tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32562607237959330672012-02-16T02:55:55.562-06:00The continuing stories of the lives, tales, and crimes of an average Gulf South city.Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.comBlogger681100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-65145826453384932082009-04-20T20:42:00.003-05:002009-04-20T20:45:06.934-05:00<strong>**WARNING - ADULT CONTENT**</strong><br /><br />The news of the recovery of two survivors from the destroyed Equatorial Schooner, thought lost without a trace, had galvanized the passion of the media – or more precisely, made for good ratings. It made excellent copy – “Terror Attack Survivors Brave Certain Death in Desert”, “A Gripping Story of Survival, Terror, and Death in the Desert” and such titles, set two and three inches high on newsprint. Terror attacks in and of themselves were old hat by now, but something like this was out of the ordinary. Few had the luck or good fortune to witness the evil of terrorists firsthand and live to tell the tale…<br /><br />Lying in the hospital bed of the Saudi medical center as his body was slowly being revived back to life, Mitchell could hear the distant buzz of the media and, when he gave it a thought, scorned it for its torpid shallowness. The romance of the situation seemed palpable from afar, but when you actually had to live through the experience, it was hard to recognize where the positives could be found…<br /><br />At least she was alive. That was all that mattered. He prayed that she was healing and that her suffering had ended…being young and healthy it would certainly be easier for her than for him.<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Captain Knickerbocker, given two terror incidents within the past two months which have affected Transoceanic Airways’ Equatorial Schooner, do you plan to continue with this service?”<br /><br />Ever the master media manipulator, Knickerbocker was not one to openly acknowledge negative press about his airline. He stuck to his prepared statement:<br /><br />”Due to recent events which have caused negative fiscal impact, as of today the Equatorial Schooner is no longer in service. The Company has determined that it is no longer profitable to serve this region with a global service. Continued service will be provided to this important area of the world through existing Transoceanic connections which provide transportation to hundreds of different destinations.”<br /><br />”Captain Knickerbocker….”<br /><br />”That is all I am prepared to say to the media as of now. All media requests, as always, can be made through Jay Spandow, Transoceanic Chief Officer of Public Relations. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”<br /><br />And with that Knickerbocker retired to the safety of his office.<br /><br />The Captain’s office was a luxurious affair befitting the executive of a major airline. Lavishly apportioned in green and gold trim, it sported decorative winged motifs modeled on the TA logo and a fortune in fine furnishings and decorations, with the centerpiece being a large illuminated globe of the world displaying the routes and destinations which the airline served.<br /><br />Knickerbocker pressed a button on his desk, generating a low buzz. “Wallace, please come and see me for a moment.”<br /><br />In seconds Wallace appeared at the door. He was a middle aged and balding, but impeccably dressed man who served as Knickerbocker’s ‘eyes and ears’ to the rest of the company.<br /><br />“Report, Wallace. What is the condition of the captain and stewardess?”<br /><br />”They were returned from Saudi Arabia last week and were to spend a week at the Northdale medical center, but both have recovered sufficiently to leave inpatient care and are now convalescing at our Evanston facility.”<br /><br />“Good. I shall have to pay a personal visit to them to give them my thanks for their loyalty. Understandably they will be provided compensatory time off as needed.”<br /><br />”I don’t think that will be necessary, sir.”<br /><br />”What do you mean?”<br /><br />”Both of them have each announced their intent to resign by week’s end.”<br /><br />”But whatever for?....I must speak with them personally about this. I pray the Captain has not lost his nerve due to his experiences.”<br /><br />”On the contrary, sir, it has nothing to do with that….Captain Mitchell and Miss Carleton have become engaged and plan to be married. You know the policy about married stewardesses, sir…”<br /><br />Knickerbocker slumped in his seat, as in shock. His expression turned perplexed…<br /><br />…and then he let out a loud, hearty laugh.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Mitchell sank back in her bed as the soft rain of the shower pattered from the nearby bathroom. She was showering, prettying herself up for their first night of married life…<br /><br />The decision to marry her had not been difficult, but it had taken a great deal of courage to work up his nerve to ask her. At the compound they had been assigned separate rooms in different wings, and the extent of their injuries were such that it still remained difficult for either of them to move around…yet ignoring doctor’s orders they always managed to make time for each other…meeting in secret corners of the facility…spending nights on the beach with only the sound of the surf and their warm bodies providing each other company…caressing and kissing her, touching her like he had never touched anyone before in his life…<br /><br />They had never before experienced such complete emotional fulfillment as they did around each other…<br /><br />They would spend hours together…talking, sharing stories of life in the air, laughing and joking almost until the sun poked its head above the horizon…their compatibility was real, and on a deep level. While they were physically affectionate, it had not yet come to the point where they had been intimate. Mitchell believed that as she was a lady, it would be inappropriate to share such a wonderful and sacred bond outside the institution of wedlock…<br /><br />When he had finally popped the question, after nights of agonizing over how best to do it and whether it was too soon, his expected reaction from her of slight trepidation did not come to pass. Instead she flung her arms around his shoulders, kissed him passionately, and said to him only:<br /><br />”I would be honored to become your wife.”<br /><br />And so about three weeks later they found themselves in a small church, somewhere up the Wisconsin shoreline, in the small town where she had grown up, her father and mother in presence, taking the sacred vows that would bond them forever together as husband and wife…<br /><br />It had all happened quite fast, really….but no, it had been building for years, their silent love for each other, repressed as it was behind a façade of professional formalities and emotional distance…two people trying desperately not to hurt each other with their perceived shortcomings, but at the same time loving each other terribly…<br /><br />But no matter now. It had come to this and they were prepared to share their first night of wedded bliss together…<br /><br />The roar of the shower had gone silent and now Catherine appeared in the door of the bedroom. She was wearing a sheer white silk robe that he had purchased for her as a sort of wedding gift…the expression on her face as she stared back at him was one of peaceful and blissful joy.<br /><br />“I am ready now.”<br /><br />And with that Mitchell stood up, forcing his still weak leg muscles to lift his body, and stood before her…<br /><br />“You are beautiful.”<br /><br />He planted a kiss on her forehead.<br /><br />“Are you…ready for this?”<br /><br />Her sexual initiation had been painful and brutal…and he worried terribly that she might not have the desire or the heart for physical intercourse. But she stared back at him with a resolve that would comfort any man…<br /><br />”I am ready.”<br /><br />With one movement of his hands he slipped the robe from her shoulders….<br /><br /><i>…and beheld a magnificent sight of pure beauty as he took her body in….</i><br /><br />His loins began to ache with desire as he gazed his eyes upon her fully formed, rounded breasts and hips, her slender and supple waist, her cherry red nipples and areolae, her lean and muscled legs…<br /><br /><i>“Darling…you are very beautiful….”</i><br /><br />His body began to shake as he took her in his arms and for the first time in his life proceeded to make love to a woman…<br /><br />Laying her down upon the bed he gently took his place atop her and very slowly and gently began to kiss her…her lips, down her body to her chin, her throat, the sweet spot at the base of her neck…her breasts…she could feel his tongue playing against her warm flesh as he worked.<br /><br />She trembled with fear as for the first time in her life she permitted a man to touch and caress her in that manner…but fear soon turned to warm passion as she could feel the pleasure rising from the sensitive parts of her curvaceous body…<br /><br />Involuntarily her throat gave off a low and throaty moan of sensual pleasure…”…darling, I didn’t know you could ever make me feel this way….”<br /><br />He took her in his arms and gripped her more tightly, holding her body closer to his…She did the same, placing her arms around his back, her soft female hands gently caressing him, her fingers playing on the various scars and partially healed wounds to be found there…<br /><br />“Oh darling, you’ve suffered…”<br /><br />“Not…anymore…”<br /><br />When she felt his spear penetrate her she first felt a slight shudder of fear as she recounted the horror of the rape….but as she felt her husband’s member slide inside her, her loins began to burn with the hot sweet sensation of pure pleasure…<br /><br />“Oh….” She gasped….arching her back to receive him as waves of incredible physical pleasure, a sensation she had never known or even imagined to be possible, overwhelmed her body.<br /><br />As he moved around inside his wife and he sucked and fondled her round melon-like breasts, Mitchell could feel nothing but an enormous sensation of pure joy…His loins trembled with pleasure as the two lovers provided each other the greatest gift that a man and a woman could share with one another….<br /><br />Their bodies moved in spasms, in a regular and rhythmic rhythm timed to the increase in their pleasure...beads of sweat poured freely from their bodies as the pleasure increased...it built and built steadily as the naked lovers worked to savor the moment to its hilt…<br /><br />When the moment of maximal pleasure came….it came as a literal explosion of joy, pleasure, pure ecstasy…Catherine let out a long and loud moan as the hot semen exploded inside her and filled her body with her husband’s seed…<br /><br /><i>“…yes…yes…yes…yes…oh, yes…”</i><br /><br />--<br /><br />Mitchell held her firm and slender nude body in his arms, as they watched the light of the evening dimming over Lake Michigan, from their lofty perch in their tenth floor apartment. He stroked her long brown hair slowly between her fingers…<br /><br />“Are you happy, dearest?”<br /><br />”Marvelously happy.” She sighed blissfully.<br /><br />“We must do this more often.”<br /><br />”Of course.”<br /><br />He planted a warm wet kiss on her forehead.<br /><br />“You are an excellent lover, darling,” Catherine cooed.<br /><br />“I haven’t had much experience, you know…so I don’t know…”<br /><br />”Just trust me on this.” She kissed him tenderly.<br /><br />“What are we going to do now? You and I don’t have jobs now, you know.”<br /><br />”I thought we could go and work for another airline.”<br /><br />”How many airlines employ married stewardesses?”<br /><br />”Exactly none.” She sighed. “If there were any who would allow for lady pilots…”<br /><br />”Darling, I have an idea about that….if you’ll allow me to explain….”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“This is your captain speaking, welcome to Mitchell Ocean Airways, Flight One, Miami to Nassau. As always we are here to serve you and your travel needs. Neal Bradley, our cabin attendant, is available at all times during this flight to attend to your comfort and safety as necessary. I am Captain James Mitchell and along with my wife and co-pilot Catherine Mitchell we as always work to make your flying experience a pleasant and comfortable one. The current flying conditions are excellent – temperature eighty degrees, unlimited visibility, winds six knots. Therefore our flight should take about forty-five minutes, give or take a few.”<br /><br />Mitchell placed the microphone aside and glanced at his lovely wife who sat beside him in the cockpit. “Are you ready, Cathy?”<br /><br />”Ready as you are, Captain.”<br /><br />”Would you like to take the plane up again today?”<br /><br />”Sure.” Her eyes beamed wide with the opportunity. “Darling, you place much faith in me…”<br /><br />”You have progressed into an excellent pilot over the past two years…I think you may have graduated from co-pilot status.”<br /><br />”Thank you, dear…”<br /><br />”I was thinking…we are making enough money doing this that eventually we may be able to fly two planes in this operation. I would think…that you are a capable enough girl to get your own plane one of these days…”<br /><br />”Darling…that would be wonderful…”<br /><br />He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “That’s what I like to hear.” He took up the microphone and spoke to the passengers again. “This is your captain, we are preparing for takeoff. Secure your seatbelt and all belongings, and enjoy the ride.”<br /><br />“Here we go.”<br /><br />Catherine took the controls and slowly brought the plane into movement. Like the professional that she was she expertly maneuvered the plane onto the runway…increasing its speed…soon they were up in the air, passing over Government Cut and out into the open Atlantic.<br /><br />That girl had skill, thought Mitchell. Not only was she a wonderful wife and mother to their children, she had a hell of a skill with a plane…perhaps it came from her father. As much as he loved the sky, the thrill of flight and the pleasure and beauty of the air…it just seemed most complete when he was up here with her.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-6514582645338493208?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-49263637134846376002009-04-16T19:36:00.002-05:002009-04-20T20:43:35.304-05:00The chilly breeze of the desert night cooled their bodies after a hot day driving in the jeep. Catherine hunched in the back seat, covered in the Captain’s dusty flight jacket, leaning back on the cushion and trying her best to sleep and forget about the things she had faced. Mitchell sat in the driver’s seat, trying to resolve his internal torture, trying to put out his mind the terror he had seen in her eyes…<br /><br />“Captain, could you come back here?”<br /><br />Mitchell turned around to face her.<br /><br />“I’m cold.”<br /><br />“I don’t have anything else to give you.”<br /><br />”Come and sit back here with me.”<br /><br />It was a command given with an inviting and gentle warmth in the tone of her voice. Mitchell could not easily ignore the entreaties of a woman as lovely as she….<br /><br />He crawled over the seat and took his place beside her…Warmly Catherine leant her supple frame gently against him, snuggling in close for warmth. He could feel her shivering beside him. Mitchell could not prevent the rising tension of desire which came easily to his loins…<br /><br />“You are a soft pillow, Captain.”<br /><br />As much as he desired to hold her…to possess her…but she was still hurting, from being possessed by men in the worst way…yet his urge was too great, her waist too tempting…slowly he placed his arm around her, holding her close to him…<br /><br />And to his great relief and elation, Catherine sighed warmly and deeply.<br /><br />“Thank you, James…I needed that in the worst way…”<br /><br />She had never called him by his first name before …or anything less formal than ‘Captain’.<br /><br />“Well if we are on a first name basis, now, Cathy…my friends call me Jim.”<br /><br />Catherine laughed.<br /><br />“I never knew you cared…that much about me.”<br /><br />”I can’t help but notice, dear, that you seem to care quite a bit for me as well.”<br /><br />”I just don’t like to see…a young woman like yourself…in peril.”<br /><br />”I can take care of myself….most of the time….”<br /><br />”Don’t think about it…”<br /><br />They sat silently under the twinkling stars.<br /><br />”You know, Cathy, we aren’t out of the woods yet…or more precisely, we’re not out of the desert.”<br /><br />Catherine laughed again. “This is rich.”<br /><br />”What is?”<br /><br />”Here we are, everything gone to hell, our lives turned upside down, and now we’re stranded here in the middle of nowhere…”<br /><br />”Well, you wanted to see the world, here you go.”<br /><br />”You sly bastard.” She laughed.<br /><br />They sat still again.<br /><br />”The stars are beautiful, Jim.”<br /><br />Yes, the heavens were incredible…being miles from anywhere, they could see the full extent of the stars as they were meant to be seen. The glowing cacophony of lights was beyond glorious…<br /><br />--<br /><br />The bond between the two of them had only grown as the days wore by….<br /><br />It had come to the point where they did not even need to say a word to each other…their faces, gestures, and glances were all they needed to communicate between them. A smile, a nod…it was all they needed to tell each other that for now, it would be okay and they were safe.<br /><br />But of course they were still in the desert, and their fuel and supplies was slowly being drawn down…and their search for any sign of civilization, of rescue, was growing increasingly desperate.<br /><br />They felt responsible for each other…Mitchell having come to terms with the fact that he was in love with this remarkable woman, this woman he had grown to care for with every fiber of his being…brave, strong, a survivor in every way…a charming and sweet beauty, even in her half-starved, battered condition.<br /><br />If what Catherine had felt before for the Captain was merely affection, by now it had developed into something more…something called love….He had risked his life for her, shown her the embers of a tenderness which she had never before seen from him, or anyone…and it had touched her deeply. She had never quite felt this way before for a man…but it felt wonderful….she knew that if it ever came down to it, she would sacrifice her life for him…and he would do the same for her…<br /><br />--<br /><br />Eventually the petrol had run out…and the last of the food reserves had been consumed. What little they had was now carried on their persons: a large gourd of water – the last they had – a few bits of remaining rations, a few crude tools.<br /><br />They had zero chance of surviving the desert, Mitchell thought. But what choice did they have?<br /><br />With Cathy beside him they braced the treacherous sands of the Arabian Desert. Some of the dunes were as tall as mountains and climbing them certainly required the same energy as scaling a mountainside. Quickly this drained them of any remaining energy they might have possessed…The blaring heat took care of the rest….<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Jim!”<br /><br />He could take it no longer. Death had come to claim its most ready soul…Falling upon the dust he let the blackness surround him…he felt the life slowly drain out of him as he prepared for death….<br /><br />Collapsing on the bed on sand, Catherine’s bruised and sore body shook with weakness, her breaths coming in short gasps as she clung tenaciously to life…<br /><br />They represented life in a dead land where no life could possibly thrive.<br /><br />She could no longer take a step…nor could he…they lay prostrate on the sand, their last reserves of energy depleted….sweat poured freely down her half naked body as she struggled to stay alive….<br /><br />The sun was relentless…there was no escaping the terrible heat…she could feel her body functions slowly shutting down as the water deprivation began to affect her…<br /><br />Lying on her back her tough and slender frame shook, tortured with pain and lack of energy…she dropped her head down to look at him…he was already still, too still…the look of death was already upon him…<br /><br />“Jim…?...God no…”<br /><br />With the last of her strength she pulled her lifeless body next to his, his body still and his breath coming in low shallow gasps….<br /><br />“Don’t give up on me, darling…”<br /><br />She lifted herself with a terrific effort, to bring her body on top of his…she stared into his pallid and drained face, his eyes shut, his mind lingering at the border of consciousness, already experiencing the delirium which always accompanies horrible, painful death….<br /><br />“Don’t die on me…!”<br /><br />She lowered her lips to his and administered to him a long, tender, passionate kiss….<br /><br />“Darling, I love you…”<br /><br />She could feel him move…his shaky arms trembling as he lifted them with the last of his strength…to wrap them around her….He whispered with great pain in his voice:<br /><br />“It has to be at the end of my life…when I finally find the right girl…”<br /><br />“Don’t say that…we aren’t dead yet…”<br /><br />Through his agony he could feel the supple curve of her lovely body upon his…if he was to die at least it would be made more pleasant in this manner…<br /><br />His dry lips pursed. “I love you, Cathy.”<br /><br />”Now you tell me…”<br /><br />Somehow she managed to muster a slight laugh. That girl…she kept her sense of humor even in the face of death….<br /><br />And holding each other tightly, they experienced for the first and the last time in their lives the sweet wondrous joy of true love as the blackness enveloped them…<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Do you hear that?”<br /><br />It was a low rumble…distant but clearly recognizable….dim in the distance….<br /><br />“Jim, darling….”<br /><br />He was deathly still.<br /><br />“No…no…no…Jim…wake up…you can’t be dead…”<br /><br />It had worked before…She kissed him passionately, again and again…<br /><br />He opened his eyes.<br /><br />“Are we still alive?”<br /><br />”That noise…”<br /><br />It was a constant rumble…a low consistent moan in the landscape.<br /><br />“It’s coming from across the dune.”<br /><br />Pulling herself from him she crawled along the surface of the dune, struggling as the last of her energy gave way…one foot, then another…it was a struggle for one foot at a time…finally at last she could see the top of the dune in sight…with one last jolt of her fading strength she climbed to the top…<br /><br />“Jim!!”<br /><br />He could hear her voice…it was distant and fading…but he could sense the tone of hope within it.<br /><br />“We’re saved!”<br /><br />Across the dune, within her plain sight, the city of Riyadh sprawled across the land, a vast urban oasis at the edge of a barren wasteland…<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-4926363713484637600?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-70998438383455561422009-04-11T20:53:00.001-05:002009-04-11T20:54:49.294-05:00<strong>**WARNING - ADULT CONTENT!!**</strong><br /><br />When she awoke, as if surfacing from a black haze, she found herself stark naked, and tied to the ground…with four burly and large Arab men waiting to be serviced…<br /><br />“It is time.”<br /><br />She could not even muster the strength to scream as Hussein removed his robes and presented himself naked before her…he had a hideously ugly body, fat, bloated, scarred, and malformed in various places….<br /><br /><i>This….can’t….be….happening….!!</i><br /><br />The fat Arab took his place atop her, crushing her under his incredible girth…He had his way with her, ravaging her, biting her, molesting her roughly with his grimy hands…the blood flowing freely from her injured body. His large member penetrated her like a spear…she resisted the urge to scream as she felt her maidenhood being shattered…the pain was horrible, incredible…this was to be her sexual initiation, at the hands of a vicious barbarian rapist…<br /><br />“Allah al-akbar,” Hussein exclaimed. “I have deflowered a virgin!”<br /><br />She could feel his member inside her, tearing her open, pushing damn near all the way back to her cervix…She bit her tongue as the desire to scream overwhelmed her…she was not going to give anything to these men willingly…they would not have the satisfaction of having broken her…<br /><br />“This bitch is tight,” the Arab bellowed. “I have never known such wondrous pussy.”<br /><br />As he worked she could feel the obese monster coming to a climax…she could feel the Arab expel his desire, the hot seed spilling inside her with a rush…the loud and sick moan of pleasure as he completed his conquest…the final act of a terrible and brutal rape.<br /><br />She had been defiled, violated…in the most rank and vicious fashion…she felt like discarded tissue paper…dirty, filthy, covered in blood, stink, and semen…a piece of garbage, to be used and discarded like the trash she now was…in that moment she wanted very much to die…<br /><br />“That was excellent, brothers,” Hussein remarked as he rose. “You should not be deprived of this. Omar, it is your turn.”<br /><br />Omar took his place before her. Removing his robes to reveal a badly deformed and bent body for so young a man, he took possession of his lovely charge…<br /><br />Once had been too much…she could not let it happen to her again. She was breaking…<i>”No! NOOO!”</i><br /><br />Omar took his position atop her…ravaging her in a manner worse than Hussein had done…her body felt like a dirty rag…the pain of the sufferings she had borne added to the agony of this moment was driving her past the breaking point…<br /><br /><strong>”NOOOO!!! NOOOO!!!! AAAHHH!!!”</strong><br /><br />The men laughed as the ordeal broke her down…soon she would be whimpering for mercy….begging them to stop….but they would go on…after all, they were only preparing her for the life that she was destined for.<br /><br />--<br /><br />From the far recesses of the cave Mitchell could hear her screams….He shook the bars of his cage with increasing rage….the horrors of what she was experiencing were unimaginable…He had to save her, somehow…yet here he was, powerless to do anything….<br /><br />“THIS WILL NOT PASS.”<br /><br />With a superhuman effort fueled by adrenaline he used his bare hands to pull apart the bars…his rage seething within him at the violation of something so pure and innocent…it gave him strength that he never knew resided within him…..<br /><br /><i>Giving the wood trunks one last massive tug he punched through them, shattering the cage to pieces in an instant…Like a viper he descended on the closest of his captors before they even had a chance to react…His foot bore into the teeth of one of the barbarians, crushing his skull and scattering brains everywhere…With the automatic rifle in his hands he scattered volleys of bullets everywhere…the hail of gunfire cutting the barbarian monsters down like the animals they were…the bodies dropping like flies before him, rivers of blood soaking the ground…</i><br /><br />He ran as fast as he could toward the source of the screams…she could not be made to suffer one second more…<br /><br />--<br /><br />“What is that??” The sounds of gunfire roused the rapists from their reverie of pleasure….<br /><br />Like a blur he appeared out of the dark, almost like an apparition…He took one glance at the horror before him and cried out with rage…One shot and Omar’s skull was shattered, his brains splattering on the walls of the cave…With his rifle blaring the bodies of the Arabs fell before him, their guts torn with explosions of bright red blood…<br /><br />“Save us Allah!!”<br /><br />Hussein’s disgusting body devoured bullets one by one…finally his brain exploded as the bits of flying metal pierced his skull…the rapist fell to the ground, the corpse covered head to toe in slick dark blood…<br /><br />When they were all dead he took in the sight…her ravaged nude body splayed on the ground before him…<br /><br /><i>“What have they done to you??”</i><br /><br />She could only gasp in pain as he unfastened the rough hemp ropes from her limbs…he could see her trembling, the look of mortal terror in her eyes, and knew that she had experienced a nightmare too horrible to recount…he took what remained of his flight jacket and covered her tender parts with it…they were lovely to look at, yes indeed, but her survival was what counted now…<br /><br />“You’re safe now, Cathy….no one will hurt you now…”<br /><br />She lay unmoving on the ground…the insufferable pain of the rape had left her senseless and drained. He picked up a nearby gourd of water and, slowly lifting her and holding her tenderly and gently in his arms, held it to her lips…<br /><br />“Drink.”<br /><br />She sipped the life giving liquid…she could feel her strength slowly returning…eternally grateful for the wonderful gift of human kindness…touched by his gentle and caring manner…<br /><br />“I should have gotten to you sooner. Dear god, Cathy, I’m so sorry….”<br /><br />He had not noticed that he was calling her by her first name now…it just felt right to do so…She nodded to him to signal that she had had her fill and gulped solemnly.<br /><br />“Thank…you….”<br /><br />He laid her back down gently, taking care not to harm her already battered and bruised body too much more than it already was. He noticed her clothes discarded in a pile in a corner of the cave.<br /><br />“Your clothes…Here they are.”<br /><br />He retrieved the torn and blood stained articles and placed them gently in a pile next to her. “Are you strong enough…to move?”<br /><br />”I…will manage…”<br /><br />She continued to tremble and shake as the terror of the successive rapes still convulsed her. The best thing for her to do now, in his opinion, was sleep…<br /><br />“Get some rest…I will be here right beside you. I am not going anywhere.”<br /><br />”Will they come back for me…?”<br /><br />”They are all dead. We are here alone. I will stay awake in case anyone else comes, which I doubt will happen.”<br /><br />”Good….” She collapsed upon her side and descended into a deep and unsettled sleep….<br /><br />**<br /><br />The slave traders had made one concession to modernity – apparently they traveled around in a jeep. And that jeep had proved valuable to them as Mitchell and Catherine set out across the wide desert, hoping against hope to again reach civilization.<br /><br />He did not know if anyone was looking for them…likely they had written everyone on that plane off as dead by now. He navigated by the position of the sun – an old aviation skill – traveling on a bearing which he estimated would eventually bring them to Riyadh. It was the best he could do. For all he knew they could be somewhere completely different. And even if his estimations were correct, heaven knew if their fuel supply and their food and water would last…<br /><br />Catherine sat silently next to him in the passenger seat. She had still not recovered completely from the terrifying experiences of the previous day. While the physical scars had healed, Mitchell knew that the emotional scars, the wounds hidden and unseen, would take far more time to recover from….From time to time she would glance toward him, her eyes filled with sullen gratefulness. He knew that she was most grateful to him for his heroics….<br /><br />The jeep bounced roughly over the hot desert sands as the midday sun bore down on the land. Their speed produced a sort of breeze, and however slight it was it was a cool and refreshing break from the searing heat of the desert.<br /><br />“Captain…”<br /><br />”Yes, Miss Carleton?”<br /><br />”I never thanked you…for again saving my life.”<br /><br />”Let’s not speak of it.”<br /><br />“If you wish.”<br /><br />”Are you feeling better?”<br /><br />”As well as can be expected.”<br /><br />”I mean….you know….”<br /><br />”I’m holding up….”<br /><br />She could put on a brave face, but he knew that inside she was still hurting…<br /><br />--<br /><br />The jeep sat dead in the sand, the ignition dead, the engine and other moving parts unmoving and still. They still had plenty of fuel so it was not that they were out of petrol…Catherine paced in the sand as Mitchell bent under the hood as he examined the malfunctioning mechanics.<br /><br />“The timing belt’s broken.”<br /><br />He removed the shredded piece of rubber from the gear shaft and discarded it on the ground. “This thing is a piece of shit. Don’t they maintain these vehicles?”<br /><br />”Will it still run?”<br /><br />”Not without the belt. It needs a replacement belt; good luck finding that out here. If I had something similar to replace it with….I might get it to start working again. My belt here is too thick and the leather will just fly out of the gears….There has to be something among what we already have here that can help us…”<br /><br />Searching the jeep he sifted through the items that they had brought with them…gourds of water, packs of military rations, an extra tank of petrol, an automatic rifle with ammunition….<br /><br />Nothing they could use…<br /><br />”God damn it…”<br /><br />He looked back to Catherine who stared at him with a pained expression on her face. Her shapely body cut a clean and pleasing line against the landscape.<br /><br />…Dear god…he had thought of something.<br /><br />”Your…um…brassiere…”<br /><br />”My what?”<br /><br />”Your…undergarment…it has rubber straps….it’s the only thing I can think of in our possession…”<br /><br />Catherine followed his thoughts. Yes her brassiere did have rubber straps…perhaps it could work…<br /><br />“Would you mind turning around, then?”<br /><br />Mitchell understood. He turned to face away from her, the desire rising in his loins as he resisted contemplating the suggestiveness of what he had asked her to do…he very much hated to ask this of her, but it was their only chance in this situation…<br /><br />“I’m finished, Captain.”<br /><br />He revolved around to face her…she held the flimsy pink garment in her hand…removing it had definitely altered her, eh, upper body appearance…her full ripe young breasts were now completely unloosed and made a deep impression within the fold of her sweat stained tank top…with slight bumps in the cloth where the nipples were now exposed…the supple curve of her body was deeper and fuller than he had ever seen it. His loins burned with agony as the desire rose powerfully within him…She stiffened slightly as she felt his eyes involuntarily pierce her modesty to take in the glorious sight before him.<br /><br />“Thank you, Miss Carelton.”<br /><br />“You’re welcome, Captain.”<br /><br />He took the lace article and tore it into pieces, reworking it so that the rubber strips of the straps made a continuous loop, and discarding the rest. Working the rubber fabric into the gears, he managed with some effort to rig a suitable replacement for the belt.<br /><br />“Let’s see if this works.”<br /><br />He forced the ignition and after a false start the jeep’s engine sputtered to life…<br /><br />“Good as new.”<br /><br />Catherine crawled into the passenger seat slowly, her breasts bouncing liberally as she moved. Her face blushed crimson with shame as she moved under Mitchell’s imposing stare.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-7099843838345556142?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-20176248445283625462009-04-05T19:59:00.002-05:002009-04-05T20:03:13.812-05:00The small army of turban wearing, camelback Arab warriors, clad in traditional flowing robes, surrounded the crumpled plane which was very out of place in the middle of the barren desert. They began to holler raucously as the size of their find became increasingly obvious.<br /><br />In the dimming light of the evening Mitchell counted the number of approaching shadows and determined that there were at least twenty camel-riding men, all heavily armed, all dark and surly. From the style of their robes he could sense that they were not Bedouin. Bedouin never dressed so ostentatiously…<br /><br />As he approached, Gamal, desert warlord and leader of the band, could see the man in tattered Western dress ahead of him. There were people still alive! By Allah, this was going to be even more profitable than he had expected. At most his men had hoped to scavenge a few items from the plane which they had seen crash to the earth earlier that day. But survivors were far more valuable…for the price they could command in the slave market…<br /><br />He spoke to the strange White man…<br /><br />“I am Gamal, leader of this warrior clan. You and anyone else here are now all my slaves.”<br /><br />Mitchell could not understand him, but the threatening tone of his voice was hardly lost in translation.<br /><br />“Are there others with you? Bring them to me.”<br /><br />And to reinforce his point, so as to completely understand his intent, an Arab foot soldier nudged the barrel of a gun upon the Captain’s back.<br /><br /><i>Of course we couldn’t get picked up by the Red Cross</i>, he thought.<i> That would be too easy.</i><br /><br />No choice afforded him, of course. The Captain was led inside the ravaged hull of the Stratocruiser to the terrified stared of the people inside.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Gamal took one glance at the battered people lined up in front of the aircraft. Most of them were sick and dying, or otherwise too old, and would be of no use to him. The captain of this aircraft (which is what he assumed the older grey haired man to be, given his style of dress) was still relatively healthy and sturdy save the gash in his arm. But that would heal. He might prove of some use in the Yemeni diamond mines…<br /><br />Next to him stood the girl. The young woman was by far the most remarkable find. Here he had definitely struck gold. Not only was she healthy and fit, she was also a ravishing beauty, fully formed in all the right places. She would command top dollar in the prostitution markets. Praise Allah, indeed his fortune was good. They had come out here expecting to find scrap metal, and instead had captured a small fortune.<br /><br />Catherine could see the undue interest the beady eyed Arab men took in her, touching her and poking her in places no woman would tolerate willingly. She could feel herself being undressed by them with their stares, and silently cursed the gods which had formed her so pleasing to men. Who knew what they had planned for her…but she could guess, as the naked lust and desire in the men’s dark eyes grew by the moment. She tried with all her effort to remain calm as the rising terror inside threatened to overwhelm her.<br /><br /><i>I can handle starvation, physical pain, even death….but such a fate would be worse than death…the worst thing in the world…I would rather die than face that sort of violation…</i><br /><br />“Get the hell off of her!” the Captain cried. “Filthy bastards!”<br /><br />But for now she seemed safe….Gamal called out to his men:<br /><br />“Enough, my brothers. You will all have your reward with this woman in time…for now we must keep her inviolate, lest she wind up damaged goods. And then there will be nothing for us. For tonight we make camp here. The captain and the girl will be held in the plane for now. The rest of the people can be dispensed with.”<br /><br />”Do you understand what he is saying?” the Captain muttered to Catherine under his breath.<br /><br />“He speaks Berber, I think. I can not understand.”<br /><br />“Shit…What are they doing now?”<br /><br />The ugly turban heads were now rounding up the remaining passengers…taking them out into the desert…<br /><br />“What are you doing???” Catherine cried. <i>“What the hell are you going to do to them??!”</i><br /><br />“Silence!” screamed their Berber captor as he placed the cool blade of a knife to her throat. “One more outburst and you lose your tongue, infidel.”<br /><br />Catherine could not translate the words, but it was sure as hell impossible to not understand the meaning of a knife held to her throat…<br /><br />So again she and the Captain could do nothing as their charges were led out to their deaths…She could hear the report of the rifle fire, the screams of dying men and women, and turned her face away in horror as she could feel the sickness rising within her….<br /><i><br />“No, no, no, no, god no……”</i><br /><br />She could see that the Captain’s face was red with pain…it was as hard for him to bear as it was for her….<br /><br />--<br /><br />Under the watchful eyes of their captors they huddled in the plane, seated next to each other for warmth. They had been allowed to have some food and drink, and while they were grateful for it for prolonging their lives, they knew these gifts were not provided by their new friends out of altruistic purposes.<br /><br />Outside in the desert, the Arabs had managed somehow to build a fire and they had pitched their tents around this inferno for the night. Their adaptations for survival out here were amazing, Mitchell thought.<br /><br />The sun had plunged below the horizon and the land was awash in a black darkness so complete that even an object held in front of their eyes would prove invisible….It presented an opportunity for escape, the Captain thought, but he knew that even in the pitch black darkness the Arabs were unmatched in their skills for finding items in the desert…while they would, literally, be running blind.<br /><br />”What do you think…they plan to do with us, Captain? They did not see fit to kill us…”<br /><br />“In a way, I wish they had…”<br /><br />”What do they want with us?”<br /><br />”From what I know of the warlord culture, probably we would be of value to them as…items of trade…”<br /><br />”Trade….”<br /><br />”They will probably sell me into slavery….”<br /><br />”No…”<br /><br />“ – and you…..”<br /><br />”What…..?”<br /><br />”They will sell you…” It was impossible to tell her the grisly fate that awaited her. “They will probably want to sell you into…prostitution….”<br /><br />Catherine’s face turned white….<br /><br />”I will not permit them to do that, Miss Carleton. We will find a way out of this before then.”<br /><br />”How?….Where would we go?…There is nothing but desert around us for miles…”<br /><br />“I would prefer death to being someone’s slave. I don’t know about you, but…”<br /><br />She glanced back at him with a soft expression which communicated to him that she understood.<br /><br />“I am glad you feel the way I do.”<br /><br />They sat silently for a moment.<br /><br />The Captain spoke first. “I never thanked you…for saving my life earlier.”<br /><br />”You saved all of us…”<br /><br />“What good that did…Miss Carleton, I am truly sorry…this all had to happen…”<br /><br />“None of it is your fault. We are still alive, anyway, and there is a way out now. At least we will not die of thirst out here…”<br /><br />“Our survival, Miss Carleton, is even now by no means assured.”<br /><br />“You have protected me this far…I have never lost faith in you, Captain.”<br /><br />”Your faith is misplaced.”<br /><br />”I believe not.”<br /><br />”I am not a superhero…”<br /><br />”Who said you were?”<br /><br />The Captain sighed. “They will not molest us until morning. You should try to get as much rest as you can, Miss Carleton, as tomorrow will be an arduous day.”<br /><br />”How can I sleep now…?” But she knew the Captain was right….<br /><br />--<br /><br />The harsh desert sun bore down on them brutally as the camel caravan made its way through the forbidding maze of dunes.<br /><br />They had been made to walk…tied between two camels…today they would not get the luxury of riding camelback. The heat crushed their tired and sweat covered bodies as they struggled to place one foot in front of the other, pushing their bodies forward with superhuman effort….They both knew that physical collapse would mean instant death at the point of a bayonet…<br /><br />Catherine, despite the tortuous pain that ravaged every inch of her slender, battered frame, could clearly see that the Captain was in far worse condition that she. Being older it was harder on him….he could not possibly hold up for much longer….a few hours more of this and it would certainly kill him…<br /><i><br />They’re going to kill him this way…</i><br /><br />Every step she took was a major effort but a small victory – one more moment that she would remain alive. But was not death preferable to a life lived in agony? Though she did not fear death, she wondered if it was truly preferable…Certainly it was preferable to the fate she was facing ahead of her. Was it worth staying alive for? She cursed her natural optimism that kept her somehow from completely giving up on life…..<br /><br />The Captain’s bare feet were now covered with sores and they tracked blood in the sand as he walked…his eyes carried the pained look of someone fully aware of his own impending death. The pain was so complete that he no longer really felt it….he was no longer fully alive, but some ravaged automaton made to follow orders at will.<br /><br /><i>The sooner I die the sooner the pain stops…</i><br /><br />At once the caravan stopped….<br /><br />Catherine looked around her with bleary eyes. There was nothing around them, only endless sand. What could they possibly be stopping here for?<br /><br />And then she saw the rocky outcropping in the distance…the black hole of what appeared to be a cave…and the shapes of men in the distance, approaching their position.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Gamal spoke with glee, gesturing to his prisoners. “These I present to you, my trader brother Hussein, as captured booty. My men have endured many trials in obtaining these infidels for your business. We expect to be rewarded handsomely…”<br /><br />The fat Arab slave trader feasted his eyes on the bounty which Gamal had discovered. The old man was battered and broken and perhaps would fetch a buyer, but he could not expect much of a profit from him. The woman, on the other hand….she was a masterful work of art, immodestly dressed but of course she was an infidel…but even so the supple curve of her body was inviting and would command top dollar…yes, she was a most valuable prize…<br /><br />“This infidel I have little use for,” Hussein remaked hoarsely, gesturing to the old man. “He will sell only at a low price. I can only pay you half a talent for him, no more.”<br /><br />”I will take you at your word, brother. He is old and has not fared well in this climate. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Gamal snickered.<br /><br />“However, you have otherwise done well, Gamal,” gesturing to the woman. “She will garner a high price in the markets…I will willingly give you five talents for her.”<br /><br />Gamal’s men cheered. Five talents! Unimaginable! They had struck the big time indeed.<br /><br />“You are generous, Hussein,” Gamal replied. “Five talents will feed my men for a month. But I cannot believe that she would only be worth five talents. Perhaps she is worth her weight in gold…”<br /><br />”Now, Gamal, I am a generous man. Five talents is a high price for any captured slave. I cannot afford to pay more, as it is.”<br /><br />“She will command at least ten talents in the slavers’ market. Do not tell me you aren’t making a large profit from this, Hussein. I and my men risked much in capturing this infidel woman and we expect to be rewarded handsomely.”<br /><br />And if to support his demand he placed his hand on the butt of his rifle…<br /><br />“Gamal, I am merely a trader, a man of peace. I do not desire violence. I tell you what, I am a generous man and I will make a special deal with you…Six talents. Do not say that Hussein is not generous to his customers.”<br /><br />”Eight talents. I will accept no less than eight.”<br /><br />”Please, Gamal…I will give you seven…I cannot afford any more than that.”<br /><br />”Make it seven and a half talents and we will call it a deal.”<br /><br />“Seven and a half talents…I have been more than fair with you, Gamal. Along with the half a talent for the man. It is settled.”<br /><br />As Catherine watched the men haggle over her, she could not help but feel a rising sickness in her stomach. To be bought and sold…like some piece of meat….was this to be her fate?<br /><br />“Do you hear that, men?” Gamal announced. “Never say that the great Gamal does not compensate handsomely for your loyalty and service to him. The honorable Hussein has offered us eight talents for our efforts!”<br /><br />The men cheered loudly, some firing pistols into the air in celebration.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Now in chains, the erstwhile slaves were being held in the dark recesses of the concealed cave hidden deep in the desert. Hussein’s men were within eyeshot as they huddled around a small fire, laughing and imbibing in their good fortune…<br /><br />Mitchell could not understand what the slimy Arabs were saying, but they seemed to be in jovial spirits. He was currently being held in a crude cage constructed of wooden bars, tethered together by rough hemp rope….just like everything else he had seen today, a scene out of the last century. It was as if the modern world had never managed to find its way to this god-forsaken corner of the earth.<br /><br />Catherine was nowhere that he could see. They had been separated by the slave traders after being sold. God only knew where she was…or what they were doing to her….<br /><br />--<br /><br />They had secured her, in a standing position, to a rough wooden pole somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of the cave. Catherine could hear the slight chirping sounds of insects and other creeping crawling cave dwelling creatures, and felt a wave of revulsion as to what disgusting animals could be out there unseen in the darkness.<br /><br />She pondered her situation. Secured tightly – no visibility – no obvious means of escape – nowhere to go if she had somehow managed to break free. The situation was indeed hopeless….Catherine could feel the tears welling in her eyes as the unbearable reality of her situation slowly began to sink in…No escape, no hope….Being a brave and strong girl she hardly ever cried, but under these circumstances who the hell cared anyway….<br /><br /><i>I never signed up for this…</i><br /><br />Her Transoceanic winged pin remained affixed to the cloth of her tank top. The best of the best, it was supposed to represent. If she had known that it would lead to something like this….<br /><br />Suddenly she heard a soft step of feet approaching…a dim light penetrated the darkness.<br /><br />Hussein revealed himself from the dark, followed by three of his men, each carrying a torch. Their faces exhibited a lecherous expression that terrified Catherine to the core – the look of unrestrained lust…<br /><br /><i>Please let me be wrong…</i><br /><br />“Allah be praised,” Hussein intoned. “We have captured a real beauty here.”<br /><br />Catherine could not understand his words…but from the tone of his voice his intent was clear….she stared back at him with a terrified expression, anticipating what was about to come….<br /><br />Hussein’s rough, filthy hands pawed the sensitive areas of her anatomy…”Yes, my brothers, we will have a most enjoyable and pleasant evening…”<br /><br />“Get your hands off me, you disgusting brute.” She writhed within and fought her bonds, struggling against hope to prevent her certain fate…<br /><br />”The lady infidel no likes,” Hussein joked. “We will have to show her the sort of men we are. In the West they do not have real men like us. She knows not what she has been missing. When we are through with her she will be purring between our legs, wanting more.”<br /><br />Hussein’s partners in crime laughed.<br /><br />“Do not worry, my brothers. Our customers will never know that we have…sampled the merchandise. They will not care in any case. In fact, they will be grateful to us for breaking her in.”<br /><br />Hussein ran his hand down his captive’s warm body, taking in every curve of the voluptuous figure of the brown-haired beauty before him…<br /><br />“Glory to Allah. We have indeed been blessed.”<br /><br />“You disgusting animal….you touch me like that again and I’ll kill you…”<br /><br />“Cut her down from there.”<br /><br />The men did as their leader ordered. With their long sheath knifes they severed the hemp ropes which bound her arms and legs…As they loosed her limbs Catherine collapsed in a heap to the ground…her body completely drained of any energy …<br /><br />She knew what they were about to do to her….and there was not a damn thing she or anyone else could do to stop them.<br /><br />Hussein stood over her, pistol in hand. “Get up, infidel wench. You see that I am in power here.”<br /><br />His men ruthlessly pulled her up by her arms, forcing her to stand. Her legs trembled weakly as she managed to keep herself upright using the last reserves of her rapidly disappearing strength…<br /><br />“Take off your clothes.”<br /><br />She of course could not understand his barbarian tongue. But the menacing lustful look in his eyes communicated the meaning of his words well enough.<br /><br />“Take off clothes.” One of the barbarian thugs had repeated his master’s words in English, for her benefit. Apparently that was the extent of his knowledge of the language.<br /><br />Catherine faced her captors defiantly. If there was one thing she would not do for them, it was that. She would not let them violate her without a struggle…<br /><br />”You can kill me first. Go to hell.”<br /><br />With a short sharp thrust the butt of Hussein’s pistol met her face, striking her with a blunt force near enough to kill her…Catherine screamed and tasted blood as she fell stricken to the earth…<br /><br />“Get up, bitch. Off with your clothes.”<br /><br />He picked her up, pulling her head back by roughly gripping her long brown hair which had fallen loose, and held the gun even with her temple. “Do as I say or we will make your time with us quite difficult, infidel slut. There are many ways to harm a person short of killing them. You have no idea what you can live through.”