Flight into Danger (a Rock Hardy story)
Sep. 25th, 2010 12:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kingandy posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
just_writingChapter 1 (excerpt)
"'Zat it?" asked Dirk 'Rock' Hardy, leaning over the controls of the Sea Duck. The magnificent flying boat was low over the Sargasso sea, lost in thick fog. Only the keen remaining eye of his African co-pilot, Bartholomew, had kept them on course.
"That's it," Bart confirmed in his strange language of grunts and screeches, "Thunder-lizard Island."
"Great. Looks like we're here," translated Rock, for the benefit of the flight deck's other occupant, one Shiloh Jones. Jones was only recently employed to Hardy Freight and Shipping as a clerk and general dogsbody, and had yet to pick up even a rudimentary understanding of Bart's speech. Though his duties rarely took him outside the office, he had been co-opted by Hardy for what had begun as a routine transfer of goods, as a third pair of arms would speed up the loading and unloading and the remainder of the workforce were otherwise engaged. As Shiloh was rapidly learning, very little in the course of business with Rock Hardy could be described as "routine." They had arrived at their pickup point to find their client murdered and their cargo missing; there followed a series of events that had brought them here, to the Sargasso, to Thunder-lizard Island. Shiloh Jones had never before faced death so often in one twenty-four-hour period.[1]
As the ragged shape of the island loomed into view ahead, movement through the nearest side viewport drew the young man's eye. He peered out to see what could be seen through the oppressive fog. There were definitely several indistinct shapes moving independently through the swirling mists.
"Mr Hardy, sir," he said, hesitantly.
"I told you, call me Rock," replied the stronger man. "I think we've been though enough by now that you've earned that, at least."
"Mr Rock, sir," Shiloh corrected himself, "I think we've been seen. There's at least two aircraft -"
"Crimony," Rock swore as he masterfully drew the yoke towards himself, pulling the Duck into a steep climb. Jones gasped as the throttle roared, driving their craft up and out of the protection of the obscuring fog and into the sunlight. Behind them, three smaller aeroplanes broke into the clear sky, swarming like angry wasps. Rock eased off on the twin engines and levelled into a steady flight.
"They're matching our speed - I think they're gaining," reported the young clerk. "We can go faster than this! Something must be wrong with the Duck," he exclaimed, suddenly panicked.
Bartholomew rolled his eyes and gave a dismissive snort, which could have been directed at Jones's fear or Hardy's actions, as the stalwart adventurer was out of his seat and heading towards the rear of the 'plane.
"There's nothing wrong with the Duck," Rock said with a confidence that, itself, calmed the slight young man's nerves.
"Well then," began Shiloh, "We could easily outpace them, why don't we just -?"
"Not trying to escape," Rock interrupted, taking up a parachute and operating the controls to the rear hatch. "Now strap yourself down or help Bart hold her steady, I'm going out."
The vast rear hatch swung slowly downwards and winds began to whip around the cabin. Jones scrambled for the pilot's seat even as Rock lowered himself to a crouch, taking a firm grasp of a handhold and pressing his cap tightly to his head. A lesser man would have been instantly whipped away by the torrent of air but - true to his nickname - Rock held fast, his energised thews proof against the raging pressures. Through the open hatch he fixed his eye on the enemy planes, following close behind.
Instantly and instinctively calculating a trajectory, Rock flexed his mighty limbs and hurled himself bodily from the cargo hatch...
[1] in Death by Betrayal!, another exciting Rock Hardy adventure
"'Zat it?" asked Dirk 'Rock' Hardy, leaning over the controls of the Sea Duck. The magnificent flying boat was low over the Sargasso sea, lost in thick fog. Only the keen remaining eye of his African co-pilot, Bartholomew, had kept them on course.
"That's it," Bart confirmed in his strange language of grunts and screeches, "Thunder-lizard Island."
"Great. Looks like we're here," translated Rock, for the benefit of the flight deck's other occupant, one Shiloh Jones. Jones was only recently employed to Hardy Freight and Shipping as a clerk and general dogsbody, and had yet to pick up even a rudimentary understanding of Bart's speech. Though his duties rarely took him outside the office, he had been co-opted by Hardy for what had begun as a routine transfer of goods, as a third pair of arms would speed up the loading and unloading and the remainder of the workforce were otherwise engaged. As Shiloh was rapidly learning, very little in the course of business with Rock Hardy could be described as "routine." They had arrived at their pickup point to find their client murdered and their cargo missing; there followed a series of events that had brought them here, to the Sargasso, to Thunder-lizard Island. Shiloh Jones had never before faced death so often in one twenty-four-hour period.[1]
As the ragged shape of the island loomed into view ahead, movement through the nearest side viewport drew the young man's eye. He peered out to see what could be seen through the oppressive fog. There were definitely several indistinct shapes moving independently through the swirling mists.
"Mr Hardy, sir," he said, hesitantly.
"I told you, call me Rock," replied the stronger man. "I think we've been though enough by now that you've earned that, at least."
"Mr Rock, sir," Shiloh corrected himself, "I think we've been seen. There's at least two aircraft -"
"Crimony," Rock swore as he masterfully drew the yoke towards himself, pulling the Duck into a steep climb. Jones gasped as the throttle roared, driving their craft up and out of the protection of the obscuring fog and into the sunlight. Behind them, three smaller aeroplanes broke into the clear sky, swarming like angry wasps. Rock eased off on the twin engines and levelled into a steady flight.
"They're matching our speed - I think they're gaining," reported the young clerk. "We can go faster than this! Something must be wrong with the Duck," he exclaimed, suddenly panicked.
Bartholomew rolled his eyes and gave a dismissive snort, which could have been directed at Jones's fear or Hardy's actions, as the stalwart adventurer was out of his seat and heading towards the rear of the 'plane.
"There's nothing wrong with the Duck," Rock said with a confidence that, itself, calmed the slight young man's nerves.
"Well then," began Shiloh, "We could easily outpace them, why don't we just -?"
"Not trying to escape," Rock interrupted, taking up a parachute and operating the controls to the rear hatch. "Now strap yourself down or help Bart hold her steady, I'm going out."
The vast rear hatch swung slowly downwards and winds began to whip around the cabin. Jones scrambled for the pilot's seat even as Rock lowered himself to a crouch, taking a firm grasp of a handhold and pressing his cap tightly to his head. A lesser man would have been instantly whipped away by the torrent of air but - true to his nickname - Rock held fast, his energised thews proof against the raging pressures. Through the open hatch he fixed his eye on the enemy planes, following close behind.
Instantly and instinctively calculating a trajectory, Rock flexed his mighty limbs and hurled himself bodily from the cargo hatch...
[1] in Death by Betrayal!, another exciting Rock Hardy adventure
