Children of the Storm, Part 5

An adventure in the world of The Ace of Redwater Bay

As the forward left engine failed, the airplane dipped and turned. The wind shifted again, and the plane began to spiral down.

I had to think fast. With the drop in thrust from one engine, I'd have to compensate somehow using the others. However, I had to be careful I didn't drop the throttle too low, or we'd truly be at the mercy of the storm. I throttled back the two right engines and increased power to the remaining left engine. After some finessing, we were once again moving balanced, but with reduced performance and I'd lost sight of our potential exit from the storm. I needed to regain altitude and find it again.

"If you see a bright light, tell me," I said to the children. "That's our way out."

"I see it," said Phoebe after a few seconds.

"Where?"

"To the right."

I applied right rudder and turned the yoke in that direction. The beckoning white glow reappeared. To my dismay, it looked farther away than it had before. More lightning crisscrossed the clouds ahead of us. I gritted my teeth and continued to fight the wind to keep the plane steady. As we neared the edge of the power storm, I know it would get worse. I had no real plan for how I would handle the massive winds.

"The storm won't let us leave," said Thaddeus. "It's too powerful."

"Then we have to help," said Phoebe.

The plane pitched up kept shaking and pitching wildly. "You two staying in your seats is help enough," I said.

"We shouldn't," said Thaddeus. "Mom and dad won’t like it."

"Yeah, and they're both passed out. They won't make it if we don't help. None of us will."

More lightning. More wind. It really was as though the storm was trying to keep us from leaving.

Thaddeus sighed and said, "Alright. Hey mister."

"Yes?" I replied.

"You can't tell anyone what you're about to see, okay?"

Confused, but more concerned with keeping the plane steady, I said, "Sure thing, kid, but what do you mean?"

Instead of replying, the children began to mutter words that I couldn't understand. I then felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of my neck as the hair stood on end. I risked a glance back and my eyes widened.

Both children had their arms outstretched. Their eyes glowed a deep violet. With blank expressions, they continued to speak in an unknown language.

Then the shaking stopped, the turbulence subsided. Outside, the storm still raged as clouds swirled, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled. Directly in front of us a tunnel appeared, as though an invisible force had opened a path through the middle of the storm to clear skies beyond.

"What the...?" I started to ask, but bit it off. "Never mind. I'll just fly."

With the winds held at bay, we made quick progress through the tunnel to the storm's edge.

"I don't know how you're doing this," I said, "but great job, kids."

A bit of wind jostled the plane. "Is everything okay?" I asked. I looked back and saw that both of them were straining. Sweat formed on their foreheads and soaked their hair. Blood began to trickle from out of their nostrils. Whatever they were doing, it started to hurt them.

I swore and refocused on flying the plane. "Just a minute longer," I said and willed the plane to move faster.

The winds began to buffet the plane again. Clear skies appeared less than a mile away.

I heard a noise from behind me. Phoebe had collapsed into her chair, breathing hard. Thaddeus was still standing, straining as he held back the storm.

"You're doing great, bud," I said. "Almost there."

Then he too collapsed into his chair.

“Get us…home,” he said and passed out.

With renewed determination, I said, “You got it.”

The winds rushed in and forced the plane into a dive. I kept the TP-6 steady, leaned her into the dive, and then steadily pulled up. We rode the tumultuous wind right to the edge.

Gray clouds swept past.

Clear skies surrounded us.

The winds died.

We were free of the storm.

I let out a whoop of triumph and eased back on the yoke to regain altitude. Looking out the windows, the purple, oranges, and reds of early evening on the Mér never looked so good. Once we reached cruising altitude, I took stock of my passengers. Both children lay in their seats, asleep but still breathing. Cassandra was still unconscious. Harold had stopped groaning now that we had found clean air to fly through.

Keeping the thrust balance between the engines steady, I increased power to the engines. Normally, one keeps the throttle around 70% of full power when at cruise for efficiency and safety's sake. However, I had a plane full on injured and needed to get them to care as soon as possible. I was especially worried about Harold's leg; while the tourniquet would hold, after about two hours it might turn problematic. Right then, we had a four-hour flight ahead of us. I pushed the throttle up to about 95% and kept an eye on the gauges. Hopefully, it would be enough to make up some time.

After we were about fifty miles past the storm, the radio crackled to life and a gruff voice with a slight brogue said, “I say again Pelican Sierra November one seven zero six come in please. Over.”

I picked up the microphone. “This is Pelican Sierra November one seven zero six first office Connor. With whom am I speaking? Over.”

There was a short pause on the other end. “Connor, this is Donovan McCormick. I go by Mac. I’d very much like to know what you are doing flying my airplane.”

“Do you want the short or the long version?”

“The short version.”

“I went with Harold Dumas to an island, found the bodies of your other crew, fought a crazy scientist, and flew his family out of the power storm. All of them are currently passed out in the cabin. Harold is missing a leg and will need medical attention on arrival.”

