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The Vice President's Plane is Down

Written by Kerryn Offord

0823hrs, Wednesday, March 7, 1635, GrantvilleTower, Hans Richter Field

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. Bravo Charlie Zero One."

Markus Gärtner erupted from his chair as the urgency of Bravo Charlie Zero One's call penetrated the quiet of the control tower, the mug of freshly brewed coffee in his hand forgotten for just a moment. Then he squealed as the very hot coffee he'd spilt penetrated his trousers and hit his skin.

"You all right?" Johannes Schöppner, an air force pilot on temporary assignment to the control tower while he recovered from a parachute-training accident, asked.

"I'm fine." Markus waved Johannes away as he reached for the microphone.

"Bravo Charlie Zero One, Alfa Papa Two One, I have you in sight. What is your emergency?"

Rudi Kastner, of the Air Post Service, had beaten him to it. Markus tugged at his trousers to try and keep the wet material away from his flesh while he listened to Rudi talking to the pilot of Bravo Charlie Zero One. It soon became clear that Bravo Charlie Zero One was going to make a forced landing in very inhospitable terrain.

"I know Rudi, but who's Bravo Charlie Zero One?" Johannes asked.

"Heinrich Rottenberger. He's piloting Bamberg Charters' new Ziermann Flugzeugwerke Dragonfly."

"Passengers?"

"Three very important passengers," Markus confirmed. He'd seen them boarding the charter flight when it left Grantville on Monday morning. "You're closest. Could you grab the procedures manual."

Johannes pulled the red procedures manual from the shelf and laid it down beside Markus. "Do we know who the passengers are?"

"Yes," Markus muttered.

Aboard Bravo Charlie Zero One

The impact threw Helene Gundelfinger hard into her seat. The little air left in her lungs escaped in a scream when she realized Duke Johann Philipp was flying toward her.

Johann's plunge was caught by his three-point seatbelt and he hung dangling above her. She glanced to her left where Duchess Elisabeth was slowly emerging from a pile of blankets and hand luggage. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Elisabeth ran hands over her body. "I think so." Then she looked up. "Oh, dear. Are you all right, Johann?"

"Get me down from here," he muttered as he struggled not to fall out of the safety harness.

Elisabeth stood in her seat and reached out for Johann's dangling right arm. He screamed and she hastily released it.

Together the women struggled to take Johann's weight off the harness so the quick release would work. They could barely support his weight and when Elisabeth managed to operate the quick release the sudden loss of support was too much. They all collapsed in an ungainly heap.

The aircraft swayed under the impact and branches rattled on the fuselage. The three of them froze, fearful that the aircraft was about to fall. Thirty seconds of silence passed with nothing happening.

Johann broke the silence. "I think I've broken my arm."

"Oh, Johann let me help you," Elisabeth said

"I'll see if I can find some bandages." Helene let Elisabeth comfort her husband while she picked through the contents of the overhead baggage racks and the first aid cabinet which were now scattered around the cabin.

"Here, Elisabeth. I'll keep looking for something to use as a splint." Helene tossed a couple of rolls of crepe bandage and a packaged triangular bandage to Elisabeth. She couldn't find anything suitable in the cabin but through the open door she could see tree branches close to the fuselage. She reached for the nearest branch of a suitable size and started to twist and turn it with one hand while she hacked at it with her belt knife.

"What's that noise?" Elisabeth demanded, interrupting Helene's concentration.

Helene listened. "Another aircraft." She crawled back toward her companions and gave Elisabeth the branch she'd just cut, then crawled back to the door and looked skyward. A small single-engine airplane in the livery of the Air Post Service was circling high above them. "Elisabeth, quick, I need something to wave."

"Use this," Elisabeth said. "But give it back. I need it for Johann's arm."

Helene took the triangular bandage Elisabeth handed her, then waved it at the aircraft.

The plane circled closer and closer until Helene could clearly see the pilot. For a brief moment their eyes met and the pilot lifted a hand. Then he started to climb away. Helene watched until the plane was little more than a dot in the sky. When it finally disappeared from view she closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands. People knew where they were and help would soon be on its way. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then opened her eyes.

And immediately wished she hadn't. "Mein Gott!"

There was nothing more than a few branches supporting the aircraft . . . some thirty feet in the air.

****

Helene slid back from the door and glanced over at her companions. Philipp was a strong and healthy man in his late thirties and Elisabeth was just a few years older. Even with a broken arm he should be able to climb down with some assistance, but what about the pilot? With all the excitement they'd completely forgotten about him.

Helene pulled aside the curtain that separated the pilot from the passengers and poked her head into the cockpit. It was a mess. The glass panels of the wind shield were shattered and she could see the ground below them.

She reached over to the pilot and placed a tentative finger against his throat. There was no pulse, which considering the pieces of aircraft sticking into his chest, wasn't too surprising.

"The pilot's dead," Helene said.

"What about the radio?" Philipp asked.

"I forgot to check." She climbed over the pilot to reach the radio. The impact had crushed it. She hastily backed out of the cockpit. "The radio's dead too."

"Shouldn't we get out of here?" Elisabeth asked.

"That won't be quite as easy as you think," Helene muttered.

