Night Flying Revenge

Night Flying Revenge

  Copyright 2012 by Michael Reyneke

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  Night Flying Revenge

  “Survival is but a split second, living lasts a lifetime”

  “Hay, Mat! The night flying was good, well done.” Flight Sergeant Berry was always quick with a compliment when he needed something.

  “Thanks Sergeant.” Mat knew there was more to come but did not look up from filling the aircraft oil tank he was busy with. He was very neat and particular about his after flight inspections and the aircraft refueling and oiling. The flying instructors and trainee pilots relied on good serviceable aircraft.

  “I've done with these three. I see you're nearly done with yours. Finish this fourth one for me and then you can lockup. The keys are over there. Don't be too long locking up there's one hell of a storm coming.”

  “Sure Sergeant. I hope all night flying is this easy.” What else could he say?

  “Oh, by the way Mat, enjoy the rest of your birthday. The crews say it’s your eighteenth. Are you going for a few beers?”

  “No chance. I expect I'll do some light training for Saturday's rugby match.”

  Damn the Sergeant he knew very well that Active Citizen Force did not get mid-week passes and were not allowed to drink in the non-commissioned officer's mess. The Sergeant could be so irritating at times. He was now glad to see him leave before he started more of his “do this and do that” routine.

  Left alone, Mat finished the last of his four aircraft and the unfinished one for the Sergeant. When he was done and cleaned up the tools ready for the early morning flying, he collected the massive key ring with the thirty or so huge keys and walked to the open doors. On his way out he switched off the hangar lights.

  Black! The world turned black!

  There was no light anywhere. Not even the stars could be seen; they too seemed to have been switched off with the same switch.

  What the hell just happened? Did he short out the entire base, the entire universe?

  Mat fumbled for the switch he had just thrown, he could not see his hand touching his nose. When he found the switch, he jerked it up.

  Still black!

  The sudden chilling sound of the air-raid siren brought him to his senses.

  The base was in a security blackout!

  He knew from previous stories that this was not the place to be and needed to react fast. The security division attracted the thugs from the rough back-life of the cities as it allowed them to exercise control over others without questioning. They are known to have shot and killed fellow military personnel for no reason other than that they were slow to halt when ordered to.

  “Shite, close the damn hangar door and get the hell out of here.” Mat knew that if security found him in an open hangar in a blackout they would immediately suspect him of sabotage and shoot on site.

  It was darker than he had ever known and if it was at all possible it was getting darker. Something was making the black air thicker, filling your eyes and lungs with blackness. Where were the stars? They would give some directional orientation to the door.

  Mat fumbled his way down the side wall and fell out of the hangar opening. He knew that the door had been opened away from where he was now; he had to get to the other side to close the door. He crawled along the door rail as quick as he could and crashed head long into the steel door frame on the far side. Getting up he searched for the handle he could use to drag the door closed.

  Damn, it was heavy! He could not remember it been this heavy when he had opened it. Pushing as if he were in a driving rugby scrum he heaved the door across the hangar entrance and smashed it into the far door frame with an alarming metal blast.

  Hell! That is sure to bring everyone to the hangar. Perspiration streamed down his arms, legs, chest, and face, into his eyes.

  “Now lock the damn door and get to the guard house as quick as you can.”

  He never muttered to himself like this before but now he needed to keep focus of what was to be done and talking to himself helped the decisions he need to make.

  The air was breathlessly black and disorientating.

  “Which way is the guard house?” There was desperation etched into his young face but no one would see that. “Oh shite, where is it?”

  “Mat you know where it is, you walked this route many times. Just don't run. If they find you running they will shoot you and not even ask questions later.” He had to trust his instincts now and be totally aware of every sound, every smell and his own space.

  The air-raid siren stopped suddenly. How was that possible? It was a manually wound thing!

  He stood for a few seconds, his back against the hangar door, to catch his breath and focus his senses ready for the deliberate walk to the guard house. When ready, he set off in a calculated direction across the apron. The enormous key ring and keys held firmly in his right hand.

  One...two...three...four...paces. He had not walked into anything yet, so he kept on. Five...six.

  “Halt! Who's there?” The voice was sharp in the black air and directly in front of him.

  “Identify yourself!” It continued before Mat could say a word. Security must have him in their night-sights so he had better do as told.

  “Matthew Watson, 640021355, Aircraft Fitter on night flying duty.” He added the “night flying duty” attempting to make it easier for all. He was surprised at how clear and calm he sounded.

  “What is the password?” Mat was sure he recognized the voice as one of the security guys he had trained with. Something in his alert senses told him not to say a word about this.

  “I will not shout the password out loud. Where are you so that ...”

  “That's not the frigging password. Don't move or we'll shoot you.”

  Mat felt the sudden cold creeping all over him, the hair standing stiff on his arms, legs and the back of his neck. Goose bumps gradually spreading from his feet to the rest of his body. He suddenly felt the weirdest sensation; he was not alone. Somewhere behind and to his left was someone or something else. Not the voice, that was in front of him.

  He stood paralyzed, hardly breathing, ears straining to pick out any sound. All he could hear was the loud thumping of his own heart and the sound of the blood rushing through the veins in his neck. He did not hear the footsteps approaching him; the person was using all possible stealth.