<br /><br />“Omar! Remove her clothing! If she will not do it, we will have to undress her ourselves.”<br /><br />Omar reached for her long brown legs, to pull her torn and brief shorts down…She kicked and squirmed within an inch of her life to make it difficult for him.<br /><br />“That does it.” With a swift blow Hussein slammed the pistol against her skull…Catherine could feel nothing but a hard crack as the metal met bone in a terrible explosion of pain…and then nothing but blackness…<br /><br />“Undress her, then tie her up.”<br /><br />With relish Omar and his two companions quickly disrobed the unconscious woman before them. They pulled off her shorts and panties…then made quick work of her tank top…finally unclasping the lacy pink brassiere underneath, her large round breasts falling free…<br /><br /><i>“Allah al-akbar,” </i>they exclaimed as they gazed at the living goddess before them...<br /><br />They fought the rising desire in their loins…they were not finished. Omar retrieved four small wooden posts from his pockets and proceeded to nail them into the ground, in a rectangular fashion. His companion Amir procured several lengths of rope, securing one end of each to a post, the other end to one each of Catherine’s limbs…<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2017624844528362546?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-20775358831266920522009-04-01T21:56:00.001-05:002009-04-01T21:58:41.708-05:00Kemal struggled to breathe as the agonizing pain in his legs sent shooting stabs of pain through his body. He cursed as he struggled along the floor, dragging his wounded lower body behind him, toward the blood stained duffel bag in the aisle. Passengers eyed him with terrified stares…like sheep they sat still as evil made its dark rampage….<br /><br />Allah be cursed, they had failed in their mission. His brothers in arms had died like dogs, never achieving the glory of martyrdom for their god. But by Allah, he would not allow this insult to Islam to go unpunished…He would accept no less than to die a martyr’s death and enter heaven, where twenty-seven virgins awaited him…<br /><br />Slowly but surely as the Captain righted the plane he crawled toward his goal. Finally he reached his destination. Unfastening the pockets he pulled out his desired object – a large hand grenade. He took the grenade in his hand and placed the pin between his teeth…<br /><br />“Allah al-akbar!!!”<br /><br />“Hey!!”<br /><br />The Captain stood before him, his clothes torn and blood stained, his gun trained on a spot between his eyes. Kemal could only laugh as he stared down the muzzle of the pistol.<br /><br />”You cannot scare me, Captain. I am not afraid to die. See, I die a martyr’s death. One way or the other, I die. And you die too. Allah be praised!!”<br /><br /><i>And with that Kemal pulled the grenade pin out with his teeth….<br /><br />He had….<br /><br />….Only….<br /><br />…Three….<br /><br />…..Seconds….<br /><br />Mitchell quickly fired at one of the Plexiglas windows…The cabin instantly depressurized and air, along with any loose things were immediately sucked out into the stratosphere…in the next moment he pulled the grenade out from the thug’s hand and threw it toward the window, just as he was thrown around like a toy in the suction…the grenade was sucked out through the vacuum just before it exploded…the explosion rocked the jet violently….he could feel the Stratocruiser descending rapidly….he knew Miss Carleton would not be able to handle the plane for long….<br /><br />The terrorist bellowed as he clung to the seat to keep from flying through the air….“NOOO!! ALLAH DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!”</i><br /><br />Mitchell pumped two bullets into the thug’s skull…the brains splattering on the seats and through the fuselage….<br /><br />He had to get to Miss Carleton fast…<br /><br />He crawled along the floor, using all his strength to pull himself along the seat legs to bring himself to the front….the agony of his injured left arm was excruciating and he could feel the effects of the blood loss….he could see that the cockpit door had blown open…and he could see Miss Carleton struggling with the controls…<br /><br /><i>“CAPTAIN!!! HELP!!”</i><br /><br />With grim determination Mitchell flung himself forward and into the cockpit…Crawling forward he took the co-pilot’s seat and began the mortal struggle with the controls…He could see the flashing lights of the instrument panel and knew that things were going mortally wrong…<br /><br />“The left engine’s been destroyed….the damn explosion must have blown it off…”<br /><br />“We have to set this thing down!!”<br /><br />”That’s what I’m trying to do here….”<br /><br />They could see the barren wastes of the desert growing larger through the windshield…They managed to pull the aircraft from an acute angle into a gliding position to prepare for landing.<br /><br />Mitchell took the microphone:<br /><br />”This is your Captain speaking. This craft is no longer airworthy so we are going to attempt an emergency landing. We are about to make a rough landing. Find something to secure yourselves against because we are going to come down hard.”<br /><br />He cursed. “That’s something I never wanted to tell any of my passengers…”<br /><br />”You did the best you could…”<br /><br />”Whatever you say. Let’s do this.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The Stratocruiser worked its way down toward the ground, its left jet engine stricken and burning, its right engine deactivated as the large jet stumbled toward a landing…<br /><br />The fuselage hit the desert sand with a roar. The crash knocked passengers and pilots alike with enough force to whip them senseless. With flames flickering the big bird exploded through the sand at a sickening pace…slowly but surely slowing with the friction against the barren earth.<br /><br />Eventually the movement stopped…The charred hulk of the Stratocruiser came to rest against the top of an exceptionally tall sand dune. They were finally at rest…on land…finally safe at last…and most miraculously of all, still alive.<br /><br />--<br /><br /><strong>“GO! GO! GO!”</strong><br /><br />With rushed terror Catherine evacuated the passengers from the plane as flames flickered around them….They had only moments to work….<br /><br /><i>Where have I done this before</i>, she thought wryly.<br /><br />Last to take the leap through the emergency exit was the Captain. He plunged toward the sand, crying in agony as he tumbled to the earth falling on his stricken and blood soaked arm. Catherine followed soon afterward….<br /><br />She hit the earth with a blow and rolled downward as sand particles found their way into every crevice of her body…her eyes, her ears, her mouth and throat, her nose….She coughed and retched as the sand threatened to either choke or smother her….<br /><br />Above her the fiery corpse of the Stratocruiser was now convulsed in flames…a large explosion rocked the earth as the flame reached the fuel tanks….<br /><br />Catherine came to rest on the desert floor….Slowly she raised up her bruised and battered body to take in her surroundings…<br /><br />There was nothing for miles save lifeless, sterile sand dunes. They were stranded in the desert.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The eight passengers who had managed to survive the ordeal (two had apparently not made it through the crash landing) were in rough shape. Not a single one of them had gotten through it all without some sort of injury.<br /><br />Having no medical supplies or even bandages (they had all burned up in the plane) Catherine had to improvise. Most of the injuries were broken bones and scrapes of some kind, though one man had been impaled in the chest by a flying piece of metal and was probably not going to live…It hurt Catherine to see people like this. It had been her duty to protect them and she had failed miserably.<br /><br />At least she was still healthy enough to do her job…<br /><br />She removed her polyester skirt and proceeded to tear it into strips, for use as bandages and slings for the walking injured. Tying the excess length of her blouse smartly around her waist, she went to work. One by one she attended to her charges. It was the best she could do under the circumstances…she had not even begun to mourn for the friends and colleagues she had lost, much less even thought about how the hell they were going to get out of this damn place…<br /><br />--<br /><br />Sitting on the harsh and hot sand, Captain Mitchell pondered their predicament.<br /><br />Given their last estimated position over Saudi Arabia and their last known course trajectory, he estimated that they were presently located about 250 miles south-southwest of Riyadh. And yes, he thought with rising trepidation, that if he was correct this would place them at the dead heart (literally) of the Rub’ al Khali, the Empty Quarter, one of the driest and most inhospitable environments to be found on Earth – where not even the desert-dwelling nomadic Bedouin dared to trod. And they were stranded here, in a sea of sand so vast that they were likely never going to be found by rescue planes, and completely lacking food and (most importantly) water….<br /><br /><i>We…are…dead…men…</i><br /><br />As the knowledge of their impending death sank into him, the Captain did not think of his own fate. He was old and his life was practically finished anyway. It was Miss Carleton whom his heart bled for…<br /><br />She was young and beautiful, with so much to give to the world, with so much happiness ahead of her…but it was not to be…she would die a horrible death, before her time, and so would he….but what did it matter in the long run. Nothing in this world was truly permanent, after all….most especially life.<br /><br />This is the price you pay for caring about the girl, Mitchell, the Captain cursed to himself.<br /><br />“Captain? Let me take a look at your arm.”<br /><br />It was Miss Carlton – looking the worse for wear, but still unflappable and cool under pressure…Her brown hair, still secured in a ponytail, fell in loose strands around her bruised face…He instantly noticed that her skirt was missing, exposing a lovely pair of lean, tanned, athletic legs. She rolled back what remained of his sleeve and bent down to examine his wounded limb.<br /><br />“Just tear it off. It’s shredded to bits anyhow.”<br /><br />Catherine obliged.<br /><br />“What happened to your…ah…leg covering?”<br /><br />“I used it for bandaging. Many of those people are hurt badly. I don’t know if some of them can…even walk…” She held back her emotions as her voice came close to breaking.<br /><br />“You did well back there, Miss Carleton. I want to thank you, for your bravery and courage if anything else. I put my trust in you and you came through.”<br /><br />”So many people have died today, Captain. I can’t take credit for anything.” She took a close look at her patient’s injury. “Thankfully it isn’t too deep and it’s stopped bleeding. I want to wrap this, though, to prevent infection.” She removed a long green strip of polyester cloth from her back pocket. “The last one.” Slowly she took his arm and wrapped it gingerly in the fabric.<br /><br />“I doubt I’ll have to worry about infection here.”<br /><br />”What do you mean?”<br /><br />”Do you know where we are?”<br /><br />Catherine took a curious glance around her. “The desert....Saudi Arabia I presume…there is nothing out there but sand dunes….”<br /><br />“We are in the Rub’ al Khali, the Empty Quarter. Inhospitable, lifeless desert. Most anbiotic environment on earth with the exception of the Atacama Desert in Chile….And worse, we have no food or water. It was all in the plane.”<br /><br />She glanced back to the charred ruins of their plane. “Oh….”<br /><br />”There is an extremely high probability that….we will not survive this ordeal out here…certainly none of them – “ he gestured to the passengers “ – will live, especially in their injured condition. Unless we are rescued soon, there is no real way to avoid…..the inevitable…”<br /><br />As he slowly spoke the words Catherine’s eyes grew cold with fear. She could feel her insides turn to ice…after all we’ve been through, to die like this….<br /><br />She glanced at the Captain with a naked terror he had never seen from her….<br /><br />“I wouldn’t….give up hope…not yet, anyhow…as long as we are still alive….there will be people coming anyhow to rescue us.”<br /><br />”You are a positive thinker. But don’t get your hopes up. This is a large desert and they will search every inch of it. It is like looking for a needle in a haystack, with the attendant probabilities of success. The desert is a brutal environment – especially for those not used to it.”<br /><br />Catherine finished wrapping the Captain’s wounded arm and tied the makeshift bandage in place. “That should hold for now. Does it hurt to move your arm?”<br /><br />Ever since being wounded his arm was wracked with ravaging pain. “I’m afraid so.”<br /><br />”I can make you a sling.”<br /><br />”I don’t mind.”<br /><br />”It hurts you, I can see that. I will wrap it for you.”<br /><br />“With what?”<br /><br />She hadn’t thought of that. With what, indeed? Her thoughts came to one thing. Her blouse - ? Well, it wasn’t like she was going to need it out here. It was already mid-morning and she could already feel the sweat roll down her back as the temperatures soared….<br /><br />“I have something.”<br /><br />She began to unbutton the blood and sweat soaked garment…removed it gently…<br /><br />“Miss Carleton – “<br /><br />”I am fine.”<br /><br />Mitchell could not help but notice that she was possessed of a fine and extraordinary body. The sweat stained green tank top really brought out her, ahem, assets in a big way…Even in her worn and battered state, she was truly beautiful. He could feel the desire involuntarily rising in him, and with teeth clenched made an extraordinary effort to suppress it.<br /><br />With aplomb she rigged the garment into a sling and tied it to his shoulder, cradling his stricken arm within it.<br /><br />“You are most helpful, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />”Thank you, Captain.”<br /><br />”This is your pin….?”<br /><br />Her Transoceanic flight pin…”Yes, thank you.” She affixed the pin to the cloth above her breast. No point losing that now…<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?”<br /><br />Catherine had no relish for what she was about to say. But what choice do I have, she thought bitterly.<br /><br />“This is the situation. The terrorists are dead. However we have had an accident and thus are now stranded out here. This is the Empty Quarter, the Arabian desert. The Captain has informed me that there is no food, water, shelter, or human habitation for about a couple hundred miles in any direction. Captain Mitchell has gone back to the plane to look for any food, water, or materials that may have survived the explosion and fire and could be of any use to us. We are hoping something has remained intact, but given the extent of the damage to the plane we do not believe that there will be anything to retrieve.<br /><br />“The best thing to do for now is to stay here and wait for rescue. Above all else we should not place our lives at risk by setting out into the desert; out there we are assured of a certain death. The authorities know that we have gone down and have a general sense as to where, but not an exact knowledge of our present location. I do not want to sound too pessimistic, but the desert is very large and it is impossible to search every inch of it. So if help does not come immediately, please do not panic. The Captain and I are here to assist you if you should require anything. Not much has survived, but between us we will do the best we can under the circumstances.”<br /><br />The words were useful but not encouraging to the passengers. The Arab women shook their heads with sorrow as the entire extent of the tragedy suddenly hit them with full force.<br /><br />“If we have no food or water how are we to survive out here?”<br /><br />Catherine did not know how answer her….<br /><br />Yes, how, indeed?<br /><br />--<br /><br />Inside the blackened hulk of the Stratocruiser Mitchell scoured the charred mess for something, anything that might have survived.<br /><br />The kitchen was covered with black soot; the heat of the fire (aggravated by the burning jet fuel) had melted the cabinets and other implements through and through, so that nothing had escaped damage. The contents of the refrigerator and pantry, where meals and drinks were stored, had been reduced to charred ashes…<br /><br />Nothing…Not even a morsel…not even a canister of water had survived….<br /><br />Dead….Truly they were the dead walking on earth.<br /><br />--<br /><br />“There is nothing. Nothing survived the fire.”<br /><br />Catherine’s face contorted slightly, as if to suppress the expression of terrorized pain….”What do we do, then?” she answered quietly.<br /><br />“We wait for help. That is all we can do.”<br /><br />”Some of these people are already thirsty. They will die of dehydration if nothing is done…”<br /><br />”I know that!!!” Mitchell could no longer contain his frustration and rage. “Fucking terrorists!!! Do they worship terrible pain and death??!?? Well that is what they have created here.” He paused, shaking slightly. “We can do nothing. If people die, it is tragic…but there is nothing that can be done.”<br /><br />”Captain…”<br /><br />”I am sorry, Miss Carleton…I have failed in every way here…”<br /><br />”You are blameless. Please don’t do this to yourself.”<br /><br />Mitchell breathed heavily and clenched his fists as the rage seethed within him. He was angry, angry at himself…How could he have let things get this bad? How could he have completely lost control like this, making errors which, like all errors in aviation, led to certain death?<br /><br />He had been in situations before, but always behind the controls, in the cockpit. Up there he was always certain of what to do. Now he felt a barren hopelessness and guilt which he had never before experienced…<br /><br />”I am the Captain. Lives were in my hands. Now people are dead and the rest of us are likely to follow. I am sorry, Miss Carleton. I am especially sorry for you. Above all other people, you, possessed of such a capable and friendly nature, are the least deserving of this terrible fate that you will succumb to.”<br /><br />Catherine could see that he was a man at the end of his rope…<br /><br />“Captain Mitchell, I believe in you. You saved our lives up there…including mine. If not for what you did, we would all be dead right now. But we are still alive and if that is the case then there is still a sliver of hope, however slight, that we will make it through this.”<br /><br />”I cannot disavow you of your sunny optimism, Miss Carleton. We shall see if it proves correct.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />In the Empty Quarter temperatures routinely rose above 130 degrees Fahrenheit, and this broiling day was no exception.<br /><br />They had taken shelter (except for the Captain, who had preferred to remain outside for now) in the remains of the burnt fuselage, but it was no good. The heat was as unbearable in there as it was outside. Catherine leant her head back upon the remainder of a seat cushion as sweat poured freely down her lithe and toned body. The heat was damn near intolerable….<br /><br />She could feel the empty pit in her stomach where food usually went, she had not eaten in what seemed like days. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and was as dry as that also. Water….I need water… She knew that she was losing water fast and that dehydration was not too far off…<br /><i><br />So if I am to die…it will be like this…</i><br /><br />She knew that death by dehydration was an agonizing and terrible experience. She shuddered with fear knowing that she would soon be subjected to that ordeal personally within an increasingly short time…<br /><br />While she was as healthy and fit a young woman as any, full of life and vigor, and her body could tolerate substantial punishment, just like any living thing it could not function long without proper nutrition. From her education Catherine knew that the human body could function without water for a maximum of three days. Of course, that was likely under ideal conditions, and those calculations had probably not factored in the brutal heat of the desert which made salty sweat break out all over her, further purging her body of the precious life giving liquid when it was most needed…<br /><br />And if dehydration did not kill them instantly, the hyperthermia would fell them first. She knew that once the body had leached out all its water, its temperature regulating mechanism was as good as shot, and in this hot climate the body temperature would climb precipitously and without mercy….<br /><br />Increasingly she could see that they would be lucky if they even lasted until tomorrow…The Captain was right; she had been naively optimistic about their chances after all…Yet as long as there was life, there was hope. Catherine was not one to give up – ever.<br /><br />--<br /><br /> <i>“India Pacific niner-niner, do you copy?”<br /><br /> Radio silence…only the hum of static.<br /><br />“India Pacific niner-niner, do you copy? Please respond. This is Transfreight one-four-seven-three and I have received your distress signal. Please reply forthwith.”<br /><br />Silence greeted him.<br /><br />He could see the crash site below him…the burning fuselage of the remains of the India Pacific Schooner crumpled on the slope of the mountainside in the high altitudes of the Hindu Kush…the debris scattered all around…the bodies…yes, there were definitely bodies on the ground…bodies broken and bloated…<br /><br />“India Pacific niner-niner – “<br /><br />It was no use. They were all dead. One hundred and eighty-seven people, according to the manifest, he had been informed. All dead, in an instant…due to the madness of a small group of very sick men…<br /><br />“Control Tower Islamabad,” he intoned. “I have made visual contact with the downed aircraft. Position mark two, seven, eight, seven; bearing two hundred and forty-seven degrees from your location. The aircraft has been completely destroyed – there appear to be no survivors.”<br /><br />”Return to ground,” came the reply over the crackle of the radio. “You’ve done your duty, Captain. The government will take over from here.”<br /><br />“Copy. Proceeding to base.”<br /><br />Mitchell breathed a heavy sigh of sorrow. All those people dead – their hopes, their plans, their dreams, shattered in an instant…</i><br /><br />“Captain Mitchell…”<br /><br />Miss Carleton’s pained voice jolted him from his reverie.<br /><br />“Two passengers have died.”<br /><br />Mitchell’s stomach grew tight. “Have the others help you. Place them somewhere where they won’t cause a stink. Bury them in the sand.”<br /><br />”The sand will blow right off and uncover them in no time.”<br /><br />”By the time that happens we won’t be around to notice.”<br /><br />Catherine’s expression grew pale. “I will do as you say, Captain.”<br /><br />”Very well. Thank you, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />So it begins, he thought as he attempted with his mightiest efforts to ignore the growing pain in his stomach and bones – the pain of slow, terrible dehydration. He knew that due to his age, the agony he was about to suffer would be worse than imaginable. He would help her himself, but the pain was already too great for him to move.<br /><br />His thoughts turned to Miss Carleton again. She was so young…she had never experienced real pain…yet she had borne the sufferings so far extraordinarily well, particularly for a woman. Of course she was a healthy and well built girl…so maybe that had something to do with it.<br /><br />Even in this situation, it was hard for him to resist feeling the burning desire which he carried for her…Ever since that night in the apartment, he had grown to love her as a person. He recognized more than ever her quick intelligence, her tidy competence, her strength of character, her charming and carefree disposition, and most of all her incredible beauty….<br /><br />He knew it would be impossible between him and her. She was young and supple, he was old and broken, and she would logically desire someone closer to her age and easier to understand. He put the thought out of his mind. I might care for her that way, but that doesn’t mean it has to be that way…<br /><br />Not that it mattered now, anyway…<br /><br />He would have very much liked to experience the touch of a woman before he died….he had never known such sweet pleasure. In his life people were not his strong suit; airplanes were. Too bad you couldn’t marry them. Well, you get what you give, he thought bitterly.<br /><br />And he had received his due – painful, horrible death. He would wake up in Hell, he wagered. That was more than he deserved.<br /><br />--<br /><br />As the desert day was scorching, the desert night was equally chilling.<br /><br />Catherine huddled in the aircraft as she strove to obtain warmth somehow. Ironic, she thought, how today she had nearly died from heat exhaustion, and now here she was in the same place, shivering.<br /><br />In all, four passengers had not made it through the day…The corpses were already beginning to pile up. Catherine could only feel a frustrated rage as she watched people dying around her, she helpless to do anything…<br /><br />The Captain was ensconced in the cockpit, trying to do the same thing as her – stay warm.<br /><br />Suddenly a figure appeared before her. It was the Captain.<br /><br />“Are you okay?”<br /><br />”As well as can be expected.”<br /><br />”Take my flight jacket.”<br /><br />The tattered garment would provide little protection, but it was a start. “This is yours – you need it to stay warm.”<br /><br />”You need it more than I do.” He covered her shivering body under the fabric.<br /><br />“Thank you, Captain.”<br /><br />”If anyone can make it through this ordeal….Do you hear that?”<br /><br />In the distance there was a low roaring sound….<br /><br />“Yes…What is it?”<br /><br />”Sounds like…camels.”<br /><br />“Camels?”<br /><br />”And the people who ride them.” Now voices that sounded human could be distinguished.<br /><br />“Other people…coming for us!”<br /><br />”Don’t get your hopes up yet, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />”But what else could it be?”<br /><br />”Anything.”<br /><br />”You don’t think…our rescuers…would they come on camels?”<br /><br />”No, they would not. Stay here and I will check this out.”<br /><br />“Captain…Please be careful…”<br /><br />”I’ll do my best.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2077535883126692052?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-80028176523066711692009-03-28T20:57:00.001-05:002009-03-28T21:00:13.987-05:00When she had finished stabilizing the passengers that could be helped, Catherine was led to a window seat by her captor and made to remain seated.<br /><br />“Sit down, get comfortable, infidel. No harm will come to you. You remain valuable to us.”<br /><br />“If I may ask you,” Catherine asked the terrorist in a low dull voice, “what is your aim here?”<br /><br />“To serve Allah and praise his name…and liberate his good people from the yoke of imperial Western oppression.”<br /><br />“How does this accomplish that? How does killing innocent people – my friends – my colleagues – how does that serve your god???”<br /><br />She could barely restrain her voice from breaking…<br /><br />“In the Koran it is said that the deaths of infidels in Allah’s name is glorious and honorable. Allah be praised.”<br /><br />“It does not say that. I have Muslim friends who would disagree with you in every way. You and your friends are sick.”<br /><br />The terrorist drove the butt of his rifle into Catherine’s forehead. The blunt pain cut into her skull like a knife….She could feel the sting of warm blood pouring down into her eyes….<br /><br />“Infidel bitch. You understand nothing. Being a woman how could you anyhow.” The thug laughed bitterly.<br /><br />”You cannot….beat me into submission…I am not one of your women…”<br /><br />“Praise Allah, any woman can be beaten. A woman’s place is to serve man.”<br /><br />Catherine said nothing. The pain in her skull was too great….the gash in her forehead was large and she was losing blood. She manufactured a crude bandage out of the covering for one of the seat pillows.<br /><br />“This airline is a symbol of Western decadence. In short order we will send a message to the world that will truly make them aware of the glory of Allah’s name.”<br /><br />“What…message…?” Her voice was barely a whisper.<br /><br />“That is for you to ponder, and for us to know. Do not worry; you will most definitely learn before long, if we have not killed you first.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />Mitchell attempted to concentrate on his flying and did his best to ignore the large Islamist thug sharing the cabin with him. But admittedly it was hard to do when you had a loaded pistol pointed at your head….<br /><br />“Is this the best you assholes can do? You can’t create anything unique, can’t provide something of value to the world except oil reserves, which you expropriated from the Western companies that discovered them…no, you have to go about killing people for your beliefs. We left your country. We recalled our troops. We no longer defile your holy sites. What more do you want from us?”<br /><br />Of course he was talking to himself since the Arab could not understand him….”But of course you don’t speak English. Why should that surprise me?”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“You can never know what we plan to do,” the terrorist snarled. “It is in Allah’s hands now.”<br /><br />She needed to know what their intentions were! If anything, to potentially save the lives of those remaining alive….<br /><br />She had to think fast….something had to be done, even if it meant….giving her life…or her dignity….no, that was worse than death…but men were men everywhere, were they not?<br /><br />Sometimes being a knockout beauty did provide an advantage…<br /><br />“I can tell…that you are a brave man who is…passionate about his beliefs.”<br /><br />“Enough from you, infidel. You have heard enough already.”<br /><br />“Perhaps…I can interest you in a little something special…”<br /><br />And slowly, through gritted teeth, she unfastened the top buttons of her blouse…<br /><br />“You cannot tempt me, seductress. You are an agent of the devil.”<br /><br />”Do I look like a devil to you?”<br /><br />The terrorist’s loins burned with lust. This young woman was an infidel, but certainly a very good looking infidel. By Allah, the woman before him was a ravishing beauty. It had been a long time since he had experienced a choice cut of female as she. There had been no means for, eh, release in the terrorist training camp where he had spent the past year preparing for this day….<br /><br />“You cannot be real…First I hijack your plane and kill your friends, then I keep you here at gunpoint. You toy with me, woman.”<br /><br />”They were not my friends….just people I work with….I am not like them…how do you think I learned to speak Arabic?”<br /><br />A secret supporter of their cause! the thug thought. He was not too bright and easily strayed by distraction…and certainly that luscious ample bosom was adequate distraction indeed.<br /><br />“I will let you in on our secret…when I gain satisfaction from you. You will not be sorry…Allah will bless this union…”<br /><br />The terrorist plunged his face into the nape of her throat.<br /><br />This is disgusting, thought Catherine as she let the leech paw her and touch her in unmentionable areas. But it’s the only chance I have.<br /><br />”What do…you plan to do today?”<br /><br />”First we unite.”<br /><br />”This is as far as you’ll get…unless you do it my way. I am a good Muslim woman too, you know…”<br /><br />“And I have a gun, to force you with.”<br /><br />”Would you make love to a corpse?”<br /><br />The terrorist sighed….He had resigned himself to her way. Thank god, thought Catherine.<br /><br />“The House of Saud has betrayed Islam and defiled our society,” the terrorist bellowed. “They have conspired with the Western powers to oppress the people and divert the oil profits for their own personal benefit while the common folk get nothing. They have allowed Western morals to seep into the culture like a disease. The women are even allowed to drive! This is a disgrace against Allah and his great name. The Prophet Muhammad would approve of what we intend to do.”<br /><br />She had managed to make this sick nut open up to her…her plan was working.<br /><br />“We do not intend to land in Riyadh…but to use the plane as a missile…to destroy the main Aramco oil refinery. The refinery in Riyadh is one of the largest in the world and alone accounts for thirty percent of the wealth of the House of Saud, and therefore the country. When we destroy it, by Allah, the economy will be crippled, and the House of Saud will fall. And our blood brothers in arms will then be waiting to fill the vacuum of power. We will institute Sharia law and establish a new Caliphate on earth!!”<br /><br />So this is what diseased minds are really like, she thought with terrible disgust.<br /><br />“You and your men are…very cunning….”<br /><br />“Allah is on our side.”<br /><br />She had managed to get him to spill the beans; but she had not thought of an exit strategy. The terrorist brute was growing more passionate by the moment…she could feel her modesty being compromised…<br /><br />“Muhammad!!!”<br /><br />The thug turned around to witness the chagrin of his fellow terrorists.<br /><br />“How dare you fall to the temptations of an infidel harlot!!”<br /><br />“A thousand apologies, Ahmed. I know not what I am doing…”<br /><br />Ahmed pulled the terrorist out by the throat, held him there with a violent death grip in his hands, pulled a pistol to his skull, his face and eyes full of fire…<br /><br />“You know what the penalty is for apostasy. Death!!”<br /><br />And with that the crack of a gun exploded, and Muhammad slumped lifelessly to the floor, blood pouring from the hole in his left temple.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The Stratocruiser had remained aloft all night, far off its projected course since Tunis…No doubt people on the ground were wondering what was going on, Catherine thought with a slight sense of hope. But then this was the Middle East, she remembered. Aircraft tracking technology here remained hopelessly crude…<br /><br />The aircraft alighted to the skies over the Arabian Desert with the morning’s first light…Catherine glanced over her shoulder to find her erstwhile captor also sleeping, the nuzzle of the gun still pointed in her direction. But Ahmed (the terrorist with the green bandanna) and one of his colleagues were awake and patrolling the aisle. As Ahmed passed Kemal, he shook his shoulder violently to rouse him.<br /><br />“We are finally closing in on our objective, Kemal. Praise Allah!”<br /><br />The night had been a long and monotonous ride toward certain doom, and Catherine had been unable to sleep a wink. The terrorists had taken advantage of her insomnia to press her into service as their maidservant, providing them with food and drinks from the kitchen, and had also assigned her the more grisly task of moving all bodies to the lower level of the aircraft. Her starched white blouse was now covered in blood stains, the entrails of death. It had taken her to the limit of her mental efforts to prevent herself from screaming violently….<br /><br />The surviving passengers (there were ten by her count, excluding the five surviving terrorists) were made to huddle in the rear seats of the upper level, their terrified faces mixed with expressions of hope that perhaps they would be freed when they reached Riyadh…what they didn’t know would, with absolute certainty, kill them, Catherine thought…She wanted to perform her job and make them as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, but the terrorists would not permit such interaction between hostages.<br /><br />Her mind had been working all night to formulate a plan to contact the Captain…What she had come up with was ridiculously obvious, but it was her only hope.<br /><br />“Excuse me,” she pleaded to Ahmed in her most servile tone of voice, “but the Captain usually takes his food right about this time. He must be very hungry by now.”<br /><br />”Silence, infidel whore.”<br /><br />”How do you expect him to fly the plane on an empty stomach?”<br /><br />“Men are capable of extraordinary feats when they are at the receiving end of a gun.”<br /><br />“The Captain needs something to eat right away,” Catherine begged. “He’s…diabetic. If he doesn’t eat something soon, he will go into insulin shock.”<br /><br />The terrorist pondered. The infidel bitch could of course be lying, most likely so. But would it be worth the risk of compromising the mission to take that chance – ?<br /><br />“I will let you take food to him. You will be in my sights at all times. You will attempt no heroics. For each mistake you make, a passenger dies.”<br /><br />Catherine said a silent prayer of thanks. The convenient lie had perhaps saved them all……<br /><br />--<br /><br />The cockpit door slowly opened…Catherine entered, bearing the food cart, with Ahmed close behind her…<br /><br />“Captain, I know you must be hungry.” She spoke in English.<br /><br />Mitchell turned around to look at her. A seat pillow slipcover was tied around her forehead and stained with dark blood. Her blouse was covered in blood stains. She looked like she had been through a night of horrors…<br /><br />“What have they done to you?”<br /><br />“Nothing….I am fine for now….” She made a show of shuffling through the food tray as she spoke. “This is the only chance I have to speak with you…The terrorists….”<br /><br />“NO TALKING!!!” cried Ahmed.<br /><br />“I am asking the Captain what he wants to eat.”<br /><br />“Be quick, infidel.”<br /><br />Catherine turned to the Captain and he could see the fear in her eyes…it was a miracle that she had held up this far, given the horrors that she had been made to face, he thought…but she was a tough girl, perhaps the bravest young woman he had ever encountered…<br /><br />She spoke in a low voice. “They want to use the plane as a weapon to destroy the refinery in Riyadh.”<br /><br />“So that’s their plan.”<br /><br />“We’re all going to die…you see….”<br /><br />“Not if I can help it.”<br /><br />It was one thing to be forced to transport the terrorists from one place to another. It was a totally different thing to deliberately harm innocent people…..<br /><br />“I have a plan…You take the controls. I know you can fly this plane…”<br /><br />“I can try…”<br /><br />“When you hear a gunshot blast, have the plane fall into a nosedive…I think you know what to do…”<br /><br />Catherine understood. “I know what to do.”<br /><br />“I’m putting my trust in you …”<br /><br />“I…will do my best, Captain.”<br /><br />“How many of those dudes are out there?”<br /><br />“There are three others, besides the two here…” She trembled in horror…he couldn’t possibly survive an entanglement with their captors.<br /><br />“Shit…well it’s too late to cry now…..Here we go then. Tell them I have to use the john.”<br /><br />“Enough of this!” bellowed Ahmed. “Infidel wenches, you will die if you make another sound.”<br /><br />Catherine looked up at the terrorist defiantly. “The Captain needs to use the bathroom.”<br /><br />“Who will fly the plane then?”<br /><br />“I will sit at the controls and hold them steady until he returns. I am trained to perform that task if necessary.”<br /><br />Ahmed considered briefly…”I will accompany him…Abdullah, keep an eye on her.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />Mitchell was led through the flight cabin, with Ahmed brandishing his gun and following close behind, to a terrible sight…The seats stank of blood and gore, the entire place reeked of death…In the rear the surviving passengers huddled like cattle being led to the slaughter, their faces white with unholy terror…The terrorists cowered over them brandishing their weapons, occasionally spilling out a string of curses elicited by passengers who were too slow to comprehend their orders…<br /><br />He could see that there were at least four heavily armed terrorists, and perhaps several more if anyone was down below. Vastly outnumbered and outgunned, the one thing he could possibly rely upon was the element of surprise…<br /><br />Let the insurgency begin…<br /><br />….With a movement so rapid that his thug captor had absolutely no time to react, he swung around and dispatched the Arab with a bone crushing jolt to the jaw…The Arab stumbled and loosed his grip on his rifle…Now was his chance…<br /><br />Grabbing the rifle as the bullets flew around him he dove to the floor and positioned himself behind a row of seats…Ahmed, now unarmed and lying prostrate against the cockpit door, was easy. He sank a round of bullets into his chest, and the terrorist leader quickly crumpled into lifelessness…<br /><br />--<br /><br />Catherine could hear the sound of the bullets from the cabin…it sounded like something out of wartime…dear god, the Captain…<br /><br />Immediately she followed the Captain’s instructions…She wrenched the controls and let the plane fall free downward towards the earth…hurtling toward certain death at hundreds of miles an hour…<br /><br />“What are you doing?!?!”<br /><br />Abdullah was caught off guard by all this…Desperately he lunged for the controls…<br /><br />“Oh no you won’t!”<br /><br />And with one sharp movement she exploited the moment of weakness to her advantage…with all her force she plunged her fist into his face…<br /><br />“AAAHH!!”<br /><br />Abdullah was now on the floor, writhing in pain….his face covered in blood….The gun was loose…Instinctually Catherine knew what to do…as she picked up the pistol and pumped three bullets into the Arab’s skull…<br /><br />The thug writhed slightly, and then lay deathly still….<br /><br />--<br /><br />The plane fell into a sickening dive….Passengers screamed as bullets flew and certain death seemed imminent…<br /><br />Good girl, thought Mitchell as the sudden distraction threw the terrorists off balance….With the thugs momentarily off guard and exposed, he used the opportunity to fire rounds at their exposed bodies. One thug collapsed in a hail of gunfire, a river of blood pouring from his chest.<br /><br />Two down, two to go….<br /><br />One of their dark and swarthy guests had taken a defensive position behind a row of seats and had started firing back in expert fashion. Mitchell became consumed in the gun battle between this adversary…Bullets flew wildly as he struggled for cover below the seat cushion…He could see the thug’s feet through the crawl spaces under the seat below him, and sensed an opportunity…drawing his rifle downward he fired into the slot below the seats…<br /><br />The thug never knew what hit him…the bullets tore into his legs and Mitchell could hear the howls of his agony and his cries for mercy to his god….<br /><br />Suddenly he noticed a faint movement out of the side of his eye…Somehow the last unharmed terrorist had managed to sneak up to his position….He barely had time to protect himself as the Arab monster leapt upon him, knocking him off balance…with his long sheath knife he plunged it into the Captain’s body with vigor….<br /><br />“Die infidel scum!!!”<br /><br />Suddenly a shot…the thug’s body went limp….<br /><br />Catherine stood over the scene, pistol in hand….her face flush with sickness…<br /><br />--<br /><br />“My God, you’re hurt…”<br /><br />The knife had left a terrible gash in the Captain’s arm, which he had managed to lift in front of him as a feeble means of protection in the nanosecond given him before being jumped by the terrorist…<br /><br />“Don’t worry about me. Who’s flying the damn plane??”<br /><br />The plane was continuing its free fall…they were losing elevation fast….but with his injured arm he was in no condition to fly a plane…<br /><br />“You’ll have to do this for me…Get to the cockpit.”<br /><br />Quickly they reached the front, Catherine helping the Captain as he staggered limply, and she assumed the pilot’s position.<br /><br />“Pull up hard!!! Do it now!!”<br /><br />They could see the ground below them approaching fast…the empty vastness of the hot orange blight of the desert…She pulled on the controls with all her strength, desperately trying to save what was left of them…<br /><br />Slowly she muscled the plane out of its descent….the floor grew level and then finally they could feel the Stratocruiser increasing in elevation.<br /><br />“Six thousand feet and climbing. God damn, that was close.”<br /><br />”What is that blinking light?” She pointed to a flickering red light on the dashboard.<br /><br />He could see the notification light on the instrument panel, and immediately recognized what it meant.<br /><br />“We’re low on fuel. Makes sense anyway, we only had enough for twelve hours in the air. If we don’t reach an airfield soon, we’ll have to ditch this bird somewhere.”<br />“You mean…an emergency landing?”<br /><br />”That’s what I’m talking about.”<br /><br />“I’ve never had to make an emergency landing.”<br /><br />”It’s not hard, Miss Carleton. You just land the thing on a flat piece of ground. Let me see your pistol.”<br /><br />”What do you need it for?”<br /><br />”We have some unfinished business."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-8002817652306671169?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-57445482801037487002009-03-24T20:34:00.002-05:002009-03-24T20:35:30.926-05:00“Welcome back, Captain!”<br /><br />The cabin crew of the <i>Equatorial Schooner</i> beamed with pride as their Captain entered the aircraft, looking none the worse for wear. He took one look around the aircraft with an approving glance.<br /><br />“Is everything in order today, Miss Carleton?”<br /><br />Catherine glanced back at him with a knowing smile. “Everything is in order and we are ready to accept passengers, Captain.”<br /><br />”Let’s move right along, then. Begin boarding.”<br /><br />It was good to get back in front of the old familiar instruments…the feel of the steering column between his clasped hands gave him a pleasure like no other he knew. Regardless of where he flew or what danger they faced, he loved flying like nothing else in the world. He had missed being here.<br /><br />“Getting back in the groove, Captain?” asked Stapleton.<br /><br />“I am, Captain. I am.”<br /><br />“We all missed you up here.”<br /><br />”It’s good to be back.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />Catherine noted that the number of passengers boarding today was considerably less than normal. The news of the terrorist attack upon one of the most prominent international airlines certainly put a damper on many peoples’ desires to fly…<br /><br />Yet it did not matter whether the planes flew empty, she had a job to do. She went over her mental checklist as she worked: greet passengers as they board the plane – check; ensure that all passengers are in their seats and nothing is blocking the aisles – check; close and secure all compartment doors and all overhead storage bins – check; secure all loose items in the back – check….<br /><br />All was completed – everything was ready for departure…She opened the cockpit door to inform the pilots.<br /><br />“The passengers are seated and everything is prepared for departure, Captain.”<br /><br />“Thank you, Miss Carleton. We will be departing presently.”<br /><br />“And this time let’s hope the terrorists don’t decide to join our party this time,” Packard joked wryly.<br /><br />“The itinerary has changed – we skip Baghdad from now on,” noted Stapleton.<br /><br />“That’s a relief. All’s a go up here, sugar, unless you have something else…”<br /><br />“We are ready in the back.”<br /><br />“Then let’s get this bird in the air.”<br /><br />“Oh, Captain…”<br /><br />Mitchell turned to her. “Yes, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />“We’re very glad to have you back.”<br /><br />And with a sly and flirtatious wink she slipped out and closed the door behind her…<br /><br />“Well…..what was that?”<br /><br />Packard could not shut up. “What was what?”<br /><br />“You and Miss Carleton….have a secret or something?”<br /><br />“Eh…no.”<br /><br />“Come on, Mitchell, we’re all men here, share it with us.”<br /><br />”Miss Carleton is likely….just being friendly.”<br /><br />”Come on, Terry, let up on him,” Stapleton crowed. “He saved the girl’s life. Of course she’s gotta be grateful for that.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The purple haze over the Atlas Mountains hung over the rocky outcrops like a pale fog. Soaring above the desert the Stratocruiser glowed bright orange-yellow as it caught the rays of the setting North African sun. They had just departed Algiers airport, heading east into the solid blackness of the desert night, their next stop being Tunis, just over one and a quarter hours’ flight time away.<br /><br />Mitchell loved moments like this….The beauty of the earth was by far best contemplated from this distant and wonderfully lofty perch…Far below he could see the bright yellow sands of the desert, and to his south rose the lovely purple peaks of the mountains which glowed in the sunlight; these would shadow their flight path henceforth into Tunisia. The soft shine of the fading light filled the cockpit with a mild amber warmth….<br /><br />“Beautiful,” remarked the Captain.<br /><br />“It’s perfect flying weather up here,” Stapleton concurred.<br /><br />The Captain grabbed the microphone and spoke to the passengers:<br /><br />”This is your Captain speaking. We have now reached cruising altitude of 37,000 feet and are holding level. Therefore seat belt restrictions have been removed for the time being. The weather ahead of us is clear, visibility seven miles, and thus we should make good time and arrive in Tunis at the scheduled time. Our hostesses will be coming around shortly to take your orders for this evening’s dinner. So for now, feel free to sit back, relax, and enjoy the remainder of the flight. Again we thank you for choosing Transoceanic Airways for your international journey, and have a pleasant evening.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The three rough, unwashed Arab men seated in the rear of the upper level listened to the Captain intently. They sat upright and alert in their seats, as if having some purpose or motive in mind.<br /><br />Catherine did not like the looks of them. They made her uncomfortable, just sitting there all together. She had dealt with many difficult passengers in her time, but these men were different. They were tense, almost as if they were in a hurry to go somewhere, yet they acted so unassuming and quiet…too quiet, in her opinion…<br /><br />She had told her stewardesses not to go anywhere near them if they could help it, that she would personally deal with them directly. She was fully aware that certain people sometimes took flights for purposes other than for mere transportation….<br /><br />Slowly she approached the men as they followed her movements with their beady dark eyes. They certainly looked like the right age and demographic that had a none too comfortable history around aircraft…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />On the lower level Miss Wei was serving drinks to the customers.<br /><br />She came across the young Arab man in a dark cloak, seated toward the rear of the fuselage.<br /><br />“Good evening sir would you like a drink??”<br /><br />The Arab spoke softly and low, with a thick accent:<br /><br />“I cannot hear you miss could you please come closer and talk louder?”<br /><br />Miss Wei bent into the seat, so that she was above the man, and raised her voice to repeat herself. “Would you like drinkee – “<br /><br />Suddenly a sharp sickening pain thrust clean into her belly…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />Catherine could hear the bloodcurdling scream from below…then the sounds of gunshots….<br /><br />No…this can’t be happening…not again…<br /><br /><i>The Arab men darted up in front of her and pulled their weapons from the overhead bins – “ALLLAAHH!!!” They started firing wildly. Horrified screams began to arise from all the passengers…instinctively Catherine fell to the floor…she could do nothing as the terrorists murdered passengers right and left…nothing but gunshots, coming from upstairs and downstairs….she could hear the dying screams and cries for mercy of the passengers as they were gunned down one by one…dear god, it was horrible….</i><br /><br />The Arab thug towered over her, smoking AK-47 in hand…Immediately she was staring down the barrel of a machine gun…<br /><br />“Up, infidel.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“What the hell is that?”<br /><br />Instantly Mitchell knew something was wrong…Gunfire, shouts…no…no…not this…anything but this...”Take the controls, Stapleton. People are dying out there!!!”<br /><br />“Don’t be a hero, Captain, you’re the best pilot we have…stay here and Terry and I will go out there…”<br /><br />--<br /><br />On the other end of the plane another man had risen and was now clutching Miss Flores tightly, a knife to her throat…<br /><br />“Put her down...”<br /><br />The Arab said something to his fellow terrorists….they replied grimly…Catherine, with her knowledge of Arabic, could understand all too well what they were saying….<br /><br />“Kill the infidel.”<br /><br />”NO!!”<br /><br />With one rapid movement the Arab thug slit Miss Flores’ throat. Dark red blood poured through the gash as Maria Flores’ corpse flung itself lifelessly to the floor.