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From: Cederwyn Whitefurr <Cederwyn4018@optusnet.com.au>
Newsgroups: fur.stories.misc
Subject: Fur: Final Flight (First Draft)
Date: Sun, 13 Jul 2003 00:28:35 +1000
Organization: Fox's Underground Revolution - http://www.fur.com/
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===================
Final Flight
(c) Cederwyn Whitefurr
July, 2003
All Rights Reserved
All was quiet in the well-kept house that creaked and groaned to itself,
muttering in some alien language only it understood. Mice skittered across
the kitchen floor, pilfering tiny scraps of food for themselves and their
young, and the occupants of the
house slept on blissfully, each in a deep sleep - their thoughts flicking
from one disjointed image to the other. Down the hallway, the old
grandfather clock solemnly tolled thrice, then resumed its quiet, soothing
tick-tock.
In her small bed, the young Gazelle fawn moaned and waved her hoof-paw
weakly, before it slumped back down onto the coverlet and tugged at it. Her
eyelids flickered and her quiet, low whimpers escaped her, as the nightmare
ensnared the young fawn and dragged her unwillingly into its dark, torturous
embrace.
"No." Whimpered the fawn, as tears slid down her cheeks and dripped onto
her pillow, her body trembling as if stricken with fever. "No - don't.go
daddy."
Clutching her coverlet in her shaking hoof-paw, the young fawn's whimpers
grew louder, then with a piercing shriek she sat bolt-upright, screaming
hysterically and pulling her sheets up around her, her eyes brimming with
tears as her piercing squeals
were wrenched from her tightening breast. Loud hoof-beats clattered down
the hall, then her bedroom door nearly tore itself off its hinges, as her
father burst in, clutching a large steel baseball bat in his hoof-paws, his
gaze blazing with fear and anger.
Behind the large stag, stood the slender form of the doe, her own wide-set
eyes filled with tears and fear.
Flicking the light switch on, the three gazelle's all instinctively
flinched at the incandescent light that momentarily dazzled them, then the
buck's eyes swept across the chamber and he took a step into his daughter's
bedroom. Satisfied there was no
threat to his daughter or his family, the stag sighed and slumped back
against the wall, and the doe rushed to the hysterically sobbing fawns side
and quickly pulled the slender fawn tight against her warm bosom and began
stroking her ears and hugging her.
"Oh, my poor, poor baby - " Whispered the Doe. "Its all right sweetie,
come on - calm down.. Everything is alright."
Sobbing, the fawn clutched her mother in a surprisingly tight embrace, as
she shook off the last of the lingering nightmare.
"No - " Wept the heartbroken fawn. "Its not alright.daddy, please.please,
you must not go!"
"Go?" Answered her father, as he came over and knelt beside her bed, and
then stroked her wet cheek. "Go where my beloved daughter?"
Exasperated and still half asleep, the fawn waved her hoof-paw weakly at the
window. Confused, the stag looked at the doe, which shrugged her shoulders
and tenderly licked her daughter between the ears.
"Shhh, come on my sweet daughter, it was only a nightmare.a bad dream.
Nothing is wrong." Whispered the doe, as she sought to soothe her daughter.
"No - " wept the fawn. "Daddy, please.don't.go. You.you must not go to
work, you won't.come back!"
Blinking, the stag flicked an ear and his gaze grew thoughtful and
concerned.
"What? What makes you say that my sweet?" He asked. "Come on, you know me
better than that. Look, I'll promise you, I'll come home - and I'll bring
you something special to make up for it.deal?"
Sniffling, the fawn whimpered and her deep, wide-set brown eyes locked onto
her fathers with a frightened intensity that sent a shiver up his spine.
"You.won't...come..home!" Wailed the fawn, as she rolled over and curled up
into a tight ball, sobbing heartbrokenly.
*
Grunting, the stag cinched tighter the five-point safety-harness, as his
Lapine first-officer read back the hold-short commands to ATC. Giving the
instruments a quick once-over, the stag triple checked them again, then
pushed his captain's cap back up
from his eyes and looked out at the drizzly rain that spattered against the
cockpit glass.
"Roger Orlando Ground.Going to 132.21mhz." Answered the First Officer, as
he reached out and changed radio frequencies, and then glanced at the
Captain. "Hey - you okay over there?"
