Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 10

Ally's ears pricked up. "Which one?"

"Which dissident?"

"Which jail?"

"All of them." Bragg replied. "And just to confirm. You've actually stolen a chopper?"

"If I could only work out how to face-time." Beck muttered.

"Okay, okay. I guess knowing you two I shouldn't be surprised. Look. We've found the Stream."

"You found my baby?" Ally cried.

"She's in hangar six at the ADMO base. North end of the airport. The airport's shut down so might just have to just hole up in the plane for a while. Just wait it out. Technically speaking the Stream's Australian soil."

"Where are you, Rodge?" Watson cut in. "Or shouldn't I ask?"

"Rome." Bragg replied. "Trying to get to London. Now I know, I'll hire some wheels and bounce over to Switzerland. We're gonna get you out of there if it's the last thing I do."

"Even if you don't," Ally muttered, "at least come over and join us in prison."

"No, I mean it. I got you into this, I'll get you out. Even if I have to nuke the joint."

Consulting the flight computer, Beck announced, "Fifteen minutes to run."

"Fifteen minutes till we hit AA-international." Ally said. "Hangar six. ADMO."

"Last I heard the airport's deserted." Bragg said. "There won't be lights."

"That's okay, Boss, we can wing it."

"Well, just get in the jet. Even if you can't take off."

"Or we could just fly this sucker all the way home." Ally replied.

"Alana," Bragg scolded, "no! Don't go pushing your luck. We need a happy ending if I'm gonna make millions out of the movie."

"I like the sound of that." Beck said. "Happy endings all round."

"And can you pleeeease ring my dad," Ally said, "tell him I'm okay. Put that poor old worry wart out of his misery."

"Don't worry, Ally-cat, I'm gonna ring everyone. Hangar six, girls, don't forget."

"We're nearly there." Ally said. "I can see the loom of Ab Aldafra on the horizon."

"Take care, girls, and don't do anything stupid. Not when we're this close."

Beck and Ally chorused, 'We won't.' and as the line went dead Ally uncrossed her fingers. "Anyone else wanna call home?"

Watson unbuckled and leant into the cockpit. "Did you say the HRH's are in that phone?"

"Bucket loads." Beck confirmed. "Why?" she joked, "Wanna call one?"

"Faisal." Watson replied.

Beck craned her neck to give him the eye under the goggles. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly. If those goons were right and the king has been deposed. And if it's Rashiid who did it. That little fucker's the reason we're here in the first place. He's the last person you'd want running this country. Australian soil or not, if we're still in Ab Aldafra when he takes the throne, we're not getting out. Any of us. Ever."

"So what's this Faisal idiot got to do with the price of fish?" Ally demanded.

"He was first in line, I believe, but then he went and renounced the throne. If I could just talk to him..."

"Then what?" Ally demanded.

"Who knows? He might see sense."

"Fat chance with that sort of attitude. Renouncing the throne? What was he thinking?"

"He's the only one who can save the country. And also save us. That was his younger brother back there. Iskander. Nikki's son. He's in mortal danger if he's not dead already. If Faisal won't do it for us, he might do it for his brother."

Chin on her chest, beck scrolled through the contact list. "HRH Doctor Faisal b. A. A. S."

"That's gotta be him."

"Want me to hit it?"

Watson smacked his dust-dry lips. Their last meeting was hardly convivial but there seemed little left to lose. "Okay, Moosh. Let her rip."

The call went out and Watson sat listening to the dial tone. Any second now, a prince might answer the phone, and he, Watson, in the king's stolen helicopter, fleeing the king's private island, would have some explaining to do. The phone rang. And rang. Then went to voicemail.

A palpable sense of anticlimax swept through the cab. "Oh well..." Watson said, and in the next breath the phone began to warble.

Forward in the cockpit, Beck sat staring at the display. She looked over her shoulder. "It's him."

Watson looked around in borderline panic. "Well... think I should answer it?"

"Well," Ally said dryly, "you were just trying to ring him."

The old man's heart was racing. "Okay, Moosh."

"Want me to answer?"

"Go ahead, Beck. And the rest of you please keep quiet."

Beck licked her lips, finger poised, and in that second's hesitation the phone fell silent. A collective groan filled the aircraft above the cacophony of screeching jet engines, of pounding blades and the whine of the machine's mighty gearbox. "What'll I do?" Beck asked.

"Pull your fucking finger out." Ally replied. "We're about twelve minutes out from hitting the beach. In a stolen chopper I don't know how to fly. With the king's stolen wife and half of his harem. So just hurry the fuck up. I'm not in a very good mood."