<br /><br />“Maria…oh god, no…”<br /><br />For all she knew, Liao and Sidya downstairs were already dead…<br /><br />Suddenly the cockpit door opened and Captain Stapleton and Flight Engineer Packard appeared in the doorway…..startled to find a field of death before their eyes…<br /><br />“One of the pilots and the flight engineer. Kill them.”<br /><br />And with guns blaring and bullets flying through the fuselage, Ollie Stapleton was cut down before her eyes, the jets of red blood exploding on his shirt as his corpse collapsed onto the carpet….Terry Packard staggered and fell as the bullets tore through his body, the visage of horrified shock as he realized that his life was about to end seared into her eyes forever…dropping down into a growing pool of dark red blood…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />He could hear the screams as his comrades’ lives were consumed by the terrorists…Mitchell bit his lip and tried to block the sounds of death out as he concentrated on flying the plane…because if he didn’t stay at the controls they would all be dead…<br /><br />--<br /><br />One of the Arabs wore a green bandanna and apparently served as the leader of the terrorist group. He drew up to her, inches from her face…She stared back defiantly, the terror in her bones rising precipitously nevertheless. She could feel the cold sweat on her back as she stared the Islamist down.<br /><br />“You understand us,” he growled in Arabic.<br /><br />“No I do not. I can speak your language if that is what you mean.”<br /><br />”Infidel. Of course you do not understand. But you understand what we say and that spares your life for now. You will present our demands to the captain, and you will be security that he fulfills his end. This will be the whole of your use to us. If you resist us, Allah be assured that you will die like your infidel friend there – “ he pointed to Maria.<br /><br />“We have done you no harm…we can offer you nothing…”<br /><br />”On the contrary….”<br /><br />He drew out a knife and held to her throat. The cool steel blade cut into the skin and Catherine knew that non-cooperation meant certain death.<br /><br />”What do you want?”<br /><br />“Take us to your captain.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The cockpit door flew open…First came Miss Carleton, then a bandanna wearing murdering Islamist, his long Bowie knife held precipitously to her throat. Two other gun toting terrorists followed behind him.<br /><br />“Make one false move, Captain, and she dies, along with the passengers,” the monster bellowed in untranslatable Arabic.<br /><br />“Listen to them, Captain. Do as they say. They say they will kill more passengers if we don’t do what they ask.”<br /><br />“What do they want?”<br /><br />”Now, the Captain is here. What do you want?”<br /><br />“We want direct passage to Riyadh. There will be no excuses tolerated. Anything that causes us unnecessary delay will lead to the deaths of more passengers.”<br /><br />Catherine relayed the information to him.<br /><br />“Why don’t you people just book a flight if you want to go somewhere?”<br /><br />”Captain…please…”<br /><br />”He doesn’t understand me. He speaks no English.”<br /><br />Catherine replied. “The Captain will take you where you want to go.”<br /><br />“Excellent. You will remain as my hostage to ensure that this is done as you say. Tell your Captain that.”<br /><br />”He says I am to be his hostage until we reach Riyadh.”<br /><br />”The hell you will…”<br /><br />”Neither the infidel wench nor the passengers will be harmed as long as you obey our commands.”<br /><br />”Please, Captain, he will kill more innocent people…”<br /><br />The Captain paused before speaking. ”I will fly to Riyadh…but on one condition.”<br /><br />“He wants one condition.” She switched to English again. “What is that, Captain?”<br /><br />“The girl – “ he gestured to Catherine “ – stays here. I will not leave a young lady like her alone with your kind.”<br /><br />“The Captain asks that I be left here.”<br /><br />“No conditions. It is done exactly as we say – or everyone dies, including yourself. We, as martyrs of Allah, are not afraid to die – in fact we welcome death.”<br /><br />“He wants no conditions. Captain, I need to be with the passengers now. People are hurt and dying out there….”<br /><br />The Captain considered for a moment. “If that is where you need to be then so be it…”<br /><br />”The Captain has acceded to your demands and will fly your party to Riyadh.”<br /><br />”Excellent. Abdullah, remain with the Captain and see that he fulfills his end of the bargain. The rest of you will stay with me to guard the surviving passengers.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />Fifty nine passengers had boarded the plane when departing Algiers. Thirty seven of those were now dead…along with Liao, Maria, and Sidya…and Captain Stapleton and Mr. Packard…all dead….in mere moments…<br /><br />But there were surviving passengers and almost all of them were injured to some extent. Gratefully the terrorists had let her tend to the most badly wounded. Perhaps this was because even they knew that most of them were as good as dead…they were too horribly wounded…there was nothing Catherine could do except keep them stable and make their deaths as painless as possible…<br /><br />The fear and horror in their eyes reflected hers…a nightmare of impending death, of unimaginable agony. She tortured herself for not doing more, for not ensuring that the plane was safe and free of weapons…she had let these poor people down, as well as the crew who depended on her. Their lives had depended on her and she had failed…..<br /><br />The first aid kits were hardly adequate. One by one she watched the life force of the most badly wounded passengers evaporate into nonexistence…<br /><br />The lower level was a disaster, a messy sea of bloody corpses and bullet pockmarked walls. She had found the bodies of Sidya and Liao there…Sidya’s corpse prostrated on top of several passengers who themselves had not survived…she had died trying to protect them….Catherine could barely hold back a tear as she took in the mirthful scene…<br /><br />In a corner, a child with a terrified expression huddled. His parents lay dead at his feet, torn and riddled clean through with bullet wounds. The boy appeared physically unharmed, but no doubt the emotional scars would probably never heal….She had seen him shaking violently with shock and had given him her suit coat, taking care to remove the valued pin which was her pride…It was all she could do…<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-5744548280103748700?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-12259423187083691162009-03-20T23:06:00.002-05:002009-03-20T23:07:05.509-05:00Before returning to the air, the powers that be had insisted that Catherine receive a complete physical examination, to ensure that she would be able to perform the job to top standard.<br /><br />Catherine did not mind, but she found it quite silly. Her body was healed and fine, and in good shape. She did not see why the formality of an inspection had to be done, but it was not her fate to understand the run of these things. So at the appointed time she paid a visit to the small clinic at the stewardesses’ lakeside compound – attired in full flight uniform, of course…<br /><br />--<br /><br />The nurse found her seated in the examination room, ready and waiting. She promptly got to work doing the basic, non-intrusive stuff – checking her throat and eyes, taking blood pressure, testing her reflexes. After all that was done…<br /><br />“This shouldn’t be any trouble, dear. You look like a nice healthy girl. I’ll give you some time to undress and then I’ll be back. Don’t take too long now unpacking your things,” she joked, shutting the door behind her.<br /><br />Catherine quivered. She hated this part of the exam, and especially hated that she would have to strip down for this. Well, at least it would only be the woman nurse who would get to see her practically au naturel….<br /><br />She unfastened the brass buttons of her dark green suit and removed the uncomfortable, ill fitting garment. She had always suspected that the suit had actually been designed for a man, but that the airline intentionally made stewardesses wear them anyway due to their tendency thus to emphasize, eh, certain parts of the body.<br /><br />Discarding her cap and shoes rapidly, she soon got to work on the rest of her clothes. The green polyester skirt was next to go; she unfastened her belt and let the fabric drop down to expose her long, slim, shapely legs. The white cotton blouse was slower to come off, but eventually it was too discarded.<br /><br />That would do it for now. Under all that outerwear, the required uniform included a pair of short, soft green cotton boxer shorts and a dark green military style tank top. The stewardesses, of course, were certainly not supposed to greet passengers or otherwise go about in public dressed so scantily – anything less than the standard full uniform, except for going without the formal pantsuit in warmer climates, was considered “out of regulation”, and the rules were assiduously and zealously enforced – even more so, Catherine reflected, than the safety rules, which perhaps proved the Captain’s points from the other night. So in a way, they were superfluous articles of clothing. However, it made sense to wear those items: they were comfortable under wear that served as a buffer from the rougher exterior clothing, and provided an extra layer of insulation for colder climates. Perhaps a woman had provided some input into the uniform design process somewhere after all. Catherine even had a habit of sleeping in these garments, such was the comfort they provided.<br /><br />Looking at herself in the full length mirror mounted on the wall, she saw a young, tanned, and athletic woman of twenty-eight, quite attractive, a portrait of perfect health and vitality, looking very fetching in her brief but still respectable garments…which brought out the sumptuous curve of her bosom and hips in dramatic fashion. If only the men could see her now….But a stewardess’ life was one of travel and adventure, and having a steady beau on the side was therefore out of the question…<br /><br />The nurse returned to find her ready. “You are ready, dear?”<br /><br />”Yes.”<br /><br />So they went through the procedure:<br /><br />• Arms were lifted above the head as far as possible, and stretched forward and backward as far as possible.<br />• Toes were to be touched three times from a standing position, with knees unbent.<br />• Body was to be balanced upon the tips of the toes for sixty seconds without interruption.<br />• Back was to be arched back as far as possible.<br /><br />Presumably this regimen was meant to test her flexibility and reflexes. Catherine could not quite comprehend the relevance of the above activities to that end, but oh well. It was all very basic stuff to her and her body performed the assigned tasks with ease.<br /><br />The second part of the procedure involved measurements; this was the part Catherine hated most, as above any other aspect of the examination it made her feel like cattle.<br /><br />First her weight, and then her height were measured; then measurements were taken of the width of her hips, waist, and (worst of all) her bust. Finally, the nurse poked around her midsection, squeezing it here and there in places….<br /><br />When they were finally finished….<br /><br />“Well, Miss Carleton, you are probably the finest specimen of a woman there is…Height five feet six inches, weight one hundred and thirty pounds, body measurements thirty eight-twenty four-thirty eight, reflexes perfect, muscle coordination excellent, 20/20 eyesight, blood pressure normal, cholesterol levels good, nary an ounce of excess fat on you.” She chuckled. “What do you do to keep this body of yours?”<br /><br />Catherine blushed. “I don’t know…I eat a lot of green foods, stay away from the brown foods, consume meat, bread, dairy products in moderation…I exercise every day when I can and try to get a full eight hours’ sleep every night, when I’m not on duty….I don’t smoke and I drink a glass or two of wine only occasionally, no beer, hard liquor or anything like that….other than that I don’t really do anything special, I guess I just have good genes or something similar…”<br /><br />”You probably can’t keep the men away, dearie.” The nurse cackled loudly.<br /><br />“Not necessarily….”<br /><br />“What, no husband? No boyfriend? Not even a gentleman caller?”<br /><br />”A stewardess’ life is forever busy.”<br /><br />“That’s a shame. You’d make a fine young wife for some man.”<br /><br />”I suppose…”<br /><br />She had never really contemplated marriage…or anything of that sort. Sex was such a mystery to her…<br /><br />--<br /><br />Having passed her physical exam with flying colors, Catherine could now concentrate on less prosaic matters. She would be reporting for duty tomorrow, as the Equatorial Schooner, resuming service with a new Stratocruiser pulled from revenue traffic in Latin America, was due to depart at 7:30 in the morning from O’Hare. But for now, a little fun was in order.<br /><br />The stewardesses’ Evanston compound, though having a college dorm-like feel which was not particularly appealing to her, was otherwise lavishly endowed with all of life’s pleasantries – a fully equipped gym, an Olympic sized swimming pool, one half mile of private secluded lakefront beach, a beauty salon, a full service restaurant, a sauna and massage parlor….Even she could not resist using what was provided to her, free of charge, as a longtime and loyal employee.<br /><br />The airline owned and operated other, similar facilities for their employees in locations all over the world, from France to India, from Brazil to China – wherever Transoceanic Airways flights traveled. They rivaled four star hotels in their quality and amenities. She had stayed at many of these equally well-apportioned compounds, during breaks between long shifts in the sky…<br /><br />She spent a few hours in the gym, working out at various machines, running laps, playing tennis with the ball dispensing machine (those balls came at you fast), and generally engaging in vigorous physical activity. She loved to exercise and would have done it every day if she could…..<br /><br />After the gym it was time to wash up….<br /><br />--<br /><br />As she let the cool soothing water from the shower head spill around her nude, sore body Catherine’s mind became lost in thought….thoughts which had turned to Captain Mitchell. Indeed, he was a different type of man, difficult to understand perhaps…but she had been right all along – he was a man with a fundamentally kind and decent center. She had indeed enjoyed their evening spent together, and they had learned a lot about each other also….<br /><br />If there was one thing that Catherine’s friends could say about her, it was that she was apprised of a kind and caring heart. Perhaps another woman would have given up on him …but she did not accept defeat so easily. It was something in her nature, perhaps, that made her persist her attempts to reach him, to allow the one man she most deeply respected for once to accept his humanity. But it was also something else…something she knew about him, which certainly no one else knew…something buried deep and far in the past….<br /><br /><i>SAIGON – Today from this dilapidated and ruined city at the heart of the battlefield, where tragedy is a way of life and deadly violence is a daily occurrence, there was a story that gives these bedraggled people of these parts something they have for so long not permitted themselves to feel – hope.<br /><br />Capt. James Mitchell, a Transoceanic Airways cargo pilot, acting completely on his own volition and defying his employer’s orders, provided an impromptu mission of mercy last Thursday for twenty-seven young Vietnamese children who were fleeing the countryside where they are at the mercy of the guerilla fighters.<br /><br />They were escaping a harsh life where poverty and disease are endemic, with the only economic activity that pays anything being warfare. Children are routinely sold by their parents to the guerilla forces to serve as Enemy soldiers, where they are used in such lethal capacities as human shields, bomb screeners, lookouts, and even as unwilling and unwitting suicide bombers against Imperial troops.<br /><br />The children were delivered to an Imperial Armed Forces base in Queensland, Australia, where they are being cared for by Red Cross workers.<br /><br />Transoceanic Airways issued this statement: “We are dedicated to relieving the misery and suffering of innocent victims of warfare worldwide. Though our company generally prefers to pursue this aim by supporting agencies such as the Red Cross which dedicate their mission to this end, we commend Captain Mitchell for his heroic and unprovoked action.” The airline went on further to state that Mitchell will remain employed with the airline and will face no disciplinary action.<br /><br />Capt. Mitchell declined to be interviewed for this story.</i><br /><br />And this:<br /><br /><i>BERLIN – Two aircraft came perilously close to collision yesterday at Tempelhof International Airport, but disaster was averted at the last moment due to the quick thinking of one of the pilots involved.<br /><br />The airport control tower granted the incoming Transoceanic Airways Flight 146 from London, the Brandenburg Schooner, permission to land on Runway 23-H – the same runway upon which Scandinavian Airlines Flight 87to Oslo was preparing to take off from at that same moment.<br /><br />Seeing the danger and disregarding the instructions of the control tower, Transoceanic Airways Capt. James Mitchell executed a last minute maneuver that avoided a collision and spared 207 passengers and crew members in both vessels certain catastrophic harm.<br /><br />The Brandenburg Schooner was later cleared to land on an open runway.<br /><br />The flight traffic controller was found to be inebriated and was later dismissed from his position by airport management, a spokesman for the airport authority said.</i><br /><br />And, most importantly, this:<br /><br /><i>NEW CALEDONIA – A squadron of Imperial Air Force fighter pilots thought lost at sea was rescued from certain death yesterday.<br /><br />7th Fighter Wing pilot Capt. James Mitchell encountered the remains of the 242nd Squadron of the 6th Fighter Wing, missing since Tuesday of last week and presumed lost by military authorities, as he was engaged in a routine reconnaissance patrol in the area of ocean approximately 250 miles northeast of New Caledonia and 100 miles south of Enemy lines. Passing low over the remaining wreckage, he could see that five men were still alive in the water. Assistance was radioed to shore and rescue crews were immediately dispatched from the Armed Forces station in Fuulauu.<br /><br />Rescued from the ocean were Ensign Freddie Fisher, 24, of Greeley, Colorado; Ensign John Muratore, 23, of Grand Rapids, Michigan; Lt. Able Freeman, 26, of Greenwood, Mississippi; Ensign Bruce Horry, 19, of Hickory, North Carolina; and Capt. Albert Carleton, 29, of Hamilton, Wisconsin.<br /><br />All have been returned to shore and are recovering from their week long ordeal.</i><br /><br />So as she saw it, she owed her very existence to this heroic, wonderful man….<br /><br />--<br /><br />As Catherine regarded her dripping, naked body in the full length mirror, she could not help but feel a slight tinge of pride. The nurse had been correct, after all – she was indeed quite the perfect specimen of a woman…<br /><br />If anyone else had seen her in this manner, they would not only be impressed by her incredible beauty, but by how remarkably similar her statuesque figure resembled the eternal proportionate feminine ideal reflected in the Venus de Milo or some other artifact of classical art. Indeed, her body was an even greater work of art in itself, as if some living goddess had alighted here on earth and become mortal.<br /><br />Her frame was lithe, tanned, and athletic; yet the inviting curve of her full hourglass figure remained very prominent. Her full, round breasts and slim, narrow waist would have been the delight of any man. Her wide, generous hips and soft round posterior communicated the full health and vigor of fertility and womanhood.<br /><br />Catherine had mixed feelings about her body…Certainly she enjoyed activities that kept her healthy and in shape, and she was understandably proud of the result of her efforts. But she understood that oftentimes being a full-figured woman could prove a curse, particularly in her profession…such as when she was occupied with work and some lecherous business traveler decided that would be a fine time to take in a generous glance at her rear….or when she could feel the hot sensation of the stares from male passengers as she walked down the aisle…or when it was implicitly communicated to her and her fellow female workers by management that stewardesses’ main contribution as members of the crew were to serve as sort of risqué moving advertisements for the airline – “Fly Transoceanic – Best in the Air for Tender Loving Care.” Indeed.<br /><br />She rubbed her hands down her slender abdomen, slowly moving them further downward to take in the curve of her hips. Yes, she indeed had benefited from a lucky set of genes….but what a tremendous waste it all was…nature had crafted her so delicately for that certain purpose for which women were necessary to fulfill…and yet her life’s greatest disappointment was the terrible chasm of emotional emptiness she sometimes could not help but feel deep inside, betraying loneliness of the worst sort, the sort that ate into your body and the pain of which you could physically feel…<br /><br />In all her twenty-eight years she had never truly known the affections of a man, had never experienced the pleasure of a sweet and gentle caress, an embrace, even a kiss….had never enjoyed the joy of that wondrous gift of complete physical union which nature had endowed humanity with…<br /><br />It was not as if she absolutely needed a man to survive. She had done all right on her own so far. But could she go on forever like this….?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-1225942318708369116?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-39111214941526650842009-03-16T20:37:00.000-05:002009-03-16T20:38:55.135-05:00“Hi!”<br /><br />The cheery presence that revealed itself behind the opening door was a shock and a revelation to him…it was indeed Miss Carleton, but much different from how he usually recognized her.<br /><br />He had never seen her before in civilian clothes (as they called being out of uniform, in normal dress). She was dressed in a neat and sharp red sleeveless blouse, which perhaps completely by accident emphasized the fullness of her well rounded bosom…and a pair of white Capri pants which did much to bring out the curve of her generous hips. In all the difference in her appearance had given her a definitely more feminine and charming air…yes, she was a particularly attractive woman…<br /><br />“Captain….are you okay?”<br /><br />”I’m sorry…You just…look different.”<br /><br />She giggled softly. “You’ve never seen me in my civvies before, have you? And you don’t look so bad yourself.”<br /><br />He had worn his best suit – really his one only good suit – which he rarely wore anyway except in the slight chance that her needed to be somewhere work related but not in his pilot’s uniform.<br /><br />“Well, won’t you come in?”<br /><br />He stepped into her small but comfortably apportioned flat to the sweet aromas of something very delicious cooking.<br /><br />“What’s that smell?”<br /><br />”That would be dinner, Captain….”<br /><br />He glanced about the small apartment. The room was filled with comfortable furniture and looked out onto a balcony which presented an incredible view of the lakefront and Lake Michigan. The kitchen was neat and tidy, though well used – there were glass bottles of various olive oils and preservatives neatly sorted on the shelves. Further back in a hall behind the kitchen were other rooms, presumably including the room where Miss Carleton slept…<br /><br />It was a world removed from his bare and depressing South Side hovel…<br /><br />“Your apartment is lovely.”<br /><br />“Thank you. It’s a mess right now though. I try to keep it clean and tidy, but being away most of the time I don’t really get to see it enough.”<br /><br />“Have you lived here long?”<br /><br />”A couple of years now.”<br /><br />“Somehow I imagined you lived with the other stewardesses, in the compound up in Evanston…”<br /><br />”I couldn’t live in what amounts to a dorm forever. That was fine while I was in college, but you have to grow up sometime…Oh…”<br /><br />She darted to the kitchen to stir something temptingly appetizing in a pot situated on the stove.<br /><br />“Dinner’s almost ready – not quite done yet. Why don’t you sit down, Captain, make yourself comfortable. My home is your home. Where’s my manners? Let me take your coat for you.”<br /><br />And she helped him remove his jacket as he peeled it from his back, discarding the uncomfortable item on a chair.<br /><br />“There, that’s better.”<br /><br />The Captain sank into one of the large easy chairs in the living room.<br /><br />“Would you like something to drink? I have plenty to choose from.”<br /><br />”Just water, that’s all…”<br /><br /><i>That’s right, he doesn’t drink</i>, she thought. <i>I need to remember those kinds of things.</i><br /><br />--<br /><br />“I believe that you are an excellent cook, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />The panne pesto and soufflé were perhaps the best he had ever eaten. He had consumed his fill and then some. This woman could certainly cook…<br /><br />“I am glad you think so, Captain.”<br /><br />”Apparently there are many things I did not know about you. Until today I did not even know what your first name was.”<br /><br />”Really…?”<br /><br />”Really.”<br /><br />”Well we can’t go on like that now. I think we should work to remedy the situation.”<br /><br />”What’s that?”<br /><br />”You tell me something about yourself that I don’t know, and I’ll tell you something that you don’t know about me.”<br /><br />“Okay…there isn’t much to tell, really….”<br /><br />Catherine could see that he was nervous.<br /><br />“Your first time out with a girl?”<br /><br />”Actually…well, it’s been a long time. Spending your days piloting round the world flights are not exactly beneficial for your social life.”<br /><br />”I understand.”<br /><br />“Well then, I have probably flown into every major airport in the world, and more minor airports than I can count, including some I bet you have never heard of. I have flown across the Himalayas dozens of times, across the Pacific more times than I care to remember, and to every continent including Antarctica. So I have done a lot of flying, you see…I probably have spent as much time in the air as I have on the ground in the past thirty years.”<br /><br />“Do you enjoy it?”<br /><br />”What?”<br /><br />”Flying.”<br /><br />”I must confess…I only really feel at ease when I’m up there…You wanted to know something about me, there you are.”<br /><br />“I believe you… That is why I leave you alone when you fly…I know you are working when you are dead to the world…”<br /><br />”You…know that?”<br /><br />”It’s hard not to notice, unless you don’t care to notice, like most people will do. They think piloting is easy…”<br /><br />”And how would you know about the intricacies of flying a plane?”<br /><br />”My father was a pilot.”<br /><br />“Oh…” This was a revelation. “I guess I never met him then…I don’t recall knowing any pilots named Carleton.”<br /><br />”He served in the Air Forces, then piloted for Air America for twenty years. He’s retired now; took his retirement pay in the last union buyout and moved to Florida with my mom to live the life of a beach bum.”<br /><br />“Heh heh.” Air America was Transoceanic’s hated rival in the international passenger travel ranks of the aviation industry. “So your father worked for the competition. Fancy that.”<br /><br />“I guess he’s the real reason why I decided to make a career in the aviation industry…I really have been around planes and airports since I was knee high.”<br /><br />”So you grew up in the milieu.”<br /><br />”You could say that….How did you decide to become a pilot, Captain?”<br /><br />”Oh…to escape, I guess. I grew up only a few blocks from the old Midway airport. I would watch those big birds take off and land constantly. People would complain about all the noise…but I loved the roar of the jet engines…I would dream that one day I could catch one of those planes and they would take me away….”<br /><br />She could see that talking about it was making him increasingly uncomfortable.<br /><br />“It’s fortunate that you followed your dreams, Captain. You have a talent.”<br /><br />”Talent has nothing to do with it, Miss Carleton. Anyone can learn to fly an airplane competently, given the proper training and experience.”<br /><br />“Maybe so, but you have a talent…You are an excellent pilot…and I’m not the only person who thinks so….I can say with certainty that you are the most experienced and competent pilot I have ever had the pleasure to work under.”<br /><br />The Captain was still and quiet for a moment…She had touched a nerve, somewhere.<br /><br />“No one…has ever told me anything quite like that before…I thank you….”<br /><br />“People admire you, Captain. More than you know.”<br /><br />The Captain sat still, contemplating for a moment, before speaking in a low voice. “What do your friends think of me, Miss Carleton?”<br /><br />”What do you mean?”<br /><br />”I mean, I don’t scare our mutual colleagues too much, do I?”<br /><br />She laughed softly. “They don’t understand what good pilots have to do. I have to set them straight. But they all have nothing but the highest regard and respect for your skills.”<br /><br />“Well…that is a relief…somewhat…”<br /><br />”I suspect that you feel more comfortable around aircraft that you do around people, Captain.”<br /><br />”That…I do…”<br /><br />”There is nothing wrong with that…but I imagine it is hard to take, sometimes…having no one to talk to…”<br /><br />”Yes…sometimes…”<br /><br />“I wouldn’t mind….if you would let me be that person…that you come to when you just want to talk.”<br /><br />She moved her hand upon the table, her delicate feminine fingers brushing his and coming to rest slightly upon them.<br /><br />“I have always respected you greatly, Captain.”<br /><br />The Captain flinched slightly…”Why are you being so good to me?”<br /><br />“You saved my life. According to an old Chinese proverb that makes each of us responsible for the other.”<br /><br />”Never heard of that.”<br /><br />”I would like to believe so.”<br /><br />”Miss Carleton – “ He struggled to get the words out, as these would be painful even to him. “You are a remarkable and extraordinary young woman, a supremely capable stewardess, a warm and wonderful person. I wouldn’t want you to get mixed up with an old man like myself…”<br /><br />“I wouldn’t call it ‘getting mixed up’ with you. More like being a friend.”<br /><br />The Captain stared blankly.<br /><br />“You know, a friend? Someone you can talk to when you’re down, share your hopes and dreams with?”<br /><br />The Captain said nothing.<br /><br />”I want to be your friend, Captain. That is what I am trying to say. That is why I invited you here. Will you let me have that opportunity?”<br /><br />Her beautiful brown eyes bore down directly into his…they were filled with nothing save genuine warmth and goodwill....<br /><br />It was crazy but how he wanted this woman…she was an exceptional beauty, the kind of woman that came along only once in a blue moon, the kind of woman you just didn’t discard or set aside…she was so young and there was no chance in hell he would ever be with her the way he would have liked in that moment, but did it really matter?….a one in a million chance at even a tiny bit of happiness…how could he throw it away…hell, at his age what more did he have to lose anyway??<br /><br />“I would be honored to call you a friend, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />Catherine smiled broadly. “And I would be honored to be your friend, and to call you my friend also, Captain.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Could I interest you in a little more wine?”<br /><br />They stood outside upon Catherine’s balcony, taking in the cool air and the gleaming lights of the city below them. To their south the glorious skyline of downtown Chicago rose like a sea of lights towering into the blackness.<br /><br />“I suppose one more glass…wouldn’t hurt.”<br /><br />Somehow she had convinced him to take a drink, in this case a glass of red wine. Maybe he had just been trying to be friendly. Mitchell had to admit he had not known what he was missing. The wine had a strong odor and a thick aftertaste but somehow he could gather the sweetness of the underlying grapes.<br /><br />Catherine had noticed the changes in him. The wine had loosened him up, not substantially but enough that he was not his usual uptight self. It warmed her heart to see him like this…<br /><br />“You are quickly becoming a wine connoisseur, Captain.”<br /><br />”I couldn’t tell you what I’m drinking, but it’s pretty good.”<br /><br />”You see what you’ve been missing. And no one will ever know either. It’ll be our secret.”<br /><br />She leaned upon the balcony railing, wine glass in hand, as Mitchell took her in. The wind whipped softly, blowing the loose strands of her brown hair upon her smiling face. She was the portrait of beauty itself, like something out of a painting…she certainly had been blessed by nature with an ample and shapely figure…<br /><br />“So your name is Catherine.”<br /><br />”You really didn’t know.”<br /><br />”No, I did not, and that was a shame. That is a pretty name. It suits you.”<br /><br />”Thank you, that’s sweet. I wish you would call me by it. Or better yet call me Cathy, that’s what my close friends know me by.”<br /><br />”No, I think I will continue to call you Miss Carleton. I’m used to it anyway, since I’ve known you by that name for so long, and besides it makes you seem more mysterious.”<br /><br />She laughed pleasantly. “If that is your wish, then…”<br /><br />”In any case you are a lady, and I was brought up to be respectful to ladies.”<br /><br />”I know it.” Indeed, she did…..<br /><br />“Miss Carleton, why did an intelligent and talented woman such as yourself become a stewardess, out of all the aviation careers? I would think that you would have desired to become a pilot yourself, or something of that sort.”<br /><br />”Well the aviation industry was not my first career…my training is in nursing, which is the career I intended to pursue originally.”<br />“That makes sense…” Stewardesses, of course, were required to be registered nurses or have at least ten years’ of nursing experience. This was a major selling point of the airline and a symbol of the high personnel standards which Transoceanic maintained.<br /><br />“I started as a civilian nurse and worked in that capacity for a couple of years, then joined the Army Nursing Corps when the war broke out – well, to say ‘I joined’ is a mischaracterization, I was drafted into the service.” She chuckled bitterly.<br /><br />“Same story here – I served in the 7th Fighter Wing of the Imperial Air Force during the conflict…You have no idea how much guilt I feel over that time in my life…”<br /><br />“You saw things too…I imagine….”<br /><br />”I think anyone who served overseas saw things they’d rather not remember. I know pilots who have gone insane, who have damn nearly crashed planes, because they could never come to terms with the things they did in the war…”<br /><br />“That’s terrible.”<br /><br />”Life is harsh, dear. We all know that by now. But enough about that; why didn’t you stay in nursing?”<br /><br />“I left nursing, I suppose, for various reasons…I wanted to see the world, I wanted excitement and adventure but without the pain and death that comes with war, I wanted to be around aircraft again, and sort of prove to my father that I was as capable as he around an airplane. And above all else I wanted to work for Transoceanic. Nothing against Air America, but at Transoceanic I knew I would be among the best of the best.” She glanced down toward the city below their feet. “My original idea was to become a pilot – I actually do have some flight experience and a pilot’s license – and that’s the position I applied for. However, the pilot’s union apparently won’t accept a woman pilot into their ranks.”<br /> “The bastards. They are a bunch of fossilized leeches.”<br /><br />”I knew there was a reason you don’t belong to the union. You don’t wear their pin.”<br /><br />All unionized pilots wore a pin signifying their membership in the union – the Associated Airline Pilot’s Association (AAPA). The union represented the majority of pilots in commercial aviation.<br /><br />“So I took a position where they would accept me, and that was in the stewardess ranks. I think the airlines – all of them, not just Transoceanic – prefer to employ women as stewardesses and men everywhere else.”<br /><br />“Knickerbocker is an idiot.”<br /><br />“He’s a legend. How dare you say that about him.”<br /><br />”A legend who is past his prime. He is a great man, a visionary who built this company, and probably the best living pilot today, though I wager he hasn’t flown a plane in ages. But his mentality toward air travel is decidedly a thing of the past. And it holds the entire industry back, because everyone else, with a few exceptions, take their cues from him.”<br /><br />“Whatever do you mean?”<br /><br />”He flies those damn dilapidated Stratocruisers because he’s best friends with the CEO of Kensington and they haven’t put out a good aircraft design in ages – that was their last product of any value. He operates global service to places that nobody wants to go and which bleeds money; we fly those routes just for the prestige value that they carry. And while we waste money and resources there, Air America is making serious headway cutting into our market share on the high value routes to Europe and Japan. He flies into places like Baghdad and Tehran, where people hate us yet we have no security on the ground, because he thinks he’s spreading the light of the American way, but in fact he just stokes the fires of terrorist hatred there. Tactical miscalculations such as this, as you and I know, can get people hurt and killed. He is trading on the good name and quality reputation of this airline so as to implement his little schemes that do no good for us in the long run, and ultimately go nowhere.”<br /><br />“You…should tell him all that…that is all very true…”<br /><br />”Ha! He’d never listen to me. I’m nobody.”<br /><br />”You have seniority at this company, and best yet you’re a pilot…if there is anyone Captain Knickerbocker would probably listen to, it would be to a fellow pilot. He still considers himself one, after all.”<br /><br />“Maybe one day, Miss Carleton. But I believe I have perhaps been too open about the realities of this airline. I would hate to spoil your idealism….” The Captain checked his watch. “It is quite late. I should be getting along home now.”<br /><br />“I have very much enjoyed your company this evening, Captain.”<br /><br />”I have enjoyed this visit as well, Miss Carleton. Your dinner was excellent and perhaps I will come around in the future to sample your other delectable dishes.”<br /><br />”It would be my pleasure if you did so.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“I will retire now, Miss Carleton. Thank you for a pleasant evening.”<br /><br />They stood in the doorway, their faces and bodies at ease, for once completely comfortable in each other’s presence.<br /><br />“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, Captain. Thank you for coming.”<br /><br />She took his hand and held it gently.<br /><br />“If you need anything else…please let me know.”<br /><br />”Does this change things…between us?”<br /><br />”Things will the same as always on the next flight with you, Captain. For now if you’d like, we can keep this state of affairs to ourselves. We are adults and it is our private business after all.”<br /><br />“I have to…keep up appearances, you know…Our colleagues, particularly your women friends, would have a field day with gossip if they suspected…that we were privately fraternizing on the side, even if only in friendly fashion such as this.”<br /><br />“I understand completely.”<br /><br />“I must be going now…I will see you in a couple of days, then.”<br /><br />”See you then. Good night, and have a safe trip home.”<br /><br />There was a moment that passed…before they managed to let go of each other….It was important that Mitchell left there, fast. He was not sure how much longer he would be able to control himself, around her…control his burning urge to take her in his arms and make passionate love to her…..<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-3911121494152665084?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-12531132037963278672009-03-12T20:27:00.001-05:002009-03-12T20:28:48.469-05:00The top executives of Transoceanic Airways were assembled in a lavishly apportioned penthouse conference room which featured a beautiful view of Lake Michigan from one side and a lovingly and painstakingly detailed hand painted map of the Transoceanic empire filling up the entirety of the opposite wall. A scale model of an historic Electra Model 4 – the first aircraft Transoceanic Airways had used to transport passengers – hung like a mobile from the high ceiling.<br /><br />Captain Knickerbocker himself stood at the front of the room, at a podium emblazoned with the TA winged bird logo, which had been specially built for his large, tall, and powerful presence. He cleared his throat and spoke at once:<br /><br />“We often speak of the dedication and loyalty that our employees have for Transoceanic Airways, but what do we mean by that? Oftentimes I think that in most instances we speak of this in the abstract. We say these pretty words and claim that this is what we live by. But when push comes to shove, that is all they fundamentally are – pretty words – without real life instances of exceptional dedication and extraordinary attention to service.<br /><br />“That is why it pleases me greatly to present these two fine, dedicated longtime employees of Transoceanic Airways to you today. Not only have they proven their loyalty and quality as employees of this great airline in their longtime service which they have provided to the highest standard of quality for many years, but they have proven themselves particularly exceptional, in going well above and beyond the call of duty. In a situation which demanded their utmost, they gave their utmost. Ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce to you Captain James Mitchell and Miss Catherine Carleton, our heroes of the Baghdad incident!”<br /><br />The assembled crowd clapped loudly and stood in respect to the two battered individuals seated beside Captain Knickerbocker.<br /><br />Mitchell could not return the favor as he remained for the most part wrapped in bandages (most were under his clothing) and the burns he had received, while they had healed considerably, were best not aggravated by unnecessary movement.<br /><br />“Miss Carleton, serving as head stewardess of our flagship Equatorial Schooner that day, saw to it, in the face of impending terrorist attack, that all of the passengers on board the Stratocruiser in Baghdad were evacuated safely off the aircraft in the mere moments to be had before the terrorists were able to strike, causing catastrophic and total damage to the airplane. She performed her duty admirably in the face of danger, placing her own safety and life at risk so that our passengers could escape harm and potential death. Due to her heroic efforts and those of her fellow stewardesses on the ground that day, not a single passenger suffered injury or fatality that day.<br /><br />“Captain Mitchell, lead pilot of the Equatorial Schooner, seeing the impending attack and being powerless to stop it, nevertheless understood immediately that lives were in danger. It was he who identified the approaching vehicle as that of terrorists, and instantly alerted Miss Carleton and the flight crew to their approach. After the terrorists had made their impact, with Miss Carleton remaining trapped in the burning fuselage, he risked life and limb to rescue her from a certain horrible death. In the process he suffered terrible burns and other injuries. His regard for the safety of his crew is honorable and worthy of the highest esteem.<br /><br />“Ladies and gentlemen, this is what is meant by dedication. A round of applause to our distinguished guests!”<br /><br />The assembled executives rose again in applause. Cries of “hear, hear” could be heard.<br /><br /><i>I wonder if I’m supposed to get a medal or something?</i> thought Mitchell with derision. I<i> was just doing my goddamn job, for Chrissakes.</i><br /><br />He turned his glance to Miss Carleton who sat about five feet to his right. He had not really permitted himself to absorb into his mind, until now, what a beautiful woman she truly was. She was possessed of an ample and full figure that most women (and men) dreamed about; her face was sculpted and chiseled, lifted high with the dignity and confidence of a completely self-assured woman; her soft nutmeg brown hair was braided into a large ponytail which came out from under her stewardesses’ cap and hung neatly behind her head; her legs (or what he could see of them) were shapely, feminine, athletic…<br /><br />I was doing my job, really…but certainly I couldn’t let as decent and capable as Miss Carleton be scorched to death on a burning aircraft…could I…??<br /><br />She stole a glance at him…and observed his attentions….<br /><br />….and gave him a warm and genuinely friendly smile, which any man would have been proud to have elicited from so lovely a lady.<br /><br />He then realized that he had not seen her at all since that day in Baghdad, not even once….<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Captain Mitchell!”<br /><br />He had attempted to make his escape down the hall, hoping beyond hope not to be broadsided into another conversation with some executive, retelling his story for the eightieth time - and that after Captain Knickerbocker had relayed it so well during his speech, much better than he could, since his memory was full of blanks regarding exactly what he had actually done. Above all people, he would have liked to have spoken with the old aviator, but it was not to be – the Captain was, of course, a very busy man and could not stay anywhere for long, always seemingly having to attend to important airline business. Well, if Transoceanic was a passion for any man, it certainly was for Captain Knickerbocker.<br /><br />But it was not a stranger’s voice he had heard. It was the soft feminine voice of Miss Carleton….<br /><br />“Captain Mitchell! Please wait!”<br /><br />He turned to face her…The injuries she had sustained in the fire, if any, were no longer visible. Thankfully she had not been exposed too greatly to the flames….She looked beautiful and radiant as he had always known her to appear.<br /><br />“Captain, I never….was able to properly thank you…for saving my life.”<br /><br />“It needs no thanks. Life is too precious to discard.”<br /><br />”I would like to do something for you, if I may…I feel that I at least owe you something…”<br /><br />Mitchell averted his eyes. “It’s fine, really, Miss Carleton. Your standing in front of me here, alive, is satisfaction enough.”<br /><br />“Could I at least interest you in…going out for a drink, perhaps?”<br /><br />”Hm?”<br /><br />”You know, a drink? Something people do in their spare time….?”<br /><br />Catherine was uncertain that he really knew what she meant.<br /><br />“I know what you mean. But you have to understand, I don’t drink.”<br /><br />“Oh….”<br /><br />”Pilots aren’t allowed to drink. Even one glass of beer consumed off duty is liable to somehow affect us at the controls. At least according to the pilots’ manual.”<br /><br />”Well, then…could I interest you in dinner?”<br /><br />”Dinner..”<br /><br /><br />”Dinner, yes.” She giggled softly. “My friends tell me I’m an excellent gourmet.”<br /><br />“I suppose…I must go by your friends’ word, then. If so then yes, I guess I’d be interested in dinner.”<br /><br />”Excellent.” She beamed broadly. “Do you know where my apartment is located?”<br /><br />”Not exactly.”<br /><br />”My flat is…” She gave him a North Side address, near the lake, and detailed directions on how to reach it. “I’ll see you there…would eight tomorrow night be a good time for you?”<br /><br />”Anytime is a good time right now. I have a week’s leave out of this, same as you.”<br /><br />”Then it’s settled…we’ll meet each other at my place tomorrow at eight in the evening. And I promise, you won’t be disappointed with my cooking…Thank you, Captain, for letting me do this for you.”<br /><br />“I will see you then, Miss Carleton. And I deeply appreciate the gesture…Good evening.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />It had taken a great deal of courage for Catherine to do what she had just done.<br /><br />After all, she owed him something. He had saved her life, after all.<br /><br />But the Captain was so mysterious, so distant…it had always been impossible to break through the wall of decorum, to reach the actual person inside that shell. Somehow by being so direct with him, she had caught him off guard, and she had somehow managed to breach it, if only slightly. She was certain that inside, there was someone warm, kind, decent, worth getting to know. This was by no means the majority opinion among her co-workers, as she found upon a visit to her colleagues who, being non-natives of Chicago, were currently being accommodated in Transoceanic Airways’ swank, plush, and fully modern stewardesses’ compound, located along the shores of Lake Michigan in Evanston.<br /><br />“He must be, you know, dear….” Maria Flores made a slightly obscene gesture that signified homosexuality. “Like that.”<br /><br />“I can’t imagine so,” Catherine replied. “There is nothing in his manner…that even slightly suggests that.”<br /><br />“I think he is just a cold, unfeeling man,” volunteered Sidyartha Prakadashapuri. “He is an excellent pilot and treats us ladies well, but he does not have a heart. It is a karmatic thing, I guess…the gods give you great talents, but deprive you of everything else that makes you human…”<br /><br />“Then what compelled him to pull me out of that burning plane?”<br /><br />”Simple logic – he could have been prosecuted if he had left you there…”<br /><br />”I don’t think so, Sidya. He suffered third degree burns – he could have been killed himself. That is too harsh a judgment.”<br /><br />“I theenk Captain Meetchell veeery handsome man,” quipped Wei Liao.<br /><br />“Of course you do, Liao,” Maria responded. “You would hump anything as long as it moves!”<br /><br />The women laughed.<br /><br />“Seriously, ladies,” Maria intoned, “I think that based on the way the Captain is, there is something very wrong with him. Maybe it isn’t his fault that he’s the way he is. But when he’s flying the plane…he just stares out into space, like he’s no longer there. I have seen him do that many times.”<br /><br />”He’s concentrating.”<br /><br />”You have an easy explanation for everything, Cathy.”<br /><br />”That is what the best pilots do, Maria. He is concentrating on things. He is listening for minute sounds that could spell trouble. Sounds that you and I, or any of us, are not even trained to listen for.”<br /><br />”How is that possible? We are trained to listen for any aircraft problem.”<br /><br />”Yes, but does that trump thirty years of flying experience, which by the way all of us put together do not even have?”<br /><br />”No…but it is still very odd…”<br /><br />”During my convalescence, I spent a good deal of time reading up on the Captain’s career. Yes, there are public documents to that effect. Do you remember the Rangoon incident from fifteen years ago?”<br /><br />As members of the Transoceanic Airways community they had heard of it, though none had a real personal recollection of the event. Two TA cargo planes had nearly collided in midair over Rangoon, but had averted disaster at the last moment.<br /><br />“The pilot of the first plane was having engine trouble and that led him into the path of the second plane. The investigators came to the conclusion that if not for the last minute diversion of the second plane, there would undoubtedly have been a collision which would have killed everyone on both aircraft, as well as many people on the ground. They found that it had been the trained ear of the second plane’s pilot that had heard the oncoming craft, and the sounds of its disabled engine – from behind his position, which tells you there it’s a miracle that he heard the other plane coming – and on that basis executed the maneuver that saved many lives. Guess who the second pilot was that day?”<br /><br />”No…you tell us.”<br /><br />”Our own Captain Mitchell, ladies.”<br /><br />The women sat silent.<br /><br />“But of course you don’t hear on the news about accidents that never occurred, now do you?”<br /><br />“No…I guess not.”<br /><br />”Cathy, dear, just admit it,” Sidya lamented. “You have a soft spot for the man.”<br /><br />”Well, I…”<br /><br />”Admit it, dear. You have a crush on him…a real crush, not like Liao there.”<br /><br />“I just think…he doesn’t get the respect he deserves. I spend the most time around him. I have the most opportunity to observe him. He is not a bad person. There is something about him…that just resists opening up to people. That is not a sin, is it?”<br /><br />--<br /><br /><i>Wartime, sometime in the decade past. Location, somewhere overseas, above the Pacific, near Enemy lines.