Battle Lines

Chapter 8:

25 Mar 03: USS Wasp

Natalie stood on the island of the Wasp staring out to sea. On her head sat a navy blue cap with LHD-1 USS WASP in gold across the front and a side view of the ship. It had been donated to her by the ship's store, the operator of which had been very insistent that she take it. Phannan had ribbed her for that later. The storm that had made their landing so bloody difficult had abated and settled down to a fresh breeze, blowing off the Arctic Circle. Cho had been stitched up and given the clear to leave the ship, as had Phannan; both were still on painkillers and grounded. Mike wasn't particularly happy about that fact and had been very vocal in letting everyone know about it.

Ron was a different story. The medics had patched him up as best they could and a healer had Apparate in from St Mungoes hospital, but he was still in a coma. As it was the guys down in the infirmary didn't feel that he was right to be moved. That being said the pilots were desperately needed back in England. Voldemort had begun sending his airborne forces across the channel, attacking critical military installations and breaking down the morale of the civilian population. The pilots would be shipping out that day while Harry and Hermione would stay behind until Ron could be moved.

There was a polite cough from behind her. 'Er, ma'am?'

Nat turned to see a nervous looking Leading Seaman holding a white vest and helmet.

'Er,' said the Leading Seaman, saluting as he went, 'you've got to put these on before walking out on the flight deck. Um, the transport should be here in a few minutes, Captain says to be ready.'

Nat returned the salute took the gear and nodded her gratitude. The navy saluted quickly, turned on his heel and almost ran away.

Obviously not comfortable around witches yet.

From the horizon came the sound of approaching engines. Nat pulled off her cap and shoved it in a pocket. The white vest went straight over her jacket and the helmet in her hand, for the time being. The sound of engines had resolved itself into a C-2A Greyhound COD aircraft. A twin turboprop transport specifically developed for work on and off carriers. The Greyhound popped its flaps, making a steep descent toward the assault vessel's deck.

WHAM! Screeeeee...

The Greyhound hit the deck, made a good trap as the arresting wire ran out, bringing the aircraft to a halt.

Nat whirled around and headed for where the others were. She would have Apparated, but the captain had forbidden it. Last time someone had tried it the crew had gone to battle stations in the belief that the sudden crack had been a shell landing. She hurried down to where the others were waiting, pulling on the white helmet as she did so. The others were already waiting.

'Took your sweet time,' said Phannan.

'Sorry, I remembered that I left something in the oven,' Nat replied.

She hefted her broom onto her shoulder and picked up the small day pack that contained what she had brought with her. Why command had sent the brooms she did not know, but it had been standing orders. They were on an active ship in a combat area, so they took the brooms incase they were needed. A seaman opened the door for them and they stepped out onto the flight deck. The sound of turbo-prop engines and the smell of jet exhaust assaulted them as they made their way to the waiting transport. The pilots entered the plane through the rear loading door, not wanting to stray in front of the spinning props. Booms and luggage was secured and the aircraft's new passengers strapped them selves in. Nat located the jack and plugged in the inbuilt headset of the helmet she wore. The rear loading ramp whirred shut and the noise abated a little.

'Ladies and gentlemen.' a southern drawl came across the headset. 'My name is Major Colin Doolittle and I will be your pilot for today. Please note that federal regulations have designated this a non-smoking Greyhound so anything you have lit please put it out now. Your seats have only one position, upright, please brace yourself for takeoff. On a more personal note, please refrain from doing any magic as it tends to scare the flight computer.'

The Greyhound was taxied out and attached to the catapult on the deck.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Doolittle, 'we are ready for take off, so please hold onto the bar above your head and hang on.'

There was a roar as the two Allison turboprop engines wound up then Natalie was slammed into her seat as the catapult shoved them forward. They went from stopped to flying speed in under two seconds, two seconds of shear terror, then they were away and climbing. There was a series of clunks as the landing gear was locked home followed by the whine of servo motors as the flaps retracted.

