Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (25 page)

The sun rose as they passed Cairo, the light spilling white-gold over the lush green of the delta and the pale sand beyond. Cairo itself was a tangle of buildings to the east of their line of flight, pale stone new and old, and Alma touched the intercom button.

“Tiny. I think we’re going to be passing over the pyramids — take a look to port and tell me if you see them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tiny answered. There was a little silence, the engines droning on, and then Tiny gave a startled yelp.  “There they are! Just like you said, off to port. It really is them.”

Alma grinned, and Mitch covered his mic.

“That was nice of you.”

She covered her own mic as well.  “It seemed a shame for him to come all the way to Egypt and not see a pyramid or a mummy.”

Past Cairo, they turned more or less due south, following the Nile. It was impossible to miss, as both Jerry and von Rosen had promised, a brilliant line of green against the sand. Alma had flown over the desert before, but this was different — bigger, emptier, nothing but sand, the contrast between the green and settled land and the desert as sharp as if it had been cut by a giant knife. This was the Egypt of her childhood Bible stories, a book she’d carried from posting to posting until it disappeared on the way to Colorado when she was nine. This was Jerry’s Egypt, land of Pharaohs and animal-headed gods, the source of a hundred photographs he’d shown her, empty valleys and ruined temples no more than a few scattered columns, faded paintings on the walls of underground tombs.  They seemed more real than this, the sharp line between arable and desert, life and death.

After the third hour, they began to see a few wisps of cloud above them — about 15,000 feet, Alma estimated — and she kept a wary eye on them. The weather report had promised good weather all the way to Ethiopia, but she’d learned long ago not to rely on the forecasts. The clouds spread as they bored on to the south, but there was still plenty of blue sky between the patches, and the clouds themselves were thin, like sheets of pearl between her and the sun. Nothing to worry about yet, she decided, and checked her heading yet again.  On her line, and the Nile was still off to starboard, a green line impossible to miss.

The intercom clicked. “Would now be a good time for me to get a feel for the controls?” von Rosen asked.

Alma glanced at Mitch.  “Ready for a break?”

He shrugged.  “Sure. I’ll make some coffee, if Tiny hasn’t already.”

“Good idea.  Ok, von Rosen, come on up.”

He and Mitch traded places with a minimum of confusion, and then von Rosen had belted himself into the co-pilot’s seat. He studied the instruments in silence for a moment, and then looked over at Alma. “Very well.  What do I need to know?”

Alma walked him through the basics, trying to remember everything that had surprised her when she first got behind the Cat’s wheel. After an hour or so, she let von Rosen take the controls, and slowly relaxed as he proved steady and competent.  Mitch brought coffee, sweet and milky, and she drank most of it while von Rosen tried a few slow turns, getting the feel of the Cat.

“What do you make of the weather?”

“It should be all right. There’s often cloud like this along the route, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Good.”

“In a bit — a little less than an hour, I make it — we have to make a choice,” von Rosen said. “The Nile veers south and west. It loops back again, like a giant letter S. We can either follow the river, which is longer but sure, or stay on this heading and pick up the Nile again as it comes back north and east.”

Alma reached for the map she had torn from the tourist guide. It wasn’t nearly as good as she was used to working with, but it showed the Nile’s broad bends clearly enough. As von Rosen had said, the river bent southwest, then curved back to the northeast; to cut across the top of the curve would cut hundreds of miles off the trip. And yet. She measured with her fingers, hoping the map’s scale was roughly accurate. “I make it about three hundred miles straight through?”

“About two-fifty,” von Rosen said. “Or you can follow the Nile to Wadi Halfa and then cut southeast. That makes it about two hundred miles.”

“What do you usually do?”

“I make the cut — I’m usually trying to save fuel, I don’t usually have the range of this beast. But also — I’m not in a flying boat.”

Meaning that he could put down in desert and have a remote chance of taking off again, Alma thought. They could probably put the Cat down on sand and not kill everyone on board, but they’d never be able to take off again. On the other hand, the further south they went, the less suitable the Nile was as a landing site. As long as her instruments were accurate, and they had been good all along, it shouldn’t be too hard to make the jump. There wasn’t enough of a crosswind to have to worry about that. “Wadi Halfa and then across.”