<br /><br />The Stratofortress bomber moved through the air sleekly and smoothly, controlled by his hands as Mitchell crossed the wide water, toward their designated targets, somewhere in New Caledonia…<br /><br />Suddenly he could see them on the radar. Enemy planes, advancing toward their position.<br /><br />He gritted his teeth as he steeled himself for battle. Let’s do this, he muttered to himself.<br /><br />The Skybus Sixes were now visible in plain sight, as they soared through the metallic blue yonder, meeting their forces and commencing their attack.<br /><br />Bombs flew…the rattle of fire…the roar of engines…the loud muffled crunch of explosions…<br /><br />He could hear only chaos over the radio...<br /><br />“I’ve been hit, I’ve been hit!”<br /><br />”Abandoning ship…Mayday, mayday!”<br /><br />”Oh, God, save us all!!!” Cries of agony, of overwhelming death….<br /><br />He strained against the controls as he attempted to outmaneuver the nimble little Six that was gunning for his tail. The Stratofortress was no match for the agile little bird…<br /><br />A loud and massive explosion ripped through the airplane’s tailsection…<br /><br />With a trembling terror Mitchell grabbed the instruments and in one last futile gesture to save his life pulled the ejector cord…..</i><br /><br />Mitchell sprung up with a flash, as he could see his life flash before his eyes…<br /><br />It was only a nightmare…only a nightmare…yet another one which was wartime related. The incident of late had triggered his wartime memories…and not in a positive way.<br /><br />And to add to the stress, he was obliged to what, in his opinion, amounted to a date with Miss Carleton this coming evening.<br /><br />He didn’t like it. It was a breach of professional decorum. There were strict rules in place against fraternization of Transoceanic employees…<br /><br />And yet…even so, there was something which intrigued him about Miss Carleton. Call it a certain feminine sensuality, a respectful admiration of her skills…no, hang it, it was far more than that….<br /><br />Ever since he had laid eyes upon her for the first time, he had been particularly careful and restrained around her. Miss Carleton was just the kind of woman which, as a man, he could bring himself to fall for if he dared. She was the warm, sensual, friendly type of woman that naturally brought out the best in others, who was unflappable and cool under stress and tough as nails to boot, who was easy to like and just as easy to fall in love with, who tempted him every day with her quiet smile and her pleasing curves…<br /><br />He could not say that he was in love with her, despite the hidden and deep affection he held for her in the dark and hidden recesses of his heart. Far from it, he told himself. All his efforts had been directed to keeping his emotional distance from her.<br /><br />Because around her, it was easy to fall into that trap…easy to start caring about someone, and then be tragically hurt…<br /><br />Because nothing in life was permanent, and in most particular that fact extended to life itself.<br /><br />He did not want to start caring about others now. His entire life was directed toward a grey self-imposed isolation…protection against those who he might have desired to know better, against those who did not understand him.<br /><br />Yet this state of affairs did nothing to ease the terrible emotional emptiness he felt inside….<br /><br />So with only this in mind…he had grudgingly decided to oblige Miss Carleton and allow her to treat him to a hearty dinner. After all, she did feel that she owed him a favor for having saved her life, and who was he to deny her that satisfaction. One night alone with this admittedly lovely woman might be terribly uncomfortable and awkward, but no lasting harm could come of it…hopefully.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-1253113203796327867?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-61094054692651059162009-03-08T19:50:00.000-05:002009-03-08T19:51:37.405-05:00The clear and cloudless day made for perfect flying weather. Their itinerary had brought them from Spain into the heart of the Arab world, to their most important North African ports of call – Algiers, Tunis, Cairo. Next stop would be Baghdad.<br /><br />It was no wonder that Mitchell disliked flying this route.<br /><br />Baghdad was the destination along this route that gave him the most apprehension. The late Imperial occupation was still deeply felt here, and symbols of the West presented nothing but tantalizing opportunities for terrorists and suicide bombers. No real security force existed on the ground to protect them from a freak car bomb, in his opinion. Though the company preached security, in Baghdad there was a security hole large enough to drive a Sherman tank through. Even the Transoceanic security staff on the ground there could not be completely trusted; who knew how many were working for Hamas or al-Qaeda on the side. An airplane filled with Western tourists would just make such a tempting target, which no self-respecting terrorist could resist.<br /><br />And no Western symbol was more hated than Transoceanic Airways, which in Islamist eyes served as the old Empire’s de facto state airline. After all, was not its chieftain Captain Knickerbocker a fighter pilot himself, an agent of death who had himself participated in bombing of Muslim cities – including, in the worst of Imperial insults, the holy city of Mecca itself? Was he not famous for his hyper-patriotism, for his love of Empire, for his tendency to bleed red-white-blue?<br /><br />Mitchell thought it wildly brazen to land Transoceanic planes in Baghdad so soon after the Imperial troops had left, so soon with still fresh memories of Transoceanic R &amp; R and mercy flights for the occupying troops (and orchestrated by Capt. Knickerbocker himself) seared into the minds of the long suffering Mesopotamians.<br /><br />As he prepared the Equatorial Schooner for the final descent into Saddam International Airport (yes, the Iraqis had renamed it after him once the Imperial troops had left), he made an uncharacteristic offhand remark:<br /><br />”Hold on to your butts.”<br /><br />The Stratocruiser touched down on the rough asphalt runway with a bounce and a clatter. A rough landing, courtesy of poor airport maintenance. Hopefully that was all the trouble they had in store for them that day.<br /><br />“I want to get in here and get out, gentlemen. You understand me.”<br /><br />“Relax, Mitchell. Iraq’s a liberated, reconstituted country now. Nothing will happen to us.”<br /><br />Even to the present, the lies of the dead Imperial propaganda machine still infected the populace like a disease. Mitchell could barely tolerate it; but who was he, as one person, to attempt to undo the government induced brainwashing of decades’ duration.<br /><br />“Whatever you say, Captain Stapleton.”<br /><br />The Stratocruiser sailed along the bumpy tarmac toward the dilapidated and half-ruined structure that the Iraqis called an airport terminal. Even five years later, the scars of the late conflict were clearly evident.<br /><br />“This is like something out of the Flintstones,” Packard sneered.<br /><br />”Courtesy of your tax dollars,” offered Mitchell.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Due to the damage Saddam International Airport had sustained in the war, the disembarking passengers were spared the courtesy of the use of jetways. Instead passengers were greeted by a flight of stairs down onto the tarmac, with a long walk across the pavement and up another flight of steep metal stairs into the damaged terminal, of which only one concourse was operating and active (the rest having succumbed to carpet bombing courtesy of the Imperial Air Force).<br /><br />Catherine noticed that despite the pathetic accommodations, few of the customers complained, or even seemed to care. In all actuality they likely considered this luxurious by Baghdad standards. She wondered what kind of person would actually want to visit the city for any reason. Who would willingly come to such a place? she thought. Even five years after the war Iraq was still a dangerous and violent place, with no real functioning civil government, actual control of the country flowing back and forth between the various warlords and terrorist groups who fought constantly for turf and power. Even as she worked, she could hear the occasional telltale shriek of rockets in the sky, the sound of muffled and distant explosions, the roar of an approaching motor….<br /><br /><i>What was that?</i><br /><br />Turning her head as something caught the edge of her eyesight, she could see the dark green military jeep approaching their position. She felt little trepidation…they were just armed forces personnel, presumably.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Mitchell patrolled the perimeter of the plane from a distance of about twenty yards, keeping a close eye for potential threats. Usually he remained ensconced in the cockpit during departures and boarding, while the other pilots were off smoking cigarettes. But in this place, he was taking no chances.<br /><br />The green jeep was dead center in his glare. They could be military – heavens knew there were dozens of military vehicles buzzing around. But something felt wrong…down in his bones….<br /><br />As the jeep grew closer he could see the four men in the vehicle more closely. They were rough, unwashed, and unshaven ruffians, gripping their machine guns and looking nothing like soldiers……<br /><br />One word swept through his mind…<br /><br /><i>Run.</i><br /><br />--<br /><br /><strong>“ALLLAAAHH!!!!”</strong> the terrorists cried as they fired their machine guns into the air, the jeep picked up speed and hurtled toward the parked Stratocruiser, left wide open like a sitting duck.<br /><br />Plenty of security my ass, thought Mitchell. This is gonna be bad…<br /><br />He could see the figure of Miss Carleton on the top of the stairs, as the last deplaning passenger exited the vessel….<br /><br />“MISS CARLETON!!! WE’RE BEING ATTACKED!!! RUN!!!”<br /><br />He could see the mortified expression on her face as she grasped the gravity of the situation, her expression torn between white terror and distraction….it was then that he knew that there were still people on board the plane.<br /><br />“SON OF A BITCH!!!”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The Jeep hit the plane loaded with its small amount of dynamite wrapped in a standard IED. It hit the Stratocruiser near its recently refueled gas tanks, and immediately burst into flames…<br /><br />Inside the aircraft there was smoke and fumes. The air was scalding hot and Catherine could barely keep her eyes open as the heat penetrated her corneas. With the little eyesight she had remaining to her, she worked by instinct and training, directing the remaining passengers off of the plane as rapidly as she and her colleagues could….<br /><br />She worked by instinct…no time for thought…She did not know how many people there were or if they had all managed to find their way out…but she had no time to consider this as the fuselage burned orange and flames swept through the cabin…<br /><br /><i>Fire everywhere…seats and fixtures burning…there was no escape…nothing but blackness as the air filled with smoke and the fire consumed the remaining oxygen…<br /><br />So this was how she was going to die…<br /><br />Suddenly a hand, pulling her up and out…a body covering her own as she was literally pulled from the floor… out through the exit hatch…into the air where she could finally at last breathe again…<br /><br />And then a sudden roar and a bright burst of orange fire…and then nothing but blackness.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-6109405469265105916?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-16409957619160073342009-03-04T19:37:00.000-06:002009-03-04T19:38:29.787-06:00Soaring high above the North Atlantic, Captain Mitchell was finally at peace. His sole accompaniment here was the vast blackness of the sky, the soft roar of the jet engines, and the rush of the air over the wings of the Stratocruiser. Up here all was serene and calm…<br /><br />After a short jaunt across the American East and a routine hop across the Alleghenies, they had made their brief stop at Washington Dulles, where about half the passengers had made their departure (and they had picked up a handful as well). Since the fall of the Empire, Washington had greatly shrunk in size, importance, and relevance in world affairs, but there were still a great many ex-Imperial bureaucrats for whom leeching was a way of life, and with the new government in place this posed an opportunity for them to perhaps, somehow, gain a secure makework position in the new regime. Given the fact that this government was far more cash starved than its predecessor, these efforts were largely futile. Everyone knew it, of course, but the lingering effects of the late Imperial economic depression had made many ex-bureaucrats redundant – and desperate, willing to gamble on even the slightest chance of hope. They would have better odds in Las Vegas, Mitchell had thought as he had watched the grim and grey travelers disembark into the hulking and now largely unused Dulles terminal.<br /><br />Even though Washington had pretty much blown up and dried away shortly after the generals’ coup which had ended the Empire, the facilities at Dulles were still top notch and more than adequate for international arrivals and departures – they were the finest such facilities on the East Coast. Transoceanic made liberal use of the Dulles gateway for their transatlantic traffic – mainly flights to Europe, and primarily the high volume flights to London, Paris, and Frankfurt.<br /><br />So from Dulles the Equatorial Schooner departed American soil at around 1:30 a.m. Eastern Standard time, and commenced the long haul across the ocean.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The late night passengers were easier to deal with than most, Catherine considered. Most of them just wanted to sleep and did. If air sickness rendered them unable to do so, they would just sit there silently, drawing their gaze out to pore through the small circular Plexiglas windows into the pitch dark blackness of the night at 40,000 feet altitude.<br /><br />The cramped cabin was filled with sleeping bodies and scattered personal affects. Catherine gathered those objects which had fallen to the floor and placed them on the closest seat. In an emergency, any objects blocking the exits could have deadly ramifications.<br /><br />For now the ride was quiet, sparing her and her invaluable assistants some time for rest. She made her way to the back of the aircraft where the stewardesses had a small, closet sized room for their use. This small crawl space, barely wide enough to fit two people, was used by them to store various objects, equipment and first aid kits, and their personal belongings, as well as containing a space to prepare drinks and food trays. There was also a small jump seat which also served as a small bed, and which could comfortably seat two or three people of moderate build, but somehow managed to squeeze four of them together. Above this, folded into the wall, was a small padded table which served as a second bunk. She managed to place her round buns on a small corner of the brown leather seat and manage a moment lost in thought.<br /><br />Though the Stratocruiser was regarded by the public as a roomy vessel, in fact it had only been designed with a capacity of forty-five passengers in mind; however, the airline was currently routinely flying up to a hundred passengers per Stratocruiser flight. Similar to a 747, the aircraft cabin was divided into two levels, connected by a narrow and rather flimsy spiral staircase. The upper floor was the larger of the two, because it was the only level which had actually been intended to carry passengers. The lower level had originally been designed to serve as a passenger lounge and refreshment bar. With increasing passenger loads, management had decreed such a use to be a gross wastage of space (it was) which could be put to better use carrying revenue passengers. So both levels in each Transoceanic aircraft had been reconfigured for maximum passenger seating space and were now filled with rows of passenger seats, making the stewardesses’ duties much more complicated, since they now were constantly forced to navigate the narrow spiral staircase numerous times per flight. This was particularly fun when carrying heavy objects such as a suitcase, or when the plane was experiencing turbulence.<br /><br />This was not to mention what the added weight of sixty additional passengers per flight was doing to the plane itself. Like all aircraft, the Stratocruiser operated within certain weight limits and restrictions. The consequences of carrying passenger loads beyond design capacity was not something which Catherine completely understood, but she knew enough. While Flight Operations claimed that they had ‘lightened’ the Stratocruiser fleet to the extent that it would compensate for the increase in passenger load, she was not so sure. The Stratocruiser was a very unstable and poorly designed craft – as she knew, it had been originally designed for cargo – which had a tendency to make sudden movements and act in ways which she understood that aircraft were not supposed to behave while in flight. In more cases than she could count, she had been party to ‘close calls’ and ‘near miss’ incidents in more than one Stratocruiser. It was only by luck and the skills of the airline’s pilots that more accidents had not actually occurred.<br /><br />In this case, it was completely due to the skill of their capable pilot that this particular Stratocruiser had not fared worse. The parts of the world which the Equatorial Schooner traversed, as she well knew, were hazardous terrain for Westerners, particularly representatives of what might be the most high profile symbol of Western capitalist society in existence – Transoceanic Airways. They had more than once been forced to deal with difficult ground crews, incompetent air traffic controllers, dysfunctional gate agents, and the omnipresent threat of terrorist attack which always hovered in the background like a bad smell.<br /><br />But she felt more comfortable knowing that the cockpit crew was the ‘best of the best,’ and that they had all been battle tested, and could do their jobs well even under the worst pressures.<br /><br />Her reverie was snapped by the sudden presence of Miss Wei.<br /><br />“How are we doing?” she asked Miss Wei.<br /><br />“All is fine for now. We make luck – get the evening flight.”<br /><br />”Maybe so, but I’d rather be sleeping now.” Miss Flores and Miss Prakadashapuri had entered the room.<br /><br />“Naptime then, ladies,” intoned Catherine. “I suppose we all need it. Better save our energy. Tomorrow will be a long day. As usual when we do this, we’ll go in shifts. Since Miss Wei is a morning person, she and Miss Prakadashapuri can take the bunk for now. After a few hours myself and Miss Flores will take our turns.”<br /><br />“Ten thousand thanks,” Miss Wei replied. “Time to sleep.”<br /><br />Miss Prakadashapuri was already removing the fold out bed. “Ah to experience the joys of sleep…”<br /><br />”We see you in a few hours then, Cathy.”<br /><br />”Have a pleasant rest, dears.”<br /><br />As she finished speaking, there came a low ding of a bell tone and the flash of an orange light. Someone in the cockpit was in need of their assistance.<br /><br />“That would be the pilots wanting their coffee,” responded Miss Flores.<br /><br />“I will take it to them, Maria. I already have it right here on the cart outside.”<br /><br />Of course she had anticipated their needs. She had that sort of sixth sense about her job which the other women admired.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The soft rap on the cockpit door meant that their refreshments had arrived.<br /><br />“Come in,” called out Packard.<br /><br />The door opened forth, pushed inward by Miss Carleton’s ample rear…as she pulled the small serving cart behind her.<br /><br />“Fill me up,” crowed Packard as he pulled out his coffee mug for her to refill.<br /><br />“I’ll take some, too,” added Captain Stapleton.<br /><br />“Now, now, gentlemen, one at a time,” Catherine chirped coyly as she moved to fill the pilot’s mugs with fresh warm coffee.<br /><br />“Nothing better than Transoceanic coffee,” laughed Packard. “Dull and flat, industrial grade flavor – but it perks you up!”<br /><br />“If we brought real coffee up here, Terry, it would overweight the plane,” joked Stapleton. “We’re trying to use our space for paying customers, guess that means we gotta make some sacrifices somewhere.”<br /><br />“Would you care for any coffee, Captain?”<br /><br />Captain Mitchell, as always, remained silent and focused on his instruments during all the banter. His crewmates were excellent pilots; but as people, they could be insufferable at times. Small talk always made him uncomfortable, and of all places where it didn’t belong, it was the cockpit during flight.<br /><br />“Yes, please.”<br /><br />He took his eyes off his instruments only for the brief time as was required to accept the coffee mug from Miss Carleton’s hands.<br /><br />“Thank you, Miss Carleton.”<br /><br />”You’re welcome, Captain.”<br /><br />“Would anyone care for some food? Mr. Packard? Captain Stapleton?”<br /><br />”Got any sandwiches?”<br /><br />”I’d like a Twinkie.”<br /><br />“Maybe some filet mignon while you’re at it.”<br /><br />”Sorry, Captain Stapleton, the kitchen’s closed until tomorrow morning. The ladies are taking their rest at this time.”<br /><br />“What do you have then?”<br /><br />”Sandwiches, assorted snacks, chips and crackers…I have some fortune cookies here, for some reason…I believe these are meant to go with dinner on the Singapore-Hong Kong leg of the flight.”<br /><br />“You think anyone will care if just one is missing?”<br /><br />“I suppose not, Captain.”<br /><br />So Catherine ended up distributing a couple of sandwiches, a few bags of chips, and one fortune cookie for Captain Stapleton. Captain Mitchell, as always, would not take any food. Apparently he possessed a lead stomach…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />“What’s your fortune, Ollie?” asked Packard as he munched on ham and cheese.<br /><br />”Well, it says here…’Good things come to that man who least expects it.’”<br /><br />”What’s that supposed to mean?”<br /><br />“I guess what it says. You don’t expect something good to happen, then it does and you’re surprised, in a good way I suppose.”<br /><br />“That’s neat, I guess. That’s not really a fortune, though – more like one of those old Chinese proverbs.”<br /><br />”It sounds absurd. I always expect good things to happen. If they don’t, you know, we all die here.” Stapleton chuckled. “It’s a good thing, every time we take off intact. No offense meant to the Captain here, of course. The plane’s the problem. These damn Stratocruisers should have been retired a long time ago.”<br /><br />“That ain’t ever gonna happen. Kensington is part owner of this here airline. Ain’t no way the Stratocruisers are out until they come up with a new model.”<br /><br />“Whaddya you think, Captain?” intoned Stapleton. “You believe in good things happening when you don’t expect them to?”<br /><br />”I wouldn’t know, sir.”<br /><br />“Diplomatic answer there….”<br /><br />Mitchell tried to block their voices as he concentrated on the several tons of steel which he controlled between his fingers. In fact, no, he did not believe that good things happened when they were least expected, or even when they were expected. In life it often seemed to be the reverse which was true…<br /><br /><i>The slate gray of the sky matched the color of the fresh gravestone which had been only recently planted in the green dirt of the cemetery. Upon the slab of granite was inscribed these terrible words:<br /><br />Pfc. Nikolai Mikelovic<br />Imperial 5th Army, 201st Regiment<br />Killed in Action - Venezuelan Front<br />Age 20 Years<br /><br />Grigori Michelovic looked down upon the flag draped casket, covered in the Imperial standard, which was slowly being lowered into the dark black hole in the ground…<br /><br />Well, that completes the family, he thought with wry bitterness.<br /><br />Father drank himself to death when he was five.<br /><br />Mother shot herself in the chest out of emotional distress when he was eight.<br /><br />His sister Magda was raped and left to die by Black thugs at the age of thirteen.<br /><br />His grandparents were certainly not too far behind, since they were old, sickly, and afflicted with dementia and pleurisy.<br /><br />With his sole surviving sibling, his brother, drafted into the Imperial armies, there was no one left to care for him. He had been forced to survive on his own.<br /><br />The South Side of Chicago was no place for a young adolescent. Yet it was the only home he had ever known.<br /><br />The priest turned a spade of dirt upon the casket and intoned the chant “..ashes to ashes and dust to dust, all ye days are numbered, what the Lord giveth the Lord in his all seeing wisdom taketh away…”<br /><br />Loss had haunted him all his life. It would not be this way forever, he vowed…A life of poverty and early death would not be his fate.<br /><br />In this world there was only one true place where you could be alone and fully free…out there in the sky, the wild blue frontier…</i><br /><br />“…Transoceanic Three, permission granted to make your final approach to Madrid.” The Spanish accented voice brought Mitchell to his fullest attention. One could never operate on autopilot when landing an aircraft, particularly a Stratocruiser.<br /><br />The bright light of the morning had long since broken and provided a marvelous orange glow to a sky filled with small white fluffy clouds which resembled cotton balls. As the plane descended Mitchell welcomed their presence, resembling as they did buffering and soft pillows in the heavens…<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-1640995761916007334?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-20023355608182516872009-03-01T20:13:00.000-06:002009-03-01T20:14:53.216-06:00Captain James Mitchell puffed slowly on a cigar as the gleam of the Stratocruiser’s lights flashed brightly across the darkened tarmac of O’Hare. This would be the Transoceanic Equatorial Schooner returning from yet another around the world flight, carrying its passengers and a crew that had been working for thirty-six hours straight and was no doubt exhausted. He knew that, of course, because he had done it all before, many times before. His long experience in the pilot’s seat had earned him that dubious privilege.<br /><br />Actually he didn’t mind. The war had done worse things to his stamina. Flying was what he loved to do after all. It was why he had taken to the air in the first place. Up in the sky, all was at peace. There was no war, no pestilence, no violence, no terrorism, no pain, no hurt….He had to stop himself. There had been too much suffering in his life to dwell on the past. It was the present he had to live for, and only the present.<br /><br />In the sky he could be alone – at least in a mental sense, all by himself, cut off from inane social interactions, at one with the roaring pressurized winged can of metal hurtling through the atmosphere, completely lost in thought to his work and the interplay of force between metal and air moving against each other, over which he had sole power to manipulate for good or ill. It was truly the power of life and death. A single misstep or mistake could have fatal consequences, for him but also for many others.<br /><br />As the white lights glowed from the field they dissolved the shadow which concealed him, exposing a raggedly aged but still handsome man of around fifty-eight with rugged features, a mane of grayish-white hair, dark and sad eyes, dressed neatly in a dark blue nautically themed airline pilot’s uniform.<br /><br />He knew that once the plane had reached the gate and unboarding was in process, that he would soon be required. And the Stratocruiser was slowly approaching the usual gate along the international concourse….<br /><br />--<br /><br />The darkness of the night enveloped O’Hare field like a black shroud. It was around 9:30 p.m. by Mitchell’s count. The passengers looked like the usual types – ex-government bureaucrats and hangers-on catching the cheap red-eye flight to Washington, parasites whose purpose was to scout out whatever was left of the State to devour; and a mix of obvious tourists, business travelers, and foreign nationals taking advantage of the reduced fares to pursue whatever business they had. They looked for the most part like characters straight out of Casablanca.<br /><br />Well, if there was any compensation he was ably assisted by what he considered to be the most professional and competent flight crew in the business. Besides himself, there were six other crew members that accompanied him on these trips. There was Captain Ollie Stapleton, a younger man (forty was, to Mitchell, young) who served as his co-pilot and would undoubtedly come to pilot some marquee airship such as the Continental Schooner some day; Engineer Terry Packard, the capable flight engineer, a beefy but technically oriented gentleman; and a team of four multinational and multilingual stewardesses, which he only knew by their surnames per the customs of their profession: Miss Flores (Filipino), Miss Prakadashapuri (Hindustani), Miss Wei (Chinese), and the head stewardess, Miss Carleton (American).<br /><br />They were the real heroines of this operation, in his opinion. All four knew at least two pertinent foreign languages (given the countries they traveled through) in addition to English, and had well developed interpersonal skills which were easily adaptable to various different cultures, skills the likes of which he could only dream of achieving himself. Miss Flores spoke Spanish and Tagalog; Miss Prakadashupuri could speak Hindi and Bengali; Miss Wei understood Thai in addition to many various dialects of Chinese; and Miss Carleton was fluent in French, Arabic, and Farsi, in addition to understanding the various dialects of English itself (and yes, misunderstandings in the past would had proved problematic had it not been for her).<br /><br />To them he was certainly a distant, brooding presence, likely tolerated for his skill as a pilot and his quiet and inoffensive manner. But certainly he likely scared them. He had that effect on people. That was another reason why he had become a pilot. In the sky, you can’t bicker or argue with the person at the controls. Still, he respected his co-workers as professionals, in the completely impersonal manner in which he had grown accustomed to dealing with fellow human beings.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Standing in position at the base of the jetway, Catherine Carleton greeted her charges with the detached professional manner of bright cheeriness which she had come to develop as a skill to the point where it had become second nature to her. Even at this hour of the night, there were many people waiting to board the relatively tiny Stratocruiser, doubtless taking advantage of the reduced fares and the easy connections to more popular destinations via convenient connecting Transoceanic flights.<br /><br />Though it seemed irrelevant, as she well knew this was in fact the most important part of her job. Greeting passengers as they boarded your aircraft was the same as inviting them into your home. You wanted them to immediately feel at home – at ease, comfortable, and calm. In all groups of passengers she had encountered in her flight career, there were always a few who were quite uncomfortable at the thought of flying, or who were outright fearful of air travel.<br /><br />Of course, in this regard it certainly didn’t hurt that she and her female colleagues were all young, attractive women with warm personalities and pleasant dispositions.<br /><br />She was neatly dressed in the crisp uniform of the Transoceanic stewardess corps – a dark forest green suit and skirt, similar to the formal dress wear she had worn in the late Imperial Army Nursing Corps; a white cotton blouse of which only the collars were visible under the suit; a smart cap of the same color emblazoned with the ever-present Transoceanic logo - a winged bird in flight over the projection of a globe and sporting the iconic TA initials; and a pair of smart dark green high heel pumps. Forest green and white being, of course, the corporate livery of Transoceanic Airways.<br /><br />The uniform magnified the curves of her ample and generous figure more than she would have cared for, but it suited her fine otherwise.<br /><br />Upon her suit’s lapel she wore a golden winged pin, identical to the logo on her cap – the official symbol that she was a certified Transoceanic Airways employee. It always gave her pride to wear her crisp green uniform, but it gave her especial pride to wear that pin. The pin symbolized that you had worked hard and long to earn something very special: the right to say that you belonged to the best of the best – the world’s finest airline staff, working for the world’s most admired international airline.<br /><br />The pleasure of working for such an airline was the high quality of the people you came to work with. Maria Flores, Sidyartha Prakadashapuri, and Wei Liao were, in her opinion, three of the finest stewardesses she had ever worked with, and for the past year and a half it had been her distinct pleasure to work with them and eventually to befriend them (as women are wont to form friendly attachments between themselves, by their nature). The flight crew was also, in her opinion, top notch and highly professional.<br /><br />Captain Mitchell was the greatest enigma, to herself and her colleagues. He was widely acknowledged among the airline’s staff, both cabin and ground crews alike, as the most capable, professional, and experienced aviator currently working for Transoceanic Airways (this would have been news to the Captain, though). Yet it was a dual edged sword – in many ways, the Captain’s consistent air of professionalism had served as a wall that separated him from others. This was not for lack of respect or fondness for him, by any means, and it was in essence a real shame. By all accounts Captain Mitchell was a very nice, very pleasant, but in the end an incredibly lonely man. Catherine often wondered what kind of a person the Captain was really like, behind his façade of professional decorum….<br /><br />Catherine stole a glance at the shiny silver hull of the waiting Stratocruiser. The Stratocruiser was a medium sized jet which served as a compromise between decreased postwar passenger loads, customer comfort, and safety. The fuselage was emblazoned with the green TRANSOCEANIC AIRWAYS logo, and the tail comprised a dark green accent at the end of the plane, barely visible in the night save the prominent white TA lettering.<br /><br />It pleased her more than anything to take in the airship for which she held responsibility. The silver metallic glow of the airplane was muted but was still visible in the blackness of the night.<br /><br />Finally all passengers had boarded. Let’s get this show on the road, she told herself.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Now situated in the cockpit with his crew, Captain Mitchell adjusted his instruments and proceeded to commence the usual standard diagnostics and pre-flight safety checks. He had done it a thousand times before; it was routine to him. The ground crews were completing their work – refueling the plane’s two 10,000 gallon tanks and loading the passengers’ luggage into the cargo bay, which Mitchell knew was sizeable. The Stratocruiser, belying its reputation as the finest jet in modern passenger service, was in reality derived from a cargo plane design…in fact similar to the planes he had flown as a cargo pilot for many years…<br /><br /><i>“This is Transoceanic two-seven-one-niner approaching Yellowknife Field…Does anybody copy?”<br /><br />It had been the fourth time he had tried to raise Yellowknife within the hour, and he was having no more success than with the previous three attempts. Mitchell cursed as he struggled with the controls, the Transoceanic Freight carrier bucking in the whirlwind of a freak winter storm, and running low on fuel to boot.</i><br /><br />What the hell is going on? <i>he muttered to himself.<br /><br />He grabbed the radio receiver. “Yellowknife? Is anyone down there??”<br /><br />There was static – and then the garbled sounds of what sounded like voices…<br /><br />“This is Transoceanic two-seven-one-niner requesting permission to land. Please respond posthaste.”<br /><br />Through the static he could make out a faint and weak voice…”…Turn back…”<br /><br />“Repeat yourself, please. I am having transmission difficulties.”<br /><br />“…Turn…poison…all dead…nobody left…”<br /><br />Mitchell could barely understand. “Ah shit, I’ll just have to ditch this bird…”<br /><br />And then the sleet gray of the cloud bank suddenly cleared and Mitchell could see that he was right on top of Yellowknife…yes, it was Yellowknife, but something was seriously wrong…the city was covered in a sickly yellow haze, and there was not a single stirring of life below him…<br /><br />“What the hell…?”<br /><br />And then he could detect the unmistakable odor…of poison gas… dear god, the Enemy had slaughtered the inhabitants of yet another major population center.<br /><br />He knew he had to get out fast, before the nerve poison began to reach the higher elevations and affect him, crippling his nervous system and rendering him unable to breathe…or to fly a plane…</i><br /><br />Those had been insane years, the wartime era…But no good dwelling on harsh memories. It was all over now. He had a flight to pilot, he reminded himself as he took the receiver in his hand and prepared to address the passengers, the only part of his job he absolutely detested:<br /><br />“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Welcome to the Transoceanic Airways Equatorial Schooner, providing around the world air passenger transportation service from Chicago O’Hare to the American East Coast, Spain, North Africa, the Middle East, India, the Orient, and the Pacific. It is a pleasure to have all of you with us this evening and we are all on hand to be at your service and make your flight a pleasant and comfortable one. At this time we would like to direct your attention to our young ladies at the front of the plane who will demonstrate to you our safety procedures for the unlikely occurrence of an emergency….”<br /><br />As he rattled off the standard safety procedure checklist, he remained fully aware that the stewardesses were doing their usual safety demonstration that they always performed as he went over the various points…”your seat can be used as a flotation device…” and etc. It was something he did not like to perform or even think about. After all, why would anyone want to contemplate, or even be reminded, of the possibility of disaster or untimely death, particularly when you are about to take off? Particularly when the chance of such an event happening was mathematically minuscule? But it was company procedure – liability insurance, the lawyers called it – and since the lawyers ran the works anyway nowadays, no one could or would object.<br /><br />Mitchell scowled. Transoceanic had a reputation of being an airline not only operated, but managed by aviators. He thought of the legendary Captain Knickerbocker and wondered if he was truly slipping.<br /><br />After all, a service to the Mideast and Africa made little sense from a financial perspective. Even he knew that without requiring any formal training in business. He was well aware that the Equatorial Schooner operated in the red; and this was primarily because, logically enough, no one really wanted to visit these dangerous and politically unstable places.<br /><br />But it was his job, regardless of revenues or profit. If the airline saw fit to assign him to another route they would do so. He often wished they would. He had long desired to return to the freight transport division. There you did not have to deal with any pesky and unpredictable human cargo – just boxes, parcels, and bags of mail that traveled silently, giving off no complaint if their trip was too rough due to inclement weather, not providing an argument if their meals were served too cold since they required no food, not making statements to the effect that they could fly the plane better than the captain. But he knew, due to his experience and large number of flight hours logged, that he would never be sent back there. Airline policy was for pilots with over 10,000 hours of flight experience to fly passenger routes.<br /><br />“…we are about to proceed with takeoff – the duration of the first leg of our journey, to Washington Dulles, will be about two hours and twenty minutes barring any delays. (Ding) A reminder that there is no smoking permitted in the cabin at any time. We request that for now that all seat belts be fastened and all loose items secured for your safety. Thank you for choosing Transoceanic Airways, and we hope you enjoy your flight.”<br /><br />The cockpit door opened and Miss Carleton appeared in the frame of the doorway.<br /><br />“The passengers are seated and everything is prepared for departure, Captain.”<br /><br />“Thank you, Miss Carleton. We will be proceeding shortly.”<br /><br />“How’s things back there?” asked Stapleton jocularly.<br /><br />“We have a full load today, as usual.” The cramped Stratocruiser often flew full from O’Hare.<br /><br />“Tell ‘em not to complain too much, people like our airline,” laughed Packard.<br /><br />“I should like to but passengers will be passengers.”<br /><br />“Good luck then, dearie. You’ll need it.”<br /><br />“Ready to go,” intoned Mitchell. He set his eyes upon the flagman standing on the tarmac directly ahead of the aircraft, motioning him to proceed. “And we’re off,” he noted as the Stratocruiser began to slowly move away from the terminal.<br /><br />“Miss Carleton, tell the ladies to secure themselves – we are on our way.”<br /><br />“Yes, Captain.”<br /><br />And with that Miss Carleton disappeared and secured the cockpit door behind her.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2002335560818251687?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-80045590482307781672009-02-26T21:20:00.001-06:002009-02-26T21:22:10.460-06:00The board of directors for Transoceanic Airways settled into the sumptuously apportioned conference room, situated at the top of one of Chicago’s tallest skyscrapers and providing an unmatched view of the city, for their monthly meeting. Present were the representatives of the airline’s largest shareholders: Mr. Butler of the Chemical Bank; Mr. Schriever of the Kensington Aircraft Corporation; Mr. Gavin of Trenton Hollingsworth Investments; Mr. Allen of Boardman Sachs Atwater; and at the head of the table, Captain David Knickerbocker, famous wartime fighter pilot, founder, president, and largest shareholder of Transoceanic Airways.<br /><br />“I call this meeting to order,” Knickerbocker ordered. “Is there any old business to attend to?”<br /><br />The men shook their heads. “We have nothing to bring to the table.”<br /><br />”Nothing here.”<br /><br />”My people were satisfied with the last quarterly report. There are no objections.”<br /><br />”Good, then,” bawled Knickerbocker. “Then we will go on to the presentation of new business.” He pressed a button aside his chair and spoke into a small grilled plate which served as a microphone. “Wallace, will you please bring Mr. Ashton inside?”<br /><br />A few moments later the large double doors at the end of the room swung open. Behind Wallace (Knickerbocker’s executive valet), followed a small man of slight build and an artistic air. The executives recognized him as Guillame Lefevre, better known as Ashton, famed fashion designer of haute couture.<br /><br />“Welcome, Mr. Ashton –<br /><br />“C’est Ashton, Monsieur. Thees is my honored name in the fashion world.”<br /><br />Knickerbocker groaned. “Certainly. Ashton…is here today to present to us his ideas for the future ‘look’ and ‘style’ of this airline. He has been working with us for the past several months to develop new ideas as to what style we should present to our customers. We are five years into the postwar era, and travelers are not much longer going to remain content with simple basic, no-frills air transportation. They are increasingly going to shop for style and class when they choose which carrier they will make their trips on. And we are looking to provide it to them. Times are changing and we must change with it.”<br /><br />The executives settled into their seats. This was not quite their area of expertise, and it seemed like a waste of time and resources, but quite frankly they didn’t really care. As long as Knickerbocker ran an overall tight ship and the airline made money (which it did, consistently) they were satisfied.<br /><br />“You may start, Ashton.”<br /><br />Ashton cleared his throat and began to speak in a high pitched French accented voice. A series of large stencils, holding cards, had been quietly set up behind him as Knickerbocker had introduced him. With aplomb Ashton began his pitch.<br /><br />“I have worked with thee finest deesigners in Paree and New York to create…a nouveau look for thees airline. It will bring your company into the new age, at the forefront of style and glamour! Everything haas been compleetely redone – out with thee old, in weeth thee new. The old boreeng look of the present has been compleetely jettisoned…”<br /><br />And with that he gestured to the boards mounted upon the stencils.<br /><br />“Gentleemen, I geeve you – le nouveau look!”<br /><br />The boards were covered with drawings – of airplanes, airline personnel, airline facilities – all redone in a garish, space-age palette of pinks and purples, with all rounded edges and futuristic sleekness. The airplanes were all painted differently, like big metallic jellybeans, and in such inconceivable colors – pink, ocre, sky blue, lavender, orange, yellow, avocado green. The boarding areas were filled with avant-garde art and furniture that recalled Mies van der Rohe. The pilots were dressed in uniforms which resembled spacesuits from some B science fiction film. Worse, the stewardesses – heaven forbid – were dressed in the loudest and most garish colors, in a suit that looked like a cross between a tunic and a superhero costume, all topped off by a bubble like helmet that resembled something an astronaut would wear.<br /><br />“What is this?”<br /><br />It was Mr. Butler of the Chemical Bank, always the most conservative of the directors (reflecting the attitudes of his employer), and always the most averse to drastic change.<br /><br />“Thees ees art, Monsieur!”<br /><br />”It looks like the scribbling of young children to me.”<br /><br />“Mr. Butler, let him finish before you pass judgment,” Knickerbocker growled.<br /><br />“I have to admit, Knickerbocker, it is….rather out there,” volunteered Mr. Schriever. “I admire the effort, though. It’s ‘outside the box’ thinking. After all, we are supposed to be the airline that comes up with all the big ideas before everyone else does.”<br /><br />“That is correct,” stammered Mr. Allen. “But this seems all too much to spring on the public at once. Is it your intent, Knickerbocker, to implement these design schemes? It will cost money – seemingly, a large amount of money – and after all, we are quite profitable already, with our airplanes and crew members appearing the way they do now.”<br /><br />“I have not made a decision on whether to implement these changes or not. I remain undecided; that is why I have brought Mist-…uh, Ashton here today to present this to all of you. I would desire your input – your well-informed, impartial input,” he offered, glaring at Mr. Butler. “You may leave now, Ashton. I understand that you are a busy man. On behalf of all of us here I want to thank you for your time and your extraordinary efforts in service to this airline.”<br /><br />”Eet wass my preevilige,” With a haughty huff Ashton vacated the room.<br /><br />When the French designer was gone, Knickerbocker turned to his board. “Well, gentlemen? Your thoughts, please. Mr. Butler, since I know what you will say you go first.”<br /><br />“These changes are too much, too soon,” replied Mr. Butler. “I am sorry, but that is my sincere and wholehearted opinion.”<br /><br />“Of course. Mr. Schriever?”<br /><br />”They may have to be modified a bit, to tone down the most, eh, avant-garde elements of the display, but I have no objections otherwise,” advised Mr. Schriever. “You have always maintained an uncanny ability in keeping a long term outlook for this airline, Mr. Knickerbocker, and if you favor this stylistic regime, the Aircraft Company has no objections. I would be interested in learning about the aerodynamic principles, if any, behind some of those new designs…”<br /><br />“Mr. Allen?”<br /><br />”Business customers – our bread and butter, as you know - might not like some of the changes. Speaking from a strictly personal perspective, and as a frequent traveler of this airline, I can say that to me there are more negatives than positives contained here. When they travel overseas, businessmen place more value on their time and the quality of the overall service than being…for lack of a better word, distracted - by superficial elements. Your business customers are not stupid, Knickerbocker, and they know when they are being shortchanged, because they know that every dollar spent on artwork and fancy uniforms for the crew is one less dollar spent on quality service and passenger comfort and safety. And those are the fundamentals of this airline – safety and good service. It is why we are the leading international airline today.”<br /><br />“Point taken. Mr. Gavin, your thoughts?”<br /><br />Mr. Gavin usually sat quiet during meetings, only speaking if someone asked him a question directly. He was a short quiet man of about sixty, with pince-nez glasses that he constantly kept adjusting upon the bridge of his nose. Despite his general silence, he was generally regarded by all as the most intelligent and insightful man on the board. His hand went to his face to again adjust his spectacles as he spoke:<br /><br />“Regarding the overall design changes, I cannot provide an opinion. I have no real expertise in design or marketing, which I assume this all falls under, and I won’t pretend to. But this – “ he pointed to one of the illustrated boards “ – right there, will kill the airline. It is morally objectionable. No respectable person would ever fly Transoceanic Airways ever again…with cabin crew exposed so indecently as that.”<br /><br />The illustration was that of the stewardesses’ proposed uniforms. The space age suits’ main feature, which had not gone unnoticed by any of the men in the room, was the extreme low cut of the necklines, as well as the remarkably brief length of the skirts…<br /><br />“You see that this cannot come to pass, if we are to remain a family-friendly airline. We are attempting to market ourselves as the vehicle for world tourism for families worldwide. What happens when the traditional families of, say, India or Latin America see our airline’s stewardesses attired so scandalously? In our Western culture it might be considered attractive. However the rest of the world, which by the way does constitute the majority of our customer base, might not see it that way.<br /><br />“As it is I am not so sure that our treatment of the young women working for us is completely professional. The major perception – and granted, this is not limited to any one airline – is that these ‘girls,’ as we so refer to them, are not on the planes to perform an important service, but rather to serve as ‘eye candy’ for the customers. This is no accident, because we create and reinforce this perception, so that it becomes the reality. We use their ‘sex appeal’ liberally as part of our marketing. Our hiring standards and practices are intentionally designed to produce a female workforce which reflects this perception. Certainly thirty years ago it might have seemed like a novel marketing idea which proved harmless at the time. But we have suffered war and economic collapse since then. These women were there on the battlefields, saving lives, when our young men were suffering and dying. They sacrificed and suffered along with everyone. In many ways I believe the young women today have more character, and have borne suffering with greater dignity, than any previous generation in recent history. To relegate them to this – “ he gestured toward the offensive artwork again “ – is not only demeaning and degrading to our young women, but despicable as well.”<br /><br />Knickerbocker sat silent for a moment…<br /><br />“I understand your concern, Lewis. And I completely sympathize. Those drawings, for lack of a better word, are trash. Six months of time and effort put to waste.”<br /><br />Mr. Gavin sighed with relief. “I am glad that you feel that way, David. For a moment I had thought that you had lost your mind.”<br /><br />”Mr. Gavin, of all people I should be most offended by your diatribe against the marketing practices of our industry. After all it is all, as you say, intentional. But at the same time I am of complete understanding with regards to what you are saying. Above all else I believe, as you do, that women should consistently be treated with the utmost dignity and respect. The truth is, I have always believed that in our employment practices we have always attempted to pursue those ends.”<br /><br />”Please explain.”