Hans Richter Field

After what seemed an eternity while they listened to Alfa Papa Two One trying to make radio contact with Bravo Charlie Zero One, they got the radio call they'd been waiting for.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. Alfa Papa Two One."

Markus settled in his chair and took a deep breath. "Grantville Tower, what is your emergency?"

"Alfa Papa Two One, Bravo Charlie Zero One crashed in treetops, six miles west of River Werra, south east of Kaltenortheim. One survivor waving."

Markus checked that Johannes was operating the radio direction finder. "Alfa Papa Two One, Roger. We're taking a bearing on you. Are you over the site?"

"Alfa Papa Two One, affirm."

"Alfa Papa Two One, call Erfurt Tower this frequency, request a bearing and relay to us," Markus said.

"Erfurt Tower, Alfa Papa Two One requests a bearing.

Markus glanced over at Johannes, who was waiting ready to plot the bearing from Erfurt tower.

Alfa Papa Two One relayed the bearing a couple of minutes later. "Grantville Tower, Erfurt Tower reports the bearing is two three seven degrees."

Johannes drew a line from Erfurt Tower and grimaced when he crossed the bearing line from Hans Richter Field. "It's a stinker of a place to come down. There's nothing but forest-covered hills for miles."

Markus checked the procedures folder and spoke into the microphone again. "Alfa Papa Two One, Grantville Tower, what are your intentions?"

"Grantville Tower, I have a scheduled mail stop over Suhl before heading for Grantville. Should I miss that and divert straight for Grantville?"

Markus shook his head even though the pilot couldn't see him. The few minutes it would take to exchange mail at Suhl wouldn't make much difference. "Negative on diversion. Keep your schedule."

"Alfa Papa Two One, Roger."

Markus knew how stressed the emergency services still were as a result of the events of the previous Sunday and didn't really want to be the person to add to their problems, but someone had to tell them that an airplane was down. "You want to make the phone call?" he asked Johannes.

Johannes shook his head and pushed the phone set across to Markus. "Oh no. The privilege is all yours."

Fifteen minutes later

Chief of Police Press Richards had been living in his office since Sunday, trying to stay on top of the investigation into what they were already calling the March Fourth Conspiracy, and he was short on sleep. He rubbed his tied eyes. "I suppose it would be too much to ask of Divine Providence that we only get one emergency at a time?"

The faces of the people sitting around the table remained unresponsive.

"Oh, yeah. I get it. Of course it would." He pointed to an area of the map. "You say the plane went down about here?"

Johannes nodded. "That's where the pilot of Alfa Papa Two One reports it going down. Our radio bearings put the crash site east of the River Werra on this map and, well, we don't think the pilot got his east and west mixed."

Press glared at the map. It was a newly drawn combination of the down-time maps of Thuringia and Franconia, and no matter how good anybody claimed it to be, it didn't speak to him. It wasn't a proper topographical map with contours. It was more artistic than accurate. The few hills that were shown had no connection with the reality of the terrain, and the rivers and towns were only roughly in the right place. "What's the terrain like?"

"It's heavily wooded and mountainous, much like the land immediately south of Grantville," Johannes answered. "That's why there aren't as many villages as you'd expect in that area."

"Can we get ground parties in to the crash site?" Steve Matheny, the Grantville fire chief, asked.

Press shook his head. "Even if we can, there's not a man I can spare. What happened on the fourth, the funerals . . . what with trying to investigate, the state funerals, VIPs coming out our ears . . . not even the Mounted Constabulary has anyone free."

"Fulda is assembling a search party," Markus put in. "But it's at least twenty hours by horse just to get to the search area, let alone actually finding it."

Steve looked at his watch. "Sunset's at seventeen hundred and sunrise tomorrow is about oh-six-hundred. Horses don't like traveling in the dark, so that makes it sometime Friday morning before they reach the search area. What about vehicles? They could get there tonight."

"How?" Press asked. "Have a look at the map, Steve. The nearest thing to a proper road in the area is the old trade route that follows the River Werra, and even that's nine or ten miles east of where we think the aircraft crashed. Even if vehicles could get to the Werra before nightfall—and given the condition of the roads at this time of year, I somehow doubt it—the search party will take another four or five hours to walk in, even if they knew where they were going. So we have a plane containing . . ." Press looked toward Markus in the expectation he'd know.

"A pilot and three passengers," Markus supplied.

". . . four people, some of them possibly seriously injured, aboard a plane stuck in tree tops from which it could fall at any time. We're going to miss the golden hour, but there must be a way to get a medical team to them sooner than sometime tomorrow." He paused as a thought hit him. "What's the weather forecast?"

Markus passed over the latest weather reports. "Fulda reports the barometer has been falling since early this morning and Frankfurt am Main reports a westerly front approaching. It'll hit them within the hour and it's expected to hit Fulda inside three hours."

Press knew what that meant on the eastern side of the Thuringerwald, but he wasn't so sure of what it meant on the western side. "What sort of weather can we expect over the crash site?"

"Rain before nightfall, unless it's a storm front, then they could get sleet or even a late snowfall," Markus answered.

Press sighed. Bad weather, an air crash, and no doubt some very important people at risk . . . what a fun week this was turning out to be. "Well, that just makes it more imperative that we get to them as soon as possible. But how the heck can we get anybody to them before the front arrives?"