"Huh?" Blinked the Gazelle. "Oh.sure Steve.sorry. Okay, pre-flight
checkout OK. Orlando Tower, Flight 371, requesting TO clearance."
"Flight 371, TO approved, runway zero-four Right." Came the voice of the
controller.
"Roger that Tower." Answered the Gazelle, as he reached out and wrapped
his fingers slowly around the throttle levers.
Carefully, the stag advanced the levers to 80% of primary thrust, and he
glanced back at the instruments once again, feeling the powerful turbines
winding up to speed. The airliner shook and roared with the strains of the
cycling engines, then the stag released the brakes and the lumbering jet
began rolling down the runway.
"80.90.100.110." He intoned, glancing at the speedometer. "Rotate to V1."
Together, they both pulled back slightly on the twin yokes, raising the
nose to the +10 pitch angle.
"130.140.150.rotate to V2." Spoke the Captain.
"Roger that - positive ROC." Answered his First Officer.
Feeling the G-forces pushing them back in their couches, they both remained
intently alert, scanning the instruments and the cloudy skies outside the
cockpit.
"Retract to zero-one degree flap level, raise gear." Sighed the stag, as
he flicked over the de-icing switches for the wings.
"Roger - flaps set to zero-one degrees, gear is.up and green." Answered the
First Officer, automatically following the commands he was given.
"Flight 371 - Orlando Approach. Please turn to a heading of
three-three-zero degrees, climb and maintain flight level two-eight-niner."
Came the voice over their headsets.
Flicking an ear, the Captain reached down and set the desired heading on
the onboard computers, then it beeped and the CRT lit up with 'Confirm GPS
course'.
"Flight 371, Orlando Approach - please acknowledge." Came the calm voice.
"Roger Orlando Approach, climb and maintain flight level two-eight-niner."
Answered the stag quietly, his paws trembling on the onboard console.
"Hey - " Hissed Steve, the First Officer, as he as he executed the turn and
set the autopilot.
"Steve - I'm fine, I didn't mean to startle you." Sighed the stag quietly,
as his eyes dropped down to the forward-looking radar and tapped it. "Storm
cell."
Steve glanced at the buck Captain, then shook his head and flicked his own
gaze to the radar. "I see it.good one too. Shouldn't affect us, our course
will take us around the worst of it, still - could get a little rough.
Carl? Come on - keep your mind on the flight big-guy, we've got over a
hundred passengers and seven flight stewards on board. Let's try to remain
professional. I really don't want you coming apart on me up here, and
forcing me to take us back to Orlando, and have you reported to the FDAA."
"Huh - oh, absolutely. It's nothing, really - okay!" Snapped the stag
sternly, as he scanned the instruments. "Good. Retract level 1 flaps,
disengage auto-throttle in five.four...three.two..."
"Crossing ten thousand ASL - " Steve answered coolly.
"Disengaging auto-throttle, landing lights.off. Level one flap retract
successful.
Working as a team, the Captain and First Officer carried out their diligent
tasks, each acting as a whole to ensure the safety and comfort of their
passengers. After crossing the 10'000 feet threshold, Steve reached up and
flicked off the seatbelt light and looked out the window at the rising sun,
far to the east.
"You know something Carl?" Steve mused as he relaxed his hold on the yoke,
then felt the autopilot take control. "I've flown now, for what.well - too
long, yet there is nothing I've seen yet, that can compare with a sunrise
like that!"
Carl blinked and flicked his gaze out the starboard window and nodded, then
made a few delicate adjustments to their plotted IFR course, then hit
execute.
"Sure is pretty, isn't it?" Carl admitted.
Far to the east, the first stabbing rays of sunlight broke over the
horizon, casting their golden glow over the low clouds, scintillating rays
lancing out across the sky. As the airliner rose into the bursting dawn,
there came a soft, almost furtive knock on the cockpit door. Steve and Carl
ignored it, and then it was done again, with the right length of time
between each knock. Steve sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt and rose, then
opened the cockpit's heavily reinforced door.
"Morning First Officer, Captain - " Spoke the shy young female Racoon
Steward, as she peeked nervously into the cockpit. "Would you gentleman
like some coffee?"
"Sure, thanks." Carl nodded as he stared down at the weather radar, and
then touched the dash-mounted VHF radio. "Orlando Control, this is Flight
371 - we have severe storm cell activity at one-niner-three miles. Repeat,
we have severe storm cell activity at one-niner-three miles, request IFR
transition to two-five-five degrees."