<br /><br />“Our hiring standards, as you call them, have a basis in bearing. Currently we only extend employment to applicants for cabin crew positions who are physically within a certain range of height and weight – I believe the current minimums and maximums are 5 feet 2 inches and 5 feet 11 inches, with a maximum body-mass index of 21. These restrictions are for safety purposes first and foremost. For safety reasons our planes must not be overloaded or otherwise over weight. The combined weight of the crew does factor into those equations. If we attempted to fly them overweight, they would never get off the ground, or if we managed to do so they would be impossible to handle, thus crashes would be the inevitable result, harming our customers unacceptably. Additionally, the Kensington Stratocruisers, which are the primary components of our fleet, are in particular sensitive to weight overloads given their size and flight range.<br /><br />“These restrictions are also in place because on the rare occasion in which an emergency or life threatening situation should occur – and it is highly possible at any time, on any given day, in this business – we desire our cabin crew to be in an adequately physically healthy condition to perform their duties, which in these circumstances generally would be performed under great stress and physical duress.<br /><br />“The cabin crews’ duties are primarily physical in nature, overall. They do not work at a computer terminal or a desk all day, such as the fine gentlemen at your firm do. Like any responsible company, we do insist that all our employees be able to perform their assigned jobs adequately and properly.<br /><br />“The ladies whom we hire are competent professionals who perform their jobs admirably, and this is due in no small part to the fact that we do discriminate in our hiring practices. Besides the weight and height requirements, we also have other hiring standards in place. We require all stewardesses to be registered nurses, or to have creditable nursing experience. We require them to be within a certain age range – between eighteen and thirty-five – not because we dislike older women due to some sexist impulse, but because women outside of this range are generally less able to meet the physical demands of the job. We require our stewardesses to be unmarried upon hire and for the duration of their employment, not because we are actually in the business of operating a matchmaking service for our male customers under the clever guise of a transcontinental airline, but because we found that invariably, married stewardesses would leave our company after only a short time, because the nature of the work separated them too frequently from their husbands. Besides the fact that this cost the airline many additional millions in training expenses, as well as losing our investment in employee training, there are marketing considerations: this company, as long as it operates under my watch, is not going to be accused or held responsible for fractured marriages and families, so we changed our employment policies to exclude that possibility. We require them to be fluent in at least two commonly spoken foreign languages besides English because, of course, this is an international airline.<br /><br />“We look for women who are intelligent, with highly developed social and interpersonal skills, and we prefer to employ women who are college educated. Because, of course, they must interact with passengers constantly and possess a thorough understanding of all aspects of what is really a quite complicated and demanding job.<br /><br />“Perhaps because of these practices, naturally we may end up employing, ahem, a more attractive appearing brand of woman than the average. And of course there are marginally attractive and even unattractive women among our stewardess ranks. But what is wrong with having an overall attractive workforce? From a customer’s perspective, having a pleasant and beautiful woman attending to their comfort and safety during their flight is an admittedly superficial but beneficial experience which may ‘tip the scales’ to the degree that makes them want to strongly consider using our services again for their transportation needs in the future.”<br /><br />Mr. Gavin seemed calmer. “I am coming to understand. If these are the reasons for our current policies, then I can understand. They are logical and rooted in good practice. But I still object to commodifying these women. Regardless of whatever the reasons may be underlying the policies we have instituted, that is still the end result of the process.”<br /><br />“That is marketing, Mr. Gavin. As you said earlier, you are no expert there.”<br /><br />Mr. Gavin cackled. “Indeed I did.”<br /><br />”The marketing sells plane tickets, places curious first time customers on seats. That is separate from what we as aviators do. I know little about marketing myself, so I cannot explain it fully. I am a pilot by training, after all. What I can explain to you is what our employees actually do which serves to build loyalty in our customers and have them return to us for their traveling needs time and time again. As you know our customers are especially loyal, in a manner which our competitors would kill to have their customers emulate.<br /><br />“Our workforce is one of the most skilled and highly experienced in the aviation industry. We do not hire ‘green’ pilots and then immediately put them to work flying people around, like some airlines do. What would we be thinking? Our pilots with less than 10,000 hours of flight time log experience and flight hours in our cargo division. Packages and mail do not complain and do not write nasty letters to management when their traveling experience is unduly rough or unpleasant. Thus this is the training ground in which our pilots learn their profession. As you know we fly some of the toughest air routes in the world – Irtursk to Vladivostok, Fairbanks to Montreal, Bombay to Ulaan Batuur, over the high Himalaya. This is how we train our pilots – to deal with the worst they can come to expect.<br /><br />“For our stewardesses, we of course provide a training regimen that is widely recognized as world class in nature, to the degree that our competitors send their stewardess trainees to our school. The Huntley School for Airline Employees here in Chicago is considered the finest of its kind, and the training is regarded as the most comprehensive and extensive among any airline.<br /><br />“After we break in new pilots and they have gained adequate experience, we place them on short haul passenger routes, flight paths that generally require less than a day to complete – for example, Chicago-Miami-Kingston-New York-Chicago, or Buenos Aires-Sao Paulo-Santiago-Buenos Aires. In this capacity they learn the basics of passenger operations. This is also where stewardesses will expect to find their first assignments, after completion of training school. Most will remain there through their careers.”<br /><br />“Our most capable and experienced employees we reserve for our trademark, around the world routes…..”<br /><br />With the push of a button a large illuminated map of the world began to descend down along the wall behind Knickerbocker. On the map were lighted dots which clearly represented cities which Transoceanic served, connected by dimly glowing red, green, and amber lines.<br /><br />“Our route map, gentlemen.”<br /><br />Knickerbocker stood up and gestured toward the map. “This line here – “ he pointed at one of the longer, ocean spanning red lines “ - demarcates our flagship globe spanning flight, the Continental Schooner, officially known as Flight 1, serving the cities Chicago-New York-London-Amsterdam-Frankfurt-Moscow-Beijing-Seoul-Tokyo-Honolulu-San Francisco-Denver-Chicago. The line here – “ he pointed to a line spanning the Southern Hemisphere “ – is our Southern Schooner, officially Flight 2, serving destinations mostly south of the Equator: Buenos Aires-Rio de Janiero-Cape Town-Johannesburg-Nairobi-Bombay-Madras-Jakarta-Sydney-Auckland-Papeete-Lima-Buenos Aires.”<br /><br />“What’s the third line?” Mr. Allen had spoken.<br /><br />“The third line?”<br /><br />“That third long red line on the map, close to the Equator. I have not seen that route before.”<br /><br />“Yes, the third red line. That is Flight 3, the Equatorial Schooner. Flight Operations has only instituted this service within the last year and a half. It is our third and final global route, which in my opinion, is the crown jewel of this operation, because the pilots and crew on this flight are by far the most experienced in our entire company. They must be, due to the unsettled part of the world which they serve, and the various peculiarities of the different cultures they encounter. As you can see, it is our longest single route by far as it traverses the midsection of the globe and serves more destinations than any other single flight: Chicago-Washington-Madrid-Algiers-Tunis-Cairo-Baghdad-Tehran-Karachi-Delhi-Calcutta-Singapore-Bangkok-Hong Kong-Taipei-Manila-Honolulu-Los Angeles-Dallas-Chicago.”<br /><br />“That is an ambitious service, serving some rather undeveloped and dangerous parts of the world,” crowed Mr. Butler. “Does it generate a profit?”<br /><br />”So far we have not achieved anticipated revenue potential on this service; however, we expect to generate positive income growth within the next six to twelve months.”<br /><br />”Spoken like a CEO, Mr. Knickerbocker,” scowled Mr. Gavin. “Translating the incomprehensible corporate mumbo-jumbo, that means the service is operating in the red. And why should that not be expected? The Islamists detest everything that represents the West to them. I cannot blame them, given our sordid, not-so-rosy history of dealings and shenanigans in that region of the world.”<br /><br />“We believe it will make money, eventually, Mr. Gavin – despite whatever uninformed cultural biases and resistance we may encounter at first. Even Islamists value quality air service and reliable, safe transportation at a reasonable price. That is why we insist on nothing but our best performance on this service.”<br /><br />”And you send young attractive women out to the Middle East to potentially be raped by terrorists….”<br /><br />“That is nonsense. We do nothing of the sort. Our security and protection practices are more than adequate. We do our utmost as a company to secure the safety of our passengers and crew.”<br /><br />“By the way…you speak of this crew’s experience,” chirped Mr. Butler. “What experience and/or expertise does your crew possess?”<br /><br />“I cannot give you exact figures offhand, Mr. Butler. But I can give you an example. Currently assigned to Flight 3 we have a pilot, a Captain James Mitchell, who can claim twenty-five years of flight experience, including service during the late conflict in the Air Forces. He is one of the lead pilots for this operation and I can assure you that with his experience and knowledge, our investment is in very secure hands.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-8004559048230778167?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-49762088494140585022009-02-22T18:53:00.001-06:002009-02-22T18:58:08.634-06:00He opened his eyes….a white brightness filled them…and she was there….and looking more beautiful than ever…in fact radiant, dressed all in white, looking remarkably young and refreshed…so this was heaven…she had been an angel….and there was a higher power after all…<br /><br />“Is…this…heaven??”<br /><br />She looked at him with such love…so intently…an expression of pure joy and affection in her eyes…<br /><br />“Where…is this place?”<br /><br />And then the lovely vision spoke softly….<br /><br />“You’re here, darling…in the hospital….and I’m with you here…”<br /><br />And then he could feel the pain in his abdomen, and with a loud roar the mortal world came back crashing down to him. But still she stood above him….<br /><i><br />“Peggy????.....What the hell?????....this can’t be…..You’re dead……”</i><br /><br />“Is that any way to greet a girl?”<br /><br />And when the full realization hit him that somehow, despite all odds, through some God-given miracle, she had survived to see him again, and had found him again in the dark morass of this mad world….he wept with such an intensity that it actually hurt….<br /><br />“You’re…still alive….my god…..this isn’t real….”<br /><br />“It’s going to fine now, my love….just rest now…we now have all the time in the world for happiness….”<br /><br />Indeed they did, Collins thought with a tremendous joy.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Her presence had rapidly healed him…it was the best medicine he could have asked for. They had caught up on each other’s lives in the meantime. Collins was deeply impressed that she had risked life and limb and tempted fate to come here on the shy chance that she might for a moment rub shoulders with him in this massive city. It was of course unfortunate that these had to be the circumstance in which they had found each other again….but the Lord worked in mysterious ways.<br /><br />His worry about the cost of his care had been for nought. Peggy told him that the hospital only charged what their patients were able to pay – “…the Government no longer really has power over the billing practices of the medical profession. To our great relief, of course, since we lose more money by billing the compulsory insurers than anything else.”<br /><br />“That’s a relief.”<br /><br />She propped herself up on his bedside. It was late and her shift had long ended, but she had desired to provide her favorite patient a little extra care.<br /><br />“Darling….what are we going to do now?”<br /><br />“Well…hopefully that marriage proposal is still on the table….in your consideration.”<br /><br />”Of course, dearest. We will be married once you leave this place.”<br /><br />“That’s wonderful…that’s wonderful…” He relished the sound of those words….they will be married…..”Of course, if you don’t mind being married to a cab driver. That’s if I still have my job by now…I haven’t been to work in three weeks.”<br /><br />“You’ve been here, in the hospital.”<br /><br />“They won’t care. There are a lot of desperate men out there who are looking for jobs right now – they’ll take anything, at any wage. They could hire a replacement for me right now at pennies on the dollar of what I earn.”<br /><br />“You don’t want to live here anymore, Len. I can see that you don’t.”<br /><br />She was right. Detroit was no longer a place for human beings anymore. Certainly he would not want to expose her to it any more than she had. As it was the Empire was in its final stages of collapse. The long-anticipated coup had finally occurred…the generals had assumed power…the Leader was at long last dead, merely mortal after all, killed with a single bullet to the base of the skull by some random anonymous Government-fed and –trained murderer. Those who lived by the gun, died by the gun.<br /><br />The pieces were flying apart…the center could no longer hold.<br /><br />“So….what then?”<br /><br />“Len, darling, I want to propose something to you….”<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Peg, darling…I’m home.”<br /><br />The small home radiated neatness and care – courtesy of a woman’s touch. Peggy emerged from the kitchen, her swollen belly slowing her normally deft movements. As she always did when he came home in the evenings, she came to him and planted a warm wet kiss on his cheek.<br /><br />“Welcome home, dear.”<br /><br />“How are you feeling?”<br /><br />“Never better.”<br /><br />He rubbed her pregnant body, caressing her expanded tummy and enlarged breasts. She was seven months along now…..and looking better every day. Motherhood had that effect on her.<br /><br />“There’s going to be a nice dinner this evening….you’ll enjoy it. I spent extra special time preparing it all the afternoon.”<br /><br />“Darling, you didn’t have to do that….you need your rest, you know, try not to move so much.”<br /><br />“I’m fine. I like to do these things for you.”<br /><br />“Where’s the baby?”<br /><br />“Sleeping. He had a long day too.” She smiled placidly. “The little dear had a dirty diaper which I had to change, and then I fed him, and he just fell asleep in my arms.”<br /><br />She was a wonderful mother. “I think I’ll take a nap too, for a while, if you don’t mind….I’ve had a long day….”<br /><br />“You do look tired….I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready.”<br /><br />Collins plopped his sore body onto the couch and closed his eyes. His mind was filled, as it often was when it wandered, with the events of the marvelous fortune which had come to him within the past year….<br /><br />Leaving Detroit and coming to live in Peggy’s world of the charming small Southern city had been the easiest decision he had ever made. He had been nervous to meet her family, but surprisingly her parents and her brother had accepted him as one of their own. Later he had learned that Peggy had already spoken of him to them, and they had gained much admiration for the man who had helped keep their daughter alive.<br /><br />In the world outside the oppressive Empire, for the first time in his life he could breathe the clear air of freedom, and never again fear the depredations of a maniacal Government and its murderous Leadership. The economy had responded positively to the collapse of State hegemony, and had grown by leaps and bounds, attracting many new residents to fill the boundless opportunities for employment. The city was expanding as new subdivisions were constructed to meet the housing demand created by the arrivals of new households and families.<br /><br />Finding a position at one of the many chemical plants, now geared to churning out products for peaceful consumer purposes, had not been difficult, and in fact he had been pleasantly surprised by the decent pay and benefits, and the opportunities for on the job training and advancement, offered to employees. His military training had also acted as a plus in his job search.<br /><br />Their wedding had been a small affair, with Peggy’s family and a few of her close friends in attendance. Meeting the people who most cared for her had convinced him that she had certainly come from a very supportive and caring environment...it had shaped the wonderful person which she was.<br /><br />Marriage had been everything that he had dreamed it would be. They had purchased a small house near the refinery, in a neighborhood filled with young families and children. Soon enough she had become pregnant….Holding his infant son in his arms for the first time, the child which they had conceived and produced together by the physical union of their love, had been an experience filled with inconceivable joy…..<br /><br />Their child was nearly a year old now, and another baby was now due to follow. His love for her had never been greater. She was a wonderful mother and a loyal and caring wife…a partner and a friend in every sense of the word. She had quit nursing for now to serve a higher purpose of caring – as a wife and mother…<br /><br />As Peggy warmed the dinner which she had worked to prepare for him, he reflected on his life…He had never dreamed of this sort of happiness, or believed it could be possible for him. Holding her beautiful body next to his as they lay together at night, he could feel their unborn child moving inside her, and felt a peace and contentment so complete he could hardly believe it was real….<br /><br />Peggy could also barely believe it was all actually real…she had never known such happiness. The joy of having a husband who was a wonderful provider and a caring, sensitive man, and the pleasure and pride of being his wife and mother to (soon) two beautiful children, was one of the Lord’s great blessings that had been bestowed upon her. She lived for his attentions and the gentle touch of his hands as he lay beside her at night. Their marriage was everything she had dreamed it would be…and much more.<br /><br />……Such was the normal nature of happiness and life in general. The warm interplay of man and woman was the natural state of the world, an ideal world of unforced and unmolested human relations. The vulgarities of the State held no place in this world. The people had known freedom and no longer desired to serve their Imperial masters. They were tired of war, death, disease, and human misery. Their only desires were to be with their families, their spouses and children, to serve and protect only those persons who they so greatly cared about. In doing so, they chose to avoid troubles and act responsibly in order to preserve what they valued. And such was, is, and always will be the course of human nature on this earth.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-4976208849414058502?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-56119458011116917442009-02-18T20:50:00.002-06:002009-02-18T20:53:19.363-06:00Collins sighed as he plied his battered Impala down Woodward Avenue. The strains of the Isley Brothers classic “Between the Sheets” pulsed warmly from his radio. It had been another long day driving the cab…taking people from the airport to downtown hotels, hotels to Cobo Hall – where a conference of Imperial emergency "planners" was currently underway, fomenting more Government action to relieve the latest Government-created crisis – and sometimes occasioning upon the rare hack fare originating in the deepest, darkest recesses of the city. Unlike other cabbies he had no fear of driving the ghetto…he had done it all his life.<br /><br />The bitter pill of pain had dulled slightly with time, but not by much. Returning to the old familiar things he had missed in his absence had made up for the suffering somewhat. He had missed driving around the ghetto listening to Marvin Gaye songs, had missed dining at his favorite neighborhood dives, had even missed the grim profile of the abandoned skyscrapers and factories against the dark gray sky. This was home, after all, and it was good to be back.<br /><br />But things were blearily different with the passage of time and human events. The small neighborhood businesses he had frequented were more often than not now out of business, victims of the economic calamity; the buildings of the skyline had grown fewer in number as they had come down, one by one, by a perverse incentive to avoid increasingly confiscatory levels of taxation; and even his drives around the ‘hood had come close to violence, as he had seen murders and other heinous acts occurring in broad daylight. The people were stirring like rats in a cage with the knowledge of impending doom and the unbelievably very real threat of mass starvation close around the bend. The pall of death was closing in on southeast Michigan, and the outlook appeared grim as the pitiful remnants of the Empire staggered painfully into its grave.<br /><br />As he turned east onto Warren Avenue, approaching home, he could smell the telltale sickening stench of rotting corpses…for a moment he thought that he had returned to the island. He arched his head toward the corner and there they were, stacked on the sidewalk – the canaries in the coal mine, the first victims of starvation, comprised of society’s productiveless. With the elimination of Imperial welfare subsidies in this time of national crisis, the primary sustenance of the ghetto had instantly evaporated and a grim and lethal fate loomed very large for its bovine, supine residents. Collins knew that the ignorant underclass hordes of the streets would soon begin to drop like flies en masse. Even if the welfare degenerates had suddenly by some miracle discovered the work ethic and prepared for a life of actually supporting themselves, the jobs to sustain them had also evaporated, leaving their stomachs empty with the pain of impending death….<br /><br />He stopped at a traffic light which had turned red….there were no other vehicles around. The bleak condition of the ghetto had rendered the mean streets particularly lifeless as the chaos played out around them.<br /><br />Suddenly his car was surrounded, and attacked by three masked Black thugs wearing black masks and black T-shirts, and violently wielding their rods.<br /><strong><br />“GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CAR!!!! MOVE IT, SUCKA!!!! GET THE HELL OUT OF THE GODDAMN CAR OR I POP YO ASS, HONKY!!!!”</strong><br /><br />No way in hell, thought Collins. They had never been this brazen before, to attempt a carjack on a major thoroughfare in broad daylight like this.<br /><br />Quickly he lunged under the seat for his gun.<br /><br />The thug never saw it coming. The bullet tore clean through him, piercing his heart, the blood spurting like a red jet burst with the force of the flying metal….the thug was already dead before he hit the ground…<br /><br />Instantly the Impala’s windshield was shattered by a hail of bullets. Collins ducked beneath the dashboard as the whizzing bits of death tore past him. He crawled under the steering wheel, making for the door handle….if he sat here much longer he would be a sitting duck.<br /><br />The heavy metal door flew open as bullets ate into the bulky steel. Smashing his window, Collins fired expertly at the half-men as they rained slaughter down upon him.<br /><br />The erstwhile carjackers had not anticipated such a lethal response…they ran wildly for cover, crying with pain as dark blood ran down their bodies. One of the thugs dropped to the ground in a dark red pool, losing his battle to escape with his continued existence…Those who valued life so poorly deserved not to live.<br /><br />When the dust settled Collins stood, his body racked by soreness. He was definitely too old for this stuff….<br /><br />The sharp intense pain of the blade pierced his back, settling deep into his abdomen, filling his punctured lung with blood….The first thug to fall had somehow managed to rise again to exact his lethal revenge….With a hurtling rage Collins spun around and pumped bullet after bullet into the monster’s animal face….The thug crumpled, his visage completely shattered and no longer recognizable as human, and hit the pavement with a thud, where the life finally evaporated from his body.<br /><br />Collins could feel the warm blood pouring like a spigot from his spine…his body was rent with pain…his legs gave as he fell to the earth, writhing with agony….so this was to be the way it all ended for him…he had come hither five thousand miles and had faced the Enemy and lived to tell about it, only to be done in by some petty ignorant ghetto thug, to die in the gutter of a ghetto street like a common animal….the only respite he had was that finally, he could now be with her again, for all eternity, in a far better place than this earth so filled with mortal madness....<br /><br />--<br /><br />The doctors pored over the mortally stricken middle aged man on the stretcher, barking orders to the medical personnel as they wheeled him rapidly down the halls of the emergency ward of Detroit General….<br /><br />“Clear Operating Room C for emergency surgery….”<br /><br />”I need 20 cc’s of morphiahydeline in this man, pronto!!!”<br /><br />The operating room was readied…the doctors and nurses were engaged in the practice of the intense job which they performed admirably every day….saving lives. In this hospital they received plenty of direct experience in that task. Detroit G was the only Level One trauma center in the city with the nation’s highest murder rate and overall crime rate.<br /><br />This patient was like so many others…gravely wounded by the effects of intense ghetto violence, the holocaust generated by the depraved monsters of the streets for which human life was merely an abstraction without value or merit. In many ways it was like working at the front lines of a war zone, with the constant flow of the wounded and the dying. All the medical personnel in the hospital who had been to war, and there were many, could testify to that.<br /><br />If someone had made that precise observation to Peggy, she would have most definitely confirmed it. The level of violence in this city, as evidenced by the gruesome and often lethal results which manifested themselves for their review daily, was appalling, and just growing worse by the month. It was no wonder that people called Detroit the Morbid City…Her job in the emergency ward of the hospital had certainly exposed her to new lows in the results of human depravity…..<br /><br />The doctors had worked on stabilizing their latest victim, and so far had succeeded – it looked like he would probably live – but the man’s condition remained extremely borderline, and there may have been internal injuries that they had somehow missed. These types of patients were always entrusted to their most competent and skilled nursing personnel…Doctor Niles Johnson, the chief of medical staff for the emergency ward, again called on his most reliable nurse, Peggy Ames, to contribute her skillful expertise…<br /><br />“Ames, we have a man in Bed 23, Ward C who we are concerned with. He took a nasty stab wound to the back which punctured the left lung, and is still listed as marginal. He will need continued treatment once his condition improves somewhat, but for now he has been stabilized and he will of course need your care. We do not have his name, as his wallet was missing on his person when the medics picked him up.”<br /><br />There were stories and patients like this every day here…”I’m on it, Doctor.”<br /><br />“Another thing…” The doctor paused. “This man seems to be hurting in a hard way…in a manner which we cannot repair, if you know what I mean. He is not healing like he should…it seems like he has lost the will to live within him. You seem to have this gift about you, to lift people’s spirits…will you try to cheer the man up a bit?”<br /><br />“I’ll try my best, sir,” she answered calmly.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Peggy made her way into Ward C, a long antiseptic white room with walls lined with hospital beds containing the severely injured, the wounded, the sick, the dying. She made her way to Bed 23, on the opposite side of the long corridor.<br /><br />She could see him before she even reached the bed….she knew his face too well, and recognized him instantly….<br /><br />“Len…..”<br /><br />It was a low moan, mainly to herself. There he lay before her, apparently comatose but actually under heavy sedation, suffering an agonizing pain which Peggy knew must have been unbearable for him….<br /><br />She was certain that he had thought her dead…otherwise he would have looked for her….it was again only by chance that their paths had crossed. She could only imagine the suffering he must have borne as he had dealt with the pain of her death…the return to a barren and unsatisfying life which must have only magnified the emptiness he certainly felt inside….<br /><br />She came up to him…he could not now see or perceive her presence. Lightly she kissed his forehead which was flushed with sweat.<br /><br />“I missed you, darling….”<br /><br />He lay placidly silent, and unmoving, not feeling the brush of lips of his beloved upon his flesh…<br /><br />--<br /><br />He was in a deep, dark place…..<br /><br />It resembled Detroit…yes, it was Detroit…the Detroit of many years previous….<br /><br />He could hear the sounds of the ghetto children playing, the strains of the Stylistics’ “People Make the World Go Round” wafting from some distant location, the muted muffle of the traffic on the busy streets as the cars passed him, in their Impalas, Caprices, El Dorados, Lincoln and Cadillac pimpmobiles…the finest products of the Motor City.<br /><br />He could see a vision of himself, thirty years younger, on the street corner….a sullen young man with sad, empty eyes, a downcast look on his face, already beaten and abused by life….he could see the Detroit skyline as he remembered it, before the Ren Cen had been constructed, before the beautiful old buildings had come down in the name of progress, or had been blackened and blighted by the grime which naturally accumulated, but in later years no one had cared to scrub clean anymore….<br /><br />He could hear the wail of the police sirens…the water gushing from the hydrants as the young Black children refreshed themselves during the hot days of the humid Michigan summer…he could see the neighborhood and the city revived to life, as it had once been so long ago….<br /><br />Then at once he saw it all wither away….into blackness, into the dead hole of the urban prairie, the literal urban jungle, the hardy ghetto palms appearing where buildings had once stood tall, the grass growing high in the streets as the wild animals reclaimed what had once been built and maintained by humanity…..the end of civilization as the cities were desolated by the Anti-Industrial Revolution, the sounds of Government and Empire sucking and bleeding the life of their people dry….returning to seed and unmolested frontier….degenerating back into a wild state of untamed, harsh nature, red in tooth and claw, providing only the barest of sustenance….with the cries of mass death as it all happened…<br /><br />Collins woke with a start…immediately feeling an agonizing jolt of pain in his abdomen. Then he remembered what had happened, and gathered his bearings. It appeared that he had been brought to the hospital. Again, he had miraculously cheated death.<br /><br />The ward was filled with the sight of the suffering and dying…terrible things you always saw in an emergency room. He groaned with disgust and fought his pain as he slowly rose from his bed. There was no chance in hell he was going to remain here. He couldn’t afford to pay the hospital for his care, with health care being so expensive and all thanks to compulsory insurance requirements which amounted to Government price fixing and manipulation. And one thing he insisted upon was being able to pay market price for the goods and services he received. No subsidies for him – meaning no money, no sale.<br /><br />He cried out with terrible agony as the reality of his injuries let into him….it had been a deep wound indeed. The pain made him double back onto his mattress. He was in no condition to move…but there was no way he could stay here…perhaps he could convince the hospital to set up some sort of payment plan. He pressed the red button on his bed which served to page the nurse. Maybe she, or he, could help him arrange it…he had done that once before, about eleven years ago when he had been shot – by a client, of all people – and had to spend a week in intensive care.<br /><br />The pain was intense, and dizzying…and it was suddenly getting a lot worse…moving around had not been a good thing for him. Collins sank back into the bed as the agony overwhelmed him. He felt like screaming but forced himself not to….but he could not prevent himself from gradually blacking out…<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-5611945801111691744?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-21980897534555201072009-02-15T20:24:00.002-06:002009-02-15T20:28:23.392-06:00Peggy bit her lip as she examined the patient’s gunshot wound. It was a flesh wound which had thankfully not penetrated the skin, but it still left a rather putrid looking mark on the skin of the man’s upper arm, which was fomenting with blood and pus. These types of injuries, unfortunately, were all too commonly encountered at Detroit General Hospital, the primary health care providing institution for the poor and criminally prone in a city reeking with desperate poverty, crime, and despair. It was a world away from the relatively idyllic life of small-town Sulphur Springs.<br /><br />She had come here not out of love for the Empire (which was on her last legs, anyway), or because she possessed a penchant for thrill-seeking. She had come here, to this decrepit and dying city in the heart of the crippled remnants of the Empire, solely to find him. She knew he would be here. He could only have returned here; it was his home, after all. She knew his nature well and was certain that he was plying the sidewalks of this massive city, somewhere out there, in the darkness and desolation of the mean streets.<br /><br />How had she survived? It had been a long and treacherous journey, but she had somehow managed to crawl out through the gates of Hell, to reach this point….<br /><br />--<br /><br />She had been brought to the lower deck of the pirate vessel, separated from Collins. They had brought him to the cargo hold; she was placed in a small room in the aft of the boat which was apparently where the pirates slept. The knowledge that she was certain to be raped filled her weakened body with terror as she waited for the inevitable.<br /><br />They had given her some food and a gourd of water…and while she was eternally grateful for the unexpected hospitality, filling herself ravenously with the dark stale crusts of bread which comprised her meal, she was more than aware that they were only preparing her for their own diabolical purposes, so that she would not starve to death or die of thirst before they violated her, likely repeatedly….. She could hear the rough movements of the pirates above her as they walked around on deck. Lord knew what terrors their captors had planned for her….<br /><br />They had kept her there, locking the door so she was unable to leave. But at least she was not tied up, she thought with bitter relief. The room was cramped and filthy. The small porthole window to the outside was caked with algae and tobacco residue, rendering it almost opaque. The few bare possessions of the slavers were scattered randomly around the floor. She could smell the reek of the smell of men who had not bathed in many years. It filled her with disgust and forced from her a strong impulse to retch violently.<br /><br />She did not know what was happening to him…likely something terrible….he had promised her that she would not endure suffering at the hands of the slavers….he was a man of his word…but understandably it was going to be difficult, in this situation, to keep it. She was filled with worry for him…<br /><br />When she heard his muffled voice coming from above, cursing his attackers in a language she was certain they did not understand, a flash of raw hope flittered through her heart….at least she knew he was alive. Then she could hear a certain ominous dragging sound of wood scraping along the deck, and her heart sank as she contemplated the inevitable….<i>What was happening to him?</i><br /><br />Suddenly she had heard the loud report of the explosion, and at once knew that something was dreadfully wrong. Peering with effort through the dirty window, she could see the approaching enemy pirate vessel. She could determine easily that it was far superiorly equipped with weaponry, including what appeared to be a rocket launcher. She knew what was about to transpire….and knew she had to act fast if she was to remain alive.<br /><br />With a rush she unhinged the latch of the porthole and with a tremendous effort pried the glass wide of its frame…it would not move easily as it had not been opened in years. Escape was her only chance of survival. The porthole was relatively small but looked perhaps wide enough to accommodate her slender female body…..<br /><br />When she had finally worked the window open she took the plunge….The hole accommodated her head without effort, but grew tight as she passed her upper body and ample bosom through….With a terrible mortal pain in her ribs Peggy grabbed the external hull of the boat and pulled with the last of her strength as bullets and bombs flew around her…..<br /><br />She was through…her generous hips had lost enough meat during her ordeal that they slid past the point of exit fairly easily. Peggy plunged into the cold blue Pacific waters as she fell from the boat….at the very moment that she could hear the roar of the shell of certain destruction approach her….<br /><br />The cold frigidity of the salty ocean water attacked her like a knife. She could feel the pain in her body as the surprisingly icy water made contact with her sun baked skin. She rapidly forced herself deeper into the depths as the shell made contact with its target, exploding above her and shattering the pirate vessel into a million pieces….<br /><br />When she surfaced with a rush all that remained of the vessel was splintered wood and the slick of burning fire on the water where it had once been. She grabbed hold of the first large piece of floating debris she could find and propped her drenched, battered body upon it….What had happened? she wondered, dazed and bewildered by it all…<i>And where was Len??? Oh, god, no, he couldn’t be…after all they had lived through together…no…no…no…no…</i><br /><br />But no…by some miracle he had survived…she could see his floating figure far in the distance, also immersed within the depths, and knew instantly by the way the figure moved that it was the man she loved.<br /><br /><i>“Len!!!”</i><br /><br />But for some reason he could not hear her….the wind was blowing away from his location…it was not carrying her voice in the right direction…she could feel herself slowly drifting away from him…<br /><br /><i>“Len!!!”</i><br /><br />The inexorable but insentient cruelty of the current was unstoppable….it drew her farther and farther apart from him….out of his eyesight and reach…soon she was completely separated from him…alone on the water…<br /><br />He was no longer there to protect her. She would have to survive for him now on her own…<br /><br />--<br /><br />She clung tightly to the scarred chunk of the sunken slaver ship’s hull which kept her above the cruel bite of the salt water, and gave her some faint hope for survival, if vanishingly small indeed. At least she would not drown very soon. Her body had never felt so battered or weak. The pirate food had been nourishing, but it had not nearly been sufficient to fill her starved body or sustain her life for the long term. She was still dying of malnourishment, and could feel the last reserves of her energy fast fading….<br /><br />She did not know if he would be able to last out here…if her own chances of survival were poor, then he would not fare much better, being older and containing less stamina overall….if this was the way it would end for her, at least she could be comforted in the fact that soon enough, she would be with him in a better place….<br /><br />But no! He would not have dared to give up on her in her worst hour of need. She could not give up on herself, not now, not when she most needed to fight for the wish and desire to remain alive….She propped herself onto the wooden board and slowed her breathing as much as possible, to control the rate of her energy burn. She lay flat and still on the wood and fought the intense pain of the burning flesh of her semi-bare back as the tropical sun radiated heat upon the earth and scorched her already sun-burnt skin. She knew, in the logical centers of her brain, that she had precious little chance, and was almost certain to die of dehydration or exposure…but she had to try to live….if only for him….if only for the possibility that he was still alive, somewhere….She almost felt the urge to laugh when she considered her ironic predicament of likely death by dehydration, while floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.<br /><br />As time passed and her body grew weaker, it was becoming increasingly clear that she was fighting a losing battle…<br /><br />As she drifted off into unconsciousness, she thought of him…how he must be suffering right now…..why did it have to be like this?....why could they have not just met under ordinary circumstances, and given a decent chance to be happy?? Why was the lot of humanity to impose suffering and death upon itself? Why did human nature lust for power and Empire well knowing that their designs for total control were only bound to result in the slaughter of untold anonymous millions?? Why did they, who desired no harm on anyone, have to die to justify and satisfy such a monstrous evil which knew nothing but the deliverance of suffering and death….??? Why…….?<br /><br />--<br /><br />She awoke in a crude matted cot…feeling the scrape of what appeared to be animal hair against her sore flesh….Her first thought was whether this was heaven…which looked a great deal like the inside of a thatched hut…Then she felt the tremendous pain come back into her body, and she knew that she remained alive, and mortal. But how had she come to this??<br /><br />She shook with sickness, and could feel the harsh fluid congestion in her chest. The horrible cough came from her with tremendous force, consuming her body and doubling her back with the force and intensity. In her badly weakened state she had apparently contracted some sort of illness…..and all she could feel was the dizzying pain as the sickness spread throughout her body.<br /><br />Through the corner of her glassy, blurred vision she could detect the movement of another living being in the room. When the person entered her line of sight she could see that it was a wrinkled, elderly woman who appeared to be of American Indian descent, with a broad flat nose and long white braided hair falling down her back.<br /><br />So this had been her rescuer. She knew not how she had arrived here, but she seemed to be on dry land, and in the company of a people who meant no harm. Where ‘here’ was, that was also an unknown factor – likely, if it was even possible, somewhere in South America – but it did not matter now. If she was around other people, that meant civilization was not far behind…and she was that much closer to home.<br /><br />She attempted to rise, but the terrible pain throughout her body coursed like a shot through her…it only served to bring on another fit of coughing which brought her low and to near the point of hyperventilation. Keep steady, Ames, she told herself, you’ve got to stay alive – after what you’ve gone through you can’t give up now.<br /><br />The coughing fit brought the old woman to her bedside….She spoke in a soft voice, in a language she could not understand, but the tone of her voice communicated that Peggy was, finally, among friends.<br /><br />The involuntary shaking in her limbs was overwhelming. She was not certain if it was related to her terrible weakness, her habitual nervousness in the presence of strangers, or attributable to the disease rampaging through her.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The fever in her body raged for five days. Peggy’s small, emaciated frame shook constantly with a raging pain that was greater than any she had ever known. In her moments of lucidity she had attempted to diagnose herself…and all the symptoms she was feeling pointed directly to the likely culprit – malaria. Sweat poured down her fragile frame as the disease openly ravaged her. Her body ached with a suffering which seemed as if it could kill her at any moment….<br /><br />The old lady, and her elderly husband when he was around and not working, had done their best to make her comfortable. Being obviously poor and likely living far from civilization, they could do very little to help her save provide her with nourishing food and drink, and keep her bed sheets clean and pillows turned. Peggy thought the world of the nourishment, as god knew she needed it…but it did little to help her as the pain continued to overwhelm…<br /><br />On the sixth day the fever finally broke….she had managed, somehow, miraculously, to survive. She silently said a deep and reverential prayer to her God thanking him for bringing her this far…As the pain slowly dissipated from her body over the next day or two, she could feel her usual vigor of health returning to her, and restoring her. It would all be downhill from here, she thought with relief.<br /><br />Finally she felt strong enough to get up and walk around. Her emaciated legs were still somewhat weak and felt rubbery after the ordeal she had been through, but walking around had a way of putting life back into them. In normal conditions she was not the type of person to lay immobilized for long periods of time, much less depend on the care and nurture of others to tend to her needs. As the days passed and her muscles grew stronger and less sore, her movements gradually became more ambitious. And from there she had learned about the place where she was quartered and how she had come to be there. The people spoke a native Indian language which she could not understand, but a few also knew Spanish and Peggy remembered enough of her high school study of that language to communicate with them in that tongue.<br /><br />The small village of American Indians was situated on the Peruvian coast, and depended on the riches of the seas for sustenance. A fishing trawler at work some several hundred miles off the shore – as these fishing boats were wont to travel far, and up to a week at one time – had come across her unconscious body floating on the fragile piece of wood somewhere in the Pacific. Being normal humans and taught by morality to assist a woman in obvious distress, the hardy crew of Indian fishermen had fished her from the ocean, and given her life sustaining water, before bringing her to the safety of their village, where the people, though poor, knew hospitality and always treated guests with dignity. They were certainly fascinated by this White goddess – it was hard to believe that such an incredibly beautiful woman could have just been left to die at the mercy of the harsh sea. But it was not their kind of thing to question. They were a fatalistic and passive if hardworking people, and they had been socialized over many generations to leave the fortunes of life up to God and the tenors of fate.<br /><br />So there are still decent people in the world, Peggy had thought. Meeting these simple but benighted Indians had slowly restored her faith in the human race…these were people who lived under the effective control of no Government; their village was governed by no formal rule save the moral and ethical codes of their people shaped by centuries of tradition and precedent. They had saved her life, and for that she was eternally grateful to them.<br /><br />They had thankfully provided her with some decent clothes, of the Western fashion. Peggy had sighed with relief as she dressed herself, for the first time in a long while feeling sufficiently covered and decent appearing again. For the longest while her body had felt like an overcooked and rent piece of meat…now she felt and looked like a woman again.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Before leaving the village Peggy had paid her personal thanks, as best she could despite the language barrier, to the men who had rescued her and the elderly couple who had maintained her in her darkest hour of need. They had been good to her, and more importantly had reaffirmed her belief that if left unmolested by criminal force man was by and large content to behave maturely and cooperate with his fellows.<br /><br />The village was served by a decrepit bus which made the rounds once a month or so, to provide transport to its residents for those rare times when it was necessary to leave their home for one reason or another. The bus provided a direct link to Lima, the capital of the country, and foreshadowed Peggy’s return to Western civilization.<br /><br />When she reached Lima she had learned of the momentous news of the Empire’s collapse. The city still was experiencing the effects of much tumult, as the old ruling regime, long allied with the Empire and entangled firmly in personal enrichment by its net of generous foreign subsidy, had been toppled in a citizen led revolution of sorts, replaced by a group which was hostile to foreign control and intervention in the country’s affairs. Her heart leapt with joy after she had finally absorbed it all. She hoped, wherever he was, that he was also experiencing the same sort of rapture from the course of events.<br /><br />She had wondered if she should present herself to the local representative authorities of the Imperial Nursing Corps, if only to at least confirm to them that she was alive and well. Certainly there would be a contingent of them in this city, as the Armed Forces maintained occupancy all strategically important centers in countries across the globe. But the Corps and even the Armed Forces had shriveled with the disappearance of Empire, and the nurses had been either recalled to the Homeland or simply left to fend for themselves – the institutions of Imperial power having organically withered away completely without the continued force and backing of the Imperial State. It seemed that not even the Nursing Corps could long inspire loyalty without the point of a gun trained upon its membership…It was hard to imagine a world without the Empire, but it was looking to be a better world indeed.<br /><br />To hell with the Nursing Corps, she thought. I only want to go home….to see my family and friends again…and Collins, wherever he was…if he had been able to make it that far.<br /><br />Deep in her bones she knew he had somehow survived, and was out there somewhere in the world. If she was still standing alive on this earth today, so was he.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Homecoming had been bittersweet…her parents, who of course had been worried sick about her and had by now presumed her dead, were nearly overcome with shock when she had turned up on their doorstep alive. The love her mother and father held for their beloved only daughter was a wondrous gift…but it could not completely compensate for the love of the man she had lost.<br /><br />Detroit was not a pretty place, and had a justly deserved reputation. Her parents had been overwhelmed when she had told them where she was going….they had obviously thought her crazy to return to the rapidly collapsing remains of a dark Empire, which was spiraling into greater chaos by the day. But she had had a heart-to-heart talk with them…she had told them about him, about her feelings for him, about the wonderful nature of his character. When she had finished, she knew that her parents had understood. The nature of a woman’s heart is unknowable in its mysteries; that fortunate soul who a woman sets her heart on is assured that his beloved will not rest until the day of reunion, even if that may be in death.<br /><br />She now knew that he was alive and living in the city of his birth. She had with trembling, worried uncertainty investigated the rolls of recently discharged Imperial soldiers, which were printed in the decreasingly frequent Defense circulars, and of course had seen his name there and his place of destination upon discharge. She had cried with relief on the confirmation of his survival, finally just feeling the need to let herself go as the anguish of all the months of uncertainty overwhelmed her senses and filled her face with the lines of bitter tears….