Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (40 page)

“Oil temperature’s at 104,” Lewis said, his voice crackling in her headset, and she put those worries aside. What she could do now, what only she, only they, could do, was get these people safely to Cairo.

“Confirmed.” The Cat was resting more heavily on the left pontoon, and she adjusted the aileron to compensate.

“Oil pressure is up,” Lewis said. “Everything looks good here.”

Mitch said, “Elevators set. Rudder and ailerons, too.”

Alma tapped the rudder controls, feeling them move smoothly under her feet. “Ok. We’re going.”

She advanced the throttle to pull away from the pier. The Cat was slow to respond, the hull wallowing through the calm water. She’d never flown the Cat when it was this heavy, and she didn’t like the way it sat down into the lake’s surface, more boat-like than she’d ever felt it. “Engine temps?”

“All good,” Lewis answered, and she kicked the rudder to point the Cat toward the middle of the lake. At least the balance felt good, the plane resting evenly on the floats now. Ahead, the lake stretched toward the horizon, the sun setting off the right wing. She had all the room in the world, nearly fifty miles before she reached the far shore: if she couldn’t get the Cat airborne by then, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Automatic rich. Propellers set to 2700.”

“Fuel set to automatic rich, propellers at 2700,” Lewis answered.

“Full throttle.”

Alma felt the engines surge with Lewis’s acknowledgement, and the Cat began to run. Not as fast or as smooth as normal, but moving, the heavy hull plowing through the water. The airspeed was creeping up, forty knots, fifty, fifty-five, but it was taking forever, the Cat charging into the lake’s center. She remembered the islands she had seen on the flight from Bahir Dar — how far out were they? — but the water ahead was empty, smooth as glass. Plenty of time, she told herself, her hands easy on the controls. Seventy knots, seventy-five… In theory, the Cat could lift now, but she could feel its reluctance, the way the water clung to the hull. Eighty knots, and she felt the hull lift just a little, the wings finally catching enough lift. She eased back on the controls, and felt the plane stagger, the nose dropping. She put the controls forward and the Cat slapped back into the water, still moving well enough that there was no reason to abort. She watched the airspeed climb back to eighty and then to eighty-two, and tried again. This time the nose lifted, and the hull finally pulled free of the water.

They were up, but not steady, the Cat just on the edge of a stall less than a hundred feet above the water. Every nerve screamed to pull back, pull up into a steeper climb, but she knew that would only make things worse. The wheel shuddered in her hands, but the airspeed was rising, the wings catching lift at last. She eased the nose up a hair, and gained fifty feet; another five knots of speed and she gained a hundred. There was an island ahead now, two miles out and growing rapidly larger, but they would clear its trees without trouble.

She set the Cat into a shallow climb, and banked gently westward. “Tiny. Give me a reciprocal bearing for Bahir Dar.”

“Yes, ma’am, just one minute.”

She could feel herself settling into the flight, feel the way she would have to manage weight and trim and load: heavy, yes, heavier than she was supposed to be, but the Cat was handling it like a champ. “It’s a good plane,” she said, to no one in particular, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mitch grin.

A
lma settled the Cat at 9000 feet, on the heading that should bring them northwest toward Khartoum. The sun was on the horizon, a molten, blinding light that filled a third of the canopy. Beneath their wings, the forest was giving way to scrub, and she could already see the first hints of desert toward the north. So far, there had been no sign of any Italian planes, or of anyone at all, just Tiny’s occasional corrections to remind her that they were in fact in contact with anyone outside the cockpit. To the east, the sky was darkening, the brightest stars already visible above the horizon.

“See anything?” she asked, and Mitch shook his head.

“All clear so far. It’s getting close enough to sundown that I don’t think they’ll be sending out fighters. At least, I wouldn’t risk it.”

Alma nodded. She was beginning to think they’d gotten away with it — or, more likely, that the Italians simply didn’t care if they got away. “It’s too late to stop us delivering the guns, and it would look bad if we disappeared. Especially since there are obviously people waiting for us.”

“Got to keep it looking good for the newspapers,” Mitch said.

“Yeah.”

