I have picked out a place to breakfast this morning, but since it's Saturday they're only opening at 10. Which is a very reasonable time for breakfast, yet it is 9 at the moment, so I have a little longer to wait before I set off. How is being back at work?
Progress The fight over who got to fly the plane was short but brutal, with War being the inevitable winner. Scuffles and Pestilence squeezed into the gunnery-pit together while War took the controls, and then something inside the plane shimmered softly and somehow there was enough space in the rear for Pestilence, Scuffles and Hilda to sit comfortably. Scuffles took command of the guns, and Pestilence tried to stop Hilda from sticking her head out of the cockpit in order to appreciate the air streaming past outside. The plane bumped along for a minute or so, trying to gain speed, then War lifted it fractionally above the ground onto smooth nothingness and it practically raced into the air with a hum like a gigantic hive of bees working frantically. Below them the countryside was green and blue; water pooled in lakes and ponds and reservoirs and the rivers cut across the landscape, always hunting for a way down towards the sea again. Trees grew in stands, copses and then forests, and here and there there were outcroppings of stone or cuttings where human action had carved into the side of the land. "Where are we going?" yelled War, his voice still loud above the roar of the engine and the rush of the air, but less loud that it had been on land. "Ezcaray," yelled back Pestilence. Hilda barked, though he couldn't tell if she was approving, disapproving, or just joining in the conversation. "Is that easy to spot from the air?" "Never been there!" The plane cruised for a while, while War peered around and eventually lifted the cockpit canopy to stand up and stare down at the land below. Then he sat down and lowered the canopy once more. "OK, we're going lower," he said. "I need a road-sign or a 'Welcome to Ezcaray' sign." "Cool," said Pestilence. He looked at Scuffles. "No shooting anyone who doesn't deserve it," he said. Both Pestilence and Scuffles were a little startled when they realised that when War had said he was taking the place lower he meant seriously lower; they were cruising along maybe only ten meters above the ground in most places. "I suppose this is progress," said Pestilence, shouting as loud as he could. This close to the ground the noise of the engines bounced straight back up and surrounded the plane as though they were all stood directly underneath a waterfall. "I think we could have used the hippos to do this though." Hilda barked again, and this time he was pretty sure it was agreement. "Right," yelled War, somehow making it seem easy to shout through the curtains of noise. "I've got a fix on Ezcaray now. Hold on!" The plane tilted up and the engines screamed as they thrust it through the air to a more reasonable cruising altitude. They tore through a cloud, and then a whole cloudbank, and emerged into brilliant sunlight above a layer of whiteness that seemed to stretch on to the North and West endlessly. "Arriving in 70 seconds," said War happily. "There's no airstrip there, so we'll just parachute out." "What?" said Scuffles, looking scared.
2 comments:
I have picked out a place to breakfast this morning, but since it's Saturday they're only opening at 10. Which is a very reasonable time for breakfast, yet it is 9 at the moment, so I have a little longer to wait before I set off.
How is being back at work?
Progress
The fight over who got to fly the plane was short but brutal, with War being the inevitable winner. Scuffles and Pestilence squeezed into the gunnery-pit together while War took the controls, and then something inside the plane shimmered softly and somehow there was enough space in the rear for Pestilence, Scuffles and Hilda to sit comfortably. Scuffles took command of the guns, and Pestilence tried to stop Hilda from sticking her head out of the cockpit in order to appreciate the air streaming past outside. The plane bumped along for a minute or so, trying to gain speed, then War lifted it fractionally above the ground onto smooth nothingness and it practically raced into the air with a hum like a gigantic hive of bees working frantically.
Below them the countryside was green and blue; water pooled in lakes and ponds and reservoirs and the rivers cut across the landscape, always hunting for a way down towards the sea again. Trees grew in stands, copses and then forests, and here and there there were outcroppings of stone or cuttings where human action had carved into the side of the land.
"Where are we going?" yelled War, his voice still loud above the roar of the engine and the rush of the air, but less loud that it had been on land.
"Ezcaray," yelled back Pestilence. Hilda barked, though he couldn't tell if she was approving, disapproving, or just joining in the conversation.
"Is that easy to spot from the air?"
"Never been there!"
The plane cruised for a while, while War peered around and eventually lifted the cockpit canopy to stand up and stare down at the land below. Then he sat down and lowered the canopy once more.
"OK, we're going lower," he said. "I need a road-sign or a 'Welcome to Ezcaray' sign."
"Cool," said Pestilence. He looked at Scuffles. "No shooting anyone who doesn't deserve it," he said.
Both Pestilence and Scuffles were a little startled when they realised that when War had said he was taking the place lower he meant seriously lower; they were cruising along maybe only ten meters above the ground in most places.
"I suppose this is progress," said Pestilence, shouting as loud as he could. This close to the ground the noise of the engines bounced straight back up and surrounded the plane as though they were all stood directly underneath a waterfall. "I think we could have used the hippos to do this though." Hilda barked again, and this time he was pretty sure it was agreement.
"Right," yelled War, somehow making it seem easy to shout through the curtains of noise. "I've got a fix on Ezcaray now. Hold on!" The plane tilted up and the engines screamed as they thrust it through the air to a more reasonable cruising altitude. They tore through a cloud, and then a whole cloudbank, and emerged into brilliant sunlight above a layer of whiteness that seemed to stretch on to the North and West endlessly.
"Arriving in 70 seconds," said War happily. "There's no airstrip there, so we'll just parachute out."
"What?" said Scuffles, looking scared.
Greg - last week at work was rather busy, but today was relatively quiet in an attempt to make up for that. Hopefully that trend continues tomorrow.
Haha, that's a delightful way to announce to passengers that their landing will not be in the expected manner :D
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