"Hey Marco, we've got company."
Marco Pagot twisted around and looked behind his craft. Just above his Savoia's tail fin was a dot. As he watched, it grew larger and sprouted wings.
"I see it," he radioed back. He had just finished an exhilarating but exhausting dogfight with Nausicaä. It had been like a pair of children playing tag in the sky, or two swallows flitting here and there in the winter wind, chasing each other with no thought or care given to tomorrow. The Princess had been right: it would have been a shame to waste the day, and somehow the event eased his heartache at being away from Gina and Fio.
Within five minutes the approaching aircraft had managed to reach them. Marco took one look at the red circle on its side and knew that it was a Japanese warplane. And one struggling to maintain position with them, if its dropped flaps and exaggerated nose-up attitude were any indication. He looked down at his airspeed indicator. 220 knots. Hell, and that thing found this speed slow?
"Oh, cowboy," the man once known as the Crimson Pig transmitted, "don't make any sudden moves."
"Yeah. I sort of figured that out for myself, thank you."
The jet-propelled aircraft had slid into position slightly above and behind the R3C and the S.21. With some alarm Marco watched as Nausicaä broke away from his left side to fly just off the left wingtip of the unfamiliar craft, sending a cheery wave the pilot's way.
------oOo------
Lieutenant Denpo gazed in fascination at the strange white hang-glider-like flying wing beside his T-4. Oh, man, would I like to get my hands on one of those, he mused as he watched its pilot wave at him. He returned the gesture, then saw the figure on the glider pull its helmet back.
A girl? he thought. I wonder how old she is. He estimated her age to be around twenty. How does that thing carry her weight on its back without flipping over?
He turned his attention to the two larger craft in front and slightly below his trainer. They lacked the necessary JA- serial numbers on their sides. Perhaps they were experimental? The faux gun ports on the nose of the red airplane seemed to confirm his guess.
Lieutenant Denpo keyed the mike and began to transmit his report to Airborne Control, the E-2C Hawkeye orbiting just off the coast. He reported two civilian seaplanes, one with what appeared to be a Royal Italian Air Force insignia and fin flash on its tail, both with no registration, and what appeared to be one powered hang-glider. He asked for further instructions.
"Zero-One, ah, Control. We'd like you to hang back and see where they go."
"Roger," responded the rookie pilot. "Ah, crap," he muttered to himself as he found himself sliding in front of the two larger craft. Flying on the edge of a stall was just not his forte. He had always been taught speed is life and more is better. How could that apply to a situation like this?
With a sigh he eased the throttle back and prepared to slide back in between the red and blue planes. He fully intended to stick to them wherever they went.
------oOo------
Deep in the bowels of the T-4 a component of the flight-control system was about to experience failure. It was the engine-driven turbopump that drove the Number Two hydraulic system. Turbopumps are never very reliable things--especially those in a high-pressure system--and this one had been well overdue for an inspection. Its metallic protests went unheard for days, and it gave no other indication that it was about to break, except for a fluctuating gauge that Lieutenant Denpo had previously disregarded. The shuddering of the slowed-down plane only exacerbated the situation, and with a loud bang the turbopump's internal components broke up.
------oOo------
The Lieutenant sat up in his seat, startled by the loud boom emanating from somewhere behind him, in his plane. A strident tone sounded in his earphones, and the warning indicators began lighting up. He examined them. Number two hydraulic system losing pressure. He shut off the appropriate switches, then surveyed the panel for any more signals, trying to assess the damage. There were no more, so he turned off the Master Caution warning tone. Provided nothing else failed, he was still in serviceable shape. The loss of a single hydraulic system was not catastrophic; the T-4 could fly perfectly well on just one and the utility backup. It just became a little more sluggish in responding to the controls.
He saw movement in his left rearview mirror. It was the red plane, and it appeared to be banking away from him. Then he saw that the elongated black holes of its gun ports were aimed in his direction, and several things clicked in his mind. Mysterious planes of unknown manufacture and purpose. The gun ports of the plane behind him. His T-4's sudden systems failure.
The Lieutenant panicked.
------oOo------
"Airborne Control, this is Flycatcher Zero-One!" came the voice over the airwaves. " I'm engaged! Repeat, Zero-One is engaged!"
The controller who had been in charge of Zero-One's interception, sitting hunched over his console in the back of the E-2C, pressed his transmit pedal. "Say again, Zero-One?"
"I've been fired upon!" came the angry shout.
