Low over the hills a noisy, smoking FW190, misfiring and with half the right wing in tatters thunders over the weed covered runway, scattering sheep and raising dust everywhere. A flock of ravens, (or maybe rooks), take to the air and scatter as the wounded butcherbird grazes the ramshackle control tower. The control tower shudders, and the faint sound of splintering glass can be heard in counterpoint to the belch of smoke and stuttering of a misfiring radial engine.
Fighting the controls Raxx peers through the bulletholes in the right side of his cockpit. The air screaming in through the open canopy clears the smoke for a moment and shows a runway flashing past beneath.
"It'll be a complete fluke if I pull this one off", he mutters under his breath, "mind you it was unadulterated luck
shooting SCSwoosh down with only half a wing too, so lets see if the lady will favour us one more time. Whatcha rekken Cyb?". The question is directed to a lump in the top left pocket of a patched and faded flightjacket hanging over the patched and faded pilot. The lump moves slightly and the face of a small possum, with a collar and dogtag labelled "Cyber", peeks out from the fur lined interior and inspects the instrument panel and holes in the fuselage.
"Well I'm down 50 bucks when I bet you that 109 had our bellybutton in a sling before Cars came from nowhere and saved your butt", squeaked the little marsupial, "So how about double or nothing you crack this one up on the approach?". "Yer on, yer pessimistic lil' bugger", Raxx replies and adjusts the flying goggles over the bridge of his nose. Oxygen mask clipped in place, he now looks more like a spastic Womble than a fighter pilot. A bead of sweat gathers in the furrows above his eyebrows and you can almost see the tounge poking out the side of his mouth with the concentration.
Nursing the wounded beast around for a final turn and reaching for the gear toggle the plane groans and shudders , dips and stalls then jerks upwards and down, bouncing on the straining under carriage. The plane flickers and rolls, scraping the sparking wingtip along the ground before tipping back onto two wheels and finally coming to rest in the centre of the runway.
"Well I can't believe I pulled that off", muttered Raxx unclipping himself from the harness and lifting his feet out of the puddle of gasoline in the floor of the cockpit and stepping onto the left wing. Unnoticed his parachute knocks in a button worn nearly smooth with use on the instrument panel.
"So where the hell are we Cyb?" he says stepping down onto the tarmac looking around at the apparently deserted airfield.
"Stuffed if I know" answered the pet, "What's that building over there next to the control tower? It looks a bit like a pub".
The building in question was faded and run down like a pair of 501's that had been through the acid wash just once too often, (they looked old but everyone knows the building has only been up since version .28). The walls weren't really held up but more like leaning on each other with the shingle roof slumped across the top. The chimney at the back looks authentic untill you see the repeating 3D pattern in the brickwork but the smoke gently rising into the still clear skies looks real enough. The dusty cobwebs in the corners of the front door had a just-finished-in-the-last-few-months look to it. A shiny brass plaque beside the doorway proclaimed "The O Club. Tidy dress required. Visitors welcome. Check sidearms with the clerk". On a weather board nailed at an angle underneath is scrawled "No Gunz and wipe yer boots pleaze". Stepping into the darkened doorway Raxx waits for a moment untill his eyes adjust to the gloom.
"Cyb why don't you head off upstairs and look fer some flight maps and see where here is, while I try to find us something to eat".
As the possom hopped up the worn carpet treads to look about upstairs, Raxx wandered over to look behind the long dust covered saloon counter on the left. Raising small clouds of dust with each step he brushes past tables and chairs laid out around a small stage on the right. Behind the bar two New Zealand Railways pork pies and a NZRail sandwich sit in their cling film wrappers. The best before date is about four years ago so Raxx puts them in his pocket just in case things get really desperate and he has to choose between the pies and possum stew. A quiet bubbling noise from the doorway at the end of the bar draws Raxx's attention and as he rounds the corner a small wood burning stove with three worn enameled pots simmering away is the source of the noise. The back door rattles open and in walks a man who Raxx instantly recognises.
"Glars!", exclaims Raxx, "WTF are you doing here?".
"I should ask the same question, but since you got in first I'm making a curry. Have you had lunch yet?" enquired Glars, putting on the asbestos lined gloves and approaching the pots cautiously.
"Err no", mumbled Raxx desperately thinking of ANY excuse not to have one of Glars infamous 'curry specials' without upsetting his friend. "I'm on a restricted diet", fumbled Raxx reaching into his pocket, "and I can only eat err.. this". Out came the NZRail pie.
"Sit down and we can catch up on old times", offered Glars ladling out one plate of curry, "Carrot's floating about somewhere. He's on a restricted diet too and can't have any hot food either".
Raxx watched as the first spoonful of curry left Glars plate and made an uncertain course to a questionable digestion. Drawing a half melted spoon from his mouth Glars eyes started to bulge and then became rapidly bloodshot, (t was a nasty trick of Hotdog's back in the bad old days to tell Glars that tbsp in metric for a pound of curry powder and the poor lad burned out so many brain cells with the first one that all he could make was curries and
maps.
Out on the runway the cigarette lighter popped out of the 190's dash and landed on the floor.
Glars was by now steaming from the ears and looked ready to explode. A dull thump like a petrol fire exploding into life could be heard behind him. Raxx recoiled in horror reaching for the oxygen mask dangling by his side...
To be continued
[This message has been edited by -raxx- (edited 01-21-2000).]