There was nothing more to say. Alma checked her heading again, and the Cat droned westward over the changing landscape. The moon was rising behind the starboard wing, invisible from the cockpit except as a haze of silver light. The sun dipped below the horizon, the light fading to a dull glow and then to nothing, the horizon drowned in the night.

“How’s the bearing, Tiny?”

“Fading,” he answered. “But I can still make it out. We’re still good.”

“Good.” There were clouds ahead, thin shreds at about 15,000 feet, high enough and scattered enough that they wouldn’t make a difference, but beyond them… It was hard to tell, but there might be more solid weather shouldering up from the west. The last forecast from Bahir Dar still promised decent weather the rest of the way to Cairo, but clouds weren’t impossible. She looked up, stretching neck and shoulders, and saw the sky above the canopy ablaze with stars.

Another hour, and she saw Mitch check his watch, brows drawn into a brief frown before he made himself relax. “We ought to spot the beacon soon,” he said.

Alma nodded. “Yeah. Tiny, what’s our bearing?”

“No change, ma’am.”

Alma glanced at the compass again. Still on target, assuming Tiny had read the bearings right, lining them up properly with the signal from Bahir Dar… Still at 9000 feet, still level, though it was all but impossible to tell where the sky ended and the ground began. Khartoum was out there somewhere, its beacon lit, and from Khartoum they could follow the Nile all the way home.

“How far do you make it?” she asked.

“To Khartoum?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a little silence, and a quick flicker of light from a dimmed flashlight as Mitch consulted his clipboard. “About — inside fifty miles.”

The beacon should be visible at forty, and in this darkness, in clear weather, she’d expect to see it before now. She’d seen beacons in the Midwest at close to a hundred. Surely they hadn’t missed it — they couldn’t have missed it, not with the signal from Bahir Dar to follow.

Something flashed to the left of the Cat’s nose, a distant spark against the blackness. She stiffened, but said nothing, afraid to speak too soon, and waited for the lights to come around again. She found herself counting seconds, eight, nine, ten, and then it came again, brighter because she knew where to look.

“Was that —?” Mitch began, and Alma nodded.

“I’ve got it.” She checked the gyrocompass, adjusted her heading. “Nice job, Tiny. I’ve got the beacon in sight, and we were only ten points off the exact line.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tiny answered. “Should I try to raise them? I’ve got a frequency.”

“Go ahead.”

The Cat bored on into the night, the flash of the beacon growing ever stronger. She was beginning to get a glimpse of darker shadows, the buildings of the city darker than the surrounding desert, and then, miraculously, the glint of silver, moonlight on water, the Nile itself. It was almost as good as a beacon, a silver streak against the dark, leading them safely north to Cairo.

“Ma’am, I have Khartoum,” Tiny said. “They want to know if we’re going to land tonight.”

“Put them through to me,” Alma said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A moment later, a faintly British voice sounded in her headphones. “Gilchrist Catalina, this is Khartoum Control.”

“Khartoum, Gilchrist, we read you.”

There was a brief, blank silence, and Alma grinned, imagining the radioman dropping his cigarette in surprise, hearing a woman’s voice.

“Gilchrist, we have you in sight. Do you want to land?”

“Negative, Khartoum, though I appreciate the offer. We are trying to make Cairo as quickly as possible. We have wounded on board.” She hadn’t planned to say that, either, and was unsurprised to provoke another moment of silence.

“Understood, Gilchrist. We have the route forecast for Cairo if you want it.”

“Yes, thank you,” Alma said, and saw Mitch reach for his clipboard.

“Through noon Cairo time, expecting westerly winds at less than five knots, scattered clouds through midnight with ceiling at 15,000 and visibility 5 or better, then increasing clouds, ceiling 10,000 with visibility 4 to 5 through 6 AM. After 6 AM, expect ceiling 10,000 and visibility 3 to 4, with winds shifting to southwesterly at seven knots.”

“Got it,” Mitch said, scribbling, and Alma nodded.

“Roger that, Khartoum. And thanks for the light as well.”

“Glad to oblige, Gilchrist. Good luck and godspeed.”

They were over the beacon now. Alma wagged her wings in thanks, and pointed the Cat’s nose along the silver ribbon that was the Nile.

“Do you want to try to make the cut-off?” Mitch asked. “That’ll get us in sooner.”

