Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air (27 page)

“No.” She scanned the sky ahead. The ceiling looked thicker to the south, and — yes, one of the more solid clouds rose like a lump of mattress stuffing ahead and to starboard. She banked the Cat, turning and climbing to put that insubstantial protection between them and the Italians. “Anything, Tiny?”

“No change.”

She leveled out, glancing over her shoulder, but she couldn’t find the fighters. She focused on the controls instead, the Cat bouncing as they skimmed the first edges of the cloud. Not through, she thought, not unless things get a lot worse, but just around, use it to hide us from anyone looking west. And surely the Italians’ focus would be on the south and east, not here.

“I can’t see them,” Mitch said. He looked at Alma.  “But if they spotted us — they’ll be waiting when we come past.”

“Let’s hope they didn’t,” Alma said.  “Von Rosen, Iskinder.  I’m trying to keep clouds between us and the fighters, but I want you looking east just in case. Yell the minute you see anything.”

“That I can promise,” von Rosen said, and Iskinder echoed him.

The cloud was bigger than it had looked at first, a low lumpy bank that seemed to reflect the light of the rising moon. Alma skirted it carefully, the Cat bucking in the less stable air, and found a second cloud to hide behind.  But then it was gone, the thin layer fraying away as well, and she took a deep breath.

“Tiny. What are you getting?”

“The signal’s fading,” Tiny answered. “Mostly static now.”

“Iskinder? Von Rosen?”

“Nothing,” Iskinder said, after a moment.

“I think we’ve lost them,” von Rosen said.

Alma heaved a sigh of relief.  “Good.  Keep listening, Tiny. Anything else like that, I want to know right away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She kept the Cat above the clouds until it was nearly full dark. They passed Al Qadarif off the port wing, a flicker of lights glimpsed through a break in the dissolving clouds, and Alma brought her down through one of the increasingly wide gaps. The ground beneath them was darker now, as though there were more trees, but any details were lost in the rising night. She turned back onto the heading for Bahir Dar, the instruments glowing softly, and tried to relax. Not long before they could pick up Bahir Dar, and then it would be another couple of hours to the landing. She’d worry about that when they got there.

The Cat bored on through the night, the last color fading from the sky while the stars brightened in the breaks in the cloud. The moon was up, still several days short of full; better than nothing, Alma thought, but not really enough for a water landing. Not on a lake she’d never even seen in daylight. Iskinder had promised there would be flares, she reminded herself. That would be enough. She checked her heading again: still good, still flying straight and level even though the ground had disappeared beneath her.

“Tiny.  Have you picked up Bahir Dar?”

“No, ma’am, not yet.”

“Let me know as soon as you find the signal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And if ever there had been an unnecessary order… Alma shook her head at her own nerves.

“I reckon we’re about fifty miles outside their range,” Mitch said. “Going by what Iskinder said.”

“I know.” Less than half an hour.  And it was a good night for flying, the clouds clearing ahead of them, a decent moon and all the stars imaginable. The instruments were reading perfectly, the plane, workhorse that it was, was solid under her hands, everything working just as it ought. She took a deep breath, focusing her attention, and checked her heading again.

Half an hour passed at a crawl, then forty-five minutes, and she bit her tongue. Fifty minutes, and she glanced uneasily at Mitch, who looked away: her call, then.  “Tiny. Check your frequency.”

“Yes’m.”

There was a pause, and then von Rosen spoke in her ear. “We are on the correct frequency. And he has been sweeping up and down the band just in case.”

“And nothing.”

“No.” Von Rosen paused. “Give them time.”

His words would be more reassuring if she couldn’t hear the worry in his voice as well. “Right. I’m continuing on our present heading.”

If worst came to worst, she could make a blind landing in the lake’s center. There was less chance of debris in the deep water, and in the morning they could figure out where they were and fly the rest of the way into Bahir Dar.  Assuming she didn’t wreck the Cat, lose a float and flip the plane, or knock a hole in the hull. She had a searchlight in the bow, it would at least give her an idea of where the water was.

“Lewis. How are we doing on fuel?” His gauges were more accurate than hers, but mostly she wanted to hear his voice.

