Night Witches (6 page)

Now we all groan and Ang scornfully tries to explain to Dee how Rill’s joke was supposed to be funny.

Zoya grabs a few extra cookies and messages me again –
is that dee girl for real? and what about ang? her nickname has got to be ang two-times – you know the sort – anything you’ve done, she’s done twice – you get cold, she’s got flu – you bruise your knee, she has hers amputated

I nudge her gently. Now is
not
a good time to start giggling, not while the older girl, Lida, is still sneering at our overalls.

‘What’s with you two
Cadets
being here?’ Lida asks suddenly. ‘Shouldn’t you be in
school
or something? I mean, how much flying has anyone here actually done, apart from me? I know
I’m
experienced.’

There’s a jumble of answers ranging from months to years.

‘I’ve flown five times,’ says Zoya, with her chin up. ‘Actually, six, including last time.’

Lida’s gaze comes to rest on me. ‘And you?’

The room goes quiet except for the bubbling of water in the kettle. Even Zoya would have trouble blustering out of this one.

‘Just one flight,’ I admit.

Lida bursts out laughing and drops her choke. ‘
One
yash flight? Are you totally
disconnected
? It must’ve been a good one – did you beat Furey’s round-the-world-record?’

My face flames red. ‘We crashed.’

‘I know someone who crashed,’ interrupts Ang.

Zoya squares up. ‘Well,
we
crashed and got shot. Medics took three bullets out of me.’

shut up about that
I message quickly, but Zoya’s not connected any more and Ang’s revving up for a bigger boast.

‘Oh, yeah? The guy
I
knew killed three civilian passengers
and
ploughed up a school playground.’

‘You win, Ang, you win!’ cries Mossie, laughing. Little does she know that the full story of our crash would wipe the floor with Ang’s anecdote.

Zoya glowers and mutters, ‘
Two-Times
.’

‘Kettle’s boiled,’ calls Petra.

At that point Dee raises a hand, like a kid at the back of class. ‘Sorry, I know this is all nice and I hope I can remember everyone’s names eventually – only, does anyone have the slightest idea
what we’re doing here
?’

‘Kid’s got a point,’ drawls Lida. ‘It can’t just be training for some half-assed Victory effort. Mossie’s never flown before, Yeldon neither.’

‘I’m a techie,’ objects Yeldon. ‘I could probably build you a People’s Number Nine Glissom Bomber with my eyes shut – doesn’t mean you’d catch me going up in one.’

‘I’m a techie too!’ cries Mossie.

Petra winks at her. ‘Bet you’re good,’ she mouths. Mossie actually blushes.

‘Right,’ says Lida, and we all turn to listen because she’s got this authority thing about her. ‘So we’ve all got something to do with aircraft,
fine
. That doesn’t explain why Aura’s picked
us
in particular to be here.’

Zoya says, ‘Everybody should just wait till we’re told why.’

I’m too conscious of the
weed-that-sprouts-up-gets-yanked-out
danger to say what’s leaping out at me, because we’ve definitely got at least one thing in common. We’re all young.

‘It’s obvious what’s going on,’ grunts Yeldon, cracking his knuckles. ‘We’re actually some super-skilled squad, headhunted for ultra-special duties.’

That makes us all laugh, it sounds so disconnected.

Petra passes mugs around. Lida leaps out of her chair and shouts at me when my mug drops to the floor, spilling hot liquid all over her arm on the way.

‘Hey – watch what you’re doing, Cadet girl!’

‘Sorry, I . . . I’m a bit clumsy.’

‘Great. That blows my theory of a super-skilled squad,’ says Yeldon sarcastically.

Zoya looks at me. She knows I’m not usually clumsy. She’ll probably put the spill down to nerves. In fact, I dropped the mug from shock. I looked down at the drink for a moment and inside the circle of the tea I saw a round vision of black birds flying across a red night sky, then thick, slick black rain falling like funeral tears.

Just an illusion. A trick of the light.

I tense. There are voices outside, mingling with the sound of the cold wind. The hut doors bang open. A man and a woman are blown inside. We automatically jump and stand in ranks, as we’ve been taught right from day one of infant school.

