again be non-existent in the future world. "Coffee time, lads! Cappuccino, double espresso, oh..."
"And toilet paper for the loo," said Hotdog, lovingly caressing an armload of toilet rolls. He'd missed the luxury of proper toiletries all these years, "No more ruddy, itchy oak leaves to wipe our arses with..."
The salvage was divided evenly between the six colonists; three rolls of toilet paper each, ten batteries, a disposable toothbrush, eight ounces of coffee powder, a six-pack of Coca-Cola or Sprite and two packs of M&Ms and potato chips for their own private use. The rest of the stuff was divided according to specialty.
With the contents of the plane's medical kit, Josie was able to restock her medicine cabinet; Derek, with his new batteries and electronic parts, would be able to upgrade the colony's power plant, giving them a more sustainable source of electricity. The jet's batteries, once installed into the windmill and recharged, could run for several hours on end, keeping the lights and equipment of the compound working.
The colonists spent the next couple of days making trips back and forth to the crash site, salvaging whatever else they could find. Further bits of salvage included the galley's small oven and coffee-pot for Josie's kitchen; one of the plane's lavatories had also survived the crash and was dismantled, to be brought back to the Down and installed in the lodge. The colonists would now have a proper toilet in their home for a change. Several undamaged seats were also recovered, to use to make new furnishings. The last touch was the plane's single undamaged engine, which Derek had personally insisted on salvaging. Personally, Alan could see little use for that as they had no fuel, lubricants or even a plane to run it on. By the time they were finished, there was nothing left but a debris field of worthless scrap-metal.
One particularly interesting find included an armoured steel box, which the colonists quickly realised wasn't part of the plane at all, but rather something that had accidentally been unearthed from the forest floor by the tip of the plane's severed wing ploughing violently through the earth on impact it seemed.
Once properly cleaned, it soon became apparent that this box was actually a safe, bearing no mint mark and no label that might indicate where it came from. Alan and Derek figured it was probably just another time-capsule from the 21st century, often found buried all over the place in this future world. The colonists had found several over the years, some still airtight and containing a variety of items, others compromised over the centuries from corrosion and containing nothing recognisable. For now, this latest find, whatever it was, would have to wait. Their greatest concern at the moment was the analysis of the plane's wreckage, which Derek had undertaken, hoping to shed some light on what had caused the crash.
A few days after their return from Vleflain, everyone gathered in the Honeycomb, where Derek was giving his report on his examination of the plane's instruments.
"...There's no doubt about it," he said, showing them a panel containing the plane's fuel gauges, "What brought that plane down was fuel starvation." He showed them another panel, which contained the controls for the autopilot, "Autopilot switch was set to command; she was flying on autopilot, until she was bone-dry and glided back down to earth, and into destruction." He made an imitation of a plane nose-diving into the ground. Several rabbits exchanged curious glances.
"What about those dead ithel you found on the flying hrududu being killed by fire-sticks?" asked Bigwig, eager to get to the bottom of this. Alan showed them some photographs of the dead Marines' bodies he'd taken before they'd buried them. He pointed at the bullet holes in Major Haywood's torso.
"All of them were shot dead all right, most of them killed instantly," he said grimly, "Best we can figure, Haywood was injured but managed to get to the cockpit and died there. Why he was in there and the co-pilot back in the main cabin, I don't know..."
"Very mysterious indeed," said Josie, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the pilot never leaves the cockpit in flight, especially in an emergency..." Alan thought she had a fair point; something real ugly had happened to that flight crew and the bad news was maybe the worst wasn't over yet.
"Unless, of course, that Haywood character was the highjacker all along," suggested Hotdog, "Kills the pilots and his own men, but takes a few stray bullets, and then dies of his injuries. A dirty job gone to waste..." But somehow the Watershipers were finding it difficult to buy Hotdog's simple scenario of a blotched-up hijack gone terribly wrong. The body of that one prisoner they'd found, compared against a twelve-man escort squadron, and onboard a plane built for over a hundred nonetheless, just didn't add up. Could there be more prisoners still alive and on the loose out there? Where were they? How many were there? Did they mean trouble? Remembering Drake's warning Sam had passed on to them, Alan had a gut feeling that they were dealing with the worst case scenario.
"I think, my friends," he said grimly, "We might not be completely alone in this future world..."
Author's note: The story is finally entering its main phase. And Sam's identity will be revealed next, along with another mystery. Until next time then. Merry Christmas!