Chapter 2 – FURIOUS

  The seas of the South Atlantic are an unforgiving place. Powerful deep grey waves larger than houses roll across the horizon, slamming and crashing into the hull of the aircraft carrier which has been Lynette's home for the past month. Ceaseless winds rattle the port-hole glass of her quarters as the young witch sits quietly trying to complete her mornings light reading - a few chapters of The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 

         Lynn has discovered reading to be one of the few activities she can find pleasure in during her long journey south. The Captain and several members of the ships crew had donated whatever literature they had onboard to her when she alited back in Halifax, Farawayland. They were more than happy to provide for a hero of her fame. 

          Regardless, almost thirty days had gone by since her departure and Lynn was beginning to feel the twinge of boredom sink in. She’s a pilot, not a sailor, and this life at sea is certainly not for her. It doesn't help matters that this old carrier - the HMS Furious was practically falling apart. The Royal Navy had not wished to draw unwanted attention to the operation and so had decided to not send any of Britannias new, more modern carriers. They had sent the battleships the HMS Anson and the HMS Warspite along as escort however, something Lynn has remained confused over, after all, the Neuroi are gone. 

          Suddenly, as Lynn turns the page of her novel, she is startled by a loud and heavy bang from outside the port of her cabin. Jumping up she stands on her tiptoes to peer out of the tiny round hole to investigate. What she sees outside is rather surprising, something she’s been waiting for all this time - ice. Huge chunks of floating ice. With a smile Lynette quickly gets fully dressed into her uniform, fumbling slightly with her bootlaces from excitement, before dashing from her room to see the Captain on the bridge. 

           The passageways of the Furious are narrow, cramped and winding, illuminated by a nauseating artificial glow which bounces around the myriad of pipes and conduits zig zagging up the walls and across the overhead. Lynn's heavy footsteps echo loudly as she joggs as fast as she dares through this restrictive environment.  

           Upon clambering up an almost painfully vertical portside set of stairs Lynn bounds around a corner at speed before having to quickly hop over the wash-bucket of a crewman dutifully mopping the deck. Lynette’s large breasts bounce freely as she takes to the air, before landing with a spin to offer an apology to the startled sailor. 

           “Terribly sorry!” she calls out through staggered breaths, giving a quick courteous bow before steaming onward in her journey up the ship. It would seem the young sailor is however more than happy to see their guest so lively today.

           “Good morning Officer Bishop!” he calls out to her as she vanishes along the passage. 

           “Good morning!” is all he receives as reply, a quiet, disembodied voice echoing from Lynn now somewhere further ahead. With that sudden excitement over he returns to mopping the floors with a comfortable smile across his warmed face. 

           Upon the ship's rather subdued bridge Captain Richard J. Hawthorn stands smothered in a large woollen coat and scarf, draped over his regular uniform as he sips regularly from a deep mug of steaming hot tea. His fellow crewmen attend to their duties, monitoring the ships heading and speed, checking on the countless indicators and dials while the navigator observes the outside world through a pair of bulky binoculars. Every now and then an order is given out; however the atmosphere is one of relaxed calm. Everyone knows what they are doing, and they do it well.  

           After a while a messenger relays to Captain Richard that Lynette is here to see him. Giving the young girl permission to enter the bridge she soon appears before him with a firm salute, to which he returns with his one free hand. 

            “Good morning Miss Bishop. How are we this morning? Would you care for some tea? It’s good to warm you up on this cold day.” Richard smiles as he motions for one of his crew to provide his visitor with a mug of her own. 

          “Thank you Captain.” Lynn chirps while being handed her beverage before moving to stand next to Richard and observe with him the landscape before them. 

          “Incredible isn't it? The ice flow’s came into view early this morning. I’ve seen sea ice in Soumous and Baltaland but this is something rather special.” the Captain remarks in awe of the scene outside his ship's windows. 