Von Rosen glanced at her, one eyebrow lifted. “You’re not going to consult your partner?”

“The Cat’s my baby.” Alma kept her tone completely matter-of-fact. She looked at the map again. “Then follow the river to Khartoum?”

“The Nile splits at Khartoum,” von Rosen said. “We should follow the Blue Nile, the eastern tributary. We can use that as a landmark as far as Wad Madani. After that, the most direct route is overland. There are a few landmarks, some bare hills and towns, but the better course is to home in on the radio station at Bahir Dar.”

Alma glanced at the map again, running the calculations. They’d be passing Wad Madani a little before sunset. That meant three hours and more flying through the dark over completely unfamiliar ground, relying on instruments and the tower at Bahir Dar to bring them in safely to Lake Tana. But it was the only way. At least the Cat had a direction finder, unlike the Terrier or the Frontiersman. She’d hate to try following a signal purely by whether it was getting stronger or not.  “We’ll have to do it by radio.”

“There will be some moonlight,” von Rosen said. “Enough to see the hills, I think.”

“We’ll see.”  I’d rather rely on the radio, Alma thought. I just hope they have a flare path laid out when we get there. She put that worry firmly aside, and touched the intercom button.  “Mitch.  Want to spell me for a bit?”

“Sure thing.”

She gave Mitch the new plan, which he accepted with his usual calm, then climbed through the hatch into the navigator’s compartment. Iskinder was sitting at the navigator’s station, and to her pleased surprise, Lewis was sitting at the radio station eating a sandwich, a cup of coffee set into the inset holder. He smiled, and she came to join him, bracing one hand against the nearest interior strut to balance herself against the plane’s movement.

“Tiny’s giving me a break,” he said. “There’s sandwiches in the galley.”

“I’ll get one in a minute.” Alma stretched, arching her back to feel the muscles pull and loosen, then worked her shoulders from side to side. “How’re things running?”

“The engines are good.”  Lewis tapped the edge of the wooden table. “Fuel consumption’s a little better than I was figuring. I think we may have a bit of a tail wind helping us.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Alma said, and touched wood herself. She fetched a sandwich from the galley, sliced brisket and mustard on coarse bread, and seated herself opposite Lewis to eat. It was strange being on a plane with him and not flying, not being in charge, and she thought from his expression that Lewis felt the same. She checked her watch: just past one. Not quite halfway there. She craned her neck to see out the nearest window, the Nile still a ribbon of green through empty sand. People lived there, somehow, she told herself, but didn’t really believe it.

“Hey, Al.” Mitch’s voice crackled in her headphones. “Von Rosen says we’re coming up on Wadi Halfa. We still cutting across?”

“As long as everything looks good to you.” Alma twisted to see out the other window. Yes, there were buildings visible along the river’s bank, a scattering of low houses much the same color as the sand, and then bigger buildings, pale stone mixed with dirty brick.

“Everything looks good,” Mitch said. “Von Rosen makes our heading one-three-seven for about an hour and a half, and we should pick up the Nile again.”

“Sounds good.”

“Shortcut?” Lewis asked, after a moment.

“Sort of.”

Iskinder lifted his head. “We’re cutting across the loop, then?”

“That’s the plan,” Alma said. “Von Rosen says he’s done it before.”

Lewis nodded.  “He’s all right.” He gave a sudden wry smile. “Well, I don’t actually like him, but he’s what he says he is.”

“He’s done well by our people,” Iskinder said.

That was reassuring, Alma thought. “I’m going to try to take a nap while things are calm.”

“Good idea,” Lewis said.

For a moment, Alma considered asking him to join her — she wanted him fresh for the landing, too — but she knew better.  Someone had to stay on the radio, just in case, and Iskinder wasn’t trained to handle it; Lewis could rest while he listened.  She made her way back to the flight engineer’s compartment, where Tiny had unfolded a pair of what looked like Army-surplus cots.  The blanket and pillows bore the Consolidated logo, but Alma couldn’t help wishing that they’d been able to leave the passenger bunks in place. The cots looked penitential by comparison. But she’d slept on worse.  She stretched out gingerly, drawing a blanket over her shoulders, and composed herself to sleep.

