Seven Veils of Wisdom – Bloc One – by P J Searle

In clear azure sky, two United States Fusion fighters closed behind their leader’s

aircraft. From its cockpit the skipper pinched his eyes closed and waited for a visual response – none came. He opened his eyes and spoke into his helmet mike. ‘BLUEBERRY HERE, CAN YOU READ ME? – OVER.’ Negative static answered. He tipped the wing of his plane for attention. The other two aircraft tipped their wings in acknowledgement. The lead pilot made a hand signal from his canopy for the others to copy and the great silver aircraft yawed away, the other two followed its lead.

Two hundred miles to the east the C-class, blanket-head missile streaked on into the stratosphere. One hundred and fifty miles away the Russian Vlad pulsejets were rapidly closing. They broke formation and prepared for attack, seemingly having pilot-to-pilot communication.

In the cockpit of the lead fusion jet, the radio crackled with static. The pilot, skipper Bram Holaday, a handsome man with a slick trimmed moustache, tried for a computer screen. All he got was a momentary weather alert for cyclone, then it was lost – just ‘Marjoram’ displayed. He switched it off and tried the radio again. The static suddenly cleared,

‘BLUEBERRY HERE, WHO HAVE I GOT?’

In the cockpit of fusion jet two, an attractive thirty-year-old woman, Jessica Long, sat at the controls. She smiled and pushed her helmet mike to her beautiful lips. ’YOU GOT ME, HONEY… ‘OLD TIMER’… LUCKY YOU. WE GOT TO STOP MEETING LIKE THIS. HEY! WE GOT HOSTILES COMING UP OUT OF THE SUN, TWO O’CLO–’

A banshee-wail of jet-engine interrupted her, followed by rapid cannon fire; the aircraft buffeted wildly. She shook her head and continued. ‘–JEEESUS H CHRIST, THESE PLANES ARE TOO FAST FOR THIS EYE-TO-EYE, DOG-FIGHT. – OVER.’

Skip grabbed his helmet mike to his mouth and yelled, ‘WHAT’S HAPPENED? – OVER.’

‘I’M OKAY, SKIP, I’M OKAY… I THINK. – OVER.’

Skip breathed a sigh of relief. ‘WHAT’S HAPPENED TO JACK-KNIFE? I DON’T READ HIM. – OVER.’

Jessica pulled a concerned face. ‘ME NEITHER, NOT NO MORE, SKIPPER. HE SAID HE’D GOT A LOCK ON THE MISSILE AN’ HIGHTAILED AFTER IT – IT WAS ACTING STRANGE, IT SHOULD HAVE ENDED ITS PARABOLA BUT IT KEPT RIGHT ON GOING UP – I GUESS IT’S RIDING THE CYCLONE. – OVER.’ She studied the exposed segment of her beautiful face that was just visible through her helmet, reflecting in the flack-proof canopy. She lifted her visor, and with difficulty adjusted her makeup.

’OLD TIMER… YOU OUT THERE? Skip’s urgent voice interrupted her, ‘WHAT THE HELL YOU DOING? – OVER.’

She finished her fiddling, puckered her lips together, winked at her reflection then answered. ‘I’M POWDERING MY NOSE, BLUEBERRY. I WANNA LOOK MY BEST FOR THIS. I HAVEN’T GOT ANY SCREENS UP, SKIP. WE GOT TO TAKE THESE SUCKERS OUT BY SENSE OF SMELL. LET’S HOPE JACK-KNIFE IS ON TARGET. – OVER.’

‘YEAH, LET’S HOPE SO, OLD TIMER. – OVER.’

‘HEY SKIP, JUST LIKE WORLD WAR TWO, YEAH? WOOO! BANDITS, BANDITS! WATCH YOUR ASS, BLUEBERRY. GOTTA FLY! ROGER AND OUT, WOOOO! HAAAA!!’ She pulled on the controls and her fusion-jet yawed away and climbed rapidly, just as a Russian Vlad pulsejet screamed in for the kill; its air-to-air rocket was unable to match the superior manoeuvre. The rocket exploded a mile off-target. A supersonic dogfight ensued in which both craft suffered superficial damage; the fusion jet now having the advantage. A burst of cannon-hail and the Vlad was consumed in a ball of fire.

Inside her cockpit Jessica studied the instrument readings. She spoke into her mike with a concerned edge to her voice. ‘OLD-TIMER TO BLUEBERRY. I THINK… I KNOW I TOOK SOME SMALL CHANGE… DON’T KNOW HOW BAD. COULD YOU GIVE A LOOKSEE? – OVER.’

‘YO!’ The skipper’s voice came through loud and clear.

Jessica’s eyes narrowed. She held her breath as Skip’s jet gained height to inspect. Now all she could do was wait. She closed her eyes and desperately searched her mind for a distraction.