Alma considered, watching the ground unreel beneath the Cat’s nose. In the moonlight, the contrast between desert and the narrow bands of vegetation on either side of the river was stark, a path they couldn’t miss. The moon wouldn’t set until six, and by then the sky would be light enough for them to follow the Nile until sunrise. The tanks were still comfortably full, and the Cat was handling better as they burned off some of the fuel. The weather was as good as they could hope for. “We’ll stay with the Nile. Let’s not take any unnecessary risks.”

The Nile stretched ahead of them, a dark ribbon against the desert, and Alma kept the Cat’s nose aligned with its curves. At the point where it turned back south and west, she hesitated — so much faster to cut across the top of the loop — but turned with the river. Better not to take the risk, when they had time and fuel to spare. She and Mitch took turns at the controls, and in the early hours of the morning Tiny took her place so that she could stretch her legs and grab a cup of coffee.

After the serenity of the cockpit, the crowded compartments were a shock. Some of the passengers were sleeping, the children curled together under shared blankets, the adult women braced uneasily in the few chairs or against the hull of the plane. The wounded were calm, the burned woman moving uneasily in her drugged sleep, mouth opening in moans too soft to hear over the engines’ roar, and one of the Red Cross trainees was bathing the face of the man shot in the chest. Filagot sat against the compartment’s rear frame, apparently asleep, but as Alma watched she opened her eyes and then pushed herself to her feet.

“How’s it going?” Alma asked, leaning close to speak over the engine noise.

Filagot shrugged. “Well enough, so far. Lieutenant Jember is running a fever, but I don’t think it’s too bad. Martha… she will be better once we reach Cairo.”

There wasn’t much they could do for the burns until then, Alma knew. “How’s the morphine holding out?”

“We’ll be all right,” Filagot said, and managed a smile. “This is more of a chance than I thought we’d have.”

I only wish it were more
. Alma nodded, and turned back to the cockpit.

They were heading almost due north now, the moon setting off the port wing into thickening clouds. The Nile had widened, strengthened, heading for the sea. She wondered what ruins and temples they were passing in the dark, what stories lay untold. Jerry would know, of course, even in by moonlight at 9000 feet, and she missed his presence suddenly.

The moon was down now, the contrast between desert and river fading, and she dropped to 7000 feet to see more clearly, fatigue clawing at her muscles. She had managed a few catnaps, they all had, but they’d been awake for close to twenty-four hours, and it was beginning to take its toll. Mitch had the controls, and she stretched, her muscles popping. Tired, yes, she was terribly tired, but she was good for the landing: she had to be, it was her ship, her baby… She shook herself. That way lay danger; if she was too tired, Mitch was entirely capable of landing the Cat, and it would be safer, smarter, to let him do it. I’ll see once we get closer, she told herself, and let her eyes close for just a moment.

In the predawn light, the Nile made a short jog to the east and then back west again — near Luxor, Mitch said, looking at their only map — and steadied again to run just west of north. They were going to be in radio range of Cairo soon, and she ordered Tiny to warm up the transmitter. He reported only spotty reception, and she settled herself to wait. The sun rose out of the desert, gold and blinding: Jerry would have had an invocation, she thought, proper words of welcome. She had none, but the brilliance warmed her soul.

“Tiny. As soon as you can, raise Cairo and request permission to land. And ask them to contact the Ethiopian embassy. Tell them we have wounded on board.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They flew on into the rising light, the contrast between the golden desert and the rich green of the land besides the Nile sharper with every mile. The ceiling had dropped, as Khartoum had predicted, but the clouds were broken and still comfortably above them; there were thicker clouds to the west, but she guessed bad weather was still a day or two away.

“Ma’am,” Tiny said. “I have Cairo. We have permission to land on Imperial Airways’ area at Rod el Farag. They’ve notified the embassy, and they’ll put up a flare when they have us in sight.”

“Good job.” Alma checked her heading again, though she thought she could see the first sign of buildings on the horizon. The Nile had turned due north again, and she followed it, dropping lower until she could clearly see the first edges of the city, a road and a dark sedan sending up a plume of dust as it passed an ox-cart. There were boats on the Nile, a steamer trailing smoke and a handful of tiny fishing craft, and deep green fields gave way to buildings as they reached the city’s edge.