Beck tapped the icon again and the phone began to ring. It was answered almost immediately, a gruff voice speaking the local language, with what sounded like a party in the background. Watson cleared his throat. "Your Royal Highness? Doctor Faisal."

There was a brief, stunned silence, then the prince replied, "Who is this?"

"Sir, my name is Damon Watson. We met brief-"

"What is the meaning of this? This is my father's phone. It is absolutely forbidden to use it."

"Sir, Doctor Faisal. We have just come from the island. The palace there is-"

"You will pay for this whoever you are. And if you are Southern Alliance scum, you will pay with your head."

The line went dead and Watson sat blinking. "Oh well," Ally said, "Nice try."

"Call him again!" Watson snapped.

"Dommy?"

"Do it Moosh, call him again."

Beck did as she was told and the phone did its thing again, and on the brink of ringing out, the prince answered. "WHAT?"

"Your brother's mother is still alive." Watson said and could almost see the prince's look of surprise. "Nikita Flynn. Iskander's mother. I met her recently and know where she is."

"You call me back just to lie?"

"Her father came to rescue her." Watson went on doggedly. "He gave your father the seismic data that made Ab Aldafra rich. His name is Alexander. Your younger brother was named after him."

There followed another brief respite of silence, the prince heavy breathing down the line. "Ab Aldafra is under attack by the Southerners. I have many, many wounded I must attend to."

"No!" Watson said, then remembered he was talking to royalty. And thought, what the fuck, he was fresh out of fawning deference. "It is not Southern Alliance. It is your brother, Rashiid. He has deposed your father and I believe he may be in danger."

"My father?"

"Yes. Rashiid has deposed your father and proclaimed himself king."

"Who told you this?"

"Your father's hired-guns. The South Africans."

"Rashiid? This is not possible."

"I fear it's the truth, Sir. And your brother, Iskander, a very pleasant young man.

I believe he may be in danger as well."

"You have met him?"

"Just now. On the island."

"But Rashiid said our brother has already gone to the south. To the border."

"Well, unless there are two Iskanders."

"What was he doing there?"

"How would I know? He was with some troops. When the South Africans fled he came to investigate."

"Rashiid hates him." Faisal said. "I wouldn't put it past that dog to..."

"Then you must intervene, Your Highness. For the sake of your father. For the sake of your brother. For the sake of your country."

"I have renounced the throne." Faisal said loftily.

"Then un-renounce it! Take it back, for the sake of your people. If it should fall into the hands of..." Watson wanted to say, 'a murdering rapist', but bit his tongue, "...if it should fall into the hands of your second-younger brother, then the whole country will suffer. Your king was... IS... always good to his people. Better his legacy fall to you than Rashiid."

"We were told the country is under attack, from the south."

"Who told you?"

There was a moment's strained silence, then Faisal spoke up. "Rashiid."

"Listen, Your Highness, Doctor... you treat anyone at the hospital, don't you? Friend or foe?"

"A bullet knows only flesh." Faisal said gravely.

"Right. So, amongst the casualties, amongst all the ones you've treated tonight, have any been southerners?"

Another long pause, while Faisal grappled with an ugly truth. And an obvious lie. "There is a battle, at the Sea Palace. I will send some men. If this is indeed my brother's doing, his filthy fingerprints should be all over it."

"And if it is? You'll step up? For your people?"

"If musts needs. But if you are wrong. If you have been lying to me..."

"Then I'll shave my own neck and present it to you."

The line went dead.

Watson sat back, shaking, and ran a hand across his sweating crown. If Faisal were to save anyone, he thought, he could do no better than starting with them, that tiny band of runaways in their stolen aircraft. "Well, that went as well as could be expected."

Beck looked over her shoulder. "Do you reckon he will?"

"If he knows what's good for him. And the rest of the country."

Beck turned back and suddenly pointed. "Fireworks, look!"

The passengers unstrapped, leaning between the seats to peer out the windscreen. Without Night Vision Goggles, all they could see was a band of light on the horizon, the city of Ab Aldafra, and the odd red streak shooting into the moonlit sky. "Umm..." Ally said, "I don't think they're fireworks, Flea. Not the fun sort anyway."

Beck turned to her. "Well what are they?"

Ally worked her shoulders under the harness. "I'd bet a month of your pay they're tracers."

"Oh..." Beck said, then seemed lost for words.