The man tries to brush snow from the woman’s uniform. She swats him away. Snowflakes are melting on her medals.

I am just about die and bury myself. I know this woman! I recognise that face! Who hasn’t seen her streamed on every screen in the Nation? Who’s not heard about the glory she’s reaped for Rodina? At my side Zoya is practically hyperventilating. Dee is the only one who manages to get words out.

‘That,’ she informs us starkly, ‘is none other than Marina Furey, the greatest pilot in the Nation. Ever.’

Marina Furey stamps her boots, shakes her hair and rips her gloves off. Finally she notices us all, united in awe.

Her face goes grey.

‘You have got to be kidding me.
This
is our next, best hope against the Crux?’ She scans our faces and stops at mine. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Aren’t you that refugee Lim girl who works in the canteen? Please – someone tell me I haven’t got a
cook
to train up!’

T
he man with Marina Furey checks his keyboard then squints at me. He’s dressed in brown engineer overalls with a natty scarf knotted round his neck.

‘It’s not the cook,’ he says. ‘Looks a lot like her, but Haze, the Lim girl, is bigger. This one’s Rain Aranoza, a school student from Sea-Ways. Who knows, in another couple of years she might even grow tall enough to reach the plane controls.’

A couple of people snigger, I’m guessing Ang and Yeldon. If there was a tree-eaten rift handy I would gladly leap into it right at this moment. Fortunately, Marina Furey’s already forgotten I exist. She’s connecting, and she’s clearly one of those people who talks back to her messages even though no one else can hear what’s being streamed into her head.

‘
How
many?
By
when
?
Impossible!’ She disconnects and speaks to the engineer. ‘Test results are back from normalisation crews. Morass effects are spreading more quickly than previously estimated. Aura’s scheduled our first mission for twenty days from now.’

The man snorts. ‘It’ll be fine, as long as we schedule time for funerals straight afterwards.’

‘If it’s yours, no problem.’

‘I was thinking of these kids.’

Furey closes her eyes briefly, then she straightens her shoulders and tries to adopt a more official look. In the flesh, she somehow seems too much like a whirlwind to fit neatly in a uniform. Her tie is wonky, one button is loose on its threads, her boot straps are flapping undone and she’s got an unsmoked choke tucked behind one ear, and yet . . . when she speaks her voice has a quiet and undeniable authority.

‘Welcome, everyone. My name is Marina Furey. This is Marton Fenlon, allegedly one of the best engineers in Rodina. I’ll get straight to the point. We’ve all heard the Victory reports and we all know our Nation will eventually defeat the Crux menace. Unfortunately, we’re encountering some . . .’

‘. . . Catastrophic complications . . .’ mutters Fenlon.

‘. . . some unexpected abnormalities. Problems with technical function and bioweave structures.’

‘Things are falling apart.’

‘
Thank you
, Fenlon. Yes, to some extent, they are, quite literally, falling apart whenever they enter a certain sphere of influence. Whenever they approach the area known as the Morass.’

Lida raises her hand, somehow managing to seem insolent and patriotic at the same time.

‘The Crux have attacked several towns near the Morass, like Hardhills and Noonsun. Is this going to affect our efforts to push the enemy back where they belong?’

Marina Furey rubs her eyes. She doesn’t look like a Hero of Rodina Nation, she looks tired. ‘The Crux are not retreating in the direction we’d like, or as quickly as Aura predicted.’

‘You mean, they’re advancing?’

I see Henke and Rill look at each other. I can’t imagine what it must be like for them, having their home and family in Hardhills destroyed and knowing the enemy are still out there, undefeated.

‘Let’s move on,’ says Furey. ‘Aura’s scientists are taking innovative new steps to combat the problems, using a chemical compound called Slick. That should eventually control and contain the Morass effects. In the meanwhile, we need to have some way of containing Crux forces infesting lands near the Morass. All of you here have been specially selected to help. I can’t emphasise strongly enough how dangerous this project is. If you cannot commit then quit. Now. I mean it. Go.’

Not one of us moves.