<br /><br />Finding a nursing position in Detroit had not been difficult, as even in a region in a state of economic collapse, there remained a terrible shortage of skilled and qualified nurses – as was so common throughout the world, she being well aware of the fact.<br /><br />The first thing she had noticed about her new home was how much bigger, and vastly more hopeless, the place was. It was an urban wasteland which stretched for mile after burned out mile over a vast spread…..in many places blighted with the barren greenness of streets and blocks where homes and businesses, and even whole neighborhoods, had formerly existed, but had with the exodus of population reverted to the wild feral prairie from whence it had came. So this land of harsh emptiness was where Collins had lived his life….she had come to understand rapidly why he had turned out so cynical and hard. It was horrible to think…that even now this world was his experience…<br /><br />She hoped to find him soon….she knew not how that would occur, in such a vast and dangerous place….but she had been lucky before....<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2198089753455520107?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-75476121388039604032009-02-12T19:44:00.002-06:002009-02-12T19:48:04.192-06:00The film cast and crew was staying in a secured, self-contained compound of trailers, situated on the cracked parking tarmac of the failed Market Square Mall on North Avenue at the edge of town, a veritable fortress protected round the clock by security guards which made the Saint Ann police look like the Keystone Kops they were. Sinclair has watched them work for several days now, impressed with what he had seen. The film looked to be turning out nicely, even perhaps a film he would waste his money to see. It had been an interesting experience, enough to shrug off work for a fashion.<br /><br />The night had fallen, and the production crew had wrapped for the day. Sinclair had learned that this had been their last day of location shooting, and so it was back to California to complete interior scenes on a sound stage. So it had ended. Work had beckoned, and he was now plying the streets of the South Side, looking for a brazen depraved killer.<br /><br />The thugs had been especially antsy tonight, wherever he had ventured. Something big was about to go down. Another gang leader is going to be put on ice, Sinclair had laughed. That was the usual reason. It couldn’t be a riot in the works, as it was not the right time of year; besides, riots in the city were usually spontaneous and not instigated by any sort of planning, which in any case was beyond the thug’s limited life capacities.<br /><br />When he had disposed of his target, the ice cold killa spluttering for mercy as he had turned the screws which had severed the thug’s life from its body, Sinclair began to notice even more activity from the usually indolent thug class. Pimpmobiles were racing down the streets, headed north out of the neighborhood. Loud banging music could be heard everywhere. Hoots and hollers filled the streets, and thugs openly made gang signals. What was going down was in the process of happening.<br /><br />Then he saw the flare of orange and red smoke against the black sky….It was coming from the vicinity of the mall.<br /><br />Something was burning.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The thugs were having a field day.<br /><br />The army of massed thugs, with their guns, had been too great even for the private force to resist. They had raided and sacked the filmmakers’ camp like marauders and barbarians of yore, taking everything of value, killing the men, raping the women. The trailers were burned, the machines and other items of value looted, the people disposed of in the usual thug manner, almost as an afterthought.<br /><br />Such was the degree of barbarism to which an allegedly civilized society had descended.<br /><br />Sinclair reached the trailer city to find it already a ruin of smoldering ashes. There was not a sign of life for miles. Half-burnt corpses, still exuding smoke, lay in blood soaked piles on the dark crumbled asphalt. Only burnt black shells remained of the trailers. The machinery on site was twisted into pieces and stripped of its metal, likely to exchange for crack. A place that had been occupied not moments earlier by the productive, engaged in gainful activity for profit and society’s benefit, had in minutes been reduced to cinders by the ravages of brute savagery.<br /><br />The dilapidated and empty husk of the abandoned mall directly beyond, that had been standing in place rotting away for the past thirty years, an enduring testament to economic and moral disinvestment which should have met the wrecker’s ball decades ago, had remained untouched.<br /><br />Such were the values of those who fed on the orgies and wages of death. Would but the ages have mercy on their memory, for their evil was terrible and absolute.<br /><br />--<br /><br />It was too terrible to ponder, the barbarism which had visited the small but dedicated camp of film makers – a tragedy that had occurred because someone had possessed some wealth legitimately, for a productive purpose, and the thug savage had seen fit to obtain it for itself by lethal force, as was the only means of survival it knew. As the story exploded onto the national stage, it garnered yet another black eye for Saint Ann, a city which needed no more bad news, a city where when it seemed that the desperate situation must have hit bottom, and have nowhere to go but up, remarkably things always got worse.<br /><br />Saint Ann was no longer on the list of film destinations. Two production companies slated to arrive during the summer cancelled and shifted production, one to Chicago, the other to Vancouver. No more interested parties graced the now redundant Mayor’s Film Office. And to top it off, another industrial concern, totally unrelated to film production, had been sufficiently disquieted by the incident so as to pull out of the area, leaving 300 more once-productive citizens high and dry, fresh new clients for the welfare State which had supplanted the private economy as the primary means of survival in the city.<br /><br />The State had corn fed and nurtured the lethal thugocracy within its hands, and had relished the task. It had considered the welfare of the least valuable and the nonproductive members of society - the sociopath, the thug, the indolent - as its most important concern. It had grown the thugocracy until it could no longer be controlled by civilized means. The State had been so occupied with this mindless madness, it had abdicated its responsibility for its most basic duty – protection of the productive citizens, who paid the taxes to subsidize the deadweight, from death and destruction by same. The charred corpses, mutilated beyond recognition, of forty-five people were a grim testament to the insane moronia which was firmly in command on high, and the barbaric specter of death which the State had unleashed upon an unwitting populace, and which commanded on low.<br /><br />The Mayor, gasping for his political survival, tried desperately to save face. Kellogg convened a ‘crime summit,’ inviting all concerned law enforcement officials from around the country to Saint Ann to “confer on solutions to the crime problem and what could have been done better in the past.” In a collective deafening, resounding snub by outer society, not one person showed, save Kellogg and his incompetent sock puppet police chief (who had acquired his job through gang connections, of course). In any case, the crime summit was a convenient fiction to be believed only as a fantasy: the city had no convention facilities worthy of the name, and accommodations of any sort were sorely lacking in the region (unless one happened to be a pimp, or had a relative in the area with whom to stay with). Forty-five bodies spoke louder than words…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />In all, Sinclair was most deeply depressed by the death of Kirby Morgan. Of all people, she had certainly deserved it least…..What little respect thug society demonstrated toward women, especially the most decent of the fairer sex….they used them, then wasted them, like so much tissue paper.<br /><br />Over the next few days he saw pieces of scrap metal, obviously deriving from the looted trailer camp, floating around the streets of the ghetto. Sinclair wanted to kill anyone who handled any of it, as that was as good as being complicit to murder. He held his lethal impulses, though, not wanting to contribute to the haven of death.<br /><br />All those bodies….for a few dollars’ worth of scrap metal, so a thug could get his next heroin fix. Nice……<br /><br />--<br /><br />In the News-Leader the list of the dead was printed, on Page 1 under Laura’s byline. Name after name, life after life ruthlessly snuffed out, tragically cut short by agents of death, productive people slaughtered by corn fed parasite sponges with guns and knives paid for with tax dollars.<br /><br />The most important name was that, however, which was not on this list---Kirby Morgan.<br />She had not been found among the dead.<br /><br />She was alive.<br /><br />Immediately Sinclair was plying the sidewalks….<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-7547612138803960403?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-10623323291739012302009-02-09T21:02:00.001-06:002009-02-09T21:04:37.460-06:00The city of Detroit rose grim and dark over the vast wastes of urban despair. The crack houses and drug dens still remained, and the crumbling ruins of the urban prairie had only grown. The life of the harsh city lived on. Collins walked the ruined streets of Detroit, his mind and body still aching from the ordeal….<br /><br />It had been nine months since the crew of the container ship had spotted his floating, emaciated body somewhere in the eastern Pacific. The Indian crew, after fishing him out of the ocean, had been gruff and merely cordial, having a job to do and all, but they had been decent enough to share some of their food with him…which had done wonders to restore him. It had seemed like forever since he had eaten real food.<br /><br />When the ship made landfall in Panama, he had finally caught up with the course of world events after his long isolation, and what momentous events they were. The Empire was dead. Well, not really dead, but the smoldering ruins of the enterprise were fading fast with each passing hour. The horrific extermination of the entire population of southern California had been the catalyst for wholesale revolution. It had stimulated the embedded impulse for freedom of the common people, who had needed a dramatic jolt to throw off the iron grip of madness that had encumbered them. The revolution had quickly proceeded forth from there, with broad based general support from the usually dull and stultified Imperial masses. Imperial possessions throughout the world, including Panama, had declared their commitment to self-determination; Imperial client states were abandoning the crumbling aegis of Imperial protection and domination in droves. Politically on the international scene it was now suicide to even be associated with the Empire. The Empire was finished. The soldiers had to finally be recalled to the Homeland.<br /><br />The Homeland itself was rent and cleft with the fires of revolution as the people of the West and South, and also in most of the northern region once known as Canada, had thrown off the yoke of their Imperial masters and had formed breakaway republics out of the formerly Imperial provinces. In Texas the lovers of freedom had even established a model libertarian republican polity, with John Hall installed as its head and guiding intellectual force. The old Imperial Government could now only assert effective control over the areas within close reach of the Imperial Capital – the old, economically decayed provinces of the Northeast and in the eastern Great Lakes region, where the Empire’s basic core of support remained, since these areas had long depended highly on Imperial subsidy and wealth transfer from richer provinces for their economic survival. And now even this was threatened. This unstable remnant would not last long.<br /><br />Even now in the provinces’ open state of rebellion, the Imperial Leadership could not muster the resources to retake its renegade provinces, much less its far-flung global possessions, as its current resource base was now tiny and dwindling by the day. The war had ended by default…as the successor states to the Empire had one after the other made peace with the Enemy, and the Imperial occupation troops had withdrawn from countries, one by one, around the world…..<br /><br />In Panama, Collins had witnessed firsthand the riots and violence in the streets as the oppressed people of that long occupied and exploited Imperial possession had risked their very lives for a shot at freedom. The vaunted ‘freedom’ of the Empire’s propaganda had been just that – a mirage and an illusion, a counterfeit, a cover for the murderous realities of Imperial life. Collins could barely contain himself as he watched the Panamanian mobs fight for, and achieve, real freedom. He had been extremely tempted to join them at the barricades, but had chosen not to…because as an outsider, it was their battle to fight.<br /><br />To quote the Dear Leader himself, he had thought with ironic bitterness, wasn’t freedom wonderful….<br /><br />As for the Dear Leader (nobody called him that anymore), tenuously and tightly he clung to power – for now. With the instability, darkness had settled over the rump of the Imperial State as a National Emergency had been declared, martial law had been established in many areas, the Legislature had been dissolved, alleged traitors to the Enemy had been rounded up and shot, and the Leader had resorted to open rule by decree. As it was though, rumors flew daily about a potential coup against the Leader’s rule by top military leaders, a challenge to the very foundations of the Imperial machine itself.<br /><br />Collins' only wish was that she had been alive to see it all happen. This would have been the height of joy for her….<br /><br />But no more about her. She was now a painful memory, a false hope for happiness which he had once harbored; but like the Empire’s democratic way, that too had been an illusion. He even wondered, at times, if she had even been real, or just an angel sent down to earth by whatever deity there might be, in order to tempt his desire for life. Well that had nearly succeeded. Even now, his wish to live was still very powerful….if only because she would have wanted it that way.<br /><br />After the chaos in Panama had subsided, he had decided, despite the grim aspects of returning to the increasingly repressive Imperial State, that he should return to Detroit. He had no other choice, really. It was home, and the only world he had ever known.<br /><br />The Imperial Government, on his return, had of course been wonderfully welcoming and inviting, befitting one of their veterans of the late Pacific struggle. They had held him for two months in what had amounted to an internment camp, on an island in New York Harbor, while they spent their time interrogating him about the events which had transpired on the island. Even in chaos, the Empire was still intent on settling political scores and assigning blame to the unfortunate bureaucrats and military leaders who had been associated with the failure of one of the Leader’s noble and personal endeavors. It was only then that he had learned of the real reasons for the colony’s existence, and the cause behind the massive hurricane which had nearly meant the end of him, and a certain end for her. He had struggled mightily, in the face of his captors, to contain the rage within.<br /><br />Once they had become convinced that he was free of blame for the matter and released him, they had given him an official discharge from the Armed Forces; and because they were so nice they had even exempted him from further depredations by the draft. He was finally free. In fact, they had apparently been so impressed by his ability to survive that before discharging him, they had awarded him the Imperial Meritorious Service Medal, Second Class. He had rapidly placed it in a prominent location which reflected its value to him…..somewhere at the bottom of the Detroit River.<br /><br />It had been back to the old life for him…chasing thugs, accosting deadbeat dads for overdue child support, retrieving stolen goods from bad-ass motherfuckers of the streets. It was no longer satisfying. For some reason the monsters of the ghetto streets had become bolder, and more brazen, in his absence…likely something to do with the fact that virtually everyone of a certain income class had fallen low with the economic collapse, to the point of starvation. Even he was feeling it…he no longer had even half the business that he had commanded before being forcibly shipped to foreign parts.<br /><br />Besides, it did nothing to fill the aching hole in his heart, a painful and searing wound which was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore….<br /><br />Though he tried not to, he thought about her every day. His dreams at night, when he slept, were filled with her lovely vision…the soft sound of her laugh filled his ears, the sweet smell of her breasts could be detected in his nostrils….he could feel his mouth pressed against her soft flesh, feel the beating of her heart pounding in her chest as he made love to her..…<br /><br /><i>He would wake up screaming at night as he visualized the moment of her death, again and again and again…</i><br /><br />His formidable constitution had taken immense pain before, and borne it with relish ….but this was a new, unfamiliar kind of pain, a pain of emotional hurt so deep that it literally ached with utter agony in his chest. He could no longer sleep at night, and his body was growing wracked by pain and terrible coughing fits which surprised him with their intensity, as he had never been known to really get sick. He could feel his body wearing out with the psychosomatic effects of his emotional misery…it was affecting his work…he could no longer continue in this fashion.<br /><br />He had contemplated suicide on a few rare occasions….but it would be a coward’s way out, and a pathetically stupid way for someone who had lived through so much to meet his demise. Besides, somewhere, wherever she was, she would have disapproved severely….<br /><br />It was time to make a change. This would not do. So he hung up his shingle for the last time, officially retired from private investigation, and called a taxicab company in order to inquire about an open position he had seen advertised one day in the classified section of the <i>Free Press</i>…..<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-1062332329173901230?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-81858689753917156742009-02-08T22:03:00.000-06:002009-02-08T22:05:27.265-06:00“WURSHIP THE THUG.” The sign on South Avenue screamed out its misspelled message in bright, bold red letters. It was certainly large enough to see from the passing cars. A dystopian society? Science fiction? No, just a wry reflection of the reality in Saint Ann, where the worship of thugs had risen to a civic religion. In any case, thuggery could not be denied its place here, being that thugs controlled the life of the city.<br /><br />It was fitting that the sign beckoned to traffic on South Avenue, Sinclair thought, this route traversing the heart of the thug’s world in Saint Ann, such as it was. More bodies fell on the hard, bloodied pavement of South Avenue than anywhere else in the city. The drug dens, illicit businesses, brothels, crack houses, pimp mansions, and everything else had taken up shop in the crumbling, abandoned buildings lining the street, replacing the legitimate businesses that had once occupied the street but had evacuated long ago. A few remaining legal businesses – liquor stores, beauty salons, payday loan outlets, bars, welfare offices – were intermixed with these, lending a smidgen of legitimacy but not much. It was a sign of how far the city had fallen that there was not one entrepreneur, legal or not, that Sinclair would consider a non-parasitical contributor to the neighborhood. Instead these were like maggots feeding on the carcass of poverty and death.<br /><br />The sign itself was attached to a church, one of the few which survived in the culture of irreverence and death, where life had essentially no value or meaning. The message was perhaps meant to be sarcastic in nature, a means for the reader to reflect on a life of poor choices and outcomes. Or perhaps it was just a sign that even the church had given up on the ignorant rabble of the ‘hood. The sign had stood there for ages. Of course it meant nothing to most, as the vast majority, if not all, of ghetto dwellers were illiterate and could not read to save their life. No one had ever noticed that the spelling had always been so obviously in error. That was life in the ghetto, of course – forever the triumph of incompetence.<br /><br />Sometimes the sign even followed Sinclair. His job was to kill, also – but only those who killed others, who had incurred their fate by natural law and the rule of restorative justice. But was he not a thug himself then, whose sole purpose in existence was to take life? It was a constant question, the answer to which he was certain he knew, and also why the normal world outside the ghetto was no longer an option for him. He had become part and parcel of the culture of death himself.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Saint Ann had of late become a popular place to film grim dramas about urban life. It was so obviously the best candidate for these types of films…representing the pinnacle of urban degradation and social disintegration, Saint Ann was ideally suited to serve as backdrop for many a urban crime drama. This activity was providing a much needed shot in the arm to the local economy, bringing in outside revenues for the first time in years – for the wrong reasons, of course – though not as much as expected since film companies, knowing of the city’s notorious reputation, trucked much of what they needed in, fittingly treating Saint Ann as if it were some jungle outpost (which perhaps it was).<br /><br />Even the newly created Mayor’s Film Office had gotten into the act, actively promoting Saint Ann’s as a filming location, using the lure of unlimited urban devastation as a backdrop, plus the added incentive of ‘streamlined’ bureaucracy (or so they claimed – no doubt payoffs were the order of the day) with regard to obtaining the needed permits. Ruthless fascists, thought Sinclair….the city lies prostrate, they promise to be the people’s saviors who will reverse the cycle of death – then they work to profit from it, their word meaningless in the end. Smooth.<br /><br />One film was being produced in the city now…in fact they were shooting downtown right now, Sinclair remembered (it was the only safe location to film outdoors). He remembered it was actually a larger-budget affair, to be seen in your local cineplex in about a year….Why not see what is going down, Sinclair thought; it will eliminate the tedium.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The crew and cameras were set up on Market Street, cordoning off the block to traffic entirely. A thin throng of slightly interested hobos and bums, the usual downtown crowd – no doubt looking for spare change from the strangers – were milling around the site. It was not difficult to obtain a good view of the process.<br /><br />Even in daylight, bright lighting had to be used to illuminate the set. The masses of mechanical equipment surrounding the site intrigued Sinclair – you never realized, sitting in a theatre, how much working capital was needed to obtain a few minutes’ worth of completed film. What looked so effortless on film was actually a complicated and time consuming procedure.<br /><br />In the middle of the throngs of workers milling about, the activity buzzing around the site, Sinclair caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Well, not personally familiar to him, but he had seen her picture in enough media to immediately recognize her face. Kirby Morgan was incredible to behold even in person, actually especially in person. She was a full figured, stunning brunette at least in her late twenties, with a heart shaped face, tight pouty lips which were her most memorable feature, and quiet green eyes. She stood out among the crowd as a jewel stands out from the grime, a pearl among the ruins. Even though she was apparently in costume and makeup – wearing the blue denim jumpsuit of a factory worker and looking grimy – her natural, fresh beauty was impossible to conceal.<br /><br />He was not usually given to celebrity watching, but she was not just another pretty face…..he had seen her films, and found her to be an actress of great depth and sensitivity, far different from the usual faces to be found on the screen. He knew of her long struggle to achieve success, the opportunities that she had refused since they would have compromised her principles, and her refusal to portray characters which she felt were petty and demeaning to the human spirit. In her, Sinclair sensed something authentic in her, something real….and not “real” in the meaning which that word carried in the ghetto.<br /><br />He wondered what she would be doing making a film such as this. Urban dramas, as per the world they (palely) reflected, were usually devoid of humanity, draining of the soul, at least to him – why go to the theatre and pay good money to experience your everyday life again, he thought. Perhaps it was not what it seemed….?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-8185868975391715674?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-66837647956823656072009-02-04T20:30:00.001-06:002009-02-04T20:32:18.142-06:00Collins would have likely found the situation highly amusing if it had not been so terribly real, and now placing him directly in mortal peril. He was standing on a long wooden board jutting from the stern of the slaver ship – a literal gangplank – having been made to walk it for his insult to the barbarian captain. The ragged crew of pirates stood with their machine guns drawn as they forced him toward the bitter end.<br /><br />“Now you die, infidel. We feed you to the sharks.” the captain croaked with a diabolical smile.<br /><br />Collins stared down into the murky bottomless depths. So this was it, he thought. He was unsure if sharks frequented this part of the ocean, wherever the hell that might be. If so, it would be a very quick end for him, indeed. One way or another, he would not last long once in the water, and in his still weak state would likely burn through his energy and drown within a matter of hours.<br /><br />In his last moments he thought about Peggy, still trapped somewhere in the boat’s hold. The terrible fate which would befall her he could only guess at. He had failed her again. He controlled himself as he resisted the urge to weep for her lost life….<br /><br />“Die, infidel.” The pirate hoisted his gun forward, motioning for him to leap into the water….<br /><br /><i>The end was here…there was no escape now.</i><br /><br />Suddenly a massive explosion burst the ocean surface near them, shaking the boat violently. Colllins lost his footing and toppled from the wood into the ocean….he plunged violently into the watery depths…the cold chill of the water sliced through his body as he was immersed…<br /><br />He came to the surface with a burst…The pirates had by now long forgotten him – they had leapt to action. He could hear their agitated and piercing cries in various barbarian tongues…barely making out some shouted Arabic…<br /><br />“We’re being attacked!.....Engage the enemy!”<br /><br />And Collins could see as it wheeled around into his sight that another pirate ship, similar looking to the first but somewhat larger and vastly better outfitted with mounted weaponry, was encircling the ship of his captors, ominously moving towards the kill.<br /><br /><i>“Peggy….! Oh God, no!!”</i><br /><br /><i>She was still on the pirates’ ship.</i><br /><br />He could hear the rat-tat of machine gun fire, the loud roar of explosions as mortar shells pierced the water, the cries of the pirates growing increasingly desperate as they struggled to save themselves in this fight to the death, the telltale screams of dying men..….<br /><br />At once a blinding orange ball of fire consumed the pirate vessel, bursting it instantly into atoms…….<br /><br /><strong>“PEGGY!!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”</strong><br /><br />The smoke cleared and nothing remained on the water….nothing save flying bits of burning scrap wood, pulverized into the air by the force of the explosion, and the play of flame on the sea surface as the leftover oil was consumed….<br /><strong><br />“NOOOOOOO!!!! GOD, NOOOO!!!!! NOT HER, PLEASE GOD, WHY HER??!?!?”</strong><br /><br /><br />--<br /><br />A large scrap of floating wood from the destroyed slaver ship had drifted his way…he had propped himself onto it instinctively, but joylessly….there was nothing to live for now…he did not care if he lived or died….in fact he welcomed death….she was gone and he had brought her to her demise…..she no longer lived or walked the earth to love and feel, experience pleasure or pain, bring joy to everyone she touched and especially to the man she loved……<br /><br />He wondered about the moment when she had met the end….had she suffered terribly? ...had she faced it bravely?.....of course she had, she was a brave woman, she had been ready to accept the harshest of fates if necessary….Wherever she was now, hopefully it was a better place than this world…..some place where she could find the peace and happiness she so richly deserved, but had only held for a brief flickering moment in life…<br /><br />Hopefully he would be with her in paradise soon…<br /><br />--<br /><br />His broken body lay upon the flimsy piece of burned balsa wood as the currents rendered him adrift upon the vast ocean surface….<br /><br />He was nearly totally consumed by malnourishment now….the only thing that kept his mind alive a bit longer was the terrible vision of that fireball, and imagining her delightful body being consumed by the hot flames…..never again to please man….it made him desire only for the end to come quicker……….as he slipped……slowly….into…. unconsciousness………<br /><br />A massive oceangoing container ship parted the seas, leaving massive waves in its wake….The unmoving near-corpse of a man, bleached red by the tropical radiation and floating on a scrip of plywood, flew around like a bathtub toy with the force of the disturbed water….he was certainly near death, if not already dead….<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-6683764795682365607?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-32785805253655405942009-02-02T19:37:00.002-06:002009-02-02T19:41:02.026-06:00The pirate ship drew alongside them. Shouted words in Arabic and Chinese filled the air. A large grappling hook came out to meet them, pulling their small rubber craft in like a floating toy.<br /><br />He could see the pirates distinctly now…they were filthy, disgusting animals, a mix of grimy Black and Asiatic faces, wearing tattered rags for clothes, big surly men, some clearly missing body parts. There were about six of them, and all the men held machine guns.<br /><br />One of the pirates who Collins immediately understood to be the leader, a tall coal black African with a bald head and wearing an eye patch, stood over them as their rubber boat made contact with the pirates’ ship. He shouted out some things to his men in an unfamiliar barbarian tongue and pointed down at their White captives.<br /><br />He then called out to Collins in Arabic…which he could understand….”Do not be afraid, infidels. You are in the hands of traders…<i>slave traders!!</i>”<br /><br />Collins responded in his halting Arabic. “We mean no harm…we were stranded…on an island…we are starving and dehydrated….please take us to safety…I will gladly pay whatever you ask…”<br /><br />The leader stared down at him….He looked intensely at the girl. She was clearly starving, but her still ample figure cut a delightful sight. She would be worth a great deal of money….people would pay their weight’s worth in gold to have control over that fine specimen of a body. He had no use for the man – he looked too old and worn out to sell profitably. However, perhaps he could use him as a ship hand – he still looked sufficiently able bodied enough to serve for him…and in any case, the man had no say in the matter, what with his guns pointed at him.<br /><br />He pointed down at her. “The woman will be sufficient payment enough, sirrah. As for you I have no need. You may join us if you like….but I warn you that rejecting us consigns you to the depths of a watery grave. Now bring your hands upon your heads as you embark my vessel.”<br /><br />Peggy could sense what he was thinking as the filthy Black gazed upon her. “Len…. what are they saying about me…?”<br /><br />“Nothing, dear. Stay calm. Follow my lead.”<br /><br />He stood up with effort, pulling up her weak body as he rose. Her thin legs trembled under the weight of her body…she was starving and nearly at the point of collapse. He moved her toward the wooden wall of the vessel. She took the rough rope of the ship’s ladder in hand and with an extraordinarily painful effort forced herself to climb…He pushed her from behind as she went up, his muscles on fire with the last reserves of his energy as he forced himself to pull double duty for both of them. They were as hot as hell and sweat dripped freely from their bronzed and emaciated sun scorched bodies.<br /><br />Once on deck Collins placed his hands behind his head, and motioned for Peggy to do the same. His biceps burned as he held them high…he could see that Peggy was struggling mightily to hold erect, and looked near ready to collapse.<br /><br />The slavers immediately surrounded Peggy, openly staring at her still magnificent if starved body, poking her with their grimy fingers, groping her in indecent places. Peggy’s eyes grew wide and her body started to shake with horror as she knew what was bound to result, but she stifled the urge to scream and bit her tongue with terror…<br /><br /><i>“Len….they’re going to rape me….oh god, no…”</i><br /><br />”Not this time…..That’s a promise.” He meant it too…even if it meant giving his life for her.<br /><br />The Black slave captain stood before them, arms crossed over chest. He inspected them as though his catch were pieces of meat, not even human anymore…<br /><br />“Take them below,” he ordered to his men.<br /><br />--<br /><br />He had been provided water, albeit in a harsh manner….a gourd of the liquid life sustaining substance had been poured upon his face by one of their captors. Even so the precious droplets meant the world to him. He was tied up upon a wooden board in the cargo hold, completely immobilized. Peggy had been taken to an aft compartment. God knew what they were doing to her there….He would not allow her to be violated again. It had happened once before, and he had done nothing. This would not occur again. He had given his word to her on that. He had heard no screaming from her so far, so perhaps he still had time.<br /><br />The creak of the cargo hold door came suddenly…The captain of the slavers entered the room. He came up to Collins and regarded him as a master might look at one of his lowest possessions.<br /><br />“You are ours now, infidel,” he growled in Arabic.<br /><br />Collins could not control himself.<i> “What have you done with her??!”</i><br /><br />“Your woman is fine…she has been fed and is currently resting, in preparation for her next role which she will fulfill for my men and myself very nicely.”<br /><br />So far, so good. They had not attacked her yet. Still, their future actions had been made baldly clear. “Let her go. She does not mean you harm.”<br /><br />”Certainly I am aware of that. A woman is no match for any man.”<br /><br />Collins was desperate to save her…somehow. “Please….She is my wife…..”<br /><br />“Your wife…Allah has certainly blessed you well.”<br /><br />The thug had bought Collins' strategic lie – which, in a way, was not far from the truth. He certainly considered her almost as a wife. “Look, she means the world to me. I will do anything for her freedom. I will willingly become your slave…if you release her, unmolested. I am still valuable and I have a strong back to prove it. A woman cannot be of any use to you on this ship….in the long term. You will have to feed, house, and care for a person who cannot bring you value on your mission of plunder.”<br /><br />”You are already my slave. And I intend to be rid of your woman before long…..after we have had our way with her, of course. She will command a high price in the East African slave markets.”<br /><br /><i>”NOOO! You can’t do that!”</i><br /><br />“I am the Captain of this ship – I do whatever I want. Know this, infidel.”<br /><br />And with that the thug struck him, tearing his fist upon Collins' face and easily drawing blood.<br /><br />“You will speak respectfully to the Captain of this vessel. From now on you will call me ‘master.’”<br /><br />“No one is my master.”<br /><br />The thug struck again, harder this time….Collins' face was now covered with streaks of warm blood.<br /><br />“Infidel, you shall regret this insult….and pay dearly for it.”<br /><br />And with that the Black thug left.<br /><br />Collins struggled to worm free of the ropes around him…they were sewed tight as a whistle….there was nothing he could do now to stop her looming ravishment. He wept with despair, for only the second time in his life….<br /><br />---<br /><br />The Enemy destroyer was situated two hundred miles off the California coast…in preparation for the important mission in which it would play a key role. The shores of the Imperial Homeland loomed not far from its position, well within the striking distance of its missiles and other airborne depredations. A short distance to the northeast lay Los Angeles, a megalopolis of 20 million people.<br /><br />The warheads were being prepared for launch. They could do this openly in such a location, and without fear of reprisal, since the entire Imperial Pacific fleet had self destructed in a man made storm that had been a gift from Allah…or mere monumental stupidity on their Enemy’s part. It was as their imams said – Allah was on their side; their was no way that He could favor their Enemy, simply based on the blight of bad fortune they had received, courtesy of their infidel apostate unenlightened Leader and his minions.<br /><br />As the warheads were launched, as always they prayed to Allah for his blessing and support…certainly He would greatly approve of this action against the infidel, for their monstrous actions had caused such great harm to His people….<br /><br />The warheads soared across the open ocean, the crystal blue waters which broke suddenly upon the sandy yellow beaches of the Homeland….the gigantic city appeared before them, spread out in a massive sea of sprawl, thirty million ignorant and bovine souls who had not a clue what was about to befall them…<br /><br />As the missiles crossed the coastline they released the poison gas contained inside them….the cloud of yellowish acid spray covered the atmosphere and spread out broadly over the intense urbanization…a plume of mass death preparing to rain slaughter on so many lives below…so many beings who loved, who fought, who experienced joy and sadness, pain and pleasure….<br /><br />And as the living organisms of southern California withered with agony as the horrible pain of the sarenin literally ate them alive, maybe a few of them thought before meeting the end, if only for a moment, how truly, terribly culpable they had been in all this…a clean and wholesale retribution for all the evil which had been perpetuated around the world in their name, by their Dear Leader.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-3278580525365540594?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-45231350091028061652009-01-30T23:13:00.003-06:002009-01-30T23:17:30.064-06:00While all of this was going down, the Queen’s loyal armies had descended on the palace. Outnumbering the thug army of the princes by a factor of something like fifty to one, the thugs were easily outmatched and were slaughtered in great heaps, their corpses lit up and used as guide torches in the darkness.<br /><br />Sinclair led the charge to the dungeon….he fought intervening thugs…they were nothing…a bullet to the brain was their deserved dose of eternal justice…he felt nothing as he squeezed the trigger again and again. He only prayed that Laura was still alive. He was sure she had already suffered terribly….<br /><br />He heard a loud, bloodcurding scream, of a woman….a cry of utter, hopeless agony…They were torturing her…she was near death…..<br /><br />All Sinclair could see was the red flash of blood in his eyes. There was nothing else in his vision. Whatever came in his way, he cut down. He made his way toward the source of the sound.<br /><br />The door came down with one blow….<br /><br />“You are too late…It is finished….”<br /><br />Theodor stood in front of him, his voice dripping with malevolence.<br /><br />“I am King now….BOW TO YOUR MASTER.”<br /><br />“YOU DEAD, FOOL.”<br /><br />He pumped five bullets into his chest.<br /><br />The erstwhile King slumped down, a corpse, merely mortal after all.<br /><br />Karl appeared from behind him. Flashes of light. Sinclair felt a heavy pain in his upper arm. Blood poured from his shoulder.<br /><br />Sinclair fired back. Something hit Karl, and he fell to the ground. He was still alive. The royal blood trickled into a pool on the ground. Sinclair came to him and stood over him.<br /><br />“YOU DEAD, SUCKA.”<br /><br />He finished the job…emptying his weapon into the brain of the other wannabe immortal.<br /><br />He turned to the woman he loved…..<br /><br />She was alive.<br /><br />--<br /><br /><i>“Laura….god no…”</i><br /><br />She had suffered.<br /><br />Her joints were dislocated from her sockets. Her body was half naked, and covered in blood, bruises, and welts. It could have been worse, though – Sinclair recognized the machine to which she was strapped to have the potential to destroy the spine. The thug working it had been mercifully slaughtered before it could finish the job….cut down by the crossfire.<br /><br />"Sinclair....." she moaned weakly.<br /><br />“Don’t speak, dearest….You’re going to be fine now….we’re going to get you healed….please don’t move….they just about killed you…..”<br /><br />“I don’t want to die….”<br /><br />“I know, darling.”<br /><br />”I have too much…to live for…..”<br /><br />“That’s right.”<br /><br />“Like you…….I love you, Harry.”<br /><br />She had said it….but she was delirious right now. The pain had affected her mind. “Just lie still. They’re coming for you.”<br /><br />“Who..?”<br /><br />”The doctors…they’re going to heal you….you’ve got to hang on…for a few moments longer.”<br /><br />”Don’t leave me, Harry.”<br /><br />”I’m not going anywhere.”<br /><br />“I do love….you so.”<br /><br />”I know, dear…”<br /><br />Mercifully, the medics arrived at that moment, to take her broken body, to heal her….<br /><br />--<br /><br />When Sinclair was completely alone, he wept with despair…...<br /><br />--<br /><br />Her immediate recovery was swift…there was nothing bed rest couldn’t accomplish, Sinclair had always said. She was a strong, healthy woman and the natural healing of her body was miraculously rapid. As Sinclair also said, humans are blessed with only one body, and its care was of utmost importance.<br /><br />The physical therapy took longer….her muscles and joints needed time to fully heal so they could function properly again. He spent the therapy sessions by her side, supporting her with his helping hands, and his presence. In fact he had never left her side in all those weeks of recovery….<br /><br />They had spent much time together, each other’s closest companion, he serving as her protector in her time of greatest need. For weeks they ate together, spent the days together as she recovered, gradually able to move more freely as the days went by….slept in the same room (he on the hard hospital sofa and she in the bed)…..but in all that time, not a word had been breathed about what she had said to him at that critical moment..…<br /><br />Sinclair presumed that she had forgotten it, that it had been a product of temporary delirium induced by severe shock and pain, that it was something she would prefer not to remember anyway. It no longer mattered, and he no longer thought about it. That was not an outcome he had desired, for either of them. It would be bad for her, to be with him….he was no better than the thugs themselves….she was too pure, too good for him. That was the way it had always been.<br /><br />And so while the monarch was away recuperating, life rolled on in Lusitania. Laura had decided that this would be an experiment in limited government, that this would be the perfect time to implement the adage ‘he who governs most effectively governs least.’ And amazingly, society had not crumbled, it had not devolved into chaos….it had ordered itself, without need from guidance on high. When Sinclair spoke of this to her, she merely laughed wryly.<br /><br />“What’s so funny?”<br /><br />”The princes…they were so wrong….”<br /><br />The black princes had been given vagabonds’ funerals – their bodies had been cremated and unceremoniously dumped in the municipal sewer. The thousand year reign of Bourbonnais terror had ended, fittingly in a dead end. So the next question that was immediately posed was, what would become of the monarchy, now that there were no obvious, or really any, successors – the princes, while Michael had ruled, had butchered anyone who they had determined could make even the minutest claim to the throne. It was determined by the Royal College, who kept the records about these matters, that the next in line to the throne was a distant fifteenth cousin thrice removed presently living in Denmark – but he wanted nothing to do with the Lusitanian crown (and given the Queen’s recent experiences, this was a rational expectation).<br /><br />Laura had her own solution of course. “Abolish the monarchy.”<br /><br />”But we can’t do that, Your Majesty! It is against tradition. The people love their Queen.”<br /><br />“Certainly true – but this adherence to tradition has done more harm than good for this country. And I am still the absolute ruler, aren’t I? Well, I will my office out of existence. The people, through their Parliament, will determine what form of government succeeds the monarchy. I will insist on two things – that all the reforms that I have implemented be retained after I have abdicated, and that absolute monarchy never be restored in this country. And I have one more piece of advice, which I strongly recommend should be followed: the more limited in power the government you establish, the greater happiness will come to the people.”<br /><br />“You are a magnificent ruler, Your Majesty, the finest of all the Bourbonnais. All Hail the Queen!”<br /><br />Sinclair only nodded. To him, she would always be a queen.<br /><br />--<br /><br />She had told him of her homesickness…and there it rose before them, the grim, grey skyline of dear old Saint Ann.<br /><br />Home sweet home, thought Sinclair.<br /><br />They crossed the Interstate bridge….the crumbling buildings towered to their right and in front of them, ghosts of a forgotten era. The smokestacks of abandoned and active factories – mostly abandoned – could be glimpsed along the decayed riverfront. They passed the midpoint of the bridge….passing the unchanging, grizzled signage:<br /><div align="center"><br />ENTER<br />Scott<br />COUNTY<br /><br />Welcome to Saint Ann<br />“A New City Rising”<br />Irwin J. Kellogg, Mayor<br /></div><br />Laura wanted to weep at that moment….It was hell, but it was home…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />Lusitania had chosen, per their Queen’s wisdom, a limited, decentralized form of government modeled on the Articles of Confederation, which had been Sinclair’s suggestion for a base document. The most powerful party’s political platform was to reduce the role of government further. Already Lusitania was one of the most thriving, economically sound nations in Europe, where only a year before it had been a backwater. The Continent’s financial sector found Lusitania’s total lack of laws and restrictions irresistible, and soon San Castellano was making a run on London and Frankfurt as Europe’s premiere financial center.<br /><br />Saint Ann had continued to stagnate, as steadily as ever, under the enlightened rule of Mayor Irwin J. Kellogg. The <i>News-Leader</i> had been extremely happy to rehire its star reporter, even more now that she had plenty of stories to write after two months as a Queen, which of course was not something that just happened to anyone.<br /><br />For Sinclair, the streets beckoned. They had not changed much, save the ever shifting gang territories and affiliations which were as fluid as the waves breaking on a beach. The hobos and bums were still in their usual places…a few more had joined the lines since the last time he had seen them. The Commerce Tower was still filled with nobodies – the lazy bums had not claimed his office, thankfully, so it was his again, to occupy solitarily.<br /><br />He would have to rebuild his business…he had been gone a while, and the thugocracy had likely become more aggressive since then, knowing that Sinclair was not around to enforce street justice when their actions became too brazen. The body count had certainly rolled on in his absence. Yet it was not two days after his return, when he came to his office, and found a line of customers…..<br /><br />Business had backed up, and was waiting for him. From a thugocracy, to a thugocracy, he thought wryly. Life couldn’t get any better.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-4523135009102806165?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-21847846615422124542009-01-29T20:52:00.001-06:002009-01-29T20:53:56.296-06:00They had decided to bring with them what they could, which was basically what had survived in the boat along with them during the surge…the remainder of the rope, a flashlight, the flare gun (the most critical item, Collins believed), a hunting knife, and their gun. To his better judgment, but to the detriment of his desire, he had requested that she wear her clothes, or what was left of them. He did not want her to fry out there in the open water.<br /><br />He pushed them off from shore with the dawn…the orange breaks in the low grey clouds announcing the start of another beautiful tropical day. When he was sufficiently off the shore, past the crashing surf, he started the small engine. It came and sputtered to life, making a low dim buzzing noise as it worked.<br /><br />As he navigated away from the island where they had met and fallen in love, he could not help but look back at it. The long low brown sand spit glimmered dimly with the sunrise. It had contained the sum of their experiences together, wonderful and sordid, beautiful and brutal. Though they had suffered here, and lost friends here, they had also found here renewed hope for life in each other. Perhaps, Collins thought, if they managed to make it back home alive, one day in the distant future perhaps he would return there with her…for a second honeymoon. As he continued to sail, the island grew smaller…and smaller…until it was merely a black speck on the vast dark blue horizon of the sea.<br /><br />“I hate to say it…but I think I will actually miss that place,” he muttered.<br /><br />“I know what you mean, dear.”<br /><br />Using the sun as a guide, he could navigate by direction. He was moving northeast, in the general bearing which he knew might steer them to safety. Though the closest actual land was to the northwest, that was of course known by him to be Enemy territory. He was vaguely aware that there were various island clusters, though however distant, in the general direction of their travel. Of course, successfully encountering one of them at random such as he was barely counting on was like finding a flea in a barrel of oil. Even then, they were not actually assured of finding an inhabited island….but as long as it contained edible food and drinkable water, any island would be fine for the present.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The Enemy had swept across the open watery wastes of the Pacific….blasting through the paltry remaining Imperial resistance there like a knife through butter. For all intents and purposes now the Pacific Ocean was virtually an Enemy lake. The Empire would have to make its last stand against the barbarian threat….along the shorelines of the Homeland.<br /><br />The news of the destruction and loss of Hawaii, considered part of the Homeland itself, to the Enemy, and the attendant wholesale slaughter of over one million people – the vast majority of them innocent civilians – had threatened for a time to topple the entire Imperial apparatus. Civil disturbances had arisen in various cities in many of the vassal countries controlled by the Empire and, remarkably, throughout the Homeland as well. The people of the world, desiring to be free of the Imperial yoke, had used this temporary moment of Imperial weakness to vent their massive grievances. But the Empire had held, for now, by dint of the use of brutal and raw State power of which the Empire was expert in wielding.