That question was met by silence as the four men thought about the situation.

After a few moments Steve spoke up. "What about the people who live near the crash site? Won't they be searching?

"Someone might be," Markus answered. "But we have no way of knowing, so we still need to send in our own people."

"We don't have any of 'our own people,'" Press repeated.

"Then we've got to ask for outside help," Steve said. "This isn't any time to be territorial about SoTF jurisdictions and things like that."

"But who is there?" Press rubbed his eyes again.

"There was a group of Marines doing jump training when I was at the Daedalus Parachute School in Magdeburg recently." Johannes gestured to his plaster encased foot as if to indicate just how recently. "Maybe if you were to ask . . ."

"Parachute in? You mean like Smoke Jumpers?" Press asked.

Johannes stared back at him blankly.

For the first time since Sunday morning, when his world suddenly got turned upside-down, Press smiled. "Sorry, you've probably never heard of them. But parachuting in, that might be possible. We'll need to get Ed or the Vice President to make the request . . ."

"It'll have to be the president," Markus muttered.

"What was that?" Press asked.

"Duke Johann Philipp, his wife, Duchess Elisabeth, and Her Excellency, Frau Gundelfinger were aboard Bravo Charlie Zero One," Markus explained.

"Shit! You mean the Vice President was on that flight?" Press demanded.

Markus nodded.

Steve reached for the phone. "I'll get right on to Ed."

"Hold it," Press called.

Steve paused with his hand on the phone.

"Even if they do let us have the Marines what do they jump out of?"

"TEA has a Jupiter in for maintenance." Markus took the phone from Steve. "I'll call and see if it can be made available."

"Okay, Markus, you do that. Steve, wait until we know if we can get a plane. It's no good asking Ed to call in the Marines if we can't deliver them to the crash site." Press looked at his watch. It read just after eight thirty. "Even if it's ready to fly now, it'll take at least six hours to get to Magdeburg and back. Add a couple of hours checking things out, it'll be three at the earliest before they can leave Hans Richter Field. That'll have them heading for the crash site about the same time the weather front hits, and they'll only have two hours before the sun sets to find the crash site, parachute down, and trek in to meet up with the survivors."

"It's the best we can do, Herr Richards," Johannes said.

****

Bang!

The sound of the door hitting the wall made everyone jump.

"Just what the hell is going on?" The intimidating figure of the Vice President's very concerned husband strode in. Behind him someone called out, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't stop him."

Press stood and bravely offered his hand to Helene Gundelfinger's husband. "Walter, how much do you know?"

Walter Goodluck stared at Press' hand for a moment before reaching out and shaking it. "I know that a plane went down. That the plane left Fulda this morning, and that my wife was supposed to be on board."

Press sighed. Too many people had nothing better to do than listen in on the radio channels. All he needed now was a bunch of paparazzi sticking microphones in his face, and trying to tie the loss of the plane carrying the Vice President to the events of last Sunday.

As if he'd heard Press' thoughts Walter elaborated. "I only know Helene was coming home today because she sent a radiogram last night to say that they'd be leaving Fulda early this morning. I've already left a message telling Elisabeth Sofie to go to her Cousin Emilie's place rather than turn up at the airport."

Press was distracted by the names. "Elisabeth Sofie? Cousin Emilie?"

"Elisabeth Sofie's parents were also aboard that flight. I told her to stay with her cousin, Countess Emilie, Ludwig Guenther's wife, until we know what is happening."

"Right," Press managed to choke out the word. Walter sure had risen in the world if he was calling the local nobility by their first names. "Well, as best we know, the plane went down in wooded hill country west of the River Werra. The pilot deadsticked into the tree tops, and last we heard it was still hanging up there."

"Is Helene okay?" Walter demanded.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. Another pilot saw the crash and he reports a woman waved at him."

"Can I talk to him?"

"He hasn't landed yet," Press said. "Markus, when will he land?"

Markus held a hand over the phone while he answered. "Alfa Papa Two One should arrive about ten hundred hours."

"So what are you doing about rescuing my wife, and what can I do to help?" Walter asked.

Press almost suggested that Walter could best help them by leaving, but then he remembered Walter, as the local manager of Kelly Construction, had access to a supply of manpower, which was just one of the things the emergency services were currently short of. "Fulda has already sent in a mounted party and we're planning on sending a four by four from Grantville, but neither is likely to reach them before tomorrow afternoon, so we're exploring a faster possibility.

Markus choose that moment to call out. "TEA says it'll be at least two, maybe three hours before they can get the Jupiter ready, and they have no planes scheduled to reach Magdeburg until tomorrow."

"Damn!" Press said. "It'll be dark before the Marines can get here even on an express train."

"What Marines?" Walter asked.

"One of our options is asking the military for the loan of some of their parachute trained Marines and having them parachute in close to the downed airplane," Press explained. "But if they have to come by train we might as well forget about them. A four by four can get there almost as fast and they'll be able to carry them out as well."

"If they're near Magdeburg then I might be able to help," Walter said. "Neil O'Connor sold his hovercraft to the guy who built Kelly Construction's transport barges. He's based in Schönebeck and he uses it to commute to and from Magdeburg. He's quite proud of how he's improved it, and he's claimed it could do a run from Magdeburg to Grantville faster than any aircraft." Walter grinned. "I bet he'd love a chance to prove it."

