Jeffries formed his finger and forefinger into an ‘O’. Tulliver thought that a little odd. He’d only met a couple of other people that had used that specific gesture. Most just used thumbs up. One was an American flying with the Escadrille Lafayette, the other, more recently, was that Artillery officer, what was his name?
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” he yelled over the engine’s roar. “You seem familiar! Do you know a chap named Hibbert?”
Jeffries shook his head and Tulliver shrugged, but couldn’t dismiss entirely the feeling he knew the man from somewhere. He turned the machine and from their vantage point, the circle of Somme was sat near the head of a wide valley, enclosed by hills on three sides. On one side of the valley stretched a large forest. Beyond it lay a large plain bounded by a range of hills. The silver ribbon of water ran down from the hills and threaded itself through the forest before reappearing on the plain. If it was coming down from the hills maybe it led to some sort of—
There was a tap on his shoulder. He wiped away the oil spray that was beginning to mist his goggles and glanced back over his shoulder, Jeffries pointed down. Tulliver tilted the wings so he could see a herd of tall, three-legged creatures moving across the plain. That’s when he noticed the shadow ripple over the ground and pass over his machine. He immediately pulled up and banked so he could look around. He pointed up, indicating that Jeffries, who was sat behind the wings and had a better view, should look around. Then he saw it. A great shape above them like a flying manta ray, but it had hind legs with large talons and a long neck that ended in a small head with a wide mouth, displaying sharp teeth. It was easily bigger than the Sopwith and with claws and teeth like those could rip the aeroplane to shreds if it got close. It had obviously been following the herd of whatever-they-were and saw the Sopwith as a territorial intruder. It came at them from the side. Tulliver hoped Jeffries was on the ball. He was. Standing up in his seat he swung the Hotchkiss machine gun round and opened fire. The creature closed its wings momentarily and dropped out of sight below them.
Damn. He couldn’t afford to let it get beneath them.
“Hang on!” he yelled to Jeffries. Tulliver banked sharply and spun down in a wide spiral looking for the creature. It reared up almost immediately in front of them.
“Hellfire!”
He pressed the fire buttons on his machine gun, spitting lead and tracer bullets at the beast. It let out a long, pained cry and vanished over the top of the machine as Tulliver pushed the stick forwards sending the aeroplane into a shallow dive. As the creature passed overhead Jeffries fired, raking its body with a line of bullets that left it spurting a bluish viscous liquid.
“Go round!” yelled Jeffries. Tulliver banked, keeping the wounded creature within the circle of his turn. Jeffries kept it in his sights and let off another couple of bursts, one ripping through the membranous wings, another shot hitting it in its head, exploding the skull. The lifeless beast plummeted from the air, the drag from its wings sending it careening into a drunken tumble.
“Calloo Callay!” Jeffries yelled triumphantly as he leaned over the lip of the cockpit to watch the dead beast crash into the plain with an explosion of blood and offal.
Tulliver, wary of any more of the creatures, was eager to get down.
“Have you got enough?” he shouted.
“Yes, it’s dead!”
“No, have you got enough information for the map?”
JEFFRIES TURNED, SAT back down in his seat and pulled out the clipboard. He marked the stream and the forest. He’d seen no sign of cultivation or farming, no patchwork of fields, no smoke, which was vaguely disappointing. He nodded emphatically and gave his ringed okay sign to Tulliver, who turned the aeroplane about and headed back up the valley towards the muddy charnel field they had to call home for the present.
As he did so, Jeffries caught a glimpse of something gleaming in the far distance across the plain, as if it had caught the light from this world’s sun. He struggled to turn around and see. He could have sworn he saw some sort of huge spire far off, almost smeared into obscurity by the intervening aerial perspective of the atmosphere. The machine bucked on a pocket of air as it descended and dropped heavily, leaving Jeffries’ stomach briefly somewhere above his head. When he looked again the fortuitous angle was lost and the spire had vanished. But it had nevertheless ignited a gleam of hope in his heart. He smiled to himself. This was one thing he wouldn’t mark on his crude, despairingly blank map. He well knew the value of information as currency. This would only strengthen his position in the long-term and, until he knew its true value, he would sit on it and let his investment accrue.
TULLIVER CIRCLED THE field of mud as he came down and brought the machine about so that the hastily cleared green strip was ahead of him. He pulled back on the stick, opened the flaps, slowing the aeroplane down to just above stall speed, and cut the engine before they hit the ground. He saw the waiting soldiers run towards them as the Sopwith bounced and trundled to a halt.
He tore off his flying helmet and goggles before clambering out of the cockpit. The Tommies gathered round the machine like excited schoolboys, barking questions at him and Tulliver took the opportunity to bask in the moment.
JEFFRIES WAS LEFT abandoned by the machine as Tulliver and the adulating scrum around him moved off. The airman had almost recognised him. Of all the damned luck to get stuck with the same pilot that took him up when he was using Hibbert as an alias. He didn’t need anyone putting the pieces together yet, he needed more time. He would have to do something. He was reaching over to put the helmet goggles and gloves back in the cockpit when he noticed the tool box in the bottom of the craft. His usual methods might attract too much attention now, but an accident? He looked back toward the mud flat. No one was about. He leant over and dragged the box towards him. Something to make sure that Tulliver didn’t come back from his next flight? Flicking the little hooked catch he opened the wooden box to reveal a jumble of tools; spanners, wrenches, screwdrivers, wire cutters. He smiled…
INTERLUDE TWO
4th November 1916
My Dearest Flora,
Things haven’t gone quite the way the top brass expected here so I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to post this.
I know you must be sitting at home thinking me among the missing, too. Although we’re not so much missing, as lost. It’s the rest of the world that’s missing. What will my mother do? Both her sons among the missing. She must be heartbroken. I wish I could tell her I’m alive and well, although I’m not sure I like it here. The wildlife seems none too friendly. I thought rats and lice were bad, but they’ve got things here that put them to shame.