The airstrip was in total darkness, as was normal, it being a hot and moonless night three hours before dawn. The strobe searchlight intermittently lit the military communication complex. A figure was just visible slinking along the perimeter of the many hangers. The scanning beam nearly exposed the black-clad intruder, but it moved on into the shadows unnoticed. The figure now slipped a short bayonet between luminous teeth and proceeded on all fours towards the aircrew quarters. The searchlight again. The figure flattened to the tarmac. After a few moments, it proceeded.

In one of the chalets, Skipper Bram Holaday was shaving with an electric razor, seemingly preparing for some nocturnal activity. He was dressed, oddly for the location and so late an hour, in dinner jacket, bow tie, and silk scarf slung foppishly around his neck. He pulled the scarf aside to get to the last of the stubble around his chin and magnificent moustache. The searchlight cast a fleeting shadow across his window. He seemed oblivious to it. Outside, at the doorway, the figure lay flat inside the chalet’s portico, the knife now held firmly in the right hand. The other hand stretched out in the darkness to the door handle and slowly twisted it. The door was not locked.

As Skip took the razor from his throat the knife replaced it.

‘Don’t move a muscle.’ Skip froze. ‘Just move to the bed, slowly. Slowly!’ Skip moved, trying not to jerk on the blade. ‘Kneel on the bed. Take your scarf and tie your hands together.’

Skip knelt and then fumbled, trying to tie his own hands. ‘How the hell am I going to do that, it’s impossible?’

‘Here,’ said the intruder, ‘hold my knife, I’ll do it.’ She handed the knife to Skip and tied his hands.

‘Don’t tie it too tight, that’s an expensive scarf.’

Finished, Jessica took her knife back and twiddled it threateningly under Skip’s nose. ‘I hope you are going to behave yourself.’

‘That… is my very last intention.’

She removed her ski mask and kissed him, then stepped back and slowly stripped. He watched her, then she stripped him. With his hands still tied she pushed his shirt and bow tie up around his neck, then she made love to him, she making all the moves.

He watched again as she dressed. Lastly replacing her ski mask. She blew a kiss then put the knife back between her teeth.

Skip gave her a pathetic look. ‘Why the hell don’t you just walk in the door like any normal person, you’ll get yourself shot? – Are you going to untie me?’

‘Shush, don’t shhpoil it,’ she lisped over the blade still in her teeth, ‘You’ll come to me tomorrow night?’

‘As what?’ He said as he pulled the scarf undone.

‘You’ll think of shomething; shurprise me.’ She started to slip away into the darkness.

‘Hey,’ he whispered as she disappeared, ‘you forgot the goddam chocolates and–’ A siren sounded, interrupting him. ‘Hell! A scramble!’

Jessica came back, pulled her mask off and kissed him again. ‘See you up there, Honey.’ She turned and started off. An airman came running up and stopped her. ‘Ma’am,’ he turned to include Skip, ‘Captain Holaday. It’s double red alert,’ he said excitedly. He looked to Jessica, ‘Ma’am, Sir, both of you, high altitude, this isn’t an exercise. You need pressure rig for this.’

‘YOU LOOK OKAY FROM HERE, JESS,’ Skip yelled over the scream of the jet. Jessica’s eyes sprang open, ‘I’M GONNA TAKE A CLOSER LOOK.’

The two magnificent aircraft seemed almost to touch, the one above the other, like some aerobatic courtship, a virtual mid-air coupling.

Jessica’s voice came over the skipper’s headset. ‘HEY SKIP, DOES MY BUTT LOOK BIG IN THIS? – OVER.’

Skipper smiled, ‘YOU’RE LOOKING FINE FROM HERE; YOUR DERRIÈRE LOOKS JUST PERFECT. JUST YOUR TAIL FEATHERS MUSHED UP A BIT, NO FUEL OR HYDRAULIC LEAK, NO PROBLEM.’

She smiled as she expelled the nervous breath she’d been holding. ‘PERMISSION TO GET SOME ALTITUDE; THIN AIR WILL GIVE OUR ROCKET BOOST THE EDGE. HOW SAY? – OVER.’ She waited for reply.

‘YOU DO THAT, OLD-TIMER. I’LL STICK AROUND A WHILE AND SWEEP UP DOWN HERE. YOU TAKE SOME HEIGHT. TRY YOUR SCREENS AGAIN. REMEMBER, THE PRIMARY OBJECTIVE IS THE MISSILE. – OVER.’

A sharp-start rocket contrail leapt from her jet and the craft hurled away, higher and higher. She struggled to speak through the g-force. ’YO! I SEE ONE… GOT HIS BACK TO THE SUN… THE OTHERS… I THINK ARE STILL IN FORMATION… ’BOUT FOURTEEN-THOUSAND FEET DUE EAST… THAT’S THE LAST TIME… I SAW THEM… FIND BLUE SKIES, SKIP. – OVER… AND OUT. Her massive aircraft leaped into vertical – the rocket boost and both scramjets at maximum, hurling out strings of dancing-diamond compressibility knots as it rose like a missile.

