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On a Dark Horse	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Jericho Views: 1536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Timestamp: Bombs + 3 (still)
A/N: I recall little about planes. I'm picking smaller, older aircraft available before the rampant additions of computer-controlled everything. No, specs aren't going to be correct. No, I'm not a pilot.
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Aylah bit off a curse as she skinned her knuckle on a side panel. The wrench slipped out of her hand and fell on her foot. That actually didn't hurt, since she was wearing her favourite steel-toed workboots. She sucked on her knuckle and spoke around it.
"It's no good, Jake. The damned thing's rusted shut. Whoever was responsible for maintenance on this one needs to have his ass kicked. Multiple times." Aylah slammed the cover and started putting the bolts back in place. Strike five. Or was it six? Did it matter? There were only so many planes available to Jericho.
Jake rubbed his eyes. This was worse than he'd thought. The only people who were working on the planes now were the duster pilots, and there were some serious problems on some of those planes. Granted, dusters were older planes, but that just made maintenance easier-less complicated systems to tear out and put back, right? "Okay, so it's only been an hour and a half. Let's check the Cessna and the Extra."
"Which ones are those?" Aylah sounded less than hopeful. This old duster had been around for years, and Jake swore that the Cormans flew her every year to dust their fields and the Clarinds' fields, but Aylah didn't believe it. "Do the same people do the maintenance on those engines?"
"No. The Extra belongs to the Clarind family-they use it for trips to hospital for the older generation." Jake caught Aylah's incredulous look. "Major heart problem and two cancer patients. The heart problem belonged to Thomas, actually. He's about three years younger than I am. They had the money and the desire, so they got the little plane to take them Denver or wherever they needed to go. It's about fifteen. The Cessna is new-well, newer. It's about seven years old and doesn't look like it's seen much airtime."
"You can tell that by standing halfway across the airfield from it?"
"Well, yeah. The indicators are all there." He walked toward the Cessna. "The prop casings still have the factory paint. The props are almost pristine, and the nose is perfect. No birds have run into this one at high speed."
"You make it sound like birds tend to be suicidal."
"So long as they don't miss the props and head straight into the engine, they are."
"So…what's the difference?"
"If they have good timing and get into the engine, they're homicidal."
"Very funny." Aylah sized up the two choices. "Nothing against the Clarinds, but if this Cessna is newer and doesn't use computer control for its important systems, we'll start giving this on the once-over. She looks steady and sturdy from here-no fluids obvious or dripping, seals solid against moisture."
"Let's open her up, Doc," Jake said, moving to the nose to check start unscrewing the access panel.
"I'll look over the engines," Aylah said, reaching for the flashlight. This looked like a basic turboprop setup, and she'd dealt with those more than once, though not attached to a working plane. The airplane-like engines she had worked with were used in one of the factories for ventilation in a hazardous fumes area. Most people who worked at the factory used that area, a tunnel that tended to collect said fumes from the areas beneath it, as a quick way to cool off. Aylah hated the tunnel, but had fun working on the system itself. Figuring out how to install the thing had been a nightmare. Even in a factory, doors and windows were only so big.
"Johnston, what is-" Gray Anderson started talking the moment Jonah and Johnston returned to the tavern. He was glaring at Jonah.
"Not now, Gray," Johnston said, heading for the map. "Jonah, what do you think?"
"My boys will work in two teams of four. We've got good CBs that will go out over several miles, more depending on the weather conditions and time of day. Whoever else goes-if anyone else goes-best be heavily armed." Jonah scanned the map. "We know Denver is gone. That way can wait. Topeka to the east, Wichita to the South, and the North Road are the best bets. We'll head North and South, first. Two cars in each direction, each with plenty of ammo and more than plenty of gas."
"Will you need supplies? Town can provide them, up to a point," Johnston added, falling into the rhythm of Jonah's plan. "We really should send to Topeka at the same time. State capitol is not a place that should be so easily ignored. Besides, if state government is functioning, they may have resources to send our way."
"True. And that route is probably safer. Let a volunteer go that way. Someone from town." In Jonah-speak, that meant not one of his men, but some sucker from the town who had more balls than sense.
"I'll ask for volunteers as soon as we finish getting this planned out." Johnston shook his head. "I don't like it. Two cars? Even heavily armed, that's only two to a car and one back here to man the radio." Previous experience warred with the necessity of getting information as soon as it was possible.
"And me, here. I'll be looking over what's at the shop with Aylah." Jonah wasn't being difficult, if you asked him. He was pointing out something that the mayor should have remembered: Jonah was not a force to take lightly, even at this age.
"Seems to be a smart girl." Johnston glanced at the slightly younger man. "How did she get mixed up with you?"
"Destiny is a strange thing, Johnston."
Gray rolled his eyes dramatically and said loudly, "Okay, if you are done deciding what the people of Jericho need to hear, perhaps you'll fill us in?"
Johnston clenched his jaw, something his beard hid well, and fought his own temper. "We're trying to decide a safe distance from town, how many should be in each car, what kind of men should go. You think Titus Clarind would like to go, seein' as he's so old he probably doesn't have much time left anyway?" Several people snickered as Gray missed the sarcasm.