"Well, if everything's all settled I better get on to Ed about requesting the Marines then," Steve said and held out his hand for the phone Markus was holding.

0900hrs, the incident room, Hans Richter Field

Ed Piazza, president of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, entered the incident room with Tanya Newcomb, his communications expert, trailing behind. "The navy has agreed to loan us some of their jump-trained Marines, but since the only jumps they've done have been from the jump school's tethered balloon they want Ted or Tracy Kubiak to act as jump master. Also, they're asking if Tracy has completed any of the tandem rigs she was supposed to be making, because their medic isn't jump trained yet.

"And if she hasn't?" Press asked.

"Then they make do with their team EMT, who is probably very good, but not the same as a fully trained medic," Ed answered.

"How are they getting to Grantville, Ed? Because Walter says he knows someone with a hovercraft . . ."

"So does the navy. They say they'll be here inside four hours," Ed answered.

1200hrs over the Thuringerwald

Rudi Kastner was happy to get away from the rescue command center at Hans Richter Field and back flying his plane. He glanced over his shoulder at the small package in the net bag sitting in his postal basket. It contained a small handi-talkie radio, a flashlight, several smoke generators, a couple of flares, four survival blankets, a small survival kit, some chocolate candy, and a flask of hot chicken-noodle soup. All up the package weighed about eight pounds, and it was his job to deliver it to whoever was mobile in the downed Dragonfly.

His first problem was going to be finding the plane. Coming from Grantville he was traveling the wrong way to easily identify the landmarks he'd picked out earlier, so he was going to head toward Fulda and loop round and try and match the course he'd flown earlier.

Twenty minutes later he looped around and headed toward Fulda again. He'd flown on the flight path from Fulda to Grantville the Dragonfly should have been on and there had been no sign of the downed plane. Rudi hoped the plane hadn't fallen out of the trees, otherwise it'd be nearly impossible to find.

Over the settlement of Hilders, on the River Vister, Rudi turned and headed east again. This time he took a more northerly course. He knew the basic shape of the hills he was looking for. It was just a matter of checking out the possibilities as he came to them. Then, just ahead, he saw smoke filtering through the tree tops. It might just be local loggers, but surely they'd know how to prevent their fire smoking that badly. It was something unusual in the area he was searching, so he flew closer.

Yes! There was the tail of the Dragonfly sticking out of the treetops. Rudi reached for his radio. "Grantville Tower. Alfa Papa Two One. I have located the downed aircraft. I am now going to attempt to deliver the package."

"Roger, Alfa Papa Two One. Good luck."

Rudi had the choice of two methods of delivery. If there was nobody on the plane he would have to drop the package through the trees. The package had been carefully packed so such a drop shouldn't break anything. However, "shouldn't" wasn't the same as "couldn't." Also, a dropped package could easily catch on some branches out of reach of the survivors. He flew closer, hoping that Frau Gundelfinger was still on the plane.

****

Johann tossed another stick onto the fire. "I still think we should have looked for a clearing and waited there for rescue."

Helene sighed. "What clearing? You looked out from the plane before we came down. Could you see a clearing?"

"No, of course not, we were below the tree tops. However, this wood is managed, so there must be clearings," Johann said.

"Sure, but we don't know where they are, and nobody would know where we were," Helene said.

"We'd just have to light a signal fire."

"But that Air Post plane pilot knows where our plane came down and everything I've read says survivors should stay with their vehicle," Helene said.

"And what can anybody do for us here?" Johann asked.

Helene looked upwards. The sky was visible through the naked branches of the trees. "They could drop something down to us," she suggested.

"If that Air Post pilot comes back maybe he could lower something to us, like they do when they deliver mail sometimes," Elisabeth suggested.

"He'd never get the rope through the treetops," Johann said.

"Then we'll just have to climb back up to the plane and hope he can deliver it that far," Helene said. She looked up at the wreckage of their plane. It didn't actually look that bad. The plane had hit a tree and plowed away branches until it hit one it couldn't break. That had compressed the nose a little. The wings were mostly still intact and looked to be held securely by some large branches. Even though it had swayed a little when they climbed down three hours ago there had never been a feeling that it would fall out of the trees.

Gradually Helene became aware of a new noise in the forest. She met the hopeful eyes of Johann and Elisabeth before all three of them looked up through the naked branches. It was a plane. Surely it was a plane.

"Quick, Philipp, make smoke," Helene ordered as she headed toward the tree they'd climbed down from earlier.

"I should be the one to take the risk climbing back to the aircraft," Johann protested.

"Not with that arm, Hans-Lips," Elisabeth said. "You keep the fire making smoke while Helene and I climb back up to the plane."

A few minutes later Helene and Elisabeth were safely back in the cabin of the Dragonfly. She spared a glance for the curtain hiding the dead pilot before looking around for something to wave. "Damn!" They'd already taken everything down with them. The only bit of cloth remaining was the curtain. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see the pilot and unhooked it.

With the curtain in her hand Helene waited by the door and prayed that the plane would see the smoke and return to investigate.