"What? By who?"
"Those planes you sent me to check out!"
"Calm down, Flycatcher. You're near the sea. Suggest forcing them down there, if your plane is still flyable."
"It still is, but I don't know what other damage I've sustained. I'll go for one pass only, then I'm returning to base."
"Roger, Flycatcher. I'll send help your way, but it won't arrive for some time."
"Copy. Do I have open clearance to fire?"
There was a period of silence as the controller pondered. Why would the pilot ask that? Everyone knew that if you were fired upon, you could fire back in self-defense. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Wait one, Flycatcher. I'll have to get back to you on that."
"Roger, Airborne, but hurry up, will you? I'm not sure how long I can loiter around here."
------oOo------
The first thing Lieutenant Denpo had done upon realizing he had been fired upon was a descending break turn. He retracted his flaps and babied his T-4 away from the nose of the strange planes, worrying that putting too much strain on the aircraft would only cause more of its systems to break. With a grim smile under his oxygen mas, he set his weapons selector to ARM. His underfuselage 7.62mm gun pod was now active. As his aircraft zoomed away from his hostiles, he wished he were sporting Sidewinders, but the trainer was not equipped to carry them. He would target the red plane. It was the only one that could have shot him.
------oOo------
Nausicaä watched in concern as the ghost-gray jet pulled away from them, turning around and heading in the opposite direction. There had been a flash under its fuselage, and even now the craft trailed thin black smoke from one of its exhausts.
Marco had observed it too, and radioed Curtis. "Did you see that? It looks like our friend has broken something."
"Yeah. I hope he's going to be okay."
"Hey, let's go out over the water, shall we?"
"What for?"
"Call me a sentimental old fool, but I just want to pretend we're flying over the Adriatic again."
Curtis looked out of his cockpit at Nausicaä's glider. "Alright, but let's not go too far from land. The Princess can't land on water."
------oOo------
The Lieutenant extended his distance from the trio as he mentally began to set up his firing run. In fighter lingo it was called 'gaining separation,' in order to give time for the pilot to prepare his next attack, or if necessary, his withdrawal. For some reason the red seaplane and its companions still flew on, straight and placid, towards the sea.
"Flycatcher Zero-One, this is Airborne Control."
"Go ahead, Airborne."
"You have clearance to fire. Repeat, you have clearance to fire. Do not engage over the city."
"Roger." What did the man think he was, a fool? "Flycatcher Zero-One is in, weapons hot."
------oOo------
As they headed out to open water, Curtis looked at the spot where he had last seen the strange gray plane.
"Hey, Marco, our friend's coming back."
"Oh? I wonder why."
The bounty hunter was about to turn his head around when a thin line of bright fire lanced past the Savoia. Marco was startled by its closeness. He knew very well what it was: years of dodging such things had ingrained its image into his brain.
"Holy shit!" he shouted over the radio. "That idiot's shooting at me!" He quickly put the S.21 into a right-hand turn, hoping Nausicaä and Curtis would have the good sense not to follow him.
No such luck, at least for Nausicaä. In the middle of the break he looked up and found her still hanging off his starboard wing. Marco angrily tried to signal her to get away.
What's wrong? she asked.
What's wrong? he sent into her waiting mindlink. He had no telepathy, but as the Princess had demonstrated before, as long as she was near and listening for an answer it didn't matter. She could reach out into another's mind if she wanted to. In case you hadn't noticed, that aircraft just fired at me!
I know, but why would it do that? We haven't done anything. The Princess seemed genuinely perplexed.
Never mind that! Get away from me! Take Curtis and go hide in those clouds! Marco quickly pointed to a bank of fluffy cumulonimbus hanging near the coast.
No! I can't leave you!
Just do it, please! I can't worry about you and protect myself at the same time!
Mehve slowly, reluctantly, pulled away. Marco found the Princess looking back at him as she flew to meet up with Curtis. The R3C was in a shallow bank, going away from him, towards the open sea.
------oOo------
The Lieutenant swore feelingly as he watched the red plane rush past him, headed on a reciprocal course. He had fired too early and not only missed his target, but had also given the hostiles advance warning. Judging that his T-4 was still healthy enough to withstand one more pass, he accelerated quickly away from danger, extending his zoom in preparation for a climb and return. He would not make the cardinal mistake of trying to go horizontal with the far slower red plane.
------oOo------
"Marco! You alright?"