Ally cleared her throat. "You guys? You better strap in. Work out a brace position, and when I say 'brace', do it." She looked at Beck, busy tightening her lap strap. "Flea? How long do you reckon? To pre-flight the Stream and get her up and running?"

Beck looked at her. "Depends." she shrugged. "If she's in the hangar, we'll have to drag her out. And do a good walk-around. If she's just been sitting all this time, we might need ground power just to start the APU. I don't know. Forty-odd minutes?"

"Let's give it one hour." Ally said.

"An hour?"

"Max."

"Between the two of us?"

"You heard Roger, the airport's deserted. We're gonna have to be extra careful."

"Right. Speaking of which."

"Which?"

"Being extra careful. How are we going to land?"

"Hard, if I'm not mistaken."

"God dammit! I wish I could do something."

"You can." Ally said. "You can get us out of here. PIC on the Stream."

They were near enough to the city to make out the epicentre of the battle, the Sea Palace, where Beck had only recently lived, and where, now, a small force loyal to Rashiid was attempting to overthrow the palace guard. Ally pressed a button on the joystick and the auto-pilot kicked off. They had 20 miles to run. "Better take her down as low as we can."

The big machine thundered low across the beach and over the suburbs. Much of the city centre was steeped in darkness, lights off in the government buildings, and most of the streetlights extinguished. But the traffic was flowing as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and the corner shops, restaurants and sheesha bars were open. Miles away, in the city's high-rise heart, expatriates had gathered in the beer garden of the Ye Olde English pub, watching the festivities, raising cheers and beers to every explosion. Old hands had been through this before. When the smoke cleared in a week or so, the king would have changed but very little else. "Looks like they're not even worried." Beck said, as they roared over an intersection at low level.

"Well," Ally sighed, "it's all just theatre at the end of the day. Some are gonna lose their heads, but for most of them, it's just business as usual."

"Five miles to run." Beck said.

"Better start slowing her up."

"How?"

Ally shrugged. "Reduce the power and raise the nose?"

"We don't slow the rotors down?"

Ally looked at her. "Maybe... no... I don't know. I think they stay at one hundred percent. Power and attitude. Let's give it a go."

Ally lowered lever on her left. The aircraft, already low, began to descend. She pitched the nose up twenty degrees and they began to rocket skywards. She tried again, playing with various combinations of power and attitude, none of which yielded the required result. It was like wrestling a live thing, a rampaging beast with a mind of its own. Engrossed, Beck looked up in time to see the airport drift past underneath. "We just overshot."

Ally wriggled in her seat. "God fuck me, Flea, can't you see I'm busy?"

"Have you worked it out?"

Ally held the attitude, watching the speed come back, maintaining height with power. "Power plus attitude equals performance." she breathed.

"The airport's back behind us."

"Drop the gear, Flea."

Beck reached across for the landing gear handle, a short, stubby lever with a make-believe wheel on top. The aircraft lurched as the wheels dropped into the slipstream.

"Where's that fuckin' airport?" Ally huffed.

"Six o'clock."

Ally rolled left, watching the compass drift through eighty degrees, then rolled right, levelling out with the runway on the nose. "You frightened, Flea?"

"Nuh," Beck lied, "what about you?"

"Shitting bricks to be honest. Packing death in little brown parcels and sending them home."

"You can do it, Ally."

Ally wriggled in her seat again with sheer nervous tension, holding the speed at seventy knots, a little green needle showing five hundred down. The FBO wandered past and, beside it, the apron, where the whole sorry saga had begun. The building was dark, and the airport was, as Bragg warned, apparently deserted. "There's ADMO." Beck pointed at a triplet of massive, arched hangars, at the far end of the runway. Ally inched the nose up to ten degrees and Beck grabbed the instrument hood. "Careful, Ally, don't stall."

"We can't... fuckin'... stall." Ally swore, barely able to speak. "The fuckin... wings."

A voice in their headphones said, 'One-fifty feet'. Flying as much by instinct as intent, Ally held the nose up, watching the speed slow through forty knots. Then thirty. She lined up on the broad concrete apron outside the hangars. "Guys. This might be a good time to brace."

In the rear, Watson and Cassandra beside him, doubled over, heads resting on crossed arms. Hope and Floraliza, sharing a seat, clung to each other, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Head down, hands clasped, Selene was busy praying. Still rapidly slowing, the big machine suddenly sagged towards the ground. Beck yelled, "POWER!" as Ally hollered, "PEDALS!" and reefed up on the lever. The aircraft towered skywards, the nose rotating right through ninety degrees. Reducing power again, Ally pushed into the skid, and as the speed increased the helicopter weathercocked into the airflow. The runway threshold passed by the right door, and the airport disappeared behind them.