  The sudden metallic, almost deafening, sound of the rifle bolt slamming the bullet into the breach caused Mat to jump involuntary.

  “Don't move, or you're dead!”

  The security guard was directly in front of him and very close. Mat could hear him breath and smell his cigarette breath. A sharp jab pressed into Mat's stomach. It must be the bayonet! Shite, these guys were not playing!

  Mat was terrified, the bayonet pressed against his stomach, and this creeping feeling of the presence behind him, now getting closer, and closer. Oh God, if only he could see.

  He felt the evil infringing on his space; coming closer and closer.

  Now he could smell it; the strong smell of bleach was filling his nostrils. The bleach smells you get in hospitals and rugby change rooms.

  Getting thicker; still closer. What the hell smelled like this?

  The guard was shouting something and prodding the bayonet in his gut but Mat was totally focused on the greater danger creeping up behind.

  That's it! The thing, the smell, the evil is from the nearby mental asylum. Oh, God! These were maximum security inmates, never to b
e let out, always kept in chains and face mask. Why was this one out?

  An enormous ice cold hand gripped the back of his sweating neck.

  Mat was shocked into action, the adrenaline rushed through him. With his left hand he shoved the bayonet from his gut and to the right while he swung his right arm violently around and back hoping to smash the heavy keys into the attacker behind him. He couldn't twist his body freely, he was being held by the neck.

  The grip on his neck tightened. He had missed!

  “What are you doing!” shouted the security guard as he fired his rifle.

  In the split second flash from the rifle Mat got a glimpse of the cause of his terror. The man was enormous and dressed in dark blue asylum overalls. Mat did not see his face.

  The inmate lifted Mat off the ground in a single swift move and with his other hand he smashed into the guard's face who staggered back and fired another shot but in the black and shock the bullet missed both of them.

  “What do you want with me? Let me go!” Shouted Mat more from pain than panic, trying not to get his neck broken. “We've just night flying.”

  “You make noise at night. You hurt my head. So they hose me down and strap me up. You will stop. I Revenge.”

  “No. No. It's the aircraft that makes the noise!” So that's what this attack is all about; Revenge.

  Revenge was beating the guard mercilessly who finally collapsed in a heap. As Revenge stooped down to finish the guard off, Mat's feet touched the ground, relieving the stress from his neck. Mat swung the keys with all his strength and speed in the direction where he thought Revenge would be.

  Damn the blackness!

  This time he connected. Revenge let him go and howled like a crazed animal, high pitched at first, trailing off into a low blood chilling growl.

  Freed, Mat dived onto the apron and rolled several times away from where he was let go and hoped no one could see him on the ground. He could see nothing, not even his hand in front of his face. How had Revenge stalked him? Was he that evil that he could see in this blackened environment?

  “Oh shite here he comes again!” The smell of bleach was sharp again and he could hear the grunts of the approaching deranged Revenge.

  With a sudden lunge, Revenge pinned Mat to the ground, crushing the breath from his lungs.

  “I see you bring them out. They go up into the sky and make the noise to break my head. You must stop,” moaned Revenge and smashed his immense clasped hands into Mat's face, “I will stop you.”

  The impact slammed Mat's head down onto the concrete apron. Bright lights flashed through his eyes. There was no pain just sudden blackness. Just as sudden, there was light everywhere. Was this what death would be like? Blackness crushing the breath from your lungs, then brilliant light with no more weight on your chest and no more pounding, then blackness again?

  The spot-light from the security vehicle focused first on the guard and then panned across the twenty feet to the lone figure of Mat and then back to the guard. Security had rushed to where they had heard the rifle shots.

  Revenge had disappeared!

  Now there were brilliant lights and security guards everywhere.

  “Did you...get...him?” Mat spluttered badly, the blood splashing from his mouth and nose. He wheezed and tried not to drown in his own blood. He knew that if he tried to stand he would fall down. He thought his brain was swimming in blood. All the lights slowly turned red.

  “Get who? What the hell went on here? You two sure beat the living daylights out of each other! Where the hell is the guard’s rifle?”

  “No! No! There was a huge evil guy from the asylum that did this to us,” this was incredible, “you must find him, he's dangerous and wanted to kill us.”

  “Just relax. We'll get you and the guard to the sickbay and we can talk about this in the morning.” The duty officer turned away to summon help.

  “That's too late. You must do it now!” shouted Mat spraying his bright red blood.

  “You listen to me, you little runt, you had better watch what you say. You're in enough trouble as it is.” With this the officer left Mat lying on the apron.

  Three shots were fired. Not rapidly, but at calculated slow intervals from concealed and unsuspecting positions.

  The first hit Mat in his right upper thigh breaking his femur and bouncing his body.

  This brought everyone to a sudden panic. Guards scrambled in all directions away from Mat. More spot lights were rapidly switched on and began scanning the hangars. Someone shouted something about moving the lights from where Mat lay motionless.

  The second bullet tore across Mat's chest, opening a foot long gouge.

  “Don't move. He will not get you now. You're in darkness again.” Mat was once again talking to himself trying desperately to justify his split second decisions. He blacked out.

  The third shot came from a totally different direction and was not aimed at Mat.

  It was over. Revenge had failed.

  Night flying continued as usual, but without Mat for a while.

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