"Yeah. Look, this is probably going to take a while, so why don't you take Nausicaä and hightail it out of here?" Marco paused. "No sense in getting all of us shot down."
"Hey, pig, I've never chickened away from a fight before. I'm not about to start now." Curtis peered into the pea-soup murkiness of the cloud he was cruising in, trying to pierce its veil and see what was going on to Marco beyond it. He didn't know where exactly the wind-rider was; the last time he had seen her, she was hanging back behind his R3C, entering the cloud with him.
"You moron! What use is there in sticking around here? We don't even have guns anymore."
"I wouldn't want to explain to Gina how I ran away and left her stupid husband alone."
"Ah, there's no use talking to you." The bounty hunter searched the sky in front of him, frantically trying to spot the jet. "What in the blazes--?"
Another line of tracers zipped past the top of his right wing, then walked down and tore into the outboard portion in a hail of shrapnel and sharp plinking sounds which reminded him of an insane carpenter trying to hammer in a thousand nails all at once. Marco swore and tilted the S.21 till it stood on its starboard wingtip, noting how the controls had become sluggish in that direction. The gray warplane flashed past him as he let the Savoia's nose fall a bit. Then he straightened out and tried to head for the clouds Curtis and Nausicaä had disappeared into.
"Come on, Folgore baby," he urged his plane, "just a little more. Get me into those clouds and we can hide in there forever."
Of course, he knew nothing about radar.
------oOo------
A hit! A definite hit! Lieutenant Denpo exulted. He couldn't resist it; he decided to make one last pass, and reefed his T-4 into as tight a turn as he dared.
------oOo------
Nausicaä was circling just above the cloud tops, watching as Marco headed in her direction, trying to nurse his plane into the safety of the white masses. The tip of the Savoia's starboard wing was pretty much shredded. She also saw the gray jet in the distance, streamers of water vapor issuing from the roots and tips of its wings as it turned into the fleeing S.21.
Without hesitation she banked Mehve and rocketed down, engine on full, towards a point in space in front of the oncoming jet. Her kite was slower, but if her timing was right she could still distract the enemy and prevent him from firing on Marco.
------oOo------
The Lieutenant steadied his breathing as he peered through his head-up display and tried to will the gunsight pipper to rest on the fast-growing shape of the red seaplane. He thought with glee about how he'd show up those senior pilots in his squadron, as the only one in the entire wing with a kill to his credit.
The pipper settled on the midsection of the red plane's fuselage. At the same time a bright white shape flashed downward past the nose of his trainer; his tunnel vision had prevented him from seeing it coming. Surprised, he reflexively squeezed the trigger and let loose a few rounds from his gun pod.
Oh shit! he thought as he immediately let go of the trigger. That wasn't the girl on the hang-glider, was it? She was the only one flying a white-colored craft.
Abandoning all thoughts of pursuing the red seaplane, Lieutenant Denpo quickly rolled the T-4 upside down and sought for a white flying wing against the blue sea. There it was, gliding towards the nearby coast. But he couldn't see the pilot anymore. She wasn't riding on top of it, like he had seen her doing previously. His heart filled with terror at the prospect of having just killed an innocent civilian. She had no weapons, none he could distinguish anyway; why did she come back? To help her friend?
His search was interrupted by the reawakening of the Master Caution light and tone. The pilot rolled the trainer upright and watched the port engine's fire warning light flicker into life. Okay, he told himself. This was a real problem. He had to land immediately. He couldn't do anything for the girl on the glider, anyway. If he had hit her, chances were she was dead already. And if she wasn't, she soon would be when her body struck the water's surface.
------oOo------
Marco Pagot, meanwhile, had entered the clouds feeling like a sparrow being hunted down by a hawk. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. Usually he was the one doing the stalking and shooting, not the other way around.
"Curtis?" he transmitted. "Curtis, are you there?" There was no answer.
He repeated the call, and was again mocked by the ensuing silence. Where could that cowboy have gone? he asked himself. He hoped the arrogant American was alright. Right now he couldn't worry about him; the clouds would hide the Savoia for the moment, but they couldn't do so forever.
Dear God, he railed as he fingered the edge of the white scarf fluttering around his neck, I came here for a party, not to get shot down! I want to go back to the woman who gave me this scarf! Please, have mercy on me! Once more the old helpless fright at being hunted by his enemies and not being able to escape them surfaced in his heart and paralyzed his thoughts and limbs. The wounded S.21 flew on, into the whiteness, without guidance from her pilot.