          Indeed it is an incredible sight; a patchwork of large sheets of pure white outcroppings stretch to the horizon as far as the eye can see. Some are almost flat, like plates floating on the surface, while others are jagged and rough, surely with most of their bulk hidden precariously below the waterline. It looks as if someone had shattered one of her mothers fine china saucers over the entire sea or spilled an impossible jigsaw puzzle all about. The sky remains, as it has been for several days now, a brilliant vibrant and cooling baby blue, streaked with puffy thick clouds as white as the ice itself. 

          The ship rocks slightly as a large iceberg glances just off the side of the Furious. Lynn steadies herself, gripping her tea tightly, however she need not worry as all the ships in this small flotilla had been modified before their journey began with reinforced hulls and specially built plough like ice-breaking bows. The Captain had reassured her; there would be no Titanic on this expedition. 

           “We’re still several hours out from where we are to make port Miss Bishop. I have sent a few motor boats out ahead of us to scout for anything of particular note but for now, if all goes to plan we should be at the shore’s of Ultima very soon.” Captain Richards reports proudly. 

           “What would you have me do in the meantime Sir?” Lynn inquires, taking a sip of tea which expels a shiver of cold from her body. 

           “It is high time we begin preparing for your departure. Go and see Operation Commander Rhys. He shall relay further instructions to you from now on. Dismissed Flying Officer.” the Captain says, his relaxed demeanour shifting slightly as his duty to the mission begins to take over. Lynn nods, gives another quick salute and retreats from the bridge to again traverse the labyrinth of the Furious. 

            The lights inside the briefing room flicker sporadically, a sure sign of their age and deterioration. There is a heavy stench of coffee ingrained into the entire cabin, clinging to the pinned up maps and charts, not just from the single cup resting on the large plotting table at its heart, but from the years of long hours and restless nights spent throughout the war drawing up battle plans. Countless many lives must have been saved from this very room for the ship itself to even be here today, rather than at the bottom of the sea thanks to the Neuroi. 

              This is to be the nerve centre of Operation: Highjump, with a direct link of communication to the radio room which will; if all goes correctly, pick up the data Lynette gathers from Ultima in a few days time. Despite how busy this place will surely become, only one man stands examining the papers on the desk when the Britannian witch enters through the heavy watertight bulkhead door. Commander Rhys, a burly muscular fellow with a thick matted beard and striking red beret atop his head turns to greet Lynette as she approaches. 

           “Ah good, you're here, and just in time.” Rhys bellows with the energy of a large bulldog, his deep voice rattling to Lynn’s very bones. Despite the eccentric Welshmans imposing nature however, Lynn knows he’s friendly enough. 

           “You seem to have been very busy in here Commander Rhys.” Lynn remarks. 

           “Indeed, indeed! Never a moment's rest pet. I’ve been buzzing over this all since we left Halifax. The opportunity to explore Ultima; why, it’s a dream really!” Rhys laughs, his chuckles booming about the room. 

            Lynn can't help but feel a wonderfully familiar aura surrounding the Commander. He radiates what could be called “granddad energy”. She knows the man's history of course; he was a decorated commando with the SAS in the war, a world famous outdoorsman and mountaineer, a man who; according to himself, scaled Mount Snowdon alone when he was barely six years old. He’s energetic, a story teller, someone not to be trifled with, but a man who would cuddle you like a bear once he gets to know you. He’s nothing at all like Lynette's father back home, but on this long journey Rhys has taken on that role, whether he realises it or not. 

             “Have you finished reading the books I lent you?” he asks, stroking his beard inquisitively.

             “I’m still finishing up Hound of the Baskervilles Sir.” Lynn replies meekly, unsure if Rhys had expected her to have already finished his donated novels. 

             “Oh? And who do you think is the culprit?” Rhys wonders. 

             “I’m really not sure yet. It’s a very good mystery.” Lynn has to admit.

             “Isn't it just? Now, come here Flight Officer, it’s time we begin setting up.” Rhys beckons, moving his mug from the table as he straightens out the documents ready for the briefing. 