"He's coming back," she called when she finally saw a plane heading toward them. She gripped the door frame with one hand and leaned out the door and waved the curtain. The plane swooped down and circled them. "It's an Air Post plane. Maybe it's the same plane that found us earlier." She ducked her head into the cabin to smile at Elisabeth. "That means they must have plans to rescue us."

****

Rudi spotted someone at the door of the downed Dragonfly and smiled. It looked like delivery of the package would be by option two. He pulled the aircraft into a tighter turn and lost altitude. The maneuver he was about to perform was one he'd done hundreds of times delivering and collecting mail from places where the terrain made landing impossible, or they just didn't have enough mail to warrant wasting fuel landing and taking off again. It involved doing what his instructor had called a "pylon turn" while an electric winch—one of the few electric items other than the radio on his aircraft—let out cable. The constant banked turn allowed him to lower the basket on the cable while keeping the basket almost stationary at the center of his turn. Of course, this time he was going to be trying to lower the basket to someone in an aircraft stuck up a tree, but that just made it more of a challenge. At least he'd been assured that someone in the plane would know to take whatever was in the basket. Walter Goodluck, the tall, dark-skinned up-timer, insisted his wife, who matched the description of the woman who'd waved at Rudi, would know what to do.

****

Helene snatched at the basket as it swung close, but it was just that little bit out of reach. "Elisabeth, I need to get higher so the pilot can lower the basket to me. It's catching on the trees when he tries to bring it down to the door."

Helene kicked off her shoes and grabbed a firm hold of the door frame with both hands. Then she backed up onto the door frame until she was standing up outside the cabin. She hung on tightly while she tentatively reached out with her left foot for the wing root of the top wing. She moved her left hand from its hold on the door frame and reached out to the fabric covered portion of the fuselage where she forced her fingers through a tear in the doped linen and wrapped her fingers around one of the wooden ribs. With her left hand holding on tightly, her left foot on the wing root and the right foot balanced on the door frame Helene looked outward and upward, over her right shoulder, toward the basket.

The pilot had obviously been watching, because he immediately brought the basket lower. In less than a minute Helene was able to reach out for the basket, and pulling it gently, she moved it closer to the door. "Get ready to take whatever's in the basket," she called.

Two hands appeared at the door, reaching for the basket. They reached in and immediately came out again dragging a net wrapped package.

The sudden change in mass must have affected the plane because suddenly the basket moved and Helene lost her already precarious balance. "Help!" she screamed, as both feet lost contact with the aircraft.

Hands pulled on her belt and Elisabeth screamed at her to let go of the basket.

Helene did as she was told, and discovered that her left hand still had a firm grip on the fuselage. With one hand hold and Elisabeth supporting her by the belt Helene quickly found footholds and scrambled back into the cabin. She took a deep breath and looked at Elisabeth. "Walter doesn't have to hear about that."

Elisabeth nodded and slumped onto a chair with the package they'd risked so much to recover. "Of course not, he'd only worry," she said as she examined the contents of the package. The first thing out was a letter. She glanced at it and passed it to Helene. "Here, this is for you."

She took the letter. The handwriting told her it was from her husband. She eagerly tore it open and started reading. "Elisabeth Sofie is safe and well. Walter sent her to stay with Emilie when he heard our aircraft had gone down," she reported. "In the package is a short range radio . . ." Helene watched Elisabeth undo the impact resistant packaging to reveal a walkie-talkie radio. ". . . which can be used to communicate with the pilot." She grinned at Elisabeth. "Well, that's good. We can tell him we're okay and he can pass it on to our families." Helene took the radio and paused. What to use as a call sign? Oh, well, there was always the obvious. "Air Post Plane. This is Downed Plane. Are you listening?"

"Air Post Plane receives you, Downed Plane. Who is aboard and what injuries do you have?"

Helene quickly related their names and the injuries to Duke Philipp and the pilot.

"Downed Plane, I have to leave you now. A rescue mission is being assembled. Please read the instructions for the smoke generators and signal flares. They will make locating you again much easier."

"Just a minute. How long is this rescue going to be?" Helene listened, but the Air Post plane was already out of range. "Damn!"

Elisabeth smiled at Helene and passed her some chocolate. "It'll take as long as it takes, Helene. Just be patient."

"I don't do patient," she protested.

Elisabeth just smiled and bit off a piece of chocolate.

1240hrs Operations room, Hans Richter Field

Press approached the six men climbing out of the vehicles. There were going to be complaints about the noise the hovercraft had made, he just knew it, but at least they'd had plenty of warning that it was getting close and been able to save time by sending a couple of vehicles ahead to meet them. He looked for their leader, and managed to pick out the insignia of a captain. "Am I glad to see you and your men."

The captain reached out and shook Press' hand. "Captain Wilhelm Finck, USE Marines. Are you the man in charge?"

"Yes. Police Chief Press Richards, Grantville Police. Steve Matheny, the fire chief is inside. We've got what maps we have spread out in the incident room if you'll just step this way."

Captain Finck glanced over at his men. "Corporal Müller, see to the men. Sergeant Fels, follow me." He turned to Press. "Are the Kubiaks here?"

"Yes." Press said. "Tracy's doing final checks before she packs a tandem parachute and Ted's helping modify the plane for the mission."

There was the hint of a smile on Sergeant Fels' face when he glanced over at Pres. "Modify?"