------oOo------
"Airborne Control, this is Flycatcher Zero-One."
"Zero-One, go, what's your status?"
"I'm heading back to base. My left engine is on fire... belay that, the warning light's gone out." The Lieutenant had moments ago activated the fire extinguisher bottle.
"What about those planes you said engaged you?"
"Look, Control, I'm sorta busy right now. I'll make my report later, if that's okay with you." The last words fairly dripped with sarcasm.
"Ah... copy, Zero-One. Are you declaring an emergency?"
"Yes. Hell, yes I am. What's the airport nearest to me?"
"What else? Haneda. Do you want me to call them?"
"Roger, do that, please. In the meantime I'm going to try and keep this thing in the air." Lieutenant Denpo privately wondered how he was going to explain the shoot-down of a young woman on her powered hang-glider...
"Copy. Good luck, Zero-One." Before the intercept controller called the airport, however, he signaled his seatmate. "All yours, Captain."
"Okay." His fellow trod on his own transmit pedal. "Eagle One, I've got trade for you..."
------oOo------
I just can't die now... I have to get back to Gina... please Lord, get me back to Gina... it's just not fair... I don't want to make her sad by becoming her fourth dead husband... Marco stared through his round shades into the blinding white as the thoughts played over and over in his brain, like a record on a gramophone with a jumping needle.
------oOo------
"Yeah, Airborne, you heard me right. I've got no contacts in the area at all."
"Ah, wait one, Eagle One." There was a long pause, and when the controller spoke again, it was in a much-mystified voice. "Ah, Eagle, I've also lost contact with the targets. Make one pass over the area, then report if you see anything."
"Copy. Eagle One is moving to comply." With a sigh the F-15J pilot caged his active Sidewinder and switched his radar back to large-volume, medium-PRF scan. I wonder where they went, he thought, looking out of his canopy at the city passing underneath him.
------oOo------
"Madam! Madam!" came the shout from the servant running up to Gina.
"Yes? What is it?" The proprietor of the recently-enlarged Hotel Adriano raised a fine eyebrow as she paused in her walk. She had been heading to the restaurant.
The thin man in the white tuxedo gestured wildly. "I... Mister Pagot... " He stabbed an index finger into the air, pointing to the south of the hotel. "He's come back!"
Gina's heart soared at the words. Donald Curtis had arrived a few minutes earlier, magically bursting out of a cloud bank, and was still with Fio and the Mamma Aiuto boys, who had also returned at the same time as her from the Koganei Christmas party, and who had happened to drop by the hotel at this particular time to enjoy a well-deserved break from their thieving. Now her day was complete.
She wiped away the incipient rush of tears that came to her eyes and ran through the garden to the little stone balcony that lay beyond the gazebo. She heard the drone of an engine and began to search the cloud-filled sky for her returning husband.
Something rushed over her head with a refined snarl, and a powerful blast of wind caused her permed hair to flutter and the long skirt of her dress to billow. She didn't care if her bloomers were exposed; there he was, in his beloved Folgore, serenading her as he used to by flying past the balcony so low she always had to shield herself from the roaring wake of his passage. Only this time...
She watched, horrified, as the S.21 rose drunkenly on one wing, then stalled and dipped towards the sea.
"Marco!" she cried, seeing the wreck of his right wing. "Watch out!"
The Savoia recovered just in time to avoid hitting the water, the made a slow, gentle turn towards the Hotel Adriano. After a short, wobbly descent it landed in the sea, leaving a foamy white trail in the waves as it slowed down.
Gina rushed from the balcony and hurried down the stairs which led to the to quay. Her tears were flowing freely now; she cared not who saw them.
Fio, Curtis and the formally-dressed members of the gang (they had long since obeyed the spunky girl's advice and washed and bathed themselves regularly) were already there, standing in the shade of the rickety, unpainted Dabohaze flying boat's wing, waiting for the Savoia to pull up to the pier. The American had an arm around the petite engineer's shoulder, while she was desperately trying to extricate herself from his tenacious grip. Everyone was smiling, including the bushy-bearded leader of the Mamma Aiuto.
"You can't be glad to see Marco," Gina quietly said to him. "Now that he's back he'll give you no end of trouble again."
"I don't care about that," the tall, rough-mannered man in the leather cap and goggles growled, "as long as you're happy, Madam Gina. I'd just like to ask the pig why he took so long getting back here and made you worry."
