Forlorn Hope

Chapter Ten

Lieutenant Colonel Mathers made his way forward to the cockpit of the skimmer. Walking the ten feet was difficult because the skimmer's deck was at a forty-five degree angle. The pilot and the members of his team were in their safety harnesses. This afforded Mathers slightly better egress since he wasn't tangled up in flailing bodies.

Gripping the edges of the cockpit entry frame, Mathers barked, "Report!"

"Magnetron's putting out irregular waves. We need to put down for repairs."

Mathers glanced out the forward viewing port. "Put her down behind that grove of trees."

"Putting her down, yes Sir. You should buckle up, it's gonna be a rough landing."

Mathers returned to the crew area. He was glad to see Sergeant Wilkins had stowed the pack contents and was wrangling into his safety harness.

He did the same and called out to his men, "It's gonna be rough – prepare for impact!"

* * *

Anna looked over her shoulder. The grove of trees they had rested in dipped below the horizon. They were making good time without their packs slowing them down. She understood leaving them behind, but it would have been nice to have the provisions - among other things. Garret was in front of her and Bear was ahead further still. They would reach the village well before nightfall. She dreaded the task ahead, but consoled herself that it was almost over.

* * *

The port side of the skimmer made contact with the snow pack carving a six-inch groove and kicking up a plume of snow. Mathers, belted in his seat, was helpless to do anything. He couldn't see out the crumbled port hatch due to the damage earlier. He could only trust in the skill of his pilot.

The skimmer was emitting short discharges of electricity. No one inside had ever heard the rapid fire pop-pop-pop it was making. Finally the magnetron, exhausted of function, emitted a final audible crack and powered down. Without the magnetron holding up the starboard side, it crashed into the snow, righting the skimmer.

Out of control and blind as a bat. The line from an old movie flashed through Mather's mind as he craned his neck to see over the shoulder of the pilot. The grove of trees sped left to right across the viewport as the skimmer spun wildly. Great plumes of snow deposited across the nose and obscured the landscape outside. The deceleration pressed his body against the safety harness. He felt his stomach lurch with every bump. One of his men didn't fare well and the cabin started to smell of bile.

* * *

Willow sat in class taking her final exam. She found it difficult to focus. The instructor monitoring the exam continually looked at her. She was also cognizant of stolen looks her way by the other learners. By now everyone knew of Bear's betrayal. She couldn't bring herself to think of it that way – it was more like a misguided journey. Her reverie was interrupted by a loud crack! Everyone jumped up and rushed to southern facing windows to see what was going on. The instructor attempted to maintain order, but curiosity was more powerful than authority.

* * *

Crack!

The sound was loud enough to make Bear stop trudging through the snow. He closed his eyes and focused intently.

Passing Garret, Anna scrambled to Bear. "What is it?"

"The magnetic field from the skimmer stopped."

"It faded away?"

"No. It felt weird, then it simply stopped."

"The same time as the noise we heard?"

"Yes. What does it mean?"

Anna smiled, "It means we can stop watching the sky."

* * *

When the skimmer skidded to a stop, the nose mere feet from the grove of trees, its inhabitants sat unmoving, assessing the situation.

A solitary voice could be heard from the rear of the cabin. "Well, that was fun."

"Sergeant," Mathers replied dryly, "When this mission is over, you and I need to talk about your sense of humor."

"Yes, Sir! Gladly, Sir!"

"Let's pop that hatch and assess the situation. I want boots to ground ASAP."

Mathers undid his safety harness and conferred with the pilot. "What do you think?"

"I'd need to research it, Sir, but I suspect the magnetron is undamaged – just a failing control system. We carry spare control assemblies onboard."

Their conversation was interrupted by the Wilkin's voice. "Tracks heading north, Sir – probably less than an hour ago."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Resuming the conversation with the pilot, "Get this tub moving and follow us north."

The pilot patted the instrument panel affectionately. "She's a tough gal, Sir. I'll be right behind you."

Mathers nodded, performed an about-face and strode confidently through the hatch.

Emerging from the skimmer, the Wilkins rushed to him. "We're geared up, Sir. Awaiting your orders."

Mathers pulled his goggles down, protecting his eyes. "Forward, to victory!"

The team double-timed along the only disturbance in the pristine field of snow. In less than half a day's hike they would overtake the fugitives.

* * *

Despite Anna's assurances they were safe, the trio increased their pace. With the snowfield being perfectly flat, there were no landmarks to gauge their progress throughout the day. The sun tracked across the sky and was getting closer to the western horizon. Bear estimated they were a little over three kilometers from the village. The wind died down, allowing better visibility, but they still couldn't see the village.

Bear froze in his tracks, "The magnetic field is back."

Anna reached into her pocket producing the frag grenade. "How much time have we got?"

"I'm not sure, it's getting stronger. It feels different somehow."

"They're probably running hot. We've got to run!"

* * *

Sergeant Wilkins handed his field glasses to Colonel Mathers. They were archaic compared to the imaging gear they normally used, but the incident with the skimmer had destroyed their electronics – they were now two centuries behind in navigation technology. Field glasses and a simple compass were among the survival gear. Mathers twisted the thumb knob to focus on the retreating fugitives.

"What do you make it, Sergeant? Mile and a half?"

"Less than that, Sir. More like one point two five."

"Still dead north?"

"Yes, Sir." Wilkins looked down at the compass. "What the hell?"

Lowering the field glasses, Mathers inquired, "Sergeant?"

"Take a look for yourself." He tossed the field compass to Mathers who caught it with his free hand.

The compass needle was swinging wildly from east through south to west and back again.

The compass oscillations started getting shorter – the needle spending more time pointing south.

Wilkins peered over Mathers' shoulder, "What does that mean?"

"It means we win."

"Sir?"

Mathers grinned, grasped Wilkins by the shoulder and squeezed, emphasizing each word, "Skimmer's coming."

Finally something's going right on this mission.

Glancing at the compass once again, Mathers expected to see the skimmer on the horizon any moment now.

Still wearing the grin from earlier, he dared to think, this will all be over soon.