<br /><br />But the challenge to the Leadership had not dimmed. The lovers of freedom, loyal to the virtues of the old Republic which had been supplanted by the Empire so long ago, were growing restless, and the latest State-engineered disaster had only emboldened them. The restraints of the Government censors were powerless to stunt the growth of the new media which nurtured their cause born of a people with a desperate desire to live for themselves and be free.<br /><br />They had even been so bold as to congregate around a leader for their cause, a former member of the Legislature from Texas named John Hall, who seven years ago had been forced from high office due to some petty political scandal long forgotten. It had long become common knowledge among the population, however, that the whole situation had been engineered by the Leadership to force the exile of someone who held opinions about the proper role of Government which were extremely politically dangerous to their survival. And worst of all to them, he had dared to air those views….<br /><br />The morass of the regular, workaday citizens of the Empire bore no great love for their State, despite the barrage of patriotic propaganda which they were exposed to daily by their Government and its media co-conspirators. However, the Empire’s failings were seen by most as a failure of Bureaucracy and the petty politics entailed thereof. Little if any of the evils of Imperial rule, or the embarrassments of failed Imperial policies, were ever blamed, at least not directly, on the people’s beloved Dear Leader. By a cruel State-supported farce of which the people themselves were complicit in participating, the Leader had always been personally viewed as being above the pall of politics, of not having a direct bearing on the shameful stain of Government actions, of being divinely inspired and blessed by God in all his actions, and boundless in his vast wisdom and noble goals to bring freedom and democracy to the world. But all that was slowly changing bit by bit, as the hushed but explosive rumors of many years’ gestation had spread that the Leader was very much directly involved in the lethal turn of the State, and in fact was quite central to the architecture of the Imperial machine….<br /><br />It was enough, taken together, to perhaps shake the Empire to its foundations, and even blow it to atoms….<br /><br />--<br /><br />Collins curled down into the depths of the boat in a futile effort to shield himself from the burning heat of the full tropical sun. His stomach ached with the absence of nourishment, and his throat raged with the dryness of intense dehydration. He looked over to Peggy who lay only feet from him. Her pallid and drained countenance instantly communicated the terrible physical pain which she was feeling, inside and out. Her bronzed flesh had grown beet red with the exposure to the solar radiation, and her body was thin with hunger, with the arch of her rib cage clearly visible.<br /><br />As predicted, the boat’s small engine had not lasted much longer than a couple of hours, and its small supply of fuel had run dry. They were now stranded somewhere on the surface of the vast featureless ocean, the endless wastes of salt water stretching to the ends of every horizon, paper flat and calm in the placidly humid tropical weather. The hot white sun shone with full fierce force from the cloudless sky.<br /><br />It had been like this for two days and a night now. Collins had remembered the night well....out on the water night came with a blackness he had never quite experienced before, being a city resident….the only illumination being that dim purple pall of the quarter moon which bathed the surface of the ocean with a cool white light. The sight of the stars had been amazing….it had been far more impressive than any planetarium, he thought.<br /><br />His body had already grown terribly weak….too weak to move…he knew the end would be arriving soon….it was finished for them.<br /><br />With an incredible effort Collins propped his head upon the burning rubber side of the boat. He lifted his eyelids with a pain which seemed too great for such a minor physical movement. The heat of the full sun burned his dry corneas and pupils…..his eyesight had become blurry as his body slowly started shutting down.<br /><br />And then he could see the ship. At first he thought it a mirage – it had to be…But no, as his eyesight managed to focus on the small black dot in the distance, he could begin to see clearly that it was a ship. He was too tired and weak to show excitement, but inside his innards turned with jubilation. He could not tell what type of vessel it was….it could easily have been an Enemy cruiser or otherwise. But it did not matter. Any contact with other members of humanity offered potential, however minor, to escape their nightmare…an offer of a slight chance at survival was better than no chance at all.<br /><br />With arms trembling from weakness Collins used the last of his rapidly disappearing strength to reach for the flare gun…it was their only chance of rescue. Peggy looked at his with shallow but hopeful eyes and understood what he was doing. She had seen the ship, too.<br /><br />Collins lifted the gun over his head and pulled the trigger….<br /><br />The flare shot up into the air with force, popping at some distance above their heads…He hoped against hope that they had seen it…<br /><br />“What…do we do now?” she asked weakly.<br /><br />“We wait…for now.”<br /><br />And after a time Collins' bleary eyes could plainly see that the ship had turned, and was now headed toward their position….he sighed with relief. They would be okay.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The vessel approached. As it drew closer Collins could observe it better. The ship was a battered hulk, with peeling paint and a scarred wooden bow. It might be an old fishing vessel, he thought…but then, where were the nets? And then he could see the machine guns mounted on the bow of the ship.<br /><br />Collins' stomach tightened. Perhaps they were only there for self-protection, he told himself. The open seas in this time of conflict were a rough and sordid place, filled with bandits, pirates, and of course warships of all sorts which posed threats to peaceful endeavors. His heart sank as he felt the truth sinking in….this ship likely carried some very unsavory characters, perhaps individuals who were fatal to one’s health to endure contact with.<br /><br />He turned to Peggy. She shivered as the same realizations drew upon her.<br /><br />“I’m sorry…my darling….”<br /><br />He took her in his arms, for what might be the last time. She shook with terror and weakness…whispering to him…<br /><br />“When we meet again…..it will all be well.”<br /><br />He understood the meaning of her words….and resisted the strong urge to scream.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2184784661542212454?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-35718839264808040452009-01-28T21:20:00.002-06:002009-01-28T21:25:01.801-06:00Sinclair had made it a point to constantly occupy the sole ingress point into the Queen’s official offices. He did not want to be continuously in her immediate presence since he was sure it would unduly interfere with her duties, as well as comprise a constant reminder of the mortal threat to her reign and indeed, her very life. So he had made it a point to block off all potential and real access from the outside – a security perimeter, comprised of the reinforced masonry walls of the castle, with secured bulletproof windows which were too high and small to crawl through – establishing only one access point which he could constantly monitor. This location was thus foolproof, and in his opinion impossible to penetrate. He referred to it as the Thermopylae principle of security, a reference which Laura had not understood.<br /><br />The real risk, in his opinion, was when she made her way back to the modest flat in which she lived. Here she was exposed to the open street, and even with an entourage of guards (including him) at her side, it was still not enough, and in fact made her conspicuous, which was not a good thing. And he was still not sure she was entirely safe even there, despite her flat being of a similar nature to her office and continuously guarded whenever she was present by two of his best men. And then there were the public appearances she was obliged to make as Queen, which were immensely popular with the people but nonetheless posed grave security risks. And to top it off, he was certain that she occasionally managed to steal away at night, without protection, to partake in those activities which she had always enjoyed – taking in a film or a play, eating at a quiet café, somehow managing to blend into the general population unrecognized. (Sinclair was aware that she possessed that talent, a skill cultivated by her experience in undercover investigative journalism.) He had implored her to remain at all times in the castle, to never venture beyond its walls, for her own protection and survival. Characteristically, she had told him with her usual bluntness, “I have a life to live. I will not be confined – I’m supposed to be the Queen, not a prisoner.”<br /><br />He was aware of the 100,000 mark bounty on her head placed by the black princes, which was not public knowledge and never would be if he had anything to say about it. He knew the thugs skulked at night among the general population, looking for an opening, the right time to strike….He had told her of this mortal danger, and she had been justly concerned. But there were still too many security holes….<br /><br />--<br /><br />The vipers struck on a Thursday, and in the worst way.<br /><br />They had not decided to strike at the vulnerabilities in the security system, where there had been redoubling of efforts and conscious vigilant watch. Instead they struck the system at its most complacent and secure…..the castle.<br /><br />A car bomb. A mighty explosion. Bodies and blood everywhere…..burning buildings….the sounds of sirens and horns blaring in the air.<br /><br />The Queen was nowhere to be found.<br /><br />Sinclair had made his men erect barriers to ensure that no vehicle would be able to park within one thousand feet of the building. The van, then, had contained enough explosives to destroy a large skyscraper. It had created a crater in the street about twelve feet deep, and about 100 feet wide. Only the black princes had the means of acquiring that much ammunition….<br /><br />They searched through the rubble to find her. Sinclair was going insane, knowing somewhere she was hurting, likely dead. Again he had failed her. He vowed that if she turned up dead, he would kill himself.<br /><br />The rubble was searched thoroughly….no sign of her…or her body.<br /><br /><i>Where was she?</i><br /><br />--<br /><br />From his interviews with surviving staff, she had been on the opposite side of the building from where the blast occurred. That would generally have meant that she would have survived…but instead she had disappeared. In the chaos following the explosion, when his men were occupied, Sinclair postulated, someone – or something – had kidnapped her.<br /><br />The black princes’ castles contained dungeons – her likely location, if she were even still alive. Crown Prince Theodor would have the most to gain from the Queen’s death. It was time to raise an army.<br /><br />--<br /><br />She awoke, to the smell of death. The room was dark, and filthy. She did not know where she was, there was no light…but it seemed like the depths of hell. The squeaking of rats could be heard nearby.<br /><br />The world had gone black with the shock of the explosion….she did not know what had happened….it had likely been the inevitable regicide attempt. Perhaps it had succeeded, and she was dead? No, she could feel the agonizing pain in her bones and muscles, the patches of dried blood on her flesh, the remains of her torn, bloody underclothes against her body. She was alive…barely.<br /><br />For once in her life, she was homesick for Saint Ann.<br /><br />Why had they kept her alive? she thought. They wanted her dead….why not eliminate their target in one swoop?<br /><br />The heavy door swung open…Light poured into the room from a burning rectangle. The silhouettes of two jackbooted thugs were evident. Then, a disembodied voice….<br /><br />“Welcome to Hell. Long Live the Queen!!!”<br /><br />The thugs moved closer. Their faces could be seen now…they contained no expression, no emotion, nothing, in fact, save an empty vacuousness that communicated the great harm that was planned to fall upon her shortly….<br /><br />Her heart beat faster….if death was to come, this was the time…..She would not face it cowering in fear…..She stood up and spoke defiantly to the thugs. “Do what you will with me; I will not die without my dignity intact.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The beatings had been harsh…..meant to crush her spirit and confidence, not to kill. There had been ten, twenty strikes at a stretch. Her blood poured from her temples…her body was bruised, destroyed….she could not last much longer….At last she had pleaded for them to stop. The thugs had miraculously complied.<br /><br />She had then been roughly strapped to what was obviously a torture device. It was a cylindrical rack which she had recognized as an old medieval torture instrument, with the ultimate aim being to sever the spinal cord and tear the limbs from their sockets. She knew that she could not survive the consequences……<br /><br />The device was activated by turning a lever, twisting until the desired outcome occurred. Her breathing came in hard gasps as her bones were pulled apart, causing her to cry out in horrible, agonizing pain. It was a struggle just to obtain air….she could feel herself slowly suffocating. Perhaps that was how prisoners were supposed to die on this machine….<br /><br />The turning of the lever stopped momentarily. A dark shadowy figure entered the room….she recognized her half brother Theodor. Another shadow, which she could barely make out as Karl, was situated behind her.<br /><br />“So this is the consequence of your action, my dear sister….you could have just told the old man no….but instead you had to insert yourself into a political situation and a society which you do not understand, and could never begin to understand. And in the process, you have destroyed our way of life, and a thousand years of Bourbonnais tradition! And now you face the consequences of your unfortunate decision…Lusitanian style, of course.”<br /><br />“Damn your way of life….and your tradition….it has produced nothing but death through the centuries….seeing my corpse will not satisfy your lust for bloodletting…” These words were spoken though pain filled gasps.<br /><br />“I was destined for the throne….It was my destiny!! You little fucktard screwed me over!! You do not piss off a Boubonnais…! You must be the last fool to realize that. When you anger me, bodies start dropping. I cannot believe the old man neglected to inform you of this.”<br /><br />“My father did tell me….that is why I came here…..I am just as entitled by blood right to sit on the throne as you or he…..even more so in fact…...I would not let you or he bring harm to this land any longer…..you are just thugs….I know something about thugs…..”<br /><br />“Thugs we may be….but that is the only way to rule. In any case, it certainly pays to be a thug. We are not afraid to use force. You are repelled by force. Force always wins, in any confrontation. The State force in particular is all powerful, since we exist unchallenged. Thus we are fated by history, and by divine right, to always triumph. Power. Force. The ability to inflict pain and death. That is how one defeats the enemy. That is how the nation becomes glorious, and creates the greatest benefit for the people. It is the Bourbonnais way; thus it is the Lusitanian way. You are but a footnote in this glorious story; already your brief moment in the light is passing from the history books.”<br /><br />“You are so wrong….You can achieve nothing through force…in the end force is brought back to bear against you…in the end…People have the ability to live their own lives, without your terrorizing….and mass murder….and looting of their possessions…and their wealth….the State is only a parasite….”<br /><br />”You are in no position to be contrary with me now.…I hold the power of life and death over you. One more turn of the screw, and you will be with our ancestors.”<br /><br />“I am not afraid to die….” Her voice was becoming a whisper.<br /><br />“It is such a pity…You are so young and beautiful, so unlike us….” He grappled her firm breast, fondled it roughly…. “Yes, you are very beautiful, and young….you have a fine body….In different circumstances you would have made a fine producer of future soldiers for the Kingdom’s armies.” He smiled lecherously. “That is the sole purpose of woman in this world.”<br /><br />“Go fuck yourself.”<br /><br />He brutally slapped her face. “YOU INSOLENT CUNT! HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO A LIVING GOD IN THAT MANNER?!”<br /><br />So that was the way it was…..<br /><br />“Kill her. I really want to see the bitch bleed now, to hear her scream in agony.”<br /><br />The black, unthinking hands grasped the handle, and began to turn the screw one final time. She braced herself for the eternal blackness….<br /><br />She spoke to the thug. “Do you value…your life….?” It was a desperate plea of a dying woman to a dead mind…..<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-3571883926480804045?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-29134213671445765902009-01-27T19:34:00.002-06:002009-01-27T19:46:05.089-06:00<strong><i>***WARNING - ADULT CONTENT!!!***</i></strong><br /><br />They woke to a beautifully azure sky and a light breeze. His drenched body was still tightly pressed atop her own lovely shape, chest to back…it was the closest he had ever been to spending a night with a woman in his life.<br /><br />The boat had been deposited harshly on the saturated sand….the rope remained tethered to the palm tree trunk.  Collins arose to a harsh world.<br /><br />The formerly lush tropical sight was now barren. The tropical vegetation of palmettos and bamboo had been swept clear; the once dense canopy of palm leaves had been stripped away with the wind. The only remaining sign that there had even been life on the island was the bleached trunks of the once life-nourishing palms. The salt surf had stripped away anything and everything which might sustain them. It suddenly came to him that even the rain-fed freshwater lake had been filled with the briny salt waters of the Pacific…..<br /><br /><i>“We….are….dead…..”</i><br /><br />Peggy arose to experience the same sight…..Her face turned white with horror as the seriousness of the situation sank into her mind…..Her breathing grew shallow and labored, and increasingly desperate….<br /><br /><i>“We’re….going….to…die….here…..”<br /><br />Collins let forth a scream, a primal scream mixed with sorrow and rage…..</i><br /><br />--<br /><br />He sat on a small berm of wet, compacted sand as he contemplated their predicament. Without food, they could survive two, maybe three weeks before starving to death. Without fresh water, their life spans were reduced to a matter of days….The only thing they could do to slow the process was to move about as little as possible, consuming as little energy as they could. With luck they could delay the end somewhat, maybe by a day or so. He was aware of the agony which death by dehydration entailed. The end would be slow, painful, and mortally agonizing. He knew she would not be able to bear it…<br /><br />He cursed the beating ocean surf as it billowed softly on the sandy shoreline. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink…..<br /><br /><i>So this was how it would end, for him and her…..</i><br /><br />He glanced at her as she stood on the beach, staring grimly at the horizon. Her face was white with sorrow. She knew there was nothing he could devise or invent to save them now. The profile of her full and ample figure cut a delectable sight within his view. It was such a horrible, horrible shame that as beautiful a delight as that would all go to waste. His eyes teared up as he though of the life lost to her, the life she would be unable to live or enjoy…no caring and loyal husband, no joy of bearing children, no contented pleasure of a nurturing and loving family, no comfort and aid by her children in her old age, no peace of coming to a natural end of a fulfilling existence. She deserved all of this. He cared nothing of himself. It was for her lost happiness that his heart ached like a heavy stone in his chest.<br /><br />She turned to him….she knew he had lost all hope…it hurt her so much to see him this way….it had made her quickly come to despair as well. She knew very well that their lives were about to end.<br /><br />“Collins?”<br /><br />”Yes, Peggy?”<br /><br />“I love you.”<br /><br />The words had little impact on him…he did not believe in such a concept as a person actually caring for him in that manner. The stab of pain bore deep within him. She was already delirious, Collins thought.<br /><br />“Come and sit down.”<br /><br />“Len….Len, darling…..” They were words of tender, sweet affection she had never spoken to him before. It did not matter now. She could conceal nothing of her feelings from him now. “I love you…..and I know you love me….and I say this because I know you want very much to live…”<br /><br />She was saying things…to make him feel better…<i>no, nobody had ever spoken to him in that manner before….in such a sensual and emotional way…</i><br /><br />She knelt before him…her deep brown eyes gazing directly into his….communicating so much without a word spoken….her body trembled with desire and fear…<i>she wanted him….she would not die without grabbing the last fruits of happiness while she still breathed life on this earth….if she was going to meet her demise here, she would rather it be in his arms.</i><br /><br />He held out his hand to touch her….he brushed the tips of his fingers lightly against her bicep, moving up the bare white arm to the arch of her shoulder blade….he could feel the desire burning in his loins…he could no longer resist the temptation to satisfy his urge with the woman he loved, and who so obviously loved him in return.<br /><br />“Peggy….my darling…my love…”<br /><br />It no longer mattered how he felt about the thing. They were as good as dead. They both desired one last, final, powerful assertion to the world and to themselves that they were alive, and that they had lived, and loved, and experienced pain and pleasure, joy and hurt, before returning to the dead dust from whence they had come….<br /><br />He moved his hands upon her feminine charms…the supple curves were full and ripe….<br />her heaving breasts were already stiff and engorged with the fruits of desire….she could feel the sudden physical changes in her body….the stiffening of her loins and the swelling of her breasts, the flow of hot blood to the skin….she felt sweet desire rise from deep within her….her body was preparing itself to receive him…..it was highly pleasurable and she felt herself, despite her brutal initiation to sex, greatly enjoying it…<br /><br /><i>So this was how love felt</i>, she thought.<br /><br />She felt the soft wet touch of his mouth on her shoulder…working up to the base of her neck…softly, gently….she could feel her body shudder, alive with pleasure…she threw her head back as she closed her eyes and let forth a low throaty animal moan of complete satisfaction from deep within her throat….<br /><br />She could feel him slowly removing her ragged and filthy clothes …..she did not resist him….she had given him all the consent he had needed……<br /><br />He stared saucer eyed as she stood erect and naked before him….<br /><br /><i>….an image out of heaven, one of the angels themselves...a perfect specimen of physical feminine perfection, a well filled out, fully figured form, with delightfully large and round breasts kissed with perfectly sized ruby red nipples and areolae pointed toward him, wide and lusciously curving toned hips, and a flat and supple muscled abdomen completely free of fat and flaws….a tanned body fit and toned, clean and trim, a picture of youth, vigor, and health, a feminine figure perfect for bearing children and pleasing man….</i><br /><br />She had been crafted by God himself…..<br /><br />“You are so very beautiful,” was all he could say, in a low whisper of complete reverence and worship.<br /><br />She laughed softly, salty tears of joy streaming from her eyes. She had offered herself fully to him, without compunctions, without strings attached, and he was incredibly pleased with the gift….<br /><br />He took her in his arms and slowly lowered her toward the white sand. She could feel the subtly rough press of the grains against the lovely curving slope of her bare back and hips as she lay down under him. When he was on top of her he removed his pants and flung them to the side….he now lay naked before her. His body was muscled, tanned, scarred with the ravages of many sufferings….he was handsome to her. He moved his mouth gently across the pleasing rise of her breasts, dripping with saliva, kissing and sucking on the sweet soft feminine flesh, working up to the nipple…he had never known it would be so soft and good to his taste. She could feel her breasts become fully engorged as they responded to his entreaties….they vibrated with pleasure, and the workings of his tongue only served to stimulate them further.<br /><br />She could see his large erect phallus approaching the sweet spot between her legs….she shook as the sight brought back unpleasant memories. But when he entered her, it made her loins burn alive with ecstasy…..she felt her thighs and abdomen quiver with an intense sort of pleasure she had never before experienced in her life, as her vagina admitted his member completely, pressing forward to the tip of her cervix. Never had she known such complete pleasure….she moaned blissfully….<br /><br /><i>“Are you happy…..darling…..?”</i> he breathed.<br /><i><br />”Yes….yes….yes…..”</i><br /><br />Her voice came out as an involuntary moan of uncontained joy….<br /><br />The rhythm of their bodies moved in time with each other. The hot sun bore down upon them as the tropical day blazed forth, and sweat poured freely down the lovers’ lean, bronzed naked bodies as they worked. If an outside observer had suddenly come upon the sight, he would have been quite taken by the passion of their lovemaking….the intense and fulfilling mating more closely befitting the last man and woman alive on earth…<br /><br />Collins had never known such joy….he had never known what it would be like with a woman…he had never in his life experienced the soft caress of a woman’s touch. He had been especially unfamiliar with the mechanics of sex…but when it had come right down to it, instinctually he knew what to do, what body part to place where, how to hold her, how to touch her just so in the very places that would most please her. This was what he had been missing all these years….this was what he had always longed for, but could never find…he just wished it had not been at the very end of his life, right now, when he had finally been able to fill the gaping hole in his spirit which she had satisfied. Oh well, better late than never….<br /><br />She had never known a man either, at least not freely. It was a shame that those monsters had claimed her virginity first, and not him…he would have justly deserved the honor.<br />As he moved around inside her, she felt her body respond to him….waves of pleasure washed over her as he worked. And he was so gentle, surprisingly and always gentle, and seemingly reverent as he moved his mouth and hands over her, too careful not to hurt the woman’s tender and soft flesh.<br /><br />She could feel her body, and his, grind with pleasure as they moved toward climax. Their breath came in longer, louder gasps….the hot red flush of blood rose to the surface of their bodies, bathing them both in an intense heat of pleasure and joy…..they were burning a great deal of energy…they were hastening their own death….but neither of them had ever felt so alive…..<br /><br />As he mated with her, the pleasure came as an explosion of ecstasy….his hot seed spurt like a spigot into her accepting womb….his loins throbbed with pleasure….he moaned softly as the desire was expelled from him….her entire body shuddered with desire…a powerful and extremely intense throb of intense ecstasy unlike anything she had ever felt overwhelmed her, shaking her entire frame with the fire of joy….she knew that her body had climaxed as well….she could not move, the pleasure was intense enough to temporarily paralyze her muscles…..she softly moaned a deep animal sound of complete fulfillment –<i> “…..yes….yes….yes….yes…oh, yes….”</i><br /><br />--<br /><br />They lay on the beach, her sweaty and warm nude body resting upon his, her head and melon-like breasts lying firmly on his flat muscled chest. He could feel the wonderful curve of her perfect female figure pressed next to his still-burning skin. They had rested for a while now….but their bodies still burned with the intense pleasure and passion of lovemaking. Their bodies had united in a physical mixing of fluids…his seed implanted deep inside her….this woman, this wonderful, beautiful woman…he had satisfied his desire for her…now all he could feel was the intense urge to sleep.<br /><br />“Len, darling…”<br /><br />Her soft warm voice communicated love and affection.<br /><br />“Yes, my love?”<br /><br />”I don’t ever want to lose this moment…this is as life should be…..Darling, I want to live….I don’t ever want to lose you….”<br /><br />”I want to live too. And I want you by my side always.”<br /><br />He kissed her forehead gently.<br /><br />“How are we going to survive, darling?” It was spoken in a fearful whisper.<br /><br />“Don’t worry about it now….just sleep….let me for once worry about something for both of us.”<br /><br />She smiled softly…”No, darling, we are in this together. I am part of you now. What concerns you is my problem too.”<br /><br />She shifted her body up, to meet him face to face, planting a warm wet kiss on his cheek. “Are you happy, dear?”<br /><br />“Of course I am – you’re the reason why.”<br /><br />And with that he deftly rolled her over with one strong movement, onto the sand, her back against the beach, and kissed her bare breasts gently and with vigor, as she giggled softly and moaned with delight as they again proceeded to make passionate love to each other…...<br /><br />--<br />“I could do this all day.”<br /><br />He was propped up against a sand dune, his back lying on the grains, as they watched the setting sun. She lay naked in his lap, her back against his chest, her head resting on her shoulder, their legs tangled together, his hands caressing her large breasts which were sore with pleasure and the workings of his tongue against them during their long day of lovemaking. They had lived like animals today, responding only to the instinctual and primitive physical pleasures of their worn bodies…and it had been wonderful….<br /><br />“This is how the primitive tribes live, you know....after they eat and shit, the young couples lay around and do this all day…”<br /><br />“Oh, Len, I wish that had been our lot in life….”<br /><br />“Hush, darling.” He kissed her neck. “No need for worries about weighty matters of life and death. No more talk of Empire and survival. Just live as full a life as you can until our energy burns out….”<br /><br />“That doesn’t sound much like you, Len.”<br /><br />”I don't care."<br /><br />She glanced up at him and smiled.<br /><br />“I wish I had met you thirty years ago.”<br /><br />”Better late than never.”<br /><br />They kissed each other gently.<br /><br />“Darling, I’m tired,” she moaned.<br /><br />”We both are.”<br /><br />”I’m quite hungry….and thirsty….”<br /><br />”Try not to think about it.”<br /><br />“I’ll try not to…”<br /><br />But he could see it was hard for her. The bare and grim physical demands of their bodies would eventually overwhelm them; and she would feel the worst of it, being young and having a lean, athletic body, and thus requiring more nutrition….she would suffer terribly. Already she was so thin, and had grown even thinner….she had lost too much weight. It hurt him in the worst way to see her like this.<br /><br />He cursed himself for allowing his passion to get the better of them…the energy expended making love would have been put to better use elsewhere, if they had cared more about finding a way to stay alive….but as it was, no method that he could conceive of to secure their survival existed.<br /><br />There was only one idea he could think of. It was an extremely long shot, a desperate gamble to remain alive. In all likelihood they would perish one way or the other…but he had to try. For her sake.<br /><br />“Peg, darling, I want to propose something to you.” He had found ‘Peg’ a pleasing pet name for her. She had found it very clever.<br /><br />“Marriage?” she blushed coyly.<br /><br />He hadn’t been thinking of that, but….”Yes. If by some miracle we get off this island alive, I would desire very much to marry you.”<br /><br />“…It’s hard for a girl to turn her lover down on a proposal of that sort….after the way we spent today…..” She blushed deeply. “Yes, I would like that very much for us.” She spoke solemnly and without pretense. “I would be honored to be your wife.”<br /><br />“That’s wonderful, darling.” His voice was filled with happiness.<br /><br />“I knew you would like my answer.”<br /><br />”Yes….yes….But if we are to be wed, we first have to figure out how to get off this damned bit of sand. I have an idea…it is likely not much of an idea, but it is the best chance for survival we have.”<br /><br />”Yes, dear….”<br /><br />“That boat we have there….I say we make a run for it…float it off the island, let that piece of shit engine take us for as far as it will go, then let her adrift…hopefully a plane or a ship will see us. It certainly isn’t helping matters just sitting here…neither of us have seen a plane or a boat in all this time stranded here.”<br /><br />”What about the supply ship? Weren’t they eventually supposed to send one?”<br /><br />”Well, if we haven’t seen it by now, we never will. The Army is certain to know that the Enemy attacked this island. They know what the Enemy does to its captives, and will thus react accordingly. They will not spend time and resources during wartime to go looking for a few survivors if they believe the payoff is slim.”<br /><br />“Oh…”<br /><br />”Anyway, I have a distinct feeling that the military situation is not going in the best way right now. Just something I feel in my bones. Intuition, you know.”<br /><br />”I understand.” She smiled warmly.<br /><br />“Are you willing to do this? It’s up to you. I’m not doing anything unless you consent to it.”<br /><br />That was why he was so wonderful – he respected her that way. “Will we have a chance…out there….?”<br /><br />”Well, worst case scenario is…we die of thirst or exposure….but of course, we’re certain to die the same way if we stay here.”<br /><br />“Yes….let’s do this, then….”<br /><br />”Are you sure?”<br /><br />”As sure as I know that I love you.”<br /><br />“Brave girl.” He kissed her lips. “We’ll set off tomorrow with the first light. For now, let’s conserve what energy we have – no more lovemaking for tonight.”<br /><br />”But can we stay like this?”<br /><br />”Of course, darling…I wouldn’t have it any other way.”<br /><br />He caressed her lush bosom gently as she gradually drifted off to sleep….. <strong><i><br /></i></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2913421367144576590?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-4897197726061460302009-01-26T20:44:00.003-06:002009-01-26T20:50:24.590-06:00Sinclair wiped his eyes as he saw the lights from the rising steel and glass towers in the distance from his window. Beautiful, he thought. He turned to the television, where Lusitania’s newest and most popular primetime program, its version of “The Price Is Right,” was now airing. The host was no Bob Barker, but people went crazy over him anyway.<br /><br />He had left The Enforcer in charge of Laura’s protective guard for now. (She had proven such a popular and beloved Queen, there was a waiting list to serve on her personal guard staff.) He had not interacted with her often in the past few months – she had been so terribly busy – and he did not feel right paying a visit to the modest flat she had chosen for a home, near the palace. He had never felt right about doing that, even back home. But she was worth all of it, a true labor of love.<br /><br />He heard a faint knock on the door. Likely a servant.<br /><br />“I’m fine, thank you. Go away.”<br /><br />When he turned, it was because he had felt a woman’s soft, warm hands embrace his shoulders.<br /><br />“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”<br /><br />He was the only one who would speak to her in that manner, and she wouldn’t have had it otherwise.<br /><br />“I haven’t seen you in a while, just by yourself.”<br /><br />Sinclair stared at her lovingly. He had always wanted to hold her, protect her from the evils of the world. She did not look much like a queen – she wore the same simple white blouse and long skirt that she had always worn while working, and she looked no less tired than from a long day writing copy for the <i>News-Leader</i>. Her petite, lusciously feminine frame did not communicate imperial arrogance or hubris. Yet, as there had always been, there was something positively regal about her bearing.<br /><br />“I haven’t heard of any real threats yet….we get threats all the time, you know, from kooks looking to be the next John Hinckley, but that’s to be expected. The vipers have not moved from their nest, so far as we know.”<br /><br />“I don’t want to talk about work, dear.” She stretched out on the sofa next to him. “I just want to relax for a while. Twelve hours a day is enough for me.”<br /><br />She had been working fourteen hour days, Sinclair remembered. Even as queen, her workaholic habits had not ceased.<br /><br />“Let me see your feet.”<br /><br />“Why?”<br /><br />“Just trust me.”<br /><br />She placed her left foot into his lap, and Sinclair slowly began to massage it.<br /><br />“What are you doing?”<br /><br />”Just lay down…..don’t think….”<br /><br />The massaging did feel good….too good….it was putting her to sleep. Instantly Laura realized how sore and tired her body had become after months of nonstop work. “Dear…you didn’t tell me….you knew how to do this….”<br /><br />“I can work elsewhere, if you care.”<br /><br />“My back….it’s killing me….”<br /><br />”Of course.”<br /><br />He was marvelous at it…..”Sinclair, you ought to open a Turkish bath….this is wonderful.”<br /><br />“Shhh….”<br /><br />Gradually she drifted into sleep, under Sinclair’s gentle attentions...<br /><br />--<br /><br />When she awoke, it was in Sinclair’s bed. She could see his slumped figure in the other room, collapsed in the easy chair, the television screen still illuminated. Only a few hours had passed, and it was still night. It must be very late, she thought.<br /><br /><br />She went over to Sinclair, snoring in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position. Of course, to someone like Sinclair used to sleeping on half collapsed, moth eaten mattresses, this was relaxation.<br /><br />“Sinclair….Dear….”<br /><br />He awoke sharply.<br /><br />“What's that?....oh.....”<br /><br />“I really didn’t mean for you to sleep here - I apologize. Your bed’s nice and warm…I’ll see you tomorrow.”<br /><br />”Can’t go back to your flat….the guard is out for the night….I’d take you but I’m in no condition….Look, I left some of your old clothes in the closet, in case you ever had to stay the night. I’ve got the sofa….it’s more than I deserve. My shower is yours, and so is my bed.”<br /><br />“You don’t have to do this.”<br /><br />”I want to…..you need your rest.”<br /><br />He had made up his mind, and she knew that was that. She needed a bath anyway….the shower sounded nice.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The hot water had soothed and invigorated her healing body. Before returning to bed, she peered into the living room. Sinclair was propped up in front of the TV again. He turned at hearing her footstep.<br /><br />“Oh…I didn’t mean to wake you.”<br /><br />”I was awake already.”<br /><br />Sinclair stared. He had never seen her dressed just in her bedclothes – a thin white cotton tank top and a pair of boxer shorts. Never had she looked more beautiful to him. He wanted to take her there, and hold her, in that moment.<br /><br />“Dear…are you sure…..you’ll be all right….?”<br /><br />“I’ll be fine. Get some sleep.”<br /><br />But he would not be fine….not after seeing her that way…not ever again.<br />--<br /><br />He came to her, in the dark, as she was getting ready to slip under the covers. He turned her around, pressed her close to her, his arm around her supple waist, and kissed her deeply and passionately. And though she had been forced, she was not resisting….no, in fact, she had in fact wanted this, had been waiting for this moment. Her heart pounded, in anticipation of what would happen next. An involuntary moan of pleasure seeped from deep in her throat, as she gave herself freely to the man she loved.<br /><br />Her clothes were coming off….No, she would not resist this, she wanted this as much as he. Her nude, curvaceous body, untouched so far by man, gleamed white in the moonlight, his mouth running down her ample breasts, the line of her flat waist and curving hips….”You’re beautiful, darling,” was all he could say, in a half moan alive with animal pleasure. She was amply endowed, in all the right places….<br /><br />When they lay in bed together, it was so easy. She felt him moving around inside her, felt his breath rise and fall in exultation as he explored the mysteries of her body, felt her own body do the same, to the overwhelming rush of a physical and emotional pleasure unimaginable in its ecstasy. So this was how love felt, she thought with joy. She could feel the rush of her blood, the swift beat of her heart, the glow of the red flush of carnal pleasure burning on her bare flesh, the pouring of sweat from every pore of her skin. It reminded her of the body that she had nearly forgotten that she had possessed.<br /><br />When they fused, time stopped…. Their bodies were locked in place, temporarily paralyzed by sheer ecstasy….. Her breath came in long gasps, her loud moans betraying the complete physical satisfaction she felt at that moment……<br /><br />She awoke some time later, her body in a cold sweat….It had all been a dream…..She went to the door – Sinclair was sleeping solidly in the chair, his hat covering his face; he had not moved at all. He had always been the perfect gentleman, she thought with sadness. Though it had all seemed, and felt, so real…..<br /><br />--<br /><br />The thugs stood tall and buck-like. Prince Royal Theodor inspected them well, as these would be the bearers of his good tidings for the Queen. These thugs, hardened by years of State orchestrated deprivation and made raving violent by endless rounds of torture, were trained to do only one thing – snuff out and exterminate all life. The thugs of the country were the only loyal force left to the black princes, as the new free order held no place for those who survived by predation upon others. The only leaders promising to restore the once prominent place of the thug in Lusitanian society were the princes. So for once, the thugs had pledged loyalty to someone besides themselves. The promise of a one hundred thousand mark ransom for that thug who completed the princes’ bidding had been a fair inducement.<br /><br />“You have your orders,” the prince barked. “Your sole mission is to find and kill the Queen. Then you will receive your reward.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-489719772606146030?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-18015259999148074912009-01-25T19:54:00.001-06:002009-01-25T19:57:09.818-06:00The breeze had grown strong and powerful; the rain was pouring down in heavy sheets, flying almost parallel to the plane of the ground. Collins scowled as the fragile bamboo walls of the shelter creaked against the pressure of the whipping wind and spray. It seemed like the storm would never let up…it had only grown stronger as the hours wore on. More often these types of strong storms would either fizzle out or pass over the island after about two or three hours or so. So far there had been five hours of this intense activity. What had started off as a typical tropical thunderstorm had, ominously, simply grown more intense by the hour. The roar of the rain had become deafening, punctuated by increasingly frequent howls of wind.<br /><br />Collins was certain that the island was not located in any belts of tropical cyclone activity. That has not been a worry of his, due to that knowledge. Could he have been wrong? He hoped not….he had not counted on, or made preparations for, a massive storm. Certainly he should have thought of the potential eventuality. Dammit, Collins, you fucked up again, he cursed to himself.<br /><br />He could hear the cracking and snapping of the bamboo wall as it gave against the wind…it would not hold for much longer. Shit! cursed Collins as it collapsed in a heap upon him….He could feel the hard lash of the pouring, flying rain upon his back as the bamboo crumpled around his body.<br /><br />“Dammit,” he cried.<br /><br />“Collins! Collins!” It was Peggy’s voice.<br /><br />“I’m fine, dear…I’m coming to you…”<br /><br />He crawled toward her shelter through the biting precipitation, forced to his belly by the intense wind….The wind was certainly gale force, maybe even tropical force, by now….An especially strong gust caught under him and nearly lifted him off the ground with the force….Yes, it was certainly hurricane force now.<br /><br />When he found cover, for once he was relieved. As he burst through the palm fronds which protected the small entrance, he could see that she was as anxious as he. She sat nervously, her sensuous body curled together, her arm propped up on the upright knee of her right leg.<br /><br />“Are you all right, dear?”<br /><br />”Yes….this rain is a killer…we may have to seek higher ground…with this wind, I am worried about storm surge.”<br /><br />Being a resident of a hurricane prone state, she knew what that meant. “What higher ground? The whole island is flat as a pancake.”<br /><br />”Even a subtle rise of a few feet may be enough to protect us.”<br /><br />They remained silent as the intense patter of the rain roared upon the palm fronds of the ceiling.<br /><br />Soon they heard a deep, gurgling, roaring sound……becoming louder with every moment. Their hearts sank. Collins glanced through the cracks of the fronds….with some difficulty, through the white sheets of the downpour, he could see toward the beach in the distance, and beyond that the sea….which had morphed into a massive white wall of water, hurtling toward them with incredible speed.<br /><br />“Brace yourself!!!”<br /><br />The surge poured in with an unbelievable power and intensity. It blew the fragile shelter from their heads with one fell swoop, and instantly covered the sand beneath them with several feet of water. Immediately they were battered by the fallen bamboo stalks, and exposed to the howling wind and rain. The flowing water swept them from their moorings and carried their bodies against their will…<br /><br />“Peggy! Grab my hand!”<br /><br />He grabbed her hand just as she would have slipped from his sight….he held her fast…he was not going to lose her again, not like this….<br /><br />“Collins! My…hand…is…slipping…”<br /><br />He had to think fast…the island was quickly being covered with water…it was already up to their chests and rising rapidly….Instantly he thought of the rubber boat…and formulated a plan…<br /><br />“Swim for the boat!”<br /><br />The small craft had floated away with the surge…it had become caught against the trunks of two closely spaced palm trees about twenty yards from them…. They guided themselves with the current, struggling against the powerful flow and the palm trunks to reach the floating salvation.<br /> Finally, Collins managed, with a powerful effort, to grab the craft on one of its tether hooks. With a strength and stamina he had hardly realized that he possessed, he pressed Peggy’s body forward and pushed her up and over the lip of the rounded rubber side into the boat.<br /><br />“Grab the rope, Peggy….hand one end to me. Loop the other end through the hooks.”<br /><br />Slowly she became aware of what he was doing….She did as she was told, working against the pain of the lashing rain to gingerly loop the string through the tethers.<br /><br />The water was up to his chin now. His leg muscles burned against the water flow as he attempted with great difficulty to control his stable position. Collins took the end of the rope and wrapped it around the palm trunk, then secured it firmly using the type of unbreakable knot they taught you in the military….He had to work fast...the water was now deeper than he was tall, and he had to swim to keep his head afloat above the surge.<br /><br />“Be careful, Collins….”<br /><br />”Stay low, dear…keep out of the wind…”<br /><br />She ducked low into the boat.<br /><br />When he had finished, he pulled himself up with an intense effort into the craft. She helped to pull him in as he came over the side. He moved over and used his body to shield hers, covering her with his torso, pressing his chest against her soaked back, and embracing her in his powerful arms….<br /><br />“I’m not going to abandon you this time around,” he moaned into her ear.<br /><br />She felt safe under him….his strong arms were firmly reassuring. Her heart pounded in her chest as the fear pulsing through her body slowly dissolved away….<br /><br />--<br /><br />The massive hurricanes had completely wiped out the Imperial forces….the offensive had crumbled under the incredible surge of sea and wind. The reports kept coming into Pearl Harbor…entire fleets lost, battleships sunk with one fell swoop of the waves, multitudes of men and materiel consumed by the dark bottomless depths…..<br /><br />General Hutoff could only sit at his desk and hold his head despairingly in his hands. The disaster had broken even the hardest of military men like himself. All was lost….the Enemy had suffered losses, but the demise of their entire Pacific fleet had rendered the Empire’s entire western flank unprotected and completely open to the advance of the Enemy’s seemingly endless Asiatic hordes. The complete and utter destruction brought by the massive criminal incompetence of his Government was the pinnacle of humiliation…..<br /><br />He had reached an epiphany. The Empire was evil. It brought far more destruction and misery into the world than good – if, in fact, it was even capable of performing the good. There was no good to be found in his Government if the Empire caused as much harm as it did to its own people, perhaps ever greater harm than it delivered to the Enemy. The Empire, and the Imperial ideal, had only brought out the worst in humanity.<br /><br />His greatest shame was having been part of all of it. He had once considered himself fairly important, a high ranking officer of the Imperial Armed Forces – but the course of the war had reduced him to being a mere functionary, a minor but ultimately replaceable tool of the Imperial war machine, a waystop for increasingly ludicrous orders and policies emanating from distant organs thousands of miles from the battlefield, policies dictated by a hermitically sealed Leadership in the Imperial Capital which knew nothing about the realities of the world outside it.<br /><br />He felt sick. The Empire had been what he had lived for and dedicated his existence to all his life. He had proclaimed his love for the Imperial State and his hatred of Enemy every single day of his life. It had been drummed into him and every other citizen by the daily work of his Government. They had sold it as patriotism. He saw now that it had all been manipulation, to co-opt the people voluntarily into the machine, people who did not stand to directly benefit from its ravishments….to eliminate from their minds any doubts of the Empire’s noble and abstract endeavors which might appear through a logical and impartial assessment of their very real and gruesome actions.<br /><br />It was all over now. The defeat would, hope against hope, shake the Imperial machine down to its clay feet and expose the sham for what it was. The best he could wish for was that such a massive defeat would bring the Leadership to its senses, and that they would now consider suing for peace to stave off complete annihilation. He was certain that such a thing would never come to pass…not until oceans of blood flowed through the streets of the cities of the Homeland, and corpses stacked like cordwood in the palaces of the Imperial Capital.<br /><br />Did he love the Enemy? No. The Enemy was just as brutal and rapacious….they were as much an Empire as they, spouting similar doublespeak about spreading freedom and democracy, but only succeeding in piling the bodies high and enriching their power elites…They would stop at nothing for world domination, either, and lived just as much for the thrill of gloating over the extermination of a defeated enemy.<br /><br />He could suddenly hear the buzzing sound from the sky…the sound of jet engines ….fighter jets….this was not the distinctive roar of Imperial aircraft.<br /><br />It was the sound of the Enemy’s planes.<br /><br />He knew in an instant what the barbarian had planned for them. And he could feel, involuntarily, his hand sliding into the drawer under his desk, slowly drawing out his loaded pistol….