Everyone stepped aside to let the proprietor of the hotel walk to the end of the quay. She clasped her hands in prayer as she waited for the red seaplane to dock.
When it had switched off its engine and coasted to a stop beside her, on the side opposite the parked R3C0, a pair of waiting boat handlers made it fast to the pier with two ropes. Gina watched as the barrel-chested man stood up in the Savoia's open cockpit and jumped to the pier.
"Well, well," came the familiar voice as he stood in front of her. "I see you've arranged a reception committee for me. It's a wonder you didn't invite the entire Air Pirate Alliance to make the party complete. What are they here for, to stink up the entire place again? Or perhaps to throw me into the water when you're done scolding me?"
"Hey, that's a great idea!" someone shouted. Marco blanched as the entire crowd came surging towards him. Then lifted him up with many hands and threw him into the chilly Adriatic Sea.
"Y-you smelly, unwashed air pirates!" he spluttered as he broke the water's surface and swam towards the end of the pier. "I'll get you for this!"
Everyone roared with laughter as the sodden aviator clambered back up out of the water. As he stood there in his dripping-wet khaki clothes, Gina came up to him and planted a long kiss on his lips. The crowd grew quiet and the laughter turned into wolf whistles and catcalls as Marco embraced his wife.
The couple broke away from each other, and the bounty hunter turned to Fio and said, "I'm sorry about the plane."
"Oh, that's alright," the engineer assured him, surveying the rips and tears in the S.21's metal wing. "I think I can fix it, but it's going to cost you. You know Uncle won't let me work on anything for free." She tried to step on Curtis' booted foot, but the airman adroitly avoided her descending appendage and grinned at her.
"Okay, everyone," called Gina, "why don't we retire to the restaurant to celebrate Marco's return? It's on the house this time."
There was a host of cheers, and everyone turned and began to walk back down the quay, leaving Marco and Gina standing alone in each other's arms.
"Welcome home, dear," said Gina tenderly.
"Am I ever glad to be back," said Marco. "Next time ride with me, okay? That way, if I fail to return at least we'll be with each other."
"I refuse to ride in that rathole in the front of Folgore," Gina said adamantly. "Next time we go to that Christmas party why don't you bring a proper two-seater, like the Adriano's? It's much better than having to voyage with a bunch of... fragrant... air pirates in the Dabohaze, or those raccoon dogs who were trying to do everything from applying make-up on my face to propositioning me."
Marco laughed. "They did that?"
"Yes, and I can assure you it wasn't funny." Gina fixed him with an irritated stare as he continued to display his mirth.
"Sorry. Next time it'll be as you say. Now come on, I'd like to get into something warm and dry. I've been through a rough day."
"I don't doubt it," said Gina, pointing to the damaged S.21. "What happened?"
"It's a long story."
"One you've got to tell me," the short-haired woman insisted. "Come on, let's get you some new clothes and then follow the others."
They climbed up the stairs leading from the quay, arm-in-arm. When they reached the top landing, Gina turned to Marco and asked casually, "Dear, what's a good name for a boy child?"
"Huh? Why are you... no." Marco's eyes grew large behind his sunglasses. "You mean..."
"Yes, you're going to be a father soon."
With a wide grin the Crimson Pig--a pig no more--lifted his lady love into the air by the waist, then brought her back to earth and kissed her. He was home. Home in the Adriatic, standing under the summer sun, with his wife Gina of the Thousand Flowers and Beautiful Voice in his arms at last.
------oOo------
"Look, Yuuki, all I'm asking you to do is to turn the tap off. Water is very precious, you know."
"I know that, Juna. Don't try and lecture me, okay? I just plain forgot." Yuuki rose from the sofa and stomped out of the apartment's living room, annoyed.
Juna shifted in her seat and sighed as Katsunari, who was still sitting on the sofa, commented, "Ariyoshi, you do know you can be a TI-2 pain-in-the-butt sometimes, don't you? I'm just kidding, don't take it too seriously."
"I know. I'm sorry, it's just the way I am nowadays." She gestured out the large picture window. "Look out there, Ka-chan. The manufacture of each family-size sedan requires around four hundred fifty thousand liters of water. Each tire needs around one hundred thirty thousand. That's the automotive industry only. And here we are letting our faucets drip and waste a valuable and finite resource!"
Katsunari was about to reply when a knock sounded on the front door. Juna stood up, called "Haaai!" and went to open it.
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(Posted Sun, 10 Apr 2005 18:01)
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