Jessamy Beech Ch. 14: Falmouth

"When I thought you were dead, I realised something," said Jessamy, stroking Merida's thick curls.

Merida snuggled in closer with her eyes closed, supremely relaxed, "What was that? That you were no longer only the second sexiest woman on the planet?"

"No. It's just that ... I've never known your surname. Never. When we were together it didn't seem to matter."

"It's no big secret," Merida answered off handedly.

Jessamy laughed nervously, "You're not going to tell me it's Beaconsfield or something are you?"

Merida looked at her and grinned impishly, "No, no. Bit more boring than that. My dad, believe it or not was a Russian diplomat before Thanatos. He met my mother at some kind of conference in Bristol. They fell in love. He moved to the UK and they married. My full name is Merida Alexandra Zakhvatchikov."

"Wow, that's a mouthful."

"I tell Ross the same thing."

Jessamy nudged her, "You've got a disgusting mouth Merida."

Merida waggled her eyebrows, "Only if you don't swallow. But it's nothing a quick rinse can't put right."

Jessamy shook her head. In mere minutes, twenty years of responsible adulthood had seemingly disappeared, fallen away, returning the two women to the long lost days of double entendres and smutty banter that they'd both yearned for.

Jessamy looked deep into Merida's eyes, "Well, the thing is ... Merida Alexandra Zakhvatchikov ... I love you. You're my dearest friend and I just needed you to know that. In case I don't come back."

Merida pushed herself up onto one elbow, serious, "Don't talk like that, it may be weeks or even months before you get some idea of Aubrey's whereabouts. You're going to be stuck in Berwick for a long time yet."

"Even so, if ... anything happens, would you do something for me?"

Merida frowned, "Of course. Anything. You don't have to ask."

"Would you take care of Phoebe and Ada for me? Teach them right and wrong and how to be good people?"

Merida sat up, looking hurt, "Why are you even asking me that Jess? They're my nieces, they're family. I'd look after them as if they were my own flesh and blood. But you will come back. You will, because ... I love you too Jessamy Beech. And I always will."

. . .

Most of Berwick Upon Tweed's populace were either at sea fishing or working in the narrow fields between the town walls. The community's school wouldn't be kicking out for another hour and Merida had gone to rescue Mrs Taber from having to keep an eye on Phoebe, Ada, Myrtle the dog and their new best friend and cousin, Tamsin Beech. Jessamy barely had time to get dressed and regrettably rinse the salty taste of Merida from her mouth before the afternoon stillness was rudely shattered by the wailing sound of a siren.

The townsfolk had installed an antique Second World War air raid siren from Berwick's regimental museum to warn of any attack. Land, sea or air - it made no difference, the siren required all the town's defence force to assemble at their muster stations.

Jessamy grabbed a spotty youth as he pounded hurriedly past clutching an enormous homemade looking crossbow, "What's the siren for?"

"Aircraft coming from the northwest, heading directly for us," the youth pulled away and was gone.

Aircraft? This was 2051, thirty years after Thanatos had decimated the planet's military. There weren't any aircraft.

A chill of foreboding made Jessamy shudder as she zipped her jacket and sprinted outside.

. . .

Dozens of townsfolk waited along the north wall, weapons trained on a tiny speck weaving erratically closer. A mechanical clattering reached Jessamy's ears as she leapt up the steps onto the massive rampart two at a time. A helicopter!

"It's the Phoenix!" someone shouted.

Sure enough, as it grew closer it became obvious it was Berwick's own Merlin. It listed to one side, then recovered and swung in the opposite direction as if the pilot was having trouble controlling the craft.

"It's coming in too fast," Jessamy muttered to herself, "EVERYBODY TAKE COVER!"

The Merlin descended suddenly. One rotor tip juddered along a tall rooftop, smashing a chimney pot into splinters and immediately the helicopter jolted to one side and literally fell out of the sky. One by one the long rotors were torn free of their central assembly in a fiery blur of sparks and hot metal. The tail rotor ripped circular gouges from the road, then the fuselage slammed violently into what had once been a carpark beyond the wall, bounced, twisted, spun around and screeched to a halt.

"COVER ME!" Jessamy yelled and lowered herself over the wall.

Despite the violence of the crash, the helicopter hadn't exploded so she guessed it might be low on fuel. Where the fuck had it come from? Was Brian Newald still the pilot? Jessamy let herself drop the remaining few feet onto the car park's cracked tarmac and drew her Glock.

It was the Phoenix alright. Jessamy recognised Newald's scruffy welds and makeshift repairs. She also noticed evidence of small arms fire. Bullet holes peppered the cockpit's underside as if the Merlin had taken hits from the ground. The side door stood open, the passenger compartment apparently empty.

"YOU'RE SURROUNDED!" she shouted, aiming her handgun at the cockpit door, "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS RAISED!"

Expecting to have to repeat herself, Jessamy was mildly surprised when the cockpit door swung open a second later and a figure dressed in a blood stained flying suit half climbed, half fell out onto the ground.

Brian Newald.

"GET A MEDIC, NOW!" Jessamy yelled urgently to the townsfolk up on the wall. She spotted Ross and Hamnavoe jogging towards her, fanning out to cover the wreckage. She holstered her weapon and crouched beside Newald, supporting his head. Judging by the amount of blood, she guessed he'd suffered multiple gunshot wounds and would most likely be dead within the hour.

"Au-aubrey knows," Newald gasped. A bubbling froth of blood spilled from his mouth as he grabbed Jessamy's arm.

"Knows what?"

Even now Jessamy still couldn't bring herself to trust Newald. But she leaned closer, straining to hear his wheezing voice.

"Aub-aubrey knows ... about Berwick. He's got Soteria. Surrender, or ... he'll wipe you out."

Jessamy huffed, "You flew all the way here to tell us that? If he was going to wipe us out, he would have already. Was it Aubrey's men shot you?"

"Yes. Soteria ... targ-targeting system f-fucked. Needs fixing."

If everything Newald was saying were true, that little detail could buy them valuable time, thought Jessamy. Against the odds it seemed that RAF Woodvale's last remaining resident rapist had had a crisis of conscience. He'd left Jack Aubrey in the lurch and been shot full of holes for his trouble. There was only one piece of the puzzle remaining ...

Jessamy leaned close enough to smell the blood on Brian Newald's breath, "Newald? I won't lie. You're dying, we can't save you. But if you want to make a difference, I need to know ... where? Where is Aubrey now? Where's the Poseidon?"

Newald's eyes fluttered closed for the last time, "Duart ... Cas-castle ..."

Then he was dead. With his dying breath he'd finally done something good.

Ross looked down at Newald's body, his face a mixture of contempt and pity, "Duart Castle? I've never heard of it."

"Shit," Jessamy swore, "looks like I'm going back to Mull."

COMING SOON - CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MULL