"Yes. Apparently the door has to come off, and the TEA people aren't very happy about it," Press answered.

"It would just be in the way when we bail out," Sergeant Fels explained.

"Tracy says that Ted better take the tandem chute as none of your men have any experience with it."

"That's good to hear. I wasn't looking forward to doing my first jump from an aircraft strapped to Lance Corporal Böhm," Sergeant Fels said.

Press guided them into the incident room. "We've made radio contact with the Vice President. Her Excellency and the duke and duchess are alive and well, other than a broken arm for the duke. The pilot is dead." He waited for the Marines to absorb that information before continuing. "She says they can climb down from the plane, but will wait immediately below it in case we want to drop off another package."

Captain Finck frowned. "So you no longer need us?"

"Well . . . yes and no. They aren't in immediate danger, but it'll still be sometime tomorrow before we can get anybody to them any other way and, well, something caused both engines to fail on that plane. We need to know what happened, and if it's connected in any way with the events of March fourth. We'd like you and your Marines to protect the aircraft from potential looters until we can get a crash inspector to the site."

"We are happy to be of assistance," Captain Finck said.

1330hrs

The passenger seats in the Jupiter had been removed as part of the maintenance work and the TEA mechanics had been told not to put them back. It meant the Marines were sitting on the floor with their backs to the fuselage, which wasn't the most comfortable way to travel, but it made it easier for the equipment-laden men to move about.

Sergeant Christoph Fels watched Tracy work her way toward him, stepping carefully over the spread-out legs of his men and their equipment. She bent down beside him and spoke into his ear. "We've located the drop zone. The pilot is going to take us around again so I can drop a marker on what looks like a small meadow. It's about half a mile from the crash site, but unless you want to try landing in the trees . . ." Tracy left the rest of her sentence hanging.

"And risk a few broken bones? No thanks. I'll see to my men while you mark the drop zone," Christoph said.

Tracy nodded and returned to the cockpit. Christoph meanwhile checked on his men. With only a broken arm to worry about they'd decided they didn't need Lance Corporal Böhm's medical skills—much to his obvious disgust—so he and Ted had been left behind with the captain, who was running interference for them back in Grantville. The four of them should have little trouble on what was turning out to be a simple training exercise, and all on someone else's budget.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Christoph looked up to see Tracy. She was pointing toward the exit. With no door the wind noise made normal conversation impossible. Not that he needed to hear her to know what he was supposed to do. He joined his men near the door in hooking up his static line, made sure that his backpack was secure around his legs and attached the rope that would suspend it from his harness. Then, standing semi-crouched so the pack wouldn't fall from its position, he waited for his turn to jump.

Tracy slapped the back of Lance Corporal Fabricius, the team scout and EMT. He stepped out onto the wing, took three steps, and disappeared off the trailing edge. Ten seconds later Corporal Nik Müller, the radio operator, followed him out the door. Another ten seconds and Lance Corporal "Al" Dinckeler, the team engineering specialist, followed. Christoph shuffled to the door. To his right, past the leading edge of the Jupiter's left wing, he could see the orange smoke from the markers Tracy had dropped on a previous pass. To his left the wing blocked any sight of his men. Tracy slapped his shoulder and he stepped onto the wing, took three steps and went off the trailing edge.

Tracy had warned them that jumping from a moving aircraft was different than jumping from the balloon back in Magdeburg, but he hadn't realized how different. Now, as the slipstream caught him, he understood why she'd insisted they use static-lines to deploy their parachutes on their first "combat" jump from an aircraft. It was nothing like parachuting from the jump school balloon.

There was a reassuring "crack" as the canopy deployed and he looked up to check that his parachute had deployed cleanly. It had, so as soon as he was stable Christoph lowered his backpack. Backpacks suspended thirty feet below a jumper offered a number of benefits. It stabilized them in flight, reducing any tendency to swing like a pendulum under the canopy; it gave a thirty foot warning that landing was imminent; and when the pack hit the ground it gave the parachute a moment of extra braking as it no longer carried the extra weight, making the landing that little bit easier. The fact that a man could parachute with a couple of hundred pounds of equipment and land without busting his knees was also a consideration. The backpack was fine, hanging properly, so Christoph took hold of the steering toggles and took up his position behind his men as they glided toward the orange smoke marking the landing zone.

The delay between jumpers had been deliberate. From the air the meadow had looked extremely small. The delay was intended to be long enough to allow the jumpers enough time to secure their canopies and get out of the way before the next man arrived, but not so long that all four jumpers couldn't leave the plane before it passed the target.

As he approached the target, Christoph could appreciate just how small it was. He turned so that he was heading into the smoke, and thus heading into the wind. This would slow his forward momentum, which was going to be important in such a small space.

Seconds later he performed a parachute-roll to reduce the impact of landing. He quickly scrambled to his feet and collapsed the parachute canopy, then turned and started to wind it in before a gust of wind could catch it. While he bundled up his parachute Christoph looked around the meadow. It appeared to be well cared for, but then, these Wüstung fields, where the original village had been abandoned for some reason, were useful places to hide livestock from foraging armies. He looked up at the sky. A lot of people weren't going to like the idea that their safe hidey holes could now be easily located by aircraft.