Another pause. Mac then said slowly, “Connor, you’d better give me the long version.”

“Yessir.”

I relayed the entire story starting from the point where Harold found me in the Freelancers’ Bureau. I did leave a few bits such as the children calming the storm, that Kwame was the creature we found, and my surreptitious acquisition of a few items. I wanted to honor Thaddeus’ request, and it seemed to me that Harold should be the one to have the conversation with Mac about Kwame. My acquisitions were my business alone.

When I finished, Mac said, “Sounds like you boys have a right time of it. All right, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to give you some coordinates that I want you to reach. Have you ever landed on water?”

“No, sir.”

“Today, you get to learn how. You’ll meet another plane there. It’ll have a doctor and equipment onboard to take care of the injured. I’ll also send a mechanic and a fresh pilot to bring the Pelican back to hangar. I’m gonna ask you to stay with the plane until it gets back to Port Sauval. Can you do that?”

“Sure thing, Mac.”

“Good. And Connor?”

“Yessir?”

“You have my thanks. Once you’re back and I’ve verified your story, I have a proposition for you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

~*~

It took about an hour and a half to reach the coordinates. By this time, the sun was halfway past the horizon. Cassandra had regained consciousness before we reached the coordinates. I filled her in on Mac’s plan. When she asked about the kids and their bloody noses, I told her it must have happened thanks to the storm, which was partly true.

My water landing was not graceful. Despite Mac guiding me, I bounced a couple of times and nearly tipped the TP-6 over before I brought it to rest. Worse, the other plane was there first, so I had an audience to witness my terrible landing. Luckily, my landing acrobatics did not seem to cause further injury to my passengers. This did not stop the other pilot, one Julio Raes Carelli, from giving me a hard time when I met him. He was short, stocky man with dark hair and an amiable, jocular demeanor. I liked him almost immediately.

With some difficulty, we managed to get Harold transferred to the other plane. The aircraft, Lafayette 427, more commonly known as a Silver Swan, was a sleek beauty of a machine. It was a newer twin-engine flying boat with huge in-wing engines and featured larger areas for the cabin and cockpit than the TP-6. Inside, space normally used for passengers had been converted into a small medical treatment station complete with operating table and a full complement of medical equipment. The whole thing must have cost a pretty penny.

As the doctor applied a bandage to my head wound, he expressed admiration for my tourniquet and said that my quick thinking had likely saved Harold’s life. The big man woke long enough to clasp my hand and nearly crush it as he thanked me for saving his family. I told him Mac wanted to talk with me and that we could catch up later.

Cassandra managed to rouse Phoebe and Thaddeus. The three of them boarded the Silver Swan without much trouble. I helped get the kids settled and turned to head back to the TP-6 when Cassandra caught me and gave me a hug.

“You saved my family,” she said. “I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

Before I could respond, Phoebe pointed at me and said, “Mama, I wanna marry him.”

Cassandra laughed.

I smiled and knelt so that I was eye-level with her. “You don’t want to marry me, sweetie.”

“Yes, I do,” she said with a stern expression and crossed her arms.

“Nah. I’m no good with ladies or kids. You want to marry someone like your daddy.” I pointed at Harold with my thumb. “Did you know he searched all over the city for someone to help him save you? He trusted a man he barely knew with his life and his family. He loves you and would do anything to protect all of you.” I gave Cassandra and pointed look. She compressed her lips in response. “That’s the kind of man you want.”

Phoebe seemed to consider what I said. “Yeah, I guess he is pretty amazing. Plus, you’re kind of scrawny. My husband should be big and strong. You should eat more beef.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. Cassandra put a hand over her mouth trying in vain to suppress a giggle.

I chuckled. “Of course. Now, I have to go help fix the other plane. You guys have a nice ride back home and maybe I’ll see you again, okay?”

“You better come see me,” said Phoebe as she scowled at me.

I ruffled Thaddeus’ hair and said, “You’re a tough one, little man. Take care of your mom and sister while your dad recovers, okay?”

He puffed up his chest a little, gave me a determined face, and nodded. He then thought for a moment and said, “Thank you for…everything.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

The Silver Swan departed not long after I returned to the Pelican. The fading light made engine repairs difficult, but the mechanic finished his work in short order. Julio and I spent our time cleaning what we could inside. With the turbulence knocking things loose and blood smearing various surfaces, the interior of the airplane was an absolute mess.

“So, you flew out of the power storm?” Julio asked in disbelief as we wiped down the seats. “In this?”

I held up a hand. “God as my witness.”

He frowned and nodded. “Well, you have my respect, brother. This thing is a piece of crap.”

I shrugged. “Eh, maybe. It has its charms.”

He stared at the blood-stained rag, his expression unsure. “I suppose.” He resumed scrubbing. “Now the Piccolo SG-7, that’s a plane. I’m gonna get one of those someday.”

