Web of Fire Bind-up (39 page)

They followed Brindle and the soldiers down a gently sloping tunnel lit by long twists of white tubing that glowed from the roof like some sort of strange, radioactive spaghetti.

‘Ooh I say,' whispered Skipper. ‘Very modern.'

Up ahead the tunnel curved around to the left and Sam decided that whatever lay around the corner must be rather important; beams of white light spilled out on the surrounding rock and lit up the darkness as if it were a summer's day.

Blinking and screwing up their eyes, Sam and Skipper hurried along the last hundred metres or so of tunnel. As they turned the corner they found themselves standing at the entrance of a huge, egg-shaped cavern. Beneath the glare of powerful arc lights set into the curved stone ceiling, Sam could see the unmistakable black and yellow stripes of a dozen huge wasps, crouching on the floor of what was obviously part of the secret underground hangar. Sam was struck by what excellent condition the wasps were in. Their heads and bodies were highly polished and Sam could see the reflection of the lights shining from the black, inscrutable eyes that stared out of their smooth yellow faces.

‘Wow,' said Skipper voicing Sam's thoughts, ‘they're in better nick than the ones we used to fly. Showroom condition.'

Sam nodded, feeling a pang of nostalgia as he remembered the battered leather seats and the scratched, dented exoskeletons of the wasps he had once piloted.

‘That's because these are straight from the egg,' said Brindle. ‘They've never been flown.'

Sam looked at all the people busily scurrying about beneath the bright lights, some carrying spanners and screwdrivers, some holding bits of circuit board and others pushing wheeled steps against the thick, stripy bodies of the wasps.

‘I don't get it,' he said. ‘What's the point keeping them here in perfect condition if they're never going to be used?'

Brindle shrugged.

‘Maybe a day will come when the tide turns in this war and it's safe to fly them again. But right now it would be suicide. Those robber flies have complete control of the skies.'

‘Well, pardon me for stating the obvious,' said Skipper, ‘but the tide isn't going to turn by itself, is it? I mean, if you're just waiting around for things to get better then you're still going to be here in twenty years with grey hair and slippers, looking at your nice shiny wasps and wondering where your life went.'

She put her hands on her hips and looked Brindle straight in the eye.

‘If you want something done about all this then you've got to go out and make it happen. And – if you ask me – the sooner the better.'

‘Funny – I don't remember anyone actually asking your opinion,' snapped Brindle.

‘Is that funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?'

Brindle's face reddened and he stared angrily at Skipper.

‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had gone and got yourself killed.'

Skipper stared right back.

‘Well, it would seem not, now, wouldn't it?'

Brindle's face grew redder still.

‘It's obvious to me that you haven't grown up any,' he said. ‘ In more ways than one.'

He glanced pointedly at Zip and Mump. ‘I think perhaps we should discuss this in private.'

Zip coughed awkwardly.

‘Come on, Mump. Let's go and get a shower – get cleaned up.'

‘I'm OK,' said Mump. ‘I don't need a shower.'

Zip dug him in the ribs and he squeaked.

‘Maybe I'll just take one anyway,' he said.

Sam and Skipper followed Brindle across the hangar floor, threading their way past small groups of engineers and ground crew until they reached the door of an office in the far corner. There was a glass window running the length of the room and through it Sam could see several wooden chairs and a desk. On the wall behind the desk there was a large coloured map of Aurobon. Brindle opened the door and ushered them through it before closing it firmly behind him again. Sam was surprised at how silent the room suddenly became and realised that it must be soundproofed.

‘Sit down,' said Brindle, gesturing towards two wooden
chairs before taking a seat behind the desk. He formed his hands into a steeple shape and bumped the tips of his fingers against his chin, flicking his eyes between the new arrivals. Finally he allowed his gaze to settle on Skipper.

‘I heard what you said out there,' he said. ‘But I don't think you fully understand the situation.'