Five minutes later, with their parachutes stuffed into sacks that were tied to their backpacks, the men of the 1st Reconnaissance Company, First Marines, were ready to move out. "Fabricius, lead the way," Christoph called to his lead scout.

Johann Fabricius checked the location of the smoke marking the crash site—the survivors had been asked to let off a couple of their smoke markers from the top of their tree—against his compass, then he stared into the woods. A moment later he set off.

The rest of the Marines followed. First Christoph, then Corporal Müller, and finally, Al Dinckeler brought up the rear. They each had a military-issue lever-action magazine rifle held ready for use, not because they expected to face an enemy, but because that was how they'd been trained. Besides, there were other dangers you could run into in the forest. Wolves, bears, and most dangerous of all—because unlike most wild animals which tended to avoid humans—pigs.

Every fifty or so yards Fabricius stopped and checked his bearings before moving again. Christoph knew that Fabricius was picking out a landmark on the right bearing and walking to it before picking out the next landmark. This was to stop them drifting off target, which could easily happen if they blindly followed a compass bearing while walking around obstacles.

Half an hour later they came across the survivors wrapped in survival blankets sitting staring at their fire.

****

The sound of heavy packs hitting the ground had Helene almost jumping out of her skin. She looked up to see four tough looking men in combat fatigues studying her and her companions. "Hello," she said tentatively, her grip on the pistol Walter insisted she carry with her tightened, ready in case she needed to use it.

One man stepped closer and snapped to attention. "Sergeant Christoph Fels of the USE Marines at your service, Your Excellency."

Helene smiled at the term of address she still hadn't got used to. She rose to her feet, tucking her pistol into her belt holster as she did so, and gestured toward Duke Johann Philipp. "Thank you, Sergeant Fels. Do you have a doctor? The duke has broken his arm."

The sergeant called out, "Fabricius, see to his grace."

Helene watched a Marine with a first aid kit slung over his shoulder dump a small bright orange sack beside Sergeant Fels before walking over to Philipp. She turned from watching the man examine the duke's arm and was surprised to see the sergeant had emptied the sack and was erecting the tent it had contained. Surely sergeants had privates to do things like that? She looked around to see what the other Marines were doing. One was setting up the aerial for a radio while the fourth man had one tent already up and was erecting a third. It wasn't what she expected, but she supposed that when there were only four of them even sergeants had to do their share.

She turned back to the sergeant. "What happens now?"

"Are you fit to walk out or do you need to be carried?"

Helene looked down at her previously very glamorous divided skirt and the toes that were peeking out from under it. She extended her leg so the sergeant could see the shoes she was wearing, which were totally unsuitable for walking in the woods, and looked pointedly back at the sergeant.

"Your husband thought about that, Your Excellency."

The sergeant burrowed into his backpack. First he pulled out her favorite pair of walking half boots, then a similar pair that had Elisabeth calling out, and a pair of custom tramping boots that could only belong to Philipp. These were followed by bundles of clothes suitable for hunting on foot. Helene took the bundle that looked like hers and passed the others over to Elisabeth. With her new clothes and boots grasped to her chest she looked from the tents to the sergeant. "I assume we're staying put tonight?"

"Yes," Sergeant Fels answered. "Although we might not be leaving tomorrow either," he continued.

"Not leave tomorrow? Why ever not?" Elisabeth asked.

Sergeant Fels turned to address the duchess. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but our orders are to stay with the aircraft until a crash investigation team arrives."

"Why?" she demanded. "It's not going anywhere."

"We've been ordered to protect the aircraft, Your Grace. There are people about who'd steal anything that isn't nailed down . . ."

A sound from above had the sergeant looking up. "What are you doing up there, Fabricius?" he bellowed.

Helene followed the Sergeant's gaze up to the aircraft. The man who'd attended to Philipp was standing on the lower wing with a small cooking pot in one hand and a length of hose in the other.

"Checking the pilot, Sarge. They were right. He's dead."

Sergeant Fels looked at the cooking pot and hose in Fabricius' hands. "And to discover that you needed a cooking pot?"

"No, Sarge. But it's going to rain and I thought there's a lot of avgas on board this plane, nobody's going to miss it if we take a quart or two to help keep the fire going."

Sergeant Fels gave Helene a "what can you do" shrug before asking, "is there anything left on the plane that you or your companions would like to rescue before the local plague of locusts takes anything that isn't nailed down?"

Helene smiled at the sergeant's obvious discomfort. It had been the worst possible timing for poor Fabricius to decide to liberate some fuel just when his commander was explaining that they were supposed to be protecting the aircraft from looters. She glanced over at Elisabeth, who had her hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Philipp just smiled and mimed lifting a case, reminding her of the question the sergeant had asked. "Our baggage is in the rear compartment." She glanced up and located the external door of the baggage compartment. Fabricius might be able to reach it if he climbed up the fuselage, but it looked risky. "That is, if it's not too much trouble."

Sergeant Fels snorted. "Fabricius is used to trouble." He yelled up to Fabricius. "Leave the fuel for now. The passengers would like their baggage."

Fabricius stowed the cooking pot and hose in the cabin and climbed up to the baggage door which he forced open with a vicious looking knife. A short time later he pulled out a case and shouted down. "Ready?"

"Don't throw it," Sergeant Fels bellowed. "Lower the bags gently."