“Nah,” I said, “the SG-7’s got nothing on the Rensselaer 225.”

What followed was a spirited debate about aircraft as we finished cleaning the Wainwright TP-6. It felt good to do something closer to normal for a change.

With the repairs finished and the interior as clean as we could make it, Julio and the mechanic occupied the seats in the cockpit. They told me to take it easy.

I spent the next couple of hours mentally going through the events of the day. First and foremost was the storm and how it affected both the children and Kwame. Their behavior in connection with the storm baffled and intrigued me. It was like they controlled part of it. And what did Jameson’s machine do to them? Had something changed in their connection with the power storm? The how and why remained a mystery for now. I had promised to keep their secret, and I would indeed follow through on that promise. However, at some point they would have to come to terms with who or what they were. I just hoped it would lead to a positive outcome.

Jameson was the next mystery. I pulled his journal from my pocket and opened the cover. The inside held a dedication from someone named Cecilia Hughes. A wife or family maybe? She had apparently given this to him as a gift and had written a note encouraging him to dream big. Well, Cecilia, he certainly dreamed something. A nightmare was technically a dream, right? I flipped to the first page. The first entry was dated a few years ago, but that was all I could read as the light outside faded. It was probably best saved for later anyway. Tired as I was, I wasn’t sure I could handle the ravings of a madman.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew we touched down on the water. The lights of Port Sauval shone gold, tiny little suns warmly inviting us back home. Instead of the main port, we taxied into one of the bays of a large hangar. A trio of people waited for us on the nearby platform.

“Welcome to Mac’s,” said Julio. “Don’t let the old man fool you. He always looks angry, but he’s a big softy at heart. He’s gonna love you.” He opened the hatch and motioned for me to go through.

I climbed out of the plane and up on to the platform. At the head of the trio was a muscular redheaded man with a full, bushy beard sitting in a wheelchair, a blue and green argyle tartan covering his legs. The tartan clashed with what had to be the loudest shirt known to man. Bright pastel colors competed for dominance in an erratic mosaic of floral patterns. Streaks of gray in his carefully combed mane and wrinkles on his face put him in his mid-fifties, at a guess. He had intense blue eyes that drilled into mine the moment I stepped onto the platform.

“Mister Duncan,” he said and reached out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you. Mac.”

“The pleasure’s mine, Mac,” I said, accepting the handshake. “And please call me Connor.”

The man had a grip like iron.

“I’ve spoken with Harry and confirmed your story.” He looked me up and down. “Seems like he picked the right pilot.”

“I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Mac grunted. “Listen, I’m already shorthanded, and Harry is one of my best pilots. This leaves some holes to fill on the crew roster. How about joining on with me? The pay is as good as those shysters at Red Star, and it’s good work.”

A tall, well-built woman with dark red hair standing just behind him made a face and said, “You sure about this? We don’t know him.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Sadie, the man flew a TP-6 through a blooming power storm and saved a man’s family. I’d say he passes muster.”

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “Can you give me the night to think it over?” I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Julio draped his arm around my shoulders and said, “He’s gonna have to learn how to land in water, boss.” He had a stupid grin on his face. “Shoulda seen how this thing bounced. It’s like he was trying to skip a rock.” Then he laughed.

“Then you get to be in charge of his training,” Mac said with a smirk.

Julio muttered something in Aspalian and the said, “Aye yai yai. Me and my big mouth.”

~*~

I flicked on the light of my hotel room, dragged my aching body to the desk, and slumped into the chair. What a day it had been.

From my pack I laid the phosphorus pistol on the desk and considered what to do. The gun was one-of-a-kind, and its use constituted a war crime. While I could sell the thing on the black market and make some decent money, imagining the gun somehow falling in the hands of thugs like those Lusca goons I’d seen earlier in the day made me shudder. I still had contacts within the intelligence community who might be interested. Getting in touch with them was likely the most responsible thing to do.

I pulled out the journal. There would be plenty of time to go through it and make notes. I hoped it would lead to answers for the many questions that had arisen on this job. It might even help with my own personal project.

On that note, I removed the package wrapped in the blue scarf Essie had given me. The thing clunked on the desk as I set it down. Unwrapping the scarf, I stared at it in wonder. Within the metal and glass container a purple crystal floated, suspended in the thick translucent fluid. I had chipped it from the formation that appeared after Kwame slammed Jameson into the machine. I’d had to work quickly and carefully with the tongs to retrieve it. The glow of the crystal was especially strong.

I smiled. Yes, it should do nicely.

Thanks for reading! The adventure continues in the next story, Rum Run Tagalong!

To continue reading, head over to the Chapter Index.

If you enjoyed this, please consider subscribing or chipping in for a cup of coffee.

If you want to check more of my writing, take a gander at my Linktree.