"Of course not, Johnston, but we should send someone to Denver, and someone to Topeka. Why not put one car in each direction, with the pair of Jonah's men?" It was a sensible question, to Gray. To Jonah and Johnston it made it clear that Gray had never been in a situation that was inherently uncertain. Or dangerous.
"And when, not if, my men see trouble? What then? Two days out? Tired? No way. I won't send them to get killed just because you want to be the big man, Anderson." Jonah looked back at the map. His next comment was to Johnston. "No more than 12 hours out of town or 24 there and back. If the highway is fairly clear, I'll get them to do a check of some back roads. If we can establish some sort of contact with a few of the towns nearby…"
"Good point. Keep them in this area," Johnston indicated an area around Jericho with about 150 miles from the town on each side, "and we'll be within calling range and have a decent response time. Outside of that, it'd take too long to get out there. If we can keep good intel for this area, we'll have a good picture about what's happening outside of that as well. You'll need rations for five meals, just in case, enough gas to cover the area-first aid kit."
"We have ammo, food, gas. The first aid kit would be good-make it a comprehensive one. Don't know who or what is on those roads right now."
"You mean you haven't been raiding them?" Gray sniped.
"Are you sure I can't just deck him?" Jonah asked Johnston.
"Not yet," Johnston replied. He glanced over at the taller man with the indignant, almost petulant expression. "Maybe later." He muttered something under his breath that Jonah couldn't quite hear. Hearing the larger man draw another preparatory breath, Johnston turned and forestalled whatever Gray was going to say. "You know, Gray, we could use volunteers to cover east and west. Town'll supply reliable transport, gas, food-the works. Think you could round up a couple volunteers? Men, preferably, without families."
"Of course. I'll take east, Topeka-way. Give me a bit and I'll find someone to take west." With that, Gray disappeared into the crowd, looking for his old friends and anyone who would listen to him instead of Green.
"Smooth, old man," Jonah said, a twitch in his cheek indicating a smile.
"If it keeps him busy and out of my way…" Johnston shrugged. "Now, this med kit you want. What are you anticipating out there?"
"Fighting, associated wounds-mostly gunshot." Jonah shook his head. "It's not going to be pretty out there, Johnston."
"I know." He walked around the table to stand next to Jonah. "Here, let's figure out the best routes for getting the most information with the least gas. Now, if you take Highway 70…"
"Okay, Jake. This one's ready to fire up." Aylah yelled as she moved out of the way and watched as Jake flipped a few switches and did other routine things in the cockpit. She turned and headed for the small tower as Jake stood and went to secure the entrance.
He thought about the little bit of information he'd managed to get out of her. It wasn't much. Apparently, she'd been raised by a foster family after she'd run away from home. She said it was too rough there, and apparently Kansas Social Services agreed with her. He hadn't managed to get anything out of her about her relationship with Jonah, or about where she was staying here in town. Either way, it didn't matter now. He was in the plane and going through the preflight basics. He had an older camera that dealt solely on high-speed film, a plane to fly, and a mission to complete.
Another switch snicked into the correct position. A pull, a push, and the engines started with a roar. In moments, the propeller started to spin at speed. In less than a minute, he was working his way to the landing strip and running up to full speed. It felt so good to be back inside the cockpit again.
Aylah watched as the plane taxied to the strip. The little bit of work she had had to do was simple. There was no power, so she had grabbed a large battery, roughly half again the size of a standard car battery, and used it to feed power into what she was certain was the radio panel. Static hissed from the speaker to her left, an archaic thing with little to recommend it other than the fact that it worked reliably. Then came a voice.
"Jericho tower, this is civilian aircraft Cessna-206H, do you copy?" Jake felt like an idiot. He didn't have a flight number and he hadn't looked closely at the number painted on the plane. He figured Aylah wouldn't know the difference. In this case, he was right.
"I hear you, Jake." She paused. "I know it'll violate protocol, but can I just call you by name instead of whatever letters and numbers you manage to come up with? Or do you have some sort of piloty nickname? You guys do that, right?"
Shaking his head, something he knew she couldn't see, Jake laughed. Then he replied. "Roger that, tower. My call sign is Good Hands."
Aylah snorted. "You sure this isn't an insurance commercial?" she asked. "Or is it an advertisement of a different kind?"
"Long story. Remind me to tell it to you after this."
"Fine." She waited a beat and watched as Jake pulled the small plane into the air. "Good Hands, call me Silence."
The wait for his reply was almost too long. "Roger that Silence. I am heading up to 1,000 feet and will circle the town inside the perimeter."
Aylah looked at the boards in front of her and sighed. There was enough juice in the battery she snagged to run the radio with a jerry-rigged circuit, but she couldn't turn on the rest of the tower-even if she knew what all of the different switches and lights were for. "Roger that, Good Hands." Radio etiquette from Jonah was helping her here. "Keep it short. You've got about thirty minutes before the light gets bad and maybe an hour before the sun sets. I want you on the ground by then."
"I hear you, Silence." He paused. Maybe, if anyone were listening, they'd just think he was crazy. "Banking left." It was a matter of moments to push the pedals and stick into a smooth climbing turn that took him over the townside edges of the Clarind and Lane farms. He raised his eyes and looked further out. For several long moments, he forgot how to breathe.
Without saying a word, he raised the camera, pointed the lens at the ground, and clicked the shutter.
He knew it was bad, but he'd never imagined this.
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On a Dark Horse