Helene released a breath she didn't remember taking. That had been her case, and she was still hopeful that the crash hadn't broken the gifts she'd bought on this trip.

She watched Fabricius tie a line to the handle and lower the bag to the ground. Although calling the way he let the line slide through his gloved hands "lower" was being generous. Only at the last moment, just before it reached the outstretched hands of Lance Corporal Dinckeler, did he slow it down. Dinckeler untied the bag and Fabricius hauled the line up to repeat the exercise.

"That's the last of them," Fabricius called a few minutes later.

"Very well, Fabricius. You may now get your fuel," Sergeant Fels called.

Helene joined Philipp and Elisabeth around Dinckeler as they picked out their property. There was a single case left.

"Who does it belong to?" Dinckeler asked.

Helene shrugged. "I don't know. Probably the pilot."

Dinckeler picked up the bag and carried it to his Sergeant. "Sarge, this might belong to the pilot."

"I heard." Sergeant Fels opened the bag and was about to examine the contents when a there was a plaintive cry from above.

"Sarge, the effing fuel tank is empty."

Helene had no difficulty detecting the absolute disgust in Fabricius' voice.

Hans Richter Field, Thuringia

Captain Wilhelm Finck entered the situation room behind Tanya Newcomb. He held her seat for her before handing the President a copy of the decoded transcript of the exchange he and Fraülein Newcomb had just completed with Sergeant Fels. He then took his own seat and addressed the people around the table. "My men have reached the survivors. Other than a broken bone in the duke's forearm, which has been attended to, and minor scrapes and bruises, Duke Johann Philipp, Duchess Elisabeth, and Her Excellency, Frau Gundelfinger have come through relatively unharmed. The same can't be said for the pilot, who died on or soon after impact.

"The passengers confirm that both engines stopped suddenly. Her Excellency claims familiarity with modern vehicles and says there was no warning before the engines 'cut out.' Her Excellency claims that this is proof that the crash did not happen because the plane ran out of gas, even though the tanks were empty when my men checked them." Wilhelm paused in case anybody had anything to say.

"That sounds right," Johannes Schöppner said. "The engines would have started to cough and splutter before they cut out if the plane ran out of fuel."

"So why were the tanks empty?" Steve Matheny asked.

"Probably because the pilot decided to dump fuel to reduce the fire risk when he committed to making a forced landing," Johannes answered.

"I've heard they have problems with fuel theft in Fulda. Couldn't someone have stolen fuel and the pilot not noticed?" Press Richards asked.

"That's not going to happen," Johannes said, shaking his head. "Oh, sure, Fulda has problems with people stealing fuel, but part of the pre-flight involves checking the fuel level with a dipstick."

Wilhelm rapped his knuckles on the table to gain everyone's attention. When he had it he continued making his report. "The pilot then spent some time trying to restart the engines before indicating to the passengers that he intended to make an emergency landing without engine power, and instructed them to unlatch the doors before assuming the crash position."

"That sounded very official," Press said to Johannes.

"There's an official checklist titled 'Emergency Landing Without Engine Power.' I think unlatching the doors is step seven. You unlatch the doors so the impact doesn't jam them shut, and the slipstream keeps them closed until the plane stops," Johannes explained.

After a pause to be sure everyone was listening, Wilhelm continued. "The pilot was attempting to land in the tree tops when suddenly the plane fell nose first into the forest." He looked around the table. "The passengers climbed down and lit a fire. When Alfa Papa Two One returned, the two ladies climbed back up and recovered the basket the pilot lowered. They then climbed down again and waited for my men to arrive."

"Thank you, Captain, that's enough," Ed said. "We all know the story from that point on. I understand your men will stay with the aircraft until ground parties arrive to relieve them."

"That is correct, Herr President. My men will then escort the passengers out, probably to Kaltenortheim, where Herr Goodluck has said he will pick them up."

"What? You mean Walter's already headed off?" Press demanded.

"There is a problem?" Wilhelm asked.

"I'll say there is a problem. We still haven't put together a crash investigation team," Press said.

"Herr Goodluck has two mechanics from the Hans Richter Field Maintenance Department with him." Wilhelm carefully didn't relate Walter's statement that it would take forever to get anything done if he left it up to the "bods in the situation room." He was just glad that someone had taken charge and started making decisions.

"So what does that leave for us to do?" Ed asked.

Press sighed. "Sleep sounds like a good idea. The survivors are being looked after, someone is heading that way to investigate the cause of the crash, and Bamberg is checking on the pilot's next of kin. Until we know what caused the plane to crash there isn't a lot we can, or need, to do."

1423hrs, Thursday, March 8, 1635, Somewhere in the Thuringerwald

Johann Fabricius, United States of Europe Marines, stopped and listened. Yes, there were people approaching. He moved closer so he could identify them. There were at least a dozen of them. The ones he could see looked like ordinary foresters, and they appeared to be following the trail the Marines had made the previous day. Fabricius backed off and made a hasty, but quiet, beeline for the camp.

He slid up beside Sergeant Fels' tent. "Sarge, there's a group of woodsmen heading this way."

Sergeant Fels put down the report he was writing and crawled out of his tent. He looked up to the sky to get an estimate of the time. "They might just ...