She’d done enough long flights to know the benefit of every minute of rest, but this time sleep wouldn’t come. The drone of the engines was usually soporific, but this time instead of drifting away on the noise, she jerked awake every time the Cat’s attitude changed. Finally she rolled onto her back, throwing her arm over her eyes. She was worried about finding the Nile again, she admitted. Jerry could remind her how big a river it was until he was blue in the face; the idea of crossing trackless desert with only the compass bearing to guide them made her stomach clench. And the desert was so different even from the deserts of the southwest, miles upon miles of wind-shaped sand, utterly featureless.  If the compass wasn’t set right — but it was. She had set it herself before they left Alexandria — she had set it and Mitch had checked it. She looked at her watch and flung back the blanket. They should be coming up on the Nile again any minute. Once she was sure they were on course, she’d be able to sleep.

She made her way through the radio section, and leaned in the cockpit door. “How’re we doing?”

Mitch didn’t look away from the controls. “Steady on one-three-seven.”

“We should see the Nile any minute now,” von Rosen said.

Alma stooped further to see through the broad windshield. There was nothing but sand to the horizon, pale gold and smooth as any beach. When they’d been in Hawaii, Dora had called the beaches there “the big sandbox.” It was hard not to wonder what she’d make of this. Off to starboard, an outcropping of stone rose out of the sand, gray and jagged, too steep to hold the drifting sand, an uninhabitable island in a waterless sea. She caught herself listening to the engines, alert for any change in the steady beat. If anything went wrong, there would be no place to land, no help to come for them, no landmarks to guide them, just the endless, deadly sand.

The horizon had changed. There was a smudge, a darkening, and she held her breath, almost afraid to say anything. It was growing, though, and she leaned further forward, straining to make out details.  “Is that —”

“There is it,” von Rosen said, pointing, and the relief in his voice told its own story.

Mitch’s shoulders moved, a sigh of relief. “All right. Where do we go from here?”

“Follow the Nile to Khartoum,” von Rosen said. “And then the Blue Nile to Wad Madani.”

Mitch looked over his shoulder, and Alma nodded.  “It’ll be getting dark by then. We’ll pick up Bahir Dar from there. Von Rosen, I want you to take this next leg, give Mitch a break.”

“I’m fine, Al,” Mitch said.

“I want you rested for the landing,” Alma answered. “You can handle that, von Rosen?”

“Yes.” The count nodded.

“Good.  Then I’m going to grab a quick nap.”  She thought this time she might be able to sleep.

January 3, 1936

L
unch in the dining room of the hotel was taxing with four children, even though Jimmy was well behaved and was doing his best to make Douglas behave too. But Merilee was only three and Dora was two, which made for quite a circus even if the boys were ideal. Thankfully, Henry Kershaw had volunteered to take the boys to the airfield this afternoon to watch the aviation companies breaking down their show and beginning to fly their planes out, so that would at least keep them busy for a few hours. Stasi suspected this was a favor to Alma, not to her, but she would take it.

Lunch, however, was a trial to be overcome first. Fortunately there were very few people in the hotel dining room at lunch, and even fewer if one came as early as possible. Today there was only one other party, a group of five men over on the far side by the windows, out of earshot of any normal conversation. One could not, strictly speaking, expect Dora and Merilee to maintain normal conversational tones, but they weren’t doing too badly today. The men seemed to be concentrating on their lunch rather than shooting nasty glances at Stasi and the children.

It wasn’t until they rose to leave that Stasi recognized one of them — Reichsminister Hess. He wore an impeccable gray suit, and the gentlemen with him were also well dressed, aviation executives perhaps, or some of the sponsors from Fokker or the other companies who had been so much in evidence. They were talking among themselves, and Stasi had only a moment to recognize Hess before he looked up and met her eyes. At that what was there to do? They were the only other people in the dining room, and they had been properly introduced. Cutting him cold was hardly an option. Stasi nodded and smiled politely.

To her surprise, he stopped. “Mrs. Sorley,” he said. “A pleasure once again.” He looked round at the four children, all of whom were staring at him. “These are all your lovely children?”