Read Online Night Witches by L J Adlington - Free Book Online Page B

squadron Scrutiner. He’s been responsible for recovering the wreckage of an unusual lo-tech Crux fighter plane, called a Catapult. Primitive technology appears to function fairly normally near the Morass. From the pieces of the Catapult our engineers have been able to design a similar prototype plane.’
    ‘Not similar, superior ,’ corrects Fenlon.
    When I glance over, Reef’s eyes are on me. Is there a hint of hello on his lips? Above us the corvil keeps flying against the hangar roof, looking for a way out.
    Fenlon tramps over to a lumpy shape at the far side of the hangar. He hauls away a massive tarpaulin to reveal an extraordinary contraption – a thing of rods, flaps and nails. He plods round it, as if even acknowledging its existence is a deep low-point in his life.
    ‘Well, get on with it then,’ says Furey. ‘Time is precious.’
    ‘Time is an abstract concept,’ Fenlon counters. ‘So. Despite my improvements, the aircraft’s structure is all horribly basic, as you can see. Beneath Rodina’s dignity, if you ask me . . .’
    ‘Which no one has.’
    Lida raises her hand. ‘Excuse me, can I just confirm . . . you’re calling that an aircraft ?’
    ‘Yes,’ snaps Fenlon.
    ‘And is it airworthy?’
    ‘In theory.’
    ‘And in practice?’
    ‘That’s where you lot come in. You’re the lab rablets. The test squad. You get to find out if it flies or not.’
    Yeldon snaps to attention and shouts, ‘We’re ready to do whatever our Nation requires of us to defeat the enemy!’ The rest of us are in total agreement. I think Furey’s pleased at our loyalty.
    Fenlon just sighs.
    ‘I’ll take you through the design, for what it’s worth. There’s no bioweave at all – one of the essential requirements for the zone you’ll be working in. The same goes for all your flying gear. Basically, the plane’s got a wooden framework covered by plant-fibre fabric that’s been treated with chemicals that rot your brain if you breathe them in too often. We’re currently having to stitch the fabric by hand until we’ve designed machines to do it. The sewing is a difficult and painful process probably leading to bone distortion and severe joint pain in later life.’
    Furey glares at him. ‘Focus on the plane, Fenlon, not how you made it.’
    ‘It’s operated with foot pedals and hand controls. No Aura at all. Yes, yes, I thought it was an insane idea too, but hush muttering, I’m not done. The metal moving parts are crude and liable to break, leaving you with zero control of the plane. Navigational instruments . . .’ He pauses to shudder. ‘Enough said. All in all it’s a flying death trap with the speed of a beard-trimmer and the manoeuvrability of a hair dryer.’
    Furey takes him to one side but we can still hear the conversation.
    ‘Fenlon, if you think this is all a complete waste of time, why did you even volunteer for the job?’
    He looks startled. ‘Who said anything about a waste of time? I’m bored of bioweave. This insanity will actually require intelligence and, who knows, it might even be what we need to beat the Crux. Count me in!’
    We all study the plane, totally stunned we’ve been selected to work with it.
    Four wings, one pair above the other, supported by thin struts. Two seats, one behind the other. A four-blade propeller. A tank for liquid fuel. It’s like something a kid with too much time and too few friends would build from a kit. Crude. Clumsy. Intriguing.
    I concentrate on these details and tell my heart to slow down when Reef comes just a bit closer. If he can play it cool then so can I. I hope.
    Marina Furey ruffles her hair as she addresses us again.
    ‘So there you go. This is our new weapon against the Crux. Right now you don’t need to understand specifically why we need a new weapon, and why it has to be as basic as this. We’re calling it the People’s Number One Storm, since the prototype was brought down during a storm of some kind.’
    Zoya