He didn’t answer immediately, and she imagined him reaching for his clipboard, checking the numbers. “About two and a half hours left. Not counting the reserve.”

The reserve tank had enough gas to keep them flying for another forty minutes or so: more than enough fuel to get them in. If they could just find the place. She refused to look at her watch, though she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the ground beneath. There were no lights, no sign of life, just darkness, as black as crossing the Mojave. Surely there were villages down there, hidden in the forest — no electric lights, not here, but not lifeless. The clouds had thinned to a few ragged wisps, barely enough to dim the stars; the moon was just past the zenith, a misshapen oval, the Cat’s nose almost black in its light.

If they had to land, she’d spend fuel to be sure she’d found the lake’s center. She could take her time, make two or three passes; with the weather as good as it was, the water should be calm enough to give them a good chance. And it would leave enough fuel to take off again come daylight, when it would be easier to find Bahir Dar —

“Got it!” Tiny’s voice was loud enough in her headphones to make her wince. “At least — I think so.”

“Let me hear.” That was von Rosen, and Alma held her breath.  “Yes, that’s Bahir Dar.”

“What’s my heading?” Alma asked.

“Hang on,” von Rosen said, and a moment later Tiny answered.

“I make it one-five-eight.”

“One-five-eight,” Alma repeated, and banked the Cat gently to bring them onto the new heading. “How’s that look?”

“Um, ok? Maybe make it one-five-nine?”

Alma made the adjustment, the Cat sliding easily through the night. “We’re on one-five-nine.”

“I think — no, one-five-eight was better.”

Alma swallowed a blistering comment.  “What’s my heading, Tiny?”

“Um. One-five-seven?”

He sounded even less sure of himself, and she saw Mitch shift beside her.

“Coming to one-five-seven,” she said. There was no immediate response, and she tamped down her annoyance. “How’s that, Tiny?”

“Good?” The boy’s voice was weak. “The signal’s really bad. I’m having trouble locking it down.”

Try harder. Alma swallowed that as well, and made her voice as calm as she could manage.  “Have you got the station?”

“Yes’m.”

“Keep on it, and keep giving me headings. The signal will get stronger as we get closer, and you’ll have an easier time finding the exact line.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tiny said again. She could hear him take a breath. “Stay on one-five-seven for now.”

“On one-five-seven, confirmed.” Alma checked her altitude and the artificial horizon, and beside her Mitch covered his mic.

“You think that’s good enough?”

Alma copied him. “For now. If it doesn’t get easier as we get closer, I’ll switch to that frequency myself, follow the beam by ear.”

“Ok.”

The Cat bored on through the night, the sound of the engines reassuringly steady. The signal grew stronger as they got closer, and Alma was relieved to hear new confidence in Tiny’s voice as he corrected the headings. Then the moonlight flashed on water straight ahead, a sudden brilliance against the dark.

“Von Rosen. Is this Lake Tana?”

“A moment.” 

She didn’t take her eyes off the windscreen, but she saw Mitch look over his shoulder.

“Yes,” von Rosen said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the engines. “Unmistakably.”

“Tiny. See if you can raise the tower at Bahir Dar. They should be expecting us.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alma realized she was holding her breath, and made herself breathe again, steadily, three counts in and four counts out. Worst case, they’d land in the middle of the lake, and find Bahir Dar in the morning…

“I have the tower,” Tiny announced, and didn’t try to hide the relief in his voice. “They say to continue on this heading until you see the city lights. The flare path is ready.”

Alma heaved a sigh of relief, and glanced sideways to see Mitch grinning. “Well, that’s a good start.  I’m taking her down to 2000 feet.”

“Good idea,” Mitch said.

She expected von Rosen to return to the navigator’s station, but instead he braced himself in the cockpit’s doorway, stooping awkwardly to see through the windscreen. He wouldn’t do any harm there, she told herself, and concentrated on the instruments. They had reached the edge of the lake, and the water unreeled below them like beaten metal. She let the Cat drop lower, down to a thousand feet, and her breath caught in her throat as an island broke the mirror surface. That hadn’t been on her little map — but if they had had to land blind, surely von Rosen knew it was there, and would have warned her.

“Tell Bahir Dar I’m switching on our lights.”