Twenty minutes later the drawl cut in again. 'Ok people, we have reached our cruising altitude of twenty-eight thousand feet, you are now free to move around the cargo bay, be warned it is noisy and you won't be able to talk to anyone. Lunch will be served shortly.'

Nat loosened the straps of her restraint harness and slumped into her seat, listening to the chatter of the pilots. Most of the others seemed to be dozing off, Nat closed her eyes...

* * *

She woke with a start as something brown landed in her lap.

'Argh!'

She looked up into the smiling face of the loadie. 'Wake up ma'am, lunch.'

Nat smiled her thanks and opened the brow paper bag on her lap. Ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches, Nat didn't really care what it was, as long as it was food. She looked at her watch; she'd been asleep for nearly an hour. Phannan was sitting beside her, she elbowed him in the ribs.

'Fzwt, ouch, will you cut it out?'

'Eat up before I eat your lunch for you.'

Phannan was halfway through his sandwiches before Nat and Aaron stole the other two.

'Oi, Bugger off! My food!'

He grabbed his lunch back off Aaron and shoved it whole into his mouth. Nat tore her stolen half in two and gave one to Aaron.

'What was that?' she said, daintily eating Phannan's sandwich in front of his face.

His scowl gave her all the answer's she needed. Aaron, seated opposite them was trying to eat and laugh at the same time, all he was really managing to do was spray food around the cargo bay.

'I think I'll take a look at the cockpit,' said Nat, finishing the last of her food.

'You do that.' retorted Phannan with barely concealed sarcasm. 'Honestly, you sound like a little kid on her first trip on a seven four.'

Nat made her way toward the flight deck, stopping by one of the forward side doors, and looked out the small window. There were four black dots on the horizon. She turned away from the door.

Wait a second.

Nat spun back around and looked out the window again, the dots were bigger. The passing loadie was yanked to one side.

Nat shouted at his face, above the roar of the engines. 'ARE WE EXPECTING AN ESCORT!'

The loadie shook his head. 'WHY?'

Nat pointed out the window.

'OH SHIT!'

The loadie ran forward to the flight deck while Nat moved back to the cargo bay.

She plugged her headset back into the jack. 'We're going to have company.'

The pilot's voice came back. 'We know, IFF just lit them up red, hang on, we're heading for the deck.'

The aircraft pitched sharply forward and entered a sharp descent, the race was on.

The C-2A roared down, spoilers and airbrakes deployed in a desperate attempt to stop it from over speeding. It pulled up, meters above the wave tops. Nat looked out the window as the water flashed past beneath her. A blast of energy hammered the water, flashing it to steam.

She looked at Phannan. 'Any bright ideas?'

It was Aaron who answered, 'Get the brooms.'

Nat didn't ask questions she unbuckled her harness and crawled forward to where the brooms were secured. Removing the restraints, she grabbing her's, Aaron's and Fred's and started to crawl back to where Aaron was. He was talking to the loadie.

'Get the rear ramp open.'

The loadie stared at Aaron in disbelief, 'Are you out of your freakin' mind? It'll rip off at this speed.'

'Good, less weight.'

'No.' said the loadie, 'Not going to do it.'

Nat was back with the brooms, but Aaron wasn't paying her any attention. In a single movement so quick that it couldn't be followed by the human eye Aaron's wand was out of his pocket and pointed at the man's head. The loadie's eyes crossed as they tried to focus on the wand now resting between his eyes.

'I'm gonna ask you one more time.' growled Aaron, 'Open the damn door, please.'

'You're fuckin' nuts mate,' replied the loadie, backing away.

Aaron grabbed his and Fred's brooms off Nat. 'Ok, when that door is down, shoot anything that comes into sight.'

He threw a broom to Fred as well, 'You too. What I said to Boone, you know what to do.'

Phannan was waving to get their attention, 'Hey, you lot, where's mine? Why didn't you get me a stick?'

'Sorry mate, you can't do much, not with that arm.'

'Bullshit I can't.'

He was rising from his seat. This time it was Nat's wand that found a line with his head.

'Sit back down, Sir.'