‘I think I understand it perfectly,' replied Skipper. ‘I understand that everyone looks terribly busy and that all your wasps are in great shape. I also understand that none of them are actually flying, in which case, they might as well be stink bugs for all the good they're doing.'

Brindle glared at her.

‘Now you listen to me,' he said angrily, ‘do you have even the slightest idea how many wasps we lost in the month before we finally grounded them?'

Skipper stared out of the window at a man carrying a pair of replacement antennae.

‘No,' she said quietly. ‘How many?'

‘Four hundred. And you know how many pilots we lost?'

Skipper shook her head and said nothing.

‘Two hundred and thirty-seven. Two hundred and thirty-seven young pilots who never came home again. That's an average of around eight a day, every day for a month, killed in action. Those kids never even had a half chance. So don't come in here telling me what I should be doing, OK? You ask me, we're doing fine as it is. Only last week we blew up a huge arms dump and derailed a
train bringing supplies in from Vermia. In the last few days alone we've taken out four spiders and a dozen ants.'

There was an awkward silence for a few moments. Brindle glared angrily at Skipper as she continued to stare out through the window. Finally she turned back to face him and Sam saw sadness in her eyes.

‘But it isn't enough, is it?' she said quietly. ‘It isn't enough to win this war.'

Sam looked doubtfully at Brindle, half expecting him to explode with rage. But to Sam's surprise, he simply looked at Skipper and shook his head.

‘No,' he replied. ‘Nothing we do is enough.'

‘Look,' said Skipper. ‘If I could change things, I would. Of course I would. But I can't, can I? I can't bring those pilots back and neither can you. No one can. But they knew what they were doing, didn't they? They died fighting for what they thought was right. If we give up now, then the sacrifices they made will have all been for nothing. Don't you see? If we just sit around here playing it safe, then Odoursin wins. Is that really what you want?'

When he heard this, Brindle's anger returned and he thumped his fist down so hard on the table that the pencils bounced around and a sheet of paper slid off onto the floor.

‘Of course it isn't what I want! But too many people have been killed already. I will
not
put any more pilots' lives at risk by sending them to certain death!'

Skipper picked up the piece of paper and slid it back on the desk.

‘Sergeant Brindle, I'm not asking you to. All I'm asking for is one wasp, that's all. Just give us one wasp and you can forget that you ever saw us. Come on. What do you say?'

Brindle passed a hand across his eyes and when he looked up again it seemed that most of his anger had drained away, leaving only weariness behind. He turned to Sam.

‘What about you, son? What do you think?'

‘I'm with Skipper on this,' said Sam. ‘I think the least we can do is try. If we can just get through a fabric gap and bring back a few robber fly eggs from Earth, then we can develop them back here at the lab and have them up and flying inside a month. That way, at least we're back in with a fighting chance.'

Brindle looked at him and then back at Skipper.

‘You realise this is suicide don't you?'

Sam shrugged. ‘The way I look at it, sitting down here polishing wasps every day is pretty much suicide. It just takes longer, that's all. And to be honest, if it comes down to a choice between dying sooner fighting for something I believe in, or dying later without ever having tried, then I'm going for the first option every time.'

Brindle folded his arms and leaned his chair back against the wall so that his head rested against the map of Aurobon.

‘You know, I thought you two were dead anyway,' he
said, staring up at a patch on the ceiling where the plaster was cracked. ‘So maybe I should just pretend I never saw you. That way it makes no difference does it?'

Sam looked at Skipper to see if he had understood Brindle's meaning correctly. From the uncertain smile that was hovering around her lips, he guessed that he had.

‘You mean we can have the wasp?' Skipper asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

Brindle returned his chair to its four legs and folded his large, rough hands together on the table top.

‘On one condition,' he said.

‘What's that?' asked Skipper.

Sam looked at Brindle and saw that, for the first time since they had met, there was warmth in his eyes.

‘You take me with you,' he said.

Sam zipped up the warm, fur-lined flying jacket, strapped himself into the seat next to Brindle and looked out through the screen at the front of the wasp. He could see half a dozen ground crew rushing around below, making some final safety checks and last minute alterations to the external sensors.