“Yes, ma’am”

Alma flipped the switch without waiting for Bahir Dar to confirm, and saw the cone of light stab through the dark, dirty compared to the moonlight.

“They say they can see you,” Tiny reported. “They’re going to light the flares as soon as you get closer.”

Alma squinted into the dark. Was that the lakeshore ahead, or another island? They passed another, smaller island, and then she caught the first hint of light on the horizon.

“There,” Mitch said, pointing, and von Rosen leaned forward again.

“Bahir Dar.”

“Tiny. Tell Bahir Dar I’m going to pass over the town and circle back to land going north,” Alma said. That pointed them away from the land in case of trouble. Mitch nodded in agreement.  “They can light the flares when we’re overheard.”

“Roger.” There was a pause while Tiny relayed the request, and then his voice sounded in her ears. “Bahir Dar confirms. They’ll wait for you to overfly the city and then light the flares. They confirm we’re landing to the north.”

“Roger. And tell them thank you,” Alma said.

She could see the city now, or at least a scattering of lights on the shore. There were a few lights on the water, too, dimmer and redder, and then they crossed over the shore, her searchlight briefly illuminating a scattering of tin-roofed dock buildings. She caught a glimpse of the town center, stone buildings amid the wood, and banked smoothly, taking her time to bring the Cat back onto the reciprocal heading.

“Flares are lit!” Tiny called, and as the Cat came around, she saw them, too, a double line of floating bonfires, stretching several thousand feet away from the shore.

“We’re coming in,” Alma said, and heard Tiny repeat her words to whoever was guiding them in.

“Tower says you’re clear to land,” Tiny said.

“Thanks.” Alma eased the throttle back, cutting speed, easing the yoke to drop them closer to the water.  “Lewis, stand by for landing.”

“Everything’s green here,” Lewis answered. “Trimmed for landing.”

Alma checked her speed again. “Lower the floats.”

She felt the Cat shudder, the engines noises changing as the stabilizing floats moved into the landing configuration.

“Floats are lowered and locked,” Lewis said.

The indicator showed green in the cockpit as well, and Alma took a deep breath. “Tiny, stand by to take a line as soon as we’re landed.  Von Rosen, you may want to sit down, this could be a little rough.”

He ignored her, and she put him out of her mind. If he wanted to risk a broken leg, that was his business. She checked airspeed and altitude again, remembering what she’d been told when she first started flying the Cat: keep the nose high and the speed up on a night landing, just in case you misjudge where the water is. The flare path stretched ahead of her, the searchlight pointing straight down the middle, the water flat and empty ahead of her. She eased the nose up another degree as they passed the first pair of flares, then the second, and the third. Every instinct screamed for her to hurry, to get them down, but she made herself take her time, shedding speed and height at a conservative rate.  She had time, the water was clear beyond the end of the flare path —

“Now,” she said, and the Cat’s hull touched the water.  It bounced and fell back, and then the second time the hull settled into the waves, slowing as they neared the last two flares. They were oil drums filled with something combustible, she saw, and already starting to burn down. She turned the Cat back toward land, and was not surprised to see a motorboat skimming toward them. “Iskinder.  Looks like we have a welcoming committee.”

“So it seems.” Iskinder paused.  “Thank you, Alma. I can’t say — I don’t have the words.”

“Consider us even,” Alma said, and for an instant her voice broke, thinking of Venice and Gil and a bedside wedding. So many oaths made then, so many promises given. Gil would approve, she thought, and concentrated on bringing the Cat to shore.

January 4, 1936

J
erry took the summons to meet with Bill Peavey as a good sign. Surely it meant that he’d gotten permission from one of the people who owned houses in the area Jerry had selected to put a test trench in their yard or basement. Instead he was totally blindsided.

“Shut down? Are you kidding me? At this point in the game?”

Peavey looked at him across his desk, a frown on his long face. “I wish I were, Jerry. I don’t like this any better than you. But it has nothing to do with the sites or anyone’s confidence in you. The Met is shutting down all its digs in Egypt.” He picked up his pipe, knocking the ashes out of the bowl against the edge of his huge bronze ashtray. “Cool heads in New York think the political situation is ‘too unstable.’“