There was another explosion from outside as a spell earthed itself.

Phannan slumped back down into his seat, 'I hate it when you do that.'

Aaron, Nat and Fred were now moving toward the rear door. They each grabbed the webbing on the sides of the cargo bay. Nat reached down, putting on her sunglasses to keep the wind out of her eyes.

Thrummmmmm...

The massive loading door began to lower, the rush and roar of wind assaulted Nat's ears. She hooked her foot into one of the rollers on the floor and leveled her broom like an assault rifle, firing from the hip.

BOOM!

The loading door gave into the pressure of the wind and went flying off its mountings, shearing metal as it went. The first enemy raced by.

Fats.

"Fat" was pilot slang for a Death Eater heavy fighter. Ugly, not in the way the A-10 was ugly, but ugly in the way that only its mother could love it. It was basically two large brooms, slung together with the pilot and gunner sitting in between. Firing forward were two high-powered single spell wands. Behind sat the gunner, firing backward with lighter, turreted anti-broom weaponry. Easy prey for broomsticks, but death to larger constructions; like a slow lumbering Greyhound.

Another enemy roared past, Nat jammed her finger down on the trigger of her broom. The broom recoiled, a blast of magical energy shot from its tip. That threw Nat off balance as she lost her foothold on the roller.

Not good.

She went flying out the rear door of the plane and went tumbling through the air.

'Up, UP!'

The magic caught and the Nimbus clawed its way up into the air. Nat grabbed the rear foot pegs sending the broomstick into a steep zoom climb.

Ok, you can do this.

She released her hold on one of the pegs, throwing her hand up and grabbing the broom's shaft. Hand number two followed. Up swung her legs then hauling herself up she was sitting in the flying position and leveled out, high above the speeding transport and its assailants. Another broom was rising toward her. Nat flicked a switch bringing her HUD to life, green, friendly. The broom's rider waved and pulled up beside her, Aaron. He got a quick thumbs up. Right, time to do some serious damage.

Another blast of energy flew from the tail of the C-2a. The passing fat's gunner slumped in his chair. The pilot pealed away form the transport. Nat and Aaron came roaring down on his head. Twin lances of energy shattered one side of the fat. It hit the water in a massive explosion of spray. Nat hammered past the transport. Magical energy roared past her as the enemy gunners opened up. Aaron broke off from her wing climbing up and over the plane avoiding the blasts aimed in his direction. Nat flipped her ride on its side, turning hard. Another enemy came into her sights. Magic flared from her broom, shearing the enemy craft in two. Both parts began ballistic trajectories toward the waves. More enemy fire swung toward Nat, she stamped on the foot pegs, zoom climbing straight up, rolling over at the top. Below her Aaron annihilate his target. The fat exploded in a cloud of ionized atoms. The final enemy was making a run at the Greyhound. Nat rolled and pointed her nose down at it. Fire from the enemy gunner lanced up at her. She jinxed like mad, harder to hit but making it all but impossible to draw a bead on the enemy.

BOOM!

One of the transport's turbo-prop engines exploded into flame. Aaron's shot hit the fat, kicking the rear up and sending it slamming into the water. But now the Greyhound had its own problems. White vapor engulfed the engine nacelle; at least the extinguishers had worked. If the flames had reached the fuel tanks it would have been catastrophic. The two broom riders pulled up beside the stricken aircraft. The roar of the engines had dulled as the crew pulled back the power, desperately trying to keep their plane under control. Nat saw the prop on the dead engine twitch, then start wind milling in the airflow and the rudder move hard over, countering the asymmetric thrust from the one remaining power plant...

* * *

...Major Colin Doolittle pressed down hard on his rudder pedals, stopping the nose of the aircraft from slewing to far around.

Dead leg, dead engine. To right!

He reached down, spinning the rudder's trim wheel to full right trim. It might save his leg a little. He checked his board. Not good. The prop on the dead engine hadn't feathered, the CSU must have been damaged in the fire. The head of one of the wizard pilots appeared in the hatchway.

'What happened?'