              “Ok, listen up!” Rhys demands as Lynn stands to attention before the desk, the overhead lights seemingly quivering in the moment of suspenseful silence before the Commander continues. “Your first assignment; Flying Officer Bishop, will be to follow as an escort a reconocence flight departing from the Furious at 17:00 hours later today! Before we begin looking for the oil field it is important that we secure the immediate inland area surrounding our insertion point; codename High Water Bay. The flight crew, including myself, will be engaging in mapping and photography of Ultima. You are to protect the aircraft and acclimatise yourself with flying above Ultima itself.” Rhys orders bluntly and efficiently, drawing the flight plan of the recon mission out from a large bay and over a blank section of the map on the table. 

              “But I have already completed my sub-zero training in Farawayland sir. That’s what I was doing before boarding the Furious.” Lynn suggests.

             “You have, but it’s been a month since then. We can't have you getting rusty. Besides; Ultima is a different beast entirely. Do you understand?” Rhys remarks. 

             “Yes Sir!” Lynette confirms confidently.

             “Good. Now embark to the hangar and make sure the engineers have your strikers up to snuff. They, like these boats, have been slightly modded to better handle the freezing temperatures. They might feel a big difference at first. Dismissed Flying Officer!” the Commander says, immediately reaching again for his coffee. Lynn salutes the man, who still has much work to be doing before heaving open the bulkhead and leaving him alone. “Ha! Good kid.” Rhys remarks into his steaming mug with a grin.

               A steady, constant icy wind rushes across the slopped flight deck of the HMS Furious. Right now the wind’s aren't anything too serious to be worried about, and it’s certainly not enough to dampen the spirits of the crew making their final take off preparations on the spooled up Avro Anson parked at the ship's rear. The plane's twin engines roar brilliantly, kicking up plumes of powdery snow from the wooden deck and a small crowd of sailors watches on excitedly from the tower. For some of them this is the first time they’ve seen a take off from their ship since the war.

             As the three man crew, including Commander Rhys scurry about the fuselage in their thick and warm winter coveralls, Lynette taxies up alongside the waiting aircraft in her striker, her gigantic rifle slung across her back. 

            “How are we doing!?” the young girl yells at the top of her lungs, only barely audible over the powerful engines. Rhys simply responds with a hearty thumbs up from the open back door, before slamming it closed behind him to take his seat at the radio set. After he does so the tiny receiver in Lynette's ear crackles to life, allowing the witch to hear her companions inside the plane perfectly clearly. 

             “We’re alright, all good to go. Tower, this is Castle-1 ready for takeoff!” Rhys radios to the ship’s bridge. 

             “Castle-1 you are clear for takeoff. Have a safe flight.” comes in response. Immediately the bulky Anson pitches forward as it begins to gather speed and propel itself down the length of the carrier. Several seconds later Lynette follows behind, giving the plane plenty of distance to get into the air, she can catch up fast enough. 

             Upon getting airborne Lynn is overcome with a fantastical feeling of joy. It’s been far too long since she took to the skies in her strikers, and doing so now brings her a wonderfully nostalgic tingle. She did fly while training in the snowy north of Farawayland, however they didn't have her usual Spitfire model of unit on hand; so she had been forced to substitute for a rather horrible Airspeed Oxford. None of that matters now though; as the witch, with a huge smile on her face, her eyes shining behind her goggles, catches up to the recon plane to begin their mission. 

             “Glad you could join us, Flying Officer Bishop! I’m Sergeant John Cobbler, I’ll be your pilot for this evening.” the aircrafts young pilot calls out over his headset. 

             “Aw’ight, yeah and I’m Corporal White, Elliot White ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you, happy to have you with us!” the cockney cameraman likewise says across the radio.

             “Thank you both. Let's all have a good flight!” Lynette replies as she pulls up alongside the cockpit with a friendly, feminine wave.