From his bridge house De Loock, with a look of resignation, leaned into the intercom and barked his orders to his next in command. ‘All boats away, Lieutenant Miro. I’m going to evacuate the ship.’ He put the handset down and turned to the alarmed officer next to him. ‘Shut down all engines.’ The officer hesitated. De Loock bellowed into his face, ‘What are you waiting for?’ The officer jolted into action.

The intercom buzzed. De Loock picked it up. ‘Yes?’

‘Sir…’ Lieutenant Miro nervously answered, ‘Captain, the engines won’t shut down. They do not respond.’

De Loock shut his eyes; he pinched them tightly closed again as he answered. ‘Understood. All able seamen are relieved of duty. Have them assemble on deck and make ready to abandon ship, that includes you, Lieutenant – that’s a direct order. I’ve opened all sea cocks.’ An officer handed him a written message; he read it, then read it out over the intercom to the Lieutenant. ’Incoming message reads, ‘Three Mirage jet-aircraft will rendezvous in thirty minutes.’ They request a progress report… what do I tell them, Lieutenant?’

Miro’s hesitant voice came back. ‘Sorry, Sir... I don’t... I’m sorry.’

De Loock replaced the intercom, turned to the officer next to him, ‘You know the procedure.’ He looked at his watch, then took a key from his pocket and put it into the control panel. The officer did the same. De Loock looked at him. ‘I am setting the fuses for twenty-minutes from now – whether they’ll blow is doubtful.’ They both turned their keys together. Immediately a pulse klaxon started. The pulse would slowly reduce over the twenty-five minutes until it was a constant wail, heralding the detonation deep in the ship’s bowels.

The many lifeboats eased over the sides of the ship. Virtually the entire crew was now assembled on deck ready to disembark. It took just ten minutes for this operation. De Loock watched from the bridge as the flotilla of lifeboats now made distance from his beloved vessel.

‘Sir, we must leave now,’ said Lieutenant Miro. ‘The last boat is ready to go.’

De Loock studied his officer for some moments. ‘I will not be on that boat,’ he said at length. ‘But you will go – that’s an order. I must make sure she goes.’

‘If she doesn’t,’ said Miro, forcefully, ‘the aircraft will sink her. You must come now.’

‘No, there’ll be time, Lieutenant. Take the boat clear and wait until the charges go off, then come in quickly. Don’t worry; I intend to die with both feet on solid ground. Now go. Go!’

In the hotel suite, Smithson was preparing to retire. He was sitting on the side of the bed with his hand over his eyes.

Mitzi walked in carrying a tray of biscuits and hot chocolate. ‘Hey!’ she growled, ‘Don’t talk to your wife when you’re with me!’

Smithson smiled and breathed a soft farewell into his hand, ‘I’ll be in touch... Yes, yes, I will.’ He opened his eyes and looked up at her. ‘Hilda sends her regards. She hopes you are well.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you,’ she said with a frown, ‘your ex-wife shacked up with a goddam Eskimo? Were they both naked, could you see them at it?’

‘He’s a Finn!’ said Smithson, laughing. ‘Eskimo’ haa! And they’re married for heaven’s sake… and, no they weren’t naked. What a vivid imagination you have. I just like to know she’s okay… the children, do you see, old girl?’

‘Children?’ Christ, they’re nearly as old as I am… so don’t ‘old girl’ me.’

Smithson gave a chuckle. ‘One’s older, hee hee!’

Mitzi grabbed him up from the bed, pulled him close to her. ‘You realise when I’m fifty you’ll be eighty, old man – What then?’

‘Don’t know, old girl – I’ll have to find someone younger, I suppose.’ He laughed again and then kissed her.

She returned the kiss and moved away, then turned back. ‘Hey, I got an idea.’

‘What?’ He was still smiling.

‘Let’s do it this time.’

‘What? …’ he said, toying with her, ’… Do what?

‘You know what, Smitty. Let’s do what you ask every bloody time we meet. I got the feeling there’s not much time left.’

Smithson smiled, still toying, ‘You mean do it the Greek way?’

‘No, you moron… make an honest woman of me… marry me! I promise to screw you to death in a year. I’m after your money. What do you say?’

‘Oh yes, yes!’ He grabbed at her and kissed her again, then turned away from her and put his hand back over his eyes.

‘Who the hell are you calling now?’ she yelled, pulling his hand away from his eyes, ‘Not her again, for Christ’s sake! Not yet. And have that bloody gizmo removed, right? Removed! I’m not laying in bed with you while you watch her in her short strokes… removed, right? … Right!?’

Smithson, loving every minute of her jealousy, pulled a serious face. ‘Okay, okay! I’ll take it out… later. Now, what was it… the Greek way? Come here.’