Doolittle's first officer yelled back over his shoulder. 'We've lost the port engine! If we give the other one anymore power we'll lose control! That coupled with your friend's little structural modification means we can't climb, we're running IGE as it is!'

Phannan swore to himself and headed back to the cargo bay. He dropped into a seat near Fred and Cho and strapped on the crash webbing. He plugged in. Fred seemed to be humming something under his breath; it sounded suspiciously like "Amazing Grace".

Back in the cockpit Doolittle was still fighting his plane. He reached forward and flicked on the auto-pilot. Immediately the starboard engine came up and the aircraft rolled wildly to port, the nose slipping around as it did so. He killed the auto-pilot, grabbing the throttles and yanking them back. Feet back down on rudder, yolk hard starboard and down. The aircraft responded sluggishly, slowly creeping back toward straight and level. Doolittle looked at his compass. They were headed back out to sea again. He swore to himself and let the aircraft creep back to port beginning a long slow turn back toward England.

It was a long, hard flight back to England. Doolittle's leg was aching. It had required the strength of both him and his first officer to keep the plane straight. He looked over to where his first officer was talking into his mic.

'Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Greyhound Three Zero Niner. We have suffered an engine failure and are unable to climb, carrying three pax and three crew. Mayday. I repeat. Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Greyhound.'

Doolittle returned his attention to the aircraft. They had used a significant amount of fuel...

'Greyhound Three Zero Niner. This is Stornoway Air Traffic Control, please state you status and position and altitude, over.'

The first officer's eyes lit up. 'Stornoway ATC, This is Greyhound Three Zero Niner. We are transporting pax from the USS Wasp. We came under attack and have suffered a flameout as well as sever structural damage. We are carrying three pax and three crew. Current position is eight degrees, forty-five minutes east; fifty-eight degrees, forty-nine north. Altitude, we're right on the wave tops. Over.'

'Ok Greyhound, come to heading zero six three. RAF costal command and Air Sea Rescue have been notified. See you soon.'

'Roger that Stornoway. Greyhound out.'

The first officer was pouring over a chart. 'Uh, sir.'

Doolittle looked over to him. 'I don't like the sound of that.'

'I know, uh. Stornoway is on the other side of the Outer Hebrides, and we can't climb.'

'Shit. SHIT!' Doolittle got on the radio. 'Stornoway Air Traffic Control, this is Greyhound Three Zero Niner. Do you copy? Over.'

'Roger that Greyhound. What's the problem?'

'You're on the wrong side of the island, that's the problem. You'd better Air Sea Rescue or the Navy or someone out here because we ain't getting over that island.'

There was silence for half a minute.

'Roger that Greyhound. We're in contact with costal command, they're sending a Sea King. Hang on. You'd better give them something to home in on.'

'Roger Stornoway, we're illuminating our IFF transceiver now.'

'Ok, hang in there Greyhound. Stornoway Control, out.'

Doolittle looked out of the cockpit to where the two broomstick riders were keeping pace with them.

Think I'd prefer to be out there with them rather than in here.

One of them, the one he recognized only as "the pretty female one" looked in and gave him the thumbs up. The islands were coming into sight. No way they were getting over those.

Doolittle flicked the intercom on. 'Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I hope you read the emergency procedures in the seat pocket in front of you. Please make sure all hand luggage is secured in the non-existent overhead lockers or under the seat in front of you. Then assume the emergency brace positions. We do not have enough power to clear the islands so we will be ditching off the coast. As soon as we hit the water, be ready to get out.'

* * *

Natalie Boone flew escort beside the stricken transport. It was freezing. Not having been in proper flying gear when she left the transport the cold wind was rushing down the neck her jacket and numbing her face. Looking ahead she could see the Outer Hebrides islands. Why wasn't the aircraft climbing? She looked into the cockpit. The pilot of the aircraft saw her and started to motion to her with his hand, waving her off. Aaron had seen the signal. Slowing their forward speed, Nat and Aaron climbed away to a position above and behind the Greyhound. They were only a mile or so off the coast now. The transport was slowing.