‘Good. What you’re about to see and hear is also highly secret. I can’t even tell
myself
what work we’re doing here.’ She laughs humourlessly. ‘Come into the hangar. Watch where you’re treading . . .’

We follow her through double doors from the hut to the hangar, which is bitterly cold. There are fragments of wrecked plane across half the vast floor. Not broken bioweave, but wood.

‘I know this plane,’ I whisper to Zoya. ‘Remember, back at the lake? This is the remains of the Crux fighter that shot us down.’

More than that, I know the boy standing in the centre of the debris, watching a large corvil batter its wings against the hangar ceiling. My heart stops. How can
he
be here? He’s absolutely immaculate in his white uniform. Absolutely beautiful. He sees me, he must see me – why doesn’t his expression change?

Zoya tugs my sleeve. ‘Look, Pip, it’s that Scrutiner from the forest.’

‘Ssh!’ says Ang. ‘You’re not in school now. Pay attention!’

‘You know the Scru?’ whispers Lida, impressed despite herself.

‘This is Reef Starzak,’ Furey explains. ‘Our official squadron Scrutiner. He’s been responsible for recovering the wreckage of an unusual lo-tech Crux fighter plane, called a Catapult. Primitive technology appears to function fairly normally near the Morass. From the pieces of the Catapult our engineers have been able to design a similar prototype plane.’

‘Not similar,
superior
,’ corrects Fenlon.

When I glance over, Reef’s eyes are on me. Is there a hint of
hello
on his lips? Above us the corvil keeps flying against the hangar roof, looking for a way out.

Fenlon tramps over to a lumpy shape at the far side of the hangar. He hauls away a massive tarpaulin to reveal an extraordinary contraption – a thing of rods, flaps and nails. He plods round it, as if even acknowledging its existence is a deep low-point in his life.

‘Well, get on with it then,’ says Furey. ‘Time is precious.’

‘Time is an abstract concept,’ Fenlon counters. ‘So. Despite my improvements, the aircraft’s structure is all horribly basic, as you can see. Beneath Rodina’s dignity, if you ask me . . .’

‘Which no one has.’

Lida raises her hand. ‘Excuse me, can I just confirm . . . you’re calling that an
aircraft
?’

‘Yes,’ snaps Fenlon.

‘And is it airworthy?’

‘In theory.’

‘And in practice?’

‘That’s where you lot come in. You’re the lab rablets. The test squad. You get to find out if it flies or not.’

Yeldon snaps to attention and shouts, ‘We’re ready to do whatever our Nation requires of us to defeat the enemy!’ The rest of us are in total agreement. I think Furey’s pleased at our loyalty.

Fenlon just sighs.

‘I’ll take you through the design, for what it’s worth. There’s no bioweave at all – one of the essential requirements for the zone you’ll be working in. The same goes for all your flying gear. Basically, the plane’s got a wooden framework covered by plant-fibre fabric that’s been treated with chemicals that rot your brain if you breathe them in too often. We’re currently having to stitch the fabric by hand until we’ve designed machines to do it. The sewing is a difficult and painful process probably leading to bone distortion and severe joint pain in later life.’

Furey glares at him. ‘Focus on the plane, Fenlon, not how you made it.’

‘It’s operated with foot pedals and hand controls. No Aura at all. Yes, yes, I thought it was an insane idea too, but hush muttering, I’m not done. The metal moving parts are crude and liable to break, leaving you with zero control of the plane. Navigational instruments . . .’ He pauses to shudder. ‘Enough said. All in all it’s a flying death trap with the speed of a beard-trimmer and the manoeuvrability of a hair dryer.’

Furey takes him to one side but we can still hear the conversation.

‘Fenlon, if you think this is all a complete waste of time, why did you even volunteer for the job?’

He looks startled. ‘Who said anything about a waste of time? I’m bored of bioweave. This insanity will actually require intelligence and, who knows, it might even be what we need to beat the Crux. Count me in!’

We all study the plane, totally stunned we’ve been selected to work with it.

Four wings, one pair above the other, supported by thin struts. Two seats, one behind the other. A four-blade propeller. A tank for liquid fuel. It’s like something a kid with too much time and too few friends would build from a kit. Crude. Clumsy. Intriguing.