<br /><br />He would not die a coward’s death, in defeat…he would sacrifice his life for the Empire, before it could be molested by the Enemy…this sacrifice had been what his entire life had been lived in preparation for…<br /><br />As the bullet pierced his temple and severed clean through the skull, he could hear the telltale whizzing sound of the poison being ejected into the air, over the island city with its million or so inhabitants….And as the feeling slipped away, turning gradually to black numbness as his life faded fast from him, head slumped upon his desk with the pool of dark red blood growing under it, his last conscious thought was to pray for death quickly so as not to have to experience the ravaging, terrifying agony of the noxious chemical consuming his flesh….<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-1801525999914807491?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-58164249492957168242009-01-23T20:53:00.002-06:002009-01-23T20:59:00.926-06:00“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”<br /><br />The cries rose out across the land. King Michael was dead; the iron grip of his power was released. Though theoretically there was an orderly transfer of power, in time the people knew all hell would break loose, as the long knives were removed from their sheathes.<br /><br /><i>Long live the Queen!</i> But the queen would not live for long, Prince Royal Theodor promised, as he paced the halls of his dark castle, planning his next move. For years, the purple had been promised to him by succession and by right. He had never been wont to underestimate his father, but even this turn of events had been beyond his comprehension. He had planned an easy succession, and a rapid purging of any and all threats to his power – including his younger brother, who he loathed and had always considered his chief rival to power, a nuisance to be eliminated once he had assumed the crown and cover of the State aegis. But now, their bitter rivalry had turned to uneasy alliance, and for once fraternal bonds were imbued with more than empty meaning.<br /><br />Laura herself still did not believe what was happening. The coronation ceremony, a lavish and overly long ordeal mixing regal pageantry and obscure ritual, only served to increase and heighten the mystery and inanity of absolute monarchy. Or maybe that was its purpose. The robes she was made to wear – the royal scepter – the crown and royal jewels – it all felt like a dreaming fantasy; she drifted through the ceremony, which took the better part of a day, moving automatically through the ceremonial motions, which had roots in historical antecedents the reasons of which had long since been forgotten.<br /><br />There was only one part of the ceremony that mattered to her – the coronation oath. As she swore the solemn words, she meant it with every breath – she desperately wanted to be a good leader, a good queen, and release the people from the rank thuggery which prevailed. Though she had been sequestered in the palace, away from the commoners, she had at various points outsmarted the guards and slipped out into the city, where she had found a people and environment much like Saint Ann. There had been one thing in her life that she had always wanted, and that was to clean up her hometown – in Sinclair’s words, for a good rain to come down and to wash out the scum, the filth, the thugs, the superflies. This was the next best thing. Saint Ann was not just a place, it was a state of mind.<br /><br />She had taken the regnal name Olivia Regina, after her mother, who had always been considered a queen in her eyes.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Once the ceremonies had ceased and she was alone, she took note of her surroundings. The gigantic palace was like a prison, built to keep commoners out and more importantly, to keep royals separated from the common folk. The palace grounds occupied a massive space in the heart of the city, an immutable feature on the landscape which blocked convenient traffic circulation and consumed valuable real estate that could be put to far better use if in private hands. Other urban features included a positively medieval looking dungeon, which was said to be the site for torture of political prisoners; a massive Parliament building, where occasionally the national legislature would be called by the monarch from time to time for his consultation (though few had memories of it ever meeting); and various other Royal palaces and castles scattered around the city, which were never frequently, if ever, used as the Sovereign could only be in one place, but which remained fully furnished and supplied to serve the Sovereign on a moment’s notice, beggaring the public treasury in the process. Indeed, the outlays spent on the royal family and personal royal functions consumed fully two thirds of the treasury; the coronation ceremony itself had cost the equivalent of one-quarter of the nation’s gross domestic product.  Laura could think of nothing but Sinclair’s comparisons of the coronation to the Central African Empire, whatever that meant.<br /><br />The first thing she must do would be to rectify this state of affairs. In Lusitania the Sovereign had absolute power; her decree, even her whim, would be considered binding law, regardless of any precedent set by past monarchs. So no one could stop her from doing anything. It was frightening, and liberating, at the same time.<br /><br />The Sovereign could only live in one palace, she decided; there was only one of her, after all. The princes had their own country palaces, gifts by the previous Sovereign, and while she had the power to remove her half-brothers’ accommodations from under them, it was certainly advisable to keep them as happy as possible for as long as was feasible, and besides, she considered such an action to be needlessly provocative. The other palaces, however, were fair game, as they were hers alone to dispose of as she wished. And the sovereign’s primary residence, the Castella San Castellano (the palace had given the city its name) was first on the list for removal. But there were so many other palaces, scattered throughout the land. Which to keep?<br /><br />She settled on an ancient, long vacant structure hidden in an obscure quarter of the old city, at the city’s direct geographic center, a building which was still in surprisingly good shape given its age. She was told that it had been the original palace of the Bourbonnais, the original royal palace of the kingdom from medieval times. Compared to the others it was quite tiny, its grounds, outbuildings, and protective walls having long been lost to warfare, the ravages of time, and urban development. It was the most accessible and modest of the palaces, however, having just enough room to house all the royal functions; all it would need to be serviceable again was a fresh coat of paint. This would do, she decided.<br /><br />Even having moved into the old building, however, she decided that it was far too large to live in. As the official seat of royal business, and as a home for her now greatly reduced royal staff, it was perfectly suitable. But in terms of living quarters….well, she had been quite fond of her small North 43rd Street bungalow in Saint Ann, probably no larger than 700 square feet in living space altogether.<br /><br />Most of the surplus royal palaces were sold or donated to various private conservancies which had been formed to preserve and protect the historic structures, which would grow to be the basis for a thriving hospitality industry in later years, bringing much needed foreign exchange into the tiny kingdom. The remainder were sold outright to wealthy foreigners who had always dreamed about owning or living in a royal palace.<br /><br />The economy was the next order of business. Lusitania’s primary export, and the item which brought virtually all outside income into the country, was of all things, candle wax. Candle wax, as if electricity was still a novelty! she thought. In fact most homes lacked basic electricity, plumbing, etc. The late King, in a demonstration of his magnanimity, had inaugurated a State program to equip all his subjects’ homes with these modern conveniences. But, as with all State endeavors, much money had been wasted and little of the desired outcome had been achieved. This would not do, she decided; the State had no business involved in economic matters. (Irwin J. Kellogg had played that game for so long in Saint Ann, and had only destroyed what had been a thriving economy.) This was what was holding the economy back, she decided. She eliminated the State economic planning ministries and reduced taxed accordingly.<br /><br />The pervasive State control of schools was eliminated; the only reason the State claimed to be interested in education anyway was in order to indoctrinate glorification of the Sovereign and idolization of the majesty of the State. The political prisoners were released, and torture was ended; they had existed as long as the Sovereign was unable to tolerate dissent, but Laura could not conceive of a system where dissent was not allowed. The dual system of the Sovereign’s private prisons was ended; the black princes, as they were universally called, could no longer torture innocents just for pleasure. To Laura, it was imperative that the rule of law be established, so as to end the cultural status quo of using violence and bloodshed to resolve differences, or to achieve status and power. And the personal favor of the Sovereign would no longer be the passport to status, either; she entertained no job seekers unless they were qualified for the employment sought, and distributed honors only if they were fairly earned.<br /><br />In all the State apparatus, long used to enrich a select elite holding the levers of power at the expense of the powerless commoners, was rapidly dismantled, its only remaining vestiges being that of protection of the people from injustice and harm.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The black princes and their supporters (which were few) were enraged, the powers and prerogatives of a thousand years of divine aristocratic rule stripped in months, and they were confused, for they could not conceive of a world without an all powerful State at the helm. To a minority, mainly those invested in the old system but also including a few stodgy traditionalists, the rollbacks of State power were a sign of weakness, a sign that a woman could not manage the affairs of state properly, that she would rather give up prerogatives and powers obtained by sword blade, hoof, and gunpoint over hundreds of years, simply because she was not competent enough to wear the purple. It was not hard to convince themselves of this.<br /><br />They little noticed that the impoverished and long suffering commoners, who they regarded as barely human anyway, suddenly walked around with a spring in their steps. They refused to see the new factories springing up everywhere, providing employment for hundreds; they refused to acknowledge the increasing affluence of the workers, the new housing developments and shopping centers appearing from nothing to serve their new consumer wants; they refused to learn anything about a media that was greatly expanded from the days of State ownership, aggressive, ratings conscious, and above all providing programming that people watched; and lastly they closed their eyes to the new skyscrapers rising in the heart of the city, from what had once been the Castella San Castellano, torn down due to its dilapidation and as a universal symbol of the hated old order. In its place was rising a new Castella San Castellano, the downtown the city had never had, with gleaming structures of steel and glass seen nowhere else in Old Europe, but quite plentiful in America. The former royal gardens had become an attractive public park space, which served to complement the new development.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-5816424949295716824?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-58223609805978134382009-01-22T19:38:00.003-06:002009-01-22T19:42:52.884-06:00Collins could see the blackening storm clouds on the northern horizon, which flashed with distant blue electric bursts of lightning. The wind had picked up and gusted with the bluster of a coming storm. He took his index finger and wet the tip of it with his tongue, then stuck it into the breeze. The wind was blowing from the north. He scowled. It would be a rainy night.<br /><br />On the usually quiet island the palm fronds were rustling in the treetops, with the sounds of falling coconuts making a clatter. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Peggy lay in her bamboo hut, preparing for the coming storm. She disliked the rain as much as anything, but certainly it was crucial to their survival, as collected rainwater was apparently the only thing which filled the freshwater pool which sustained them.<br /><br />Lately they had been exploring the remainder of the island, in order to use up time and get some much needed exercise. (She had never been able to bear to sit still for very long.) Occasionally they would find something useful, detritus left over from the late military occupation…maybe a cigarette lighter here, a piece of leftover rations there. Yesterday they had found something particularly interesting. They had found a grey military rubber landing craft on the beach…<br /><br />“Who do you think left this here?”<br /><br />Collins inspected the craft. Looking at the obviously Arabic and Asiatic characters on the side, he knew instantly. “The Enemy. Likely left here when they made landfall.”<br /><br />“You don’t think….”<br /><br />”No way, dear. They have no use for this place now.”<br /><br />They had gotten to calling each other ‘dear’ quite often now. Neither of them had objected to the familiarity, despite military protocol and all. But neither of them cared about that, either.<br /><br />Collins continued to inspect the vessel. It was a small rubber boat designed to hold a maximum of three, maybe four people. It resembled the air-filled plastic floating toys one often saw at an average water park, but much more sophisticated and a lot heavier. The bottom of the boat was comprised of a black serrated rubber mat, and contained various black waterproof plastic boxes which were designed to contain ammunition and supplies. The items therein included, among other things, a nice solid length of black nylon rope about one inch in diameter, and a flare gun with four cartridges, both of which would certainly be useful.<br /><br />Peggy had shuddered when she saw the rope….it reminded her somewhat too much of her late captivity. But she swallowed the memories of fear and calmed herself.<br /><br />Attached to the rear of the boat was a small, low horsepower motor and propeller. It would be of no use to them, as it by no means provided enough power or fuel to take them even a few tens of miles off the island, much less the nearest safe harbor over one thousand miles away. The small boat was designed for being deployed from naval vessels located a few miles from a shoreline, for purposes of amphibious invasion.<br /><br />However, Collins had determined that perhaps it could be useful.<br /><br />”If you ever want to go fishing in the lagoon, we can use this. Of course we’ll have to rig up some sort of fishing poles using bamboo and fichus vines before we can do that.”<br /><br />She smiled and giggled. “Okay. Whatever you say, dear.”<br /><br />They had dragged it back to their camp with not a little effort…and now it lay there, located in the small space between Peggy’s and Collins' respective bamboo shelters.<br /><br />There was a knock on the bamboo wall…”Come in, Collins,” she responded.<br /><br />Sinclair ducked into the small, cramped space. “It’s going to be a rainy night, apparently.”<br /><br />“We need the rain.”<br /><br />”Yes, we do, but not the wind.”<br /><br />The last major thunderstorm had blown both their crudely built thatched bamboo huts down, drenching them in the process.<br /><br />“Remember, dear, we rebuilt them again so they wouldn’t blow away.”<br /><br />”I know, but it remains an untested design. Be prepared.”<br /><br />“We’ll be fine.”<br /><br />“Sure, sure….let’s hope so. I just don’t want to get drenched again.”<br /><br />And with that he crawled out of the shelter, back toward his own, to settle in for the night…<br /><br />--<br /><br />The Freedom Dishes, six in all, had been placed in an orderly spacing of seven hundred miles’ separation from each other, in a widely spaced arc along the Southern Pacific front….except for the southernmost dish. According to the calculations of the Sixth Army’s Materiel Strategy Division, the dish, if ordered in proper symmetry with the others, should have been situated in a location about eighty-five miles north-northeast of the island of Leelenau in the Cook Islands. However, for some reason it had been positioned approximately one hundred and fifty miles to the southeast.<br /><br />General Hutoff had double-checked the orders from High Command and confirmed them. Yes, that was the position so chosen by them. No, their orders were not in error. They had long planned for this dish, when first trained on the Enemy, to be situated there.<br /><br />But from a military standpoint it made little sense. The dish’s placement meant that the sound wave’s range, as predetermined for this operation – nine hundred and fifty miles – would not enter Enemy territory as far as the others, and would in fact fall short of a strategic target which would not have been missed if the dish had been placed where it logically would have been located in the first place if based on the symmetry of the others.<br /><br />But Hutoff was tired of challenging apparent illogic from High Command. Perhaps they knew better, anyway. He was a military man, and his game was to take orders and follow them through to the letter. Besides, he was far too engaged in planning for the massive Imperial manned offensive which would accompany this mortal blow to the Enemy. In all six hundred ships and fifty thousand men – virtually all of the South Pacific theater’s military resources – had been committed to this gargantuan mission.<br /><br />Until, that is, on the morning of the day of the unleashing of the attack – F-Day, they had dubbed it at HQ – when he received a visit from one of the climatologists at the local military weather station, a First Lieutenant Daniel Dugas, who had called urgently requesting a meeting with him regarding the Freedom Dish. Since the existence of the Freedom Dish was still classified information, which a mere weatherman should never have known about, Hutoff had decided against his better judgment to at least sit and have a short talk with the man.<br /><br />“Lieutenant Dugas,” he greeted the man.<br /><br />“General Hutoff.” Dugas saluted. “I have desired to speak with you for some time. You have a reputation for having an open mind and a willingness to listen. ”<br /><br />“Perhaps….what is it you wish to tell me? And how did you come to be aware of the existence of the Freedom Dish?”<br /><br />”I only yesterday learned of the plans for immediate deployment of the Freedom Dish, so I have come to warn you, against all hope.…I was involved in the development of the Dish, when it was merely known as Project Omega. So I have been in the information loop on it from the start. I have come to warn you….not to undertake your operation today. I know your army has its orders. But believe me, this is not the way to defeat the Enemy….this will only bring havoc upon ourselves.”<br /><br />”What are you talking about?”<br /><br />”The dish…was first conceived not with military purposes in mind, but to manipulate the weather. It was discovered twenty years ago by Government scientists that certain types of ultrasonic sound waves, if manipulated properly, could actually affect short term and local weather patterns. From this they surmised logically that the greater the sound wave, the greater the impact on the weather. The early development of Project Omega was actually intended….to develop a system which could manipulate and moderate weather patterns, in order to combat what the Government feels is a major issue – global warming – which, to be frank, in learned scientific opinion is really not happening.”<br /><br />“I don’t care about that. Go on.”<br /><br />“Well, the project was eventually brought under the control of the Defense Establishment, who logically saw the military implications of this project, and of course shifted its purpose toward using the sound waves as a means of destruction. But some headway had been made toward the original intent, and we had developed by that point a usable method to affect the weather….but by no means yet controlling it…”<br /><br />”So what? What does this have to do with the present situation?”<br /><br />”The sound bursts give off effects which cause upper atmospheric disturbances. They can create areas of disturbed weather out of nothing and greatly intensify existing weather disturbances…such as hurricanes. I am not sure if you are aware of the rumors about the Gulf Coast hurricanes some years back…and their connection to Project Omega…I assure you that there is more to that story than just rumors.”<br /><br />The general’s eyes widened slightly.<br /><br />“The Government did not unintentionally perform that sleight of hand…it was sort of a working test…albeit one with politically inconvenient ramifications which of course were ultimately highly embarrassing for the Government, though for other disassociated reasons. In any case, it was decided to continue that sort of atmospheric related testing of Project Omega…in a more isolated location.”<br /><br />“The colony.” It had come to the General in a flash. The question of the late colony’s existence had never stopped bothering him.<br /><br />“Yes, the colony. Allow me to explain. As you may be aware, the placement of the southernmost dish for this current operation is slightly out of sync. This is not an accident, but is a holdover from the original interests of Project Omega in the Southern Pacific basin – though of course this was before the timetable for rollout was moved up, by order of the Leadership, due to the deteriorating military situation here. The idea was to use that particular dish, which would have been the only dish, in an experimental manner, far from any habitable land save the controlled environment of the Jakawaputta colony, to manipulate atmospheric phenomena in that sector. Given the prevailing weather patterns in the area…Jakawaputta is ideally situated to experience the effects of such experimentation.<br /><br />“But this is only tangentially related to the reason I came today. Since the military timetable has been moved up, that experiment has been scrapped and rolled up into the greater offensive. This is what I desire to warn you about, General. Calculations have confirmed that the use of multiple numbers of these dishes, given a certain adjusted range and spacing of the weapons, creates a combined atmospheric effect that in terms, can be catastrophic…to people and property…almost equivalent to the effects of the sound ray itself. Given the prevailing easterly winds in the Southern Pacific basin, it stands to reason that Imperial territory will suffer the greatest blow from this side effect. This is something that the Defense atmospheric scientists have determined will happen anyway, but they have conveniently greatly underestimated its true impact.”<br /><br />“By God…and all you say of this is true?”<br /><br />”You have my word of honor, General…as an officer of the Imperial Armed Forces.”<br /><br />The general sat stunned….So this was the monstrous truth….the massive machine of death had closed in upon them…..<br /><br />“Can you stop this madness, General?”<br /><br />”I have no power in this case, Lieutenant….this has been orchestrated almost completely by High Command...they have ultimate control over this operation….so many men and ships will be lost….the Empire will go down in defeat…..”<br /><br />He stared at the clock on the wall. T minus thirty minutes….<br /><br />“There is only one half hour left…..before all is lost….”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The inevitable moment had arrived…..the instant when mass death would be brought to bear to rain down on the Enemy….the Freedom Dish was activated, to unleash its wholesale slaughter upon an unsuspecting world.<br /><br />A massive shock wave rippled soundlessly and violently across the surface of the sea, traveling with incredible speed across the watery sphere of the earth, penetrating deep into Enemy territory. All man made structures, all ships, all human and animal life in its lethal path were instantly vaporized into a white powder of a million atoms…the sea of death covered the whole of the central South Pacific, evaporating Enemy and otherwise before it, nothing failing to crumple under its spray of man-made death…<br /><br />It would seem as if success has been achieved…the Enemy had been completely destroyed….total victory…complete Enemy defeat….glorious victory for the Empire….<br /><br />But back at Pearl Harbor in the command room, the generals and representatives of High Command, who had journeyed here from the Imperial Capital for the express purpose of seeing their toy finally deployed in action, were getting frustrated….their invasion forces were encountering rough seas and inclement weather worse that they had ever seen….and this was happening up and down the front…<br /><br />One of the High Command representatives, a severe looking, silver haired Admiral by the name of Causey, was looking rather agitated by this point.<br /><br />“It stands to reason that the weather would be the most disruptive at the moment when we most depend on its cooperation! I trust a way can be found for our squadrons to avoid the storms.”<br /><br />“According to our weather reports, Admiral,” gulped a young midshipman, “there are multiple cyclonic systems which the troops are encountering…they are all massive, and adjacent to one another, so to avoid one would be to sail into another. From our satellites, we can see that there are several massive cyclonic storms, which unfortunately are arrayed directly up and down the front, almost as if in a line. I cannot really believe it myself, sir – it seems rather incredible, from a meteorological point of view. Look at the screen here, sir…see for yourself.”<br /><br />Admiral Causey stared perplexedly at the monitor. The satellite cloud top imagery indeed did show a strange sight – a series of large, spectacularly powerful looking and fierce storms lined up on a north to south axis, directly overlaying the front lines.<br /><br />“This is by no means the peak of the storm season. How is this possible?”<br /><br />”Insufficient data, sir.”<br /><br />”How intense are these storms?”<br /><br />”They are unbelievably powerful and severe….if our weather instruments are actually accurate, these storms are some of the most powerful on record.”<br /><br />”Where are these storms headed, midshipman?”<br /><br />”They are moving directly toward our forward column, sir.”<br /><br />“Dear God.”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-5822360980597813438?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-26042439519079374222009-01-21T19:20:00.003-06:002009-01-21T19:25:23.301-06:00“What the hell is this bunk?”<br /><br />She had told him the amazing, true story. “Dear, I told you to never, ever drink. It isn’t ladylike behavior. It ruins men’s souls. I see the results of such folly on a daily basis.”<br /><br />“Then you don’t believe me.” She turned her back to him.<br /><br />“No…..look…..Laura, if you’re telling the truth….” His voice sank. “I apologize, dear. It just sounds….so preposterous.”<br /><br />“I know.” She turned around. “I forgive you, dear. I still have difficulty believing everything told me. But apparently…..every word is true.”<br /><br />”Why do you want to do this? You don’t owe the old man anything. He dumped you. You barely know him.”<br /><br />”I have my reasons…..and you figure in.”<br /><br />“Huh?.....How?”<br /><br />“I will need you there with me,” she said. “There will be enemies who will want to remove me, mainly through violent means. I detest to ask this of you….I care about you so….but you’re the only man I trust….with my life.”<br /><br />“Don’t do this, Laura.”<br /><br />”I want to do this, Sinclair.”<br /><br />He sighed. “Okay, dear…you’ve never shied from danger before, so why I should expect any different this time around, I have no clue.”<br /><br />She smiled and embraced him. “Thank you, Sinclair. You've always been so good to me...”<br /><br />“Have I, dearest?” It was an unuttered statement.<br /><br />--<br /><br />San Castellano, capital of Lusitania, was a low, grim city of roofs with broken tiles, dirt streets, windborne dust, and the pervasive stench of raw meat from a thousand slaughterhouses. In many ways it was surprisingly similar to Saint Ann, Sinclair thought as he cast his first glance on the place where he had committed to spend an indefinite period of his future…..<br /><br />It was Saint Ann like, but in a European sense. And despite the squalor, there were a few differences, mainly those trappings of royal splendor befitting the capital of a monarchy. In the center of the city was the royal precinct, primarily comprised of a complex of palaces, palatial buildings, open plazas, and monuments to the splendor of the monarch. The main royal palace covered dozens of acres in the very center of the city, and the sumptuousness of its architecture left nothing unclear that this was where glory and power resided. Sinclair had never seen anything like it, with the exception of the marbled monuments of Parasite City, a.k.a. Washington, DC.<br /><br />He had brought with him a trusted ally, a big beefy Black from the streets of Saint Ann called the Enforcer (a name well earned), whom he had once saved from being killed in a robbery attempt. He would serve as a personal bodyguard for the new Queen, and an extension of Sinclair’s eyes and ears on the ground.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The palace was an overwhelming building. Sinclair walked around the palace for what seemed like days, and still knew he had not covered every room. This was going to be a difficult place to memorize, he thought. There were hundreds of different bedrooms, parlors, dining rooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, libraries, kitchens, storage rooms….you name it, there were at least twenty of each, all amply furnished and bedecked to the gills. Sinclair thought of the grimy cityscape he had witnessed on the road to the palace, and compared it to the extreme extravagance surrounding him. It was quite clear who called the shots in this country.<br /><br />The future queen – technically a princess now, having been created by the sovereign – was sequestered in the royal quarters (off limits to commoners, save personal servants), presumably preparing for her role as leader of the people. Sinclair had not seen her since they had left Saint Ann. Soon she would be presented to the populace, and then all would be public knowledge. And then, let the games begin, Sinclair thought.<br /><br />He was certainly not used to things like sleeping in a massive king-sized bed, in a private bedchamber that could have contained his entire house back in Saint Ann, with an attached bath, dressing room, and walk in closet. He had been provided a full compliment of new, clean, expensive suits. Two articles of clothing he would not disavow, however, were his battered fedora and moth-eaten grey trench coat, despite the fact that he could have had twenty replacements directly. And of course his Luger wasn’t going anywhere.<br /><br />The palace gardens, admittedly, were nice. They reminded Sinclair of a top-notch civic botanical garden, only these covered a far larger area directly in the heart of the city. One could get lost here, too.<br /><br />--<br /><br />The announcement of the change in plans for the succession sent shock waves through the population of Lusitania. For one, their King - no matter how despised, he was still King - would soon be passing, as he had announced, and for most of the people, Michael Rex XXIII had been the only King they had ever known in their lives. For another, in the nation’s long history it had never been ruled by a woman, and it was certain that she would be no match for the bloody power struggle that was now sure to follow upon King Michael’s death. On the other hand….they had seen her, a charming, attractive young woman with a touch of modernity and commonality, but retaining the grace and poise expected of royals….and they instantly swore loyalty on their hearts to her. In any case, it was either Queen Laura to rule them, hopefully benevolently; or a certain murderous reign, or series of reigns, by their country’s excuse for Uday and Qusay Hussein.<br /><br />Sinclair had heard the stories about the princes during his mingling with the townspeople. Theodor was wont to ask for the severed heads of people he felt had somehow slighted or insulted him, delivered to him on a plate. Karl was said to drink the blood of executed criminals. Yes, sounds just like some of our thug friends, Sinclair thought. This should hold no huge surprises.<br /><br />As for the princes, it was unknown what diabolical scenarios they were planning; though they had behaved cordially in public upon the royal proclamation, the people knew that behind the scenes, bodies were dropping as the dark brood sought an explanation, and to vent their ominous rage.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3256260723795933067-2604243951907937422?l=urbanprairiefiction.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Urban Prairie Schoonerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12967392855201215594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3256260723795933067.post-37728805099284433752009-01-20T19:17:00.003-06:002009-01-20T19:27:03.091-06:00Months had passed, or so Collins figured. Both of them had lost track of the days. The routine of life was dictated solely by the rise and fall of the tropical sun, and the demands of their bodies. When they were hungry, they ate; when they were thirsty, they drank; when they needed to go, they went. There was only one physical urge which Collins had denied himself, and that was something he was not willing to bring himself to do, for the same reasons he had always used to deny himself that which he had long desired.<br /><br />The solitude had brought peace and happiness to his life, for the first time in a long while, perhaps ever. For once he was not forced to deal with either the lowlife scum of the streets or the minions of Imperial domination. If given a choice, perhaps he would stay here forever. This blessed place, as long as it remained completely to themselves, sure beat the hell out of Detroit.<br /><br />But he knew it was not the case for her….This had been the site of her brutal violation, and her initiation into the seventh level of Hell. She had family and friends back home who certainly missed her, and were likely worried like hell about her. He had no such web of family and support. No one cared what happened to him. For her sake then, he hoped then that their rescue occurred sooner rather than later. Her life was best lived back home, with the people that could best care for her and give her the happiness she deserved.<br /><br />He was completely unaware of what was going on in the world, for the first time in his life. He had never been so cut off from civilization in his life. Yet it had no effect on him. Likely the same shit was going down that had always been – more Imperial trepidations, more war, more bloated bodies, more death….he desired none of it. Better to not even know about it. The one thing he missed, that he could use, was tobacco. Yes, every now and then he preferred to take in a brief but satisfying smoke.<br /><br />--<br /><br />Admittedly, Peggy thought to herself as she lay on the beach, her voluptuous figure casually stretched out over the sand, this was a wonderful way to live. But she greatly missed her parents and her friends. She knew they would be worried about her, after having been missing all this time. Hopefully they had not presumed her dead. But Collins was certainly not poor company. She watched Collins as he dug into the sand, building mock fortifications and sand castles to pass the time. She smiled placidly, and giggled softly….he very much enjoyed playing in the sand. He was as happy as a child and that made her feel wonderful. It was easier for him now since he had finally been able to file the cuffs completely off, the last vestige of their bondage.<br /><br />She knew that he desired her. It was a woman’s intuition, really. Woman for some reason given by nature had the ready ability to perceive a man’s feelings toward them. She knew that he would not act on those feelings, however. He was a gentleman, of course. She also knew that he still felt the shame of having let her down in her direst hour of need. She knew that the thought of it still hurt him badly.<br /><br />She also knew that he was naturally shy, and his cynical, rough exterior was his means of keeping his emotional distance from people…to protect him from emotional pain, disappointment, every other hurt he had likely experienced in his life, and also to protect others from what he perceived to be a character and lifestyle severely lacking in quality. He had often referred to the streets where he lived and worked in the blithely ironic vocabulary of dually loving and hating a place at the same time. His nights were restless with the nightmares of many dark experiences the likes of which she could only guess at. Her sleep was many times interrupted by his nocturnal ramblings, as he suffered from the sleeping panic attacks of reliving the darkest, most brutal moments of his life in his dreams, night after night. She had easily perceived that he did not enjoy his harsh life.<br /><br />She was likely the first woman he had ever spoken to at length, about anything. And approaching it from a woman’s perspective, this was her opinion: He had long needed someone. The sullen weariness of his voice conveyed the emotional emptiness which he felt inside. He contained a decency of character and goodness that would appeal to any woman. She knew decent women were in short supply where he lived. She did not see why she could not fill that empty hole in his life. It would honestly be her pleasure to do so.<br /><br />She admired his bravery and his antiquated chivalric concepts of womanhood, relics of an earlier, gentler era. She relished his brutal honesty and his ironic and deadly sense of humor. She enjoyed his stories about the hilarious ghetto characters he had encountered: the Tin Man, the Sand Man, the Special Man, and others. She was quietly intrigued by his love of old-school soul music and his frequent tendency to hum or sing 1970s soul songs as he worked or lay around.<br /><br />In short, she had fallen in love with him...<br /><br />--<br /><br />“Why was this colony even started, Ames?”<br /><br />It had been a question out of the blue, something suddenly breaking the silence of the cool tropical autumn evening, as they lay on the beach together admiring the setting sun.<br /><br />”I thought we had determined that reason. But I guess we were wrong…”<br /><br />”To our mortal peril. Dammit, I shoulda been more clever. ‘Cause if it wasn’t the sarenin, it was likely something else completely obvious, which in my love of concocting conspiracy theories I overlooked.”<br /><br />“I don’t know what the reason was, Collins. Likely political.”<br /><br />”Yeah, probably.” He spat, as she knew he did whenever he was disgusted. “Ya know, I would like to know what contractors built the structures on this island. They were put together pretty shoddily, in my opinion.”<br /><br />”I heard somewhere that KBS had been awarded the contract for this island.”<br /><br />”Son of a bitch. Bingo.”<br /><br />He spat again.<br /><br />“I don’t understand,” she said.<br /><br />“KBS is a favored contractor of our Dear Leader.”<br /><br />”That is true….but that doesn’t answer your question.”<br /><br />”Sure it does.”<br /><br />”You asked why the colony was started in the first place. Just because KBS got a big paycheck for their wonderful work here doesn’t explain that. They don’t make those sorts of decisions.”<br /><br />”Well…..no, I guess you’re right.”<br /><br />“So that leaves us again at square one.”<br /><br />”We better find out soon,”Collins scowled. “Because I have a distinct feeling that something really, really bad is going to happen to us if we don’t.”<br /><br />--<br /><br />The generals of the Sixth Army stirred nervously in their seats as the briefing commenced. The Minister of Defense himself had traveled, in person, to Pearl Harbor and would be arriving shortly. To justify his long trip he wanted answers, not excuses. Operation Alpha had not been going as planned. The Gilberts offensive had turned into an Imperial rout as the Enemy troops had repelled the invasion with a vigor and strength which had been completely unplanned for. It had caught the Empire unprepared, and they had been forced to turn back with their tails between their legs. Now the Enemy was on the pounce, thirsting for blood, and Imperial division after division had crumbled before their advance. The Enemy had thrust deep into Imperial-controlled territory, and had advanced far enough to actually threaten the main Hawaiian Islands, which the Empire considered an integral, if far flung, part of the Homeland. Already the Enemy had obliterated the garrison on Midway, and was making obvious designs on the rest of the chain.<br /><br />The Minister burst into the room. He was a heavyset man of about sixty, balding and squat, with pince-nez glasses and a brusque, confrontational demeanor. The generals and other people in the room stood in enforced respect as this high official of Imperialdom made his approach to the place of honor at the head of the table.<br /><br />“Gentlemen, you may be seated,” he sqwaked.<br /><br />When they were all seated, he glared with barely concealed rage at the military brass situated in front of him. “Explain this disgrace to the Empire,” he barked.<br /><br />General Maury spoke. “Your Honor,” he coughed, “we have been unable to contain the Enemy threat. They have in their possession a weapon that we have no answer for. The Enemy has been using large quantities of a deadly chemical agent called sarenin on our armies. This chemical –“<br /><br />”I know what sarenin is and what it is capable of, General. Continue.”<br /><br />“Our troop levels are in free fall, sir, and morale has crumbled. The phelenox which our military has in its possession to deliver similar effects to sarenin is not effective. It only blunts the enemy drive, but does not stop it. I have reports – “ he shuffled papers on the desk before him “ – entire battleships, entire naval divisions, dissolving like the melting snow when in contact with this gas. The Enemy has become bold enough to use this poison atmospherically….one can only imagine the consequences if the Enemy were to be so bold enough as to use this poison on populated areas, such as here in Hawaii.”<br /><br />Every person in the room shuddered with horror.<br /><br />“My suggestion in the first place, of which all my fellow Generals concurred with at the time – “ he glanced around the table to nodding heads “ – was to obtain the cache of sarenin that the commander down in the Sector G colony had apparently stumbled across – which now seems to have been the likely primary source of the Enemy’s stocks. However, High Command nixed that idea at the time. Well, as we all well know, the Enemy reclaimed that island six months ago, and we haven’t heard a word from them since. According to our reports, the Enemy sent a squadron of one hundred men, along with several naval cruisers, to retake the island, which, dare I say, seems a little high considering how small and militarily unimportant the island is.”<br /><br />The Minister glanced glassily. “Well, some mistakes were obviously made. But that was then, and this is now. What solutions do you boys propose for the present predicament?”<br /><br />“Provide us with phelenox which is not watered down. If that chemical is as effective as the High Command claims it is, then it should make great headway against the enemy.”<br /><br />“Not possible – the filtering must be done to meet quotas.”<br /><br />”Damn the quotas, Your Honor….respectfully speaking.” It was Hutoff’s gruff voice. “We need that chemical at its full potency.”<br /><br />”Impossible, General. This is a quota which was personally developed and implemented by the Leader and his defense advisors, in collaboration with myself and the Joint Chiefs. I assure you there are good considerations for this policy.”<br /><br />“So that Ellis-Chambers can be assured of $27 billion in profits for the year?” Hutoff could not control himself now.<br /><br />“You are out of line, General! Remember who you are speaking to! You are addressing an Imperial Minister!”<br /><br />“A thousand apologies, Your Honor.” Hutoff ultimately knew his place in the Imperial machine.<br /><br />“Well, then, sir,” asked General David, who was the youngest of the generals, “can we not perhaps divert troops and materiel from the Venezuelan theater? If we had greater troop strength and materiel in the Pacific, perhaps we could overwhelm the Enemy by dint of superior numbers. Venezuela, after all, is not a highly strategic Imperial possession from a defense perspective, and frankly speaking, sir, the Empire can survive without it.”<br /><br />“You are talking about the highest levels of foreign policy, General. That is outside of my control. The Leader himself has dictated the parameters of the Venezuelan operation. It is a personal project of the Leader of which he places great importance upon. His great desire, which is quite noble in my opinion and another reason why he is such an enlightened Leader, is to spread the gifts of freedom, democracy, and the Imperial way of life to that oppressed country.”<br /><br />”But it doesn’t advance any national defense goals, sir. The Venezuelans could never pose a threat to the Empire. The internal chaos and violence occurring in that country presently has long been determined by Defense Intelligence to be specific to the Venezuelan political situation.”<br /><br />“Their oil reserves may come in quite useful for us….in the long term….”<br /><br />“Respectfully speaking, sir, we have been there seven years. If the oil has not proved useful for us by now….the chance of it ever doing so is rather slim.”<br /><br />“Enough, General. There will be no talk of diverting resources from Venezuela. That country is too strategically important to the Empire.”<br /><br />”Meanwhile, sir,” growled Hutoff, “the Homeland itself is threatened here in Hawaii. The Enemy at this instant is positioned about three hundred miles to the northwest of where we are sitting.”<br /><br />“I am keenly aware of that, General,” the Minister snapped. God, these generals! he thought. They could be so stubborn minded and worldly. There were more important considerations in the world than mere practical matters. “As it is, I did not travel over two thousand miles and take time from my various and pressing responsibilities in the Imperial Capital for nothing. I am here for a very important purpose, which directly relates to our current predicament.”<br /><br />The generals stirred. This better be good, Hutoff thought.<br /><br />“Project Omega. You have likely heard of it. I am here to announce that the Project has been successfully brought to fruition, and will be made active ahead of schedule in light of recent Enemy advances.”<br /><br />The generals stared agape, in shock. They could not imagine that the Government had actually brought the project to completion. “What has the big secret been all this time, sir?” asked Hutoff.<br /><br />“I will demonstrate that to you presently.” His face momentarily gestured toward the back of the room. “Miller, would you please…..?”<br /><br />In an instant the lights of the room dimmed, and behind him, a white presentation board descended from the wall. The light of a PowerPoint presentation glowed with a blue hue on the screen.<br /><br />“Gentlemen, I give you….Project Omega…”<br /><br />The picture of a massive machine which resembled an enormous silver satellite dish, implanted in the open water somewhere, filled the screen.<br /><br />“Project Omega – the Freedom Dish – is the largest, most powerful sound weapon ever devised. It emits a powerful ultrasonic burst of sound, above the level of human hearing, which contains enough energy to destroy anything – or anyone – standing in its path. The weapon’s effective maximum range is approximately one thousand miles, but can be adjusted for less or even more distance if necessary. The destruction it delivers is complete and total, almost equivalent to that of a hydrogen bomb, without, of course, the attendant radioactive contamination. And of course there are no treaties or other instruments of international law which restrict the use of this device, such as we must respect with nuclear” – the Minister pronounced the word as ‘noo-ku-lar’ – “weapons which, regrettably, were signed by the Imperial Government due to the poor policy decisions of previous Leaders.<br /><br />“This gigantic mechanism which you see on the screen here is essentially the entire thing. The Dish itself is over two hundred feet tall and one hundred and fifty feet in diameter. In total it rises five hundred feet over the surface of the ocean. The dish is not anchored directly to the ocean bottom, but descends one thousand feet below the ocean surface, and is further tethered to the ocean floor by five hundred underwater concrete mooring blocks weighing two thousand pounds each. The Dish is of course not moved in the upright position, but its various components can be disassembled and removed to any place in the world with vessels specially designed for the purpose of transporting them.”<br /><br />The Minster’s voice became diabolically glib. “We have tested this device for two years at our Imperial Ultrasonic Weapons Proving Ground on Alaska’s North Slope, and from the results of our experiments, the Leadership is convinced that this device truly will make the decisive difference in the global struggle!”<br /><br />The generals could only stare silently. So this was the superweapon of lore and legend.<br /><br />“That damn thing looks impractical, Your Honor,” barked Hutoff. “The thing is way too large. It makes an easy target for the Enemy.”<br /><br />”Regrettably, the current state of ultrasonic technology is such that in order to direct such a powerful destructive force to the Enemy, the device must be constructed at this great scale. The Government is already working on a means to deliver an equivalent, or greater, energy burst while using a smaller, more economical delivery device.”<br /><br />“That should take about another seven years,” muttered Hutoff under his breath.<br /><br />“I know a little about the testing of this device,” sputtered General David suddenly. “While I was unaware of the exact nature of Project Omega until now, I have heard…disturbing rumors about its, ah, unintended side effects, based on incidents which have allegedly occurred at the North Slope Proving Ground…and elsewhere.”<br /><br />”These ‘rumors’ are just that, General – rumors. I assure you of this. The Government is teeming with Enemy spies who are determined to disrupt the war effort.”<br /><br />Hutoff was more interested. “No, please, General David. Enlighten us.”<br /><br />“I have heard here and there, by sources in Government service which I consider fairly trustworthy, that one of the major side effects of this ‘sound ray’, for lack of a better term, is severe disruptions in local weather patterns. I have even heard, if I may say so, Your Honor, that the Government had also on occasion conducted ‘dry runs’ for Project Omega in other geographic areas, namely the Gulf of Mexico, and that the Government was conducting experiments there several years back around the same time that Hurricanes Katrina and Rita impacted the Gulf Coast.”<br /><br />The Minister was furious. “Do you know what you are accusing the Government of, General??! I’ll have your rank for this impertinence!!!”<br /><br />“I stand by my words, Your Honor. If I may say, sir, the deployment of this sound ray is in my opinion not the wisest course of military action. From a military point of view, unleashing such wanton destruction on the Enemy will only serve to embolden him, and bring similar destruction upon us.”<br /><br />“Troopers!” the Minister cried, calling to agents of the State Security Police ever present in the room. “Take General David away. He is an Enemy spy in our presence. A General of the Sixth Army, working for the Enemy – such is the evil in our midst! Send him to the brig until the Military Judicial Establishment can be apprised of the situation and deliver instructions as to his fate.”<br /><br />The storm troopers immediately surrounded the General and lifted him to his feet. As they escorted him from the room, he cried out, “You are unleashing destruction on a horrific level, Your Honor….this Empire will reap the whirlwind…I say this out of love for my country and my Dear Leader…”<br /><br />When General David had been removed from the room, the Minster crowed glibly, “Gentlemen, does anyone else here have any objections?”<br /><br />Even Hutoff remained quiet. Silence filled the room. The Imperial machine had functioned as planned.<br /><br />”Good, then.” He licked his lips. “The Freedom Dish, for its inaugural deployment, will be sent directly to the Pacific theater to be used against the Enemy. The Freedom Dish – actually, dishes, as there are several already constructed – are to be moved into position over the next week, at various locations along the front lines. You will be receiving detailed orders in this vein from High Command within the next twenty-four hours.”<br /><br />And with that the meeting ended.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blog