Whirrrr, Klunk. Whirrrr, Kaklunk.

The flaps of the aircraft came down. They were ditching. Only half a mile from shore now...

* * *

Mike Phannan sat on his seat. Head down between his knees, arms over the top. The howl of the one remaining engine quieted, then stopped. Only the whistle of the wind could be heard.

SPLASH! CRASH!

The aircraft hit the water. The deceleration was tremendous. Phannan was slammed back into his seat as the plane buried its nose in the water. As soon as it has started the deceleration stopped. Phannan straightened and hit the release on his crash webbing. A massive wall of water hit him. The sea was rushing in the hole left by the rear door. Their transport was sinking, fast. Dropping toward the sea floor. There were sounds of shots from the cockpit as the crew blasted out the windows blocking their exit. The water in the cargo bay rose toward the ceiling. Phannan grabbed one last breath as the whole aircraft went under, then began to struggle toward the gaping hole in the rear of the plane. Phannan crawled toward the exit, moving hand over hand grabbing the rollers on the floor of the cargo bay and pulling himself along. After what seemed like an age he reached the rear door and broke toward the surface. Lungs bursting he grabbed the two tabs on his lifejacket and yanked down. The jacket inflated and he was yanked toward the surface. Phannan exploded out of the water, gasping for breath and gulping down the cold sea air. Nearby the crew were hovering in the water, but no other people were to be seen. Natalie's broom swooped down above him.

'Having our annual bath are we?'

Phannan glared at her. 'Do you have any idea how cold this water is? Shrinkage factor nine point five. Have you seen the others?'

Natalie shook her head. 'No, I haven't, I'm going back up to keep looking. Get over to where the crew is.'

Nat looked over to where the Greyhound's crew was floating. One of them had activated an EPIRB and was letting it float in the water, attached to him by a thin cord. She climbed back up to about fifty feet, flying slowly and circling the immediate area, looking for any sign of the others. Something red and yellow broke the surface of the sea, Fred Weasley. As she moved closer she saw that there was another person with him; Cho Chang, unconscious, both of them were wearing the trademark globe of the Bubble Head charm. Nat flew closer to where they were, Fred was busy making sure that Cho stayed the right way up.

Fred saw her. 'Where are the others?'

'Over that way.' said Nat, pointing. 'What happened to the Ma'am?'

'She hit her head when we landed, well, arrived. Had some fun trying to get her out of her seat.'

'You'd better get over with the others, uh...'

There was no way Fred was going to be able to lug Cho over to the others. Fred seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

'Take your vest off.'

'Yeah, I'm sure you'd love to see that.'

'No, I'm serious, take you're vest off.'

Nat gave Fred a quizzical look, but obligingly took off the white vest she'd been given on the wasp.

'Now hook it over one of the foot pegs.'

Nat grinned. 'I think I see where you're going.'

She hooked the arm hole in the vest over the foot peg of her Nimbus, letting the rest of the garment hang free. Fred grabbed the trailing corner in one hand, holding Cho's lifejacket in the other.

'Now, if you could pull us toward the others it would be much appreciated.'

Nat urged the broom forward. Slowly she began to edge toward where the others were, Fred and Cho dragging in the water behind. It was difficult, she was constantly having to adjust her altitude as the hauled them through the ocean swell. Numerous times she got to low, dragging her boots in the sea, cold water rushing down into them. As they approached the crew huddle Nat saw Phannan leave the group and swim toward her passengers. He reached them grabbing Cho's other arm.

'Hey, why didn't I get a free ride over here?'

Fred looked over to him, 'You're not pretty enough mate.'

Phannan grimaced. 'I would insult you, but I'm to busy waiting for my nads to freeze and fall off.'

Fred and Phannan dragged the unconscious Cho Chang over to the rest of the group. Nat cruising along in the air above them. Aaron held a position in the air above the rest of the crew. Then, from the distance, came the blessed sound of rotor blades and appearing in the distance, a Royal Navy Sea King rescue helicopter.