I concentrate on these details and tell my heart to slow down when Reef comes just a bit closer. If he can play it cool then so can I. I hope.

Marina Furey ruffles her hair as she addresses us again.

‘So there you go. This is our new weapon against the Crux. Right now you don’t need to understand specifically why we need a new weapon, and why it has to be as basic as this. We’re calling it the People’s Number One Storm, since the prototype was brought down during a storm of some kind.’

Zoya nudges me meaningfully. I glance at Reef again. He’s looking right at me. For a moment I’m back in the snow roses at the edge of the tree-eaten rift. Then he turns and leaves the hangar. So much for the wonderful reunion I’ve been fantasising about.

Furey smiles as if that alone will make everything super-fine and dandy.

‘It seems we have a very short time to get you trained up and operational. We’re starting with just nine aircraft, crewed by a pilot and navigator in each, plus a tech team and armourers. The Storms are to be used for scouting and bombing Crux positions in and near the Morass. Don’t get me wrong, this is no heroic path to glory. We’re dealing with a slow, massively flammable plane with limited range, uncertain capabilities and an untested crew.’

‘
Now
you’re talking my language,’ says Fenlon with a grin. ‘But tell them the worst bit.’

Zoya and I swap a quick look –
What could be worse?

Furey says, ‘I was coming to that. It concerns our tactics for overcoming the Storm’s obvious limitations. On the one hand we’re borrowing the Crux innovation for non-bioweave structures, so it shouldn’t suffer effects near the Morass. On the other hand we’re adding a twist of our own that the Crux haven’t thought of yet. The fact is, in daylight you’ll be sitting targets for Crux anti-aircraft guns or fighter planes. So you won’t fly by day. You’ve been picked for your youth. For the ability to retain some vision in the dark. You’ll fly by night.’

Instant consternation.
Night flying? Did she say
night flying
? How will we survive without bright lamps? That’s sick. Do you really think she means it?

I think back to the flash image I saw just now in the crew-room – the black birds flying across a night sky. I sneak a look at Furey’s face, so strong and honest. Yes, she means it.

Our chatter dies down as Fenlon coughs and says, ‘Er, that wasn’t quite the worst bit, Furey.’

She sighs. ‘I know. The fact is, our choice of flight instructor is rather unusual. He’s the only person we have who’s ever flown one of these things before, though I use the word
person
in the widest possible sense . . .’

Reef’s back. He’s not alone.

Lida swears quite loudly.

‘That is unexpectedly one of the enemy,’ states Dee, as if we can’t see for ourselves thanks to the hideous cross shaved on to his scalp.

‘Yash Crux!’ mutters Yeldon. ‘Your soldiers burned my grandpapi’s village on the border. He’s
homeless
because of you!’

From the corner of my eye I see Henke grip his sister Rill’s hand so tightly it must hurt.

‘Murderer!’ he cries out abruptly. ‘You bombed our home town. Our parents are
dead
because of you!’

It’s Steen Verdessica.

They’ve got him in tight handcuffs, and he’s looking warmer than he did in the forest, but there’s no mistaking that weird Crux style of cropped hair and non-bioweave gear. I suppose some people might say he’s handsome. Attractive even, if he wasn’t so
Crux
. He manages to saunter across the hangar as if he’s inspecting us, not the other way round. Reef stands guard.

‘For the record,’ Steen drawls, ‘I’d like to point out I’m brought to this backwater against my wishes and strictly under duress.’

‘Your objections are duly noted,’ says Furey through gritted teeth, ‘and your demands are being fulfilled as far as possible, not least your absurd request that we keep you alive, which very much goes against my wishes.’

‘
Duly noted
,’ mimics Steen. ‘Good – you brought the pilot I mentioned. If anyone can fly your version of my Catapult, it’s her.’

Overhead the corvil fights the roof so hard black feathers fall down. If only the lights here weren’t so bright! I suddenly need a dark, dark corner to hide in because every single person in the hangar is following Steen’s gaze to stare at
me
.