Read Online The Night of the Triffids by Simon Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Clark
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daylight?
Just where had the triffids come from so suddenly, and so murderously?
But as things fell out, I wouldn't have to wait long for some answers. That afternoon I received an urgent message to report to my airbase at once.
Little did I know that the short trip there was to be the first leg of the most remarkable journey of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
TO DARK SKIES
BY three-thirty that afternoon the pace of events was hotting up.
A weather-beaten but mechanically sound staff car brought me back from the Mother House at Bytewater to my airbase on the other side of the island.
With the world still immersed in inky darkness floodlights blazed, illuminating the aircraft hangars and the runway.
I was greeted by the airbase commander's PA who told me to suit up immediately. I was to take up our only Panther jet fighter and determine just how far the cloud cover extended.
'Heard you were taken out by a seagull, Masen!' The cheery voice of 'Mitch' Mitchell greeted me the moment I stepped through the door into the locker room. He was a tiny man, yet had long wiry arms that sometimes earned him the extra sobriquet 'Monkey'. From a radio in the corner a selection of jaunty Noel Coward show songs rattled the windows. Island Radio was doing its bit to raise spirits. An ironic 'A Room with a View' was followed by a hastily composed pastiche called 'Don't Let's Be Beastly to the Triffid'.
Mitch Mitchell lobbed a biscuit at me, then returned to pouring boiling water into a teapot. 'This seagull, then. What was she toting? Thirty-millimetre cannon or air-to-air rockets?'
'Very funny, Mitch.'
'Much damage?'
'Smashed prop. She'll be airworthy by tomorrow.'
'So you get the hero's job, I hear?'
'I don't like the sound of that.'
'You'll be front-page news tomorrow, sunshine.'
'For all the right reasons, I hope.'
'The girls will be queuing, old cock.'
'You really think so?'
'Dead cert, mate. Then chocks away, open your throttle and you'll be into the wide blue yonder with more skirt than you can shake a stick at.'
'But heroes have a habit of winding up very dead, very quickly.'
It was our typical kind of banter. I'd gone through pilot school with Mitch, and by now we'd developed a kind of patois of our own that outsiders often found baffling. As we knocked one-liners back and forth like tennis players enjoying a sustained rally I changed into my pressure suit.
Made of vulcanized heavy-duty cotton with neoprene collar and cuffs it fitted as closely as a second skin. From the hip dangled a length of hose that would be connected to the aircraft's air supply.
'Any news on what's causing the blackout?' I asked.
'There've been bulletins on the radio, suggesting it's just a thick layer of cloud-'
'Heck of a thick layer.'
'Tea?'
'Thanks.'
'Only, if you ask me, David, this thing's got the boffins foxed. Which machine are you taking up?'
'The Panther.'
'Lucky devil; the gods are smiling on you, old son.'
'Let's hope so.' I finished pulling the heavy-duty zip across my chest.
Just then the commander's PA poked her head around the door.
'Are you decent?'
'As he'll ever be,' Mitch quipped.
'Change of plan,' she told me. 'The Old Man's ordered ground crew to pull out the Javelin.'
'The Javelin? That's a two-seater. What made him change his mind?'
'Don't ask me.' She flashed a cherry-red lipsticked smile. 'I only work here.'
'Maybe they want me to hold your hand, David.' Mitch grinned. 'I can shoo away all those big nasty birds that keep attacking you.'
'Maybe,' I agreed 'Perhaps you'd better suit up, too.'
'Wow, they're going to make me a hero as well,' he exclaimed. 'Those girls
Just where had the triffids come from so suddenly, and so murderously?
But as things fell out, I wouldn't have to wait long for some answers. That afternoon I received an urgent message to report to my airbase at once.
Little did I know that the short trip there was to be the first leg of the most remarkable journey of my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
TO DARK SKIES
BY three-thirty that afternoon the pace of events was hotting up.
A weather-beaten but mechanically sound staff car brought me back from the Mother House at Bytewater to my airbase on the other side of the island.
With the world still immersed in inky darkness floodlights blazed, illuminating the aircraft hangars and the runway.
I was greeted by the airbase commander's PA who told me to suit up immediately. I was to take up our only Panther jet fighter and determine just how far the cloud cover extended.
'Heard you were taken out by a seagull, Masen!' The cheery voice of 'Mitch' Mitchell greeted me the moment I stepped through the door into the locker room. He was a tiny man, yet had long wiry arms that sometimes earned him the extra sobriquet 'Monkey'. From a radio in the corner a selection of jaunty Noel Coward show songs rattled the windows. Island Radio was doing its bit to raise spirits. An ironic 'A Room with a View' was followed by a hastily composed pastiche called 'Don't Let's Be Beastly to the Triffid'.
Mitch Mitchell lobbed a biscuit at me, then returned to pouring boiling water into a teapot. 'This seagull, then. What was she toting? Thirty-millimetre cannon or air-to-air rockets?'
'Very funny, Mitch.'
'Much damage?'
'Smashed prop. She'll be airworthy by tomorrow.'
'So you get the hero's job, I hear?'
'I don't like the sound of that.'
'You'll be front-page news tomorrow, sunshine.'
'For all the right reasons, I hope.'
'The girls will be queuing, old cock.'
'You really think so?'
'Dead cert, mate. Then chocks away, open your throttle and you'll be into the wide blue yonder with more skirt than you can shake a stick at.'
'But heroes have a habit of winding up very dead, very quickly.'
It was our typical kind of banter. I'd gone through pilot school with Mitch, and by now we'd developed a kind of patois of our own that outsiders often found baffling. As we knocked one-liners back and forth like tennis players enjoying a sustained rally I changed into my pressure suit.
Made of vulcanized heavy-duty cotton with neoprene collar and cuffs it fitted as closely as a second skin. From the hip dangled a length of hose that would be connected to the aircraft's air supply.
'Any news on what's causing the blackout?' I asked.
'There've been bulletins on the radio, suggesting it's just a thick layer of cloud-'
'Heck of a thick layer.'
'Tea?'
'Thanks.'
'Only, if you ask me, David, this thing's got the boffins foxed. Which machine are you taking up?'
'The Panther.'
'Lucky devil; the gods are smiling on you, old son.'
'Let's hope so.' I finished pulling the heavy-duty zip across my chest.
Just then the commander's PA poked her head around the door.
'Are you decent?'
'As he'll ever be,' Mitch quipped.
'Change of plan,' she told me. 'The Old Man's ordered ground crew to pull out the Javelin.'
'The Javelin? That's a two-seater. What made him change his mind?'
'Don't ask me.' She flashed a cherry-red lipsticked smile. 'I only work here.'
'Maybe they want me to hold your hand, David.' Mitch grinned. 'I can shoo away all those big nasty birds that keep attacking you.'
'Maybe,' I agreed 'Perhaps you'd better suit up, too.'
'Wow, they're going to make me a hero as well,' he exclaimed. 'Those girls
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