‘You don't have to do this you know,' said Sam. ‘You don't have to come with us.'

Brindle reached above his head and flicked a couple of switches. The cockpit lights dimmed and the dials on the control panel glowed red.

‘Listen. I've seen those things and I've heard your plan. You want my opinion? You two are going to need all the help you can get.'

‘We appreciate it,' said Skipper, leaning through the space between the seats. ‘Although personally I think it's a great plan.'

‘Yeah, well,' said Brindle gruffly, ‘we'll find out soon
enough.'

‘Now, are you sure we've got everything?' asked Sam.

Skipper patted the bulky rucksack strapped on her shoulders. ‘It's all in here. Everything a girl could need: CRB, grenades, gun, rope ladder, moisturiser…'

Brindle pushed a red button and Sam felt a slight lift as the wings hummed into life outside the cockpit.

‘Just kidding about the moisturiser by the way,' Skipper added, pulling out a small silver flask and unscrewing the lid.

‘All right, we're just about ready for take-off,' Brindle announced. ‘Remember, soon as that rock opens up we're going to hit full throttle, fire up the after-burners and accelerate out of here on maximum power. That way we avoid any robber flies pinpointing our exact location, at least until we're clear of the base.'

He turned round to find Skipper calmly humming to herself and drinking coffee from a small metal cup. When she saw that Brindle was watching her, she took another swig and then held the cup out towards him.

‘Want some?'

‘Thank you, no,' he said testily. ‘And I suggest you hold on tight back there. We're going to be pulling some serious G in a minute.'

‘OK,' said Skipper. ‘Maybe I'll finish this later, then.'

She took a last swig, poured the rest of the coffee back into the flask and screwed the top back on. Then she leaned back on her rucksack, wedged the flask between her feet and braced herself in the small space between
some wooden boxes that were stacked up in the rear of the wasp.

‘Take me to the moon, Sergeant Brindle!' she called. ‘Fly me to the stars!'

Brindle looked at Sam.

‘Is she always like this?'

‘No,' replied Sam. ‘Usually worse.'

Skipper cuffed him around the back of the head just as the rock in front of them disappeared in a blue flash to reveal a vista of grey sky and ice-covered rock. Snow swirled around them as the down draught from the wings grew steadily stronger. Then with a loud roar the wasp leapt forward and Sam was thrown violently back against his seat. As they climbed rapidly up towards the dark storm clouds, Sam watched a flurry of grey flakes beat endlessly against the windscreen and wondered when – if ever – he would see blue sky again.

‘Lovely weather for the time of year,' said Skipper, hanging on the back of Sam's seat as they levelled off in the heart of the snowstorm. The wasp pitched violently up and down in the turbulent air currents and Sam felt his seatbelt cut into his chest.

‘How much further?' he asked, easing his hand beneath his belt in order to relieve the pressure.

‘Maybe another twenty miles,' said Brindle. ‘This storm might be dangerous, but it's actually quite good news for us. There won't be many robber flies up in this weather, and those that are will have their tracking systems seriously impaired.'

‘So it's true what they say then,' said Skipper. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.'

‘Well if it has,' said Brindle, peering through the screen. ‘then it's well hidden. In fact, this one's lined with so many air currents that it's almost impossible to maintain a steady flight path. Those robber fly pilots are staying grounded for a good reason.'

‘What's that?' asked Skipper.

‘Self-preservation,' said Brindle. ‘They don't want to die.'

‘Cowards,' said Skipper. ‘Don't know what they're missing.'

As the storm intensified, visibility was reduced to virtually nil. The world beyond the screen became an impenetrable blizzard of white and although the heaters were on full blast the temperature inside the cockpit dropped sharply. Sam's teeth began to chatter and he zipped his flying jacket all the way up to his chin.

‘How long now?' he asked, shouting to be heard above the clattering heaters and the howling wind outside.

Brindle glanced at the air speed indicator and did a quick calculation.