Watson unbuckled and leant into the cockpit. "What happened? Why didn't we land?"

Ally drew a breath and bellowed, "SIT DOWN!"

Beck patted her arm then looked at Watson. "Buckle up, Dommy, that was just a dummy run."

Ally was crying, her whole body shaking, her chest rising and falling as she panted for breath. "This is just fucking ridiculous."

Beck stroked her arm again. "You're my hero, Ally, you always have been. You can do this, I know."

"Well do the fucking pedals." Ally keened. "Keep the fucking thing straight."

Beck placed her slippered feet on the rudder pedals. "I've got 'em."

"And tell Damon I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, he knows."

Ally rolled onto downwind at five hundred feet, lowered the power, raised the nose, watched the speed settle down. Her right leg was bouncing up and down with nervous stress. "Now I remember," she said to herself, "the lift falls off below about twenty knots. Flea. Let's try again. Try and keep the nose straight. Nice constant angle, nice and flat. At the bottom, if I try to rip this fucking lever up under my armpit, you put your hand on it. We want a nice constant rate of descent."

Beck licked her lips. "You're the boss, Boss."

Ally shimmied in her seat, limbering up. After a long, slow downwind, she rolled onto base, and continued round until the airfield lay in front of them. "It's still there." Beck said.

"We'll aim for the apron again."

Setting up early, Ally commenced a long, slow descent, with the speed coming back. At 200 feet, Beck raised her middle finger in the left window.

Ally caught the gesture out the corner of her eye. "What the fuck are you doing, Flea?"

"Telling that FBO what I think of it."

Ally shook her head. "Well, we sure as fuck know what it thinks about us. You ready for this?"

Beck nodded. Ally took a sighting through her goggles of the apron, a broad, sprawling concrete expanse painted with taxi lines, in front of the three big hangars. A voice announced, 'One fifty feet', and Ally tightened her grip on the controls.

"Lighten your grip," Beck said, "those frikken' knuckles are blinding me."

Ally rolled her shoulders, loosening up. "Thirty knots." she intoned, "You guys in the back. Grab your ankles and kiss your asses goodbye. Flea. The lift is about to fall out. Constant rate, remember. Constant rate."

The aircraft decelerated and began to sag towards the concrete. Ally pulled up, and Beck pushed down, keeping the nose straight with the pedals. Between them, they rode the big machine all the way down, till it thumped into the ground and briefly became airborne. Ally dropped the lever again and it skidded to a stop, right outside Hangar 6. After a moment's stunned silence, Beck looked at Ally. "Well bugger me. We're here."

"I landed with the brakes parked." Ally giggled. "Engineering will spew!"

Watson leaned into the cockpit. "At the risk of getting my head punched in, awesome going, Ally."

"Piece of cake." Ally said, visibly trembling.

Beck looked at her. "Gonna shut down?"

Ally wound the engines to idle. "She needs to stabilise a couple of minutes. You bail out and get the others the fuck out of here." Beck nodded, then threw off her harness and was about to take off her helmet. "Take the lid with you." Ally said, touching her arm. "It might come in handy."

"I'll see you out there."

"In a couple of minutes."

Beck bailed out and shut the door behind her, as Watson slid the rear door open and led the others out. Ally raised her hands and pressed them together. 'Close the door!' With a nod, the old man slid the door shut and pushed down the handle. Beckoning the others, Beck led the way, stooped, under the blur of the disc, then scuttled to the side of the hangar to wait for Ally. Almost invisible in the moon shadow, she turned to speak to Watson, only to hear the engines wind up again and the big black blades hack into the air. She looked at her old man. He looked at her. "What the FUCK?"

As they watched, the aircraft wobbled into the air, then nosed over precariously, and accelerated like an avalanche, low across the apron. Beck ran after it, hurling handfuls of air, as the chopper reared skywards, and beat its way emphatically into the hazy night sky. "COME BACK!" Beck screeched, as Watson jogged to her side. "ALLY YOU STUPID CUNT! WE WERE SO... FUCKING... CLOSE!"

Watson gathered Beck into a hug, rocking her, as she howled with anguish into his chest. "Where the fuck does she think she's going?" she wailed. "After all we've been through. Why the fuck is she doing this to me?"

Watson peered in the direction of the disappearing machine, already barely a minuscule black speck. Moonlight flashed off the airframe, as Ally brought it round to a southerly heading. "I think I know." Watson replied.