"Negative, flight 371, maintain present course. Will advise." Came the
response.
"Roger Control - " Carl sighed.
"Here's your coffee Carl," Steve spoke, handing the gazelle the steaming
cup, then taking his seat. "So - what's got Mr. Cool, so rattled today?"
Carl sipped his coffee, then grimaced and set it down in the holder moulded
into his chair.
"Nothing - don't worry about it." Carl replied quietly.
"Nothing?" Steve snorted as he pulled the harness back around himself. "As
your First Officer, I need to know - Captain.if you're unwell or something's
wrong. We're not just a pair of trainee recruits in a simulator you know!"
"Just." Carl sighed, and then rubbed a hoof-paw across his eyes.
"Its...just my daughter, Jessica. She had a bad dream.and it took us hours
to get her calmed."
"Jessica? How is that little terror? She's what - three now?" Steve
grinned.
"Three and a half." Carl responded quietly. "It.never-mind. Come on,
you're right. I shouldn't let a little fawn's nightmares impact on my
professionalism and duty of care."
"Flight 371, Orlando Centre - please go to 122.90." Came the voice from the
speaker.
As Steve flicked over to the new frequency, he glanced sideways at Carl,
who looked down at his shaking hoof-paws and swallowed, his ears flattening
nervously.
"Flight 371, roger Orlando Centre." Steve replied.
*
Two hours later, both Gazelle and Lapine continued their routine tasks,
when Carl set down his third coffee cup and flicked his gaze down to the
radar and he blinked, and then tapped it.
"Steve - check this out." Carl grunted. "That storm cell look.different.to
you?"
Steve glanced down at the CRT and blinked. "Whoa - that's one nasty bit of
nature. Better call it in to Orlando Centre.."
"Orlando Centre, this is Flight 371 - " Carl began, and then a high-pitched
shrieking squeal erupted over the headphones.
"Fuck me!" Steve screamed as he tore the headphones off his head. "What
the hell was that?"
"Steve.we got a new problem.check out the magnetic compass.." Carl
whispered in horror, as he pointed a shaking hoof-paw at it.
The compass rolled, spun and gyrated wildly, then the CRT for the radar
fritzed and went black.
"Oh...no." Steve gasped, as he snatched up the map and hurriedly made
calculations.
Warning buzzers and soft, insistent alarms began to ring, as the AWS panel
began lighting, red warning lights coming on one after another.
"God damn you!" Carl snarled, as the flight yoke suddenly tore itself out
of his grasp and the aircraft began bucking and yawing wildly.
"Steve - screw the damn map! Help me hold this bitch together!" Carl
screamed, as he fought the convulsing yoke, the tendons in his arms bulging
and straining.
"Emergency.warning.emergency.warning.emergency.warning." Came the soft,
feminine voice from the onboard computer.
CRT's sparked and sizzled, one by one, going black and lifeless, as the
dull, soft purr of the engines began cycling up higher and higher.
"Emergency.warning.emergency.warning." Repeated the voice.
Screaming, the jet's engines started to edge into the redline, as the
airliner began to yaw downwards, the altimeter needle reeling backwards as
the jet's downwards lunge grew worse.
"Come on.you.damn.bitch!" Carl screamed, as he planted his hooves either
side of the rudder pedals and pulled for all he was worth on the yoke.
"Twenty-five thousand.twenty-four thousand.." Steve shrieked, as he too
fought to pull the jet out of its sickening downward plunge.
Carl slammed the throttle-levers into flight-idle, then returned to pulling
the yoke with all he was, and together - they slowly began to nose the
airliners nose back up....
As an eldritch, ethereal fire danced and skirted over the outside of the
jet, Steve and Carl exchanged confused glances - then as the aircraft dived
down into a thick bank of cloud, there was a flash, like that of summer
lightning..
*
In Orlando Airports Control Tower, the controller sipped his coffee,
listening to the soft bleep-ping of the transponder from flight AN-371.
Rubbing his eyes, he glanced up and looked out at the darkening sky, before
the bleep-ping suddenly went silent..
With a choking gasp, the Controller nearly sprayed his coffee everywhere,
as he blinked and stared at the radar screen.
"Flight 371, Orlando Centre - Traffic Alert! Less than one mile, report
traffic in sight. Repeat, Traffic alert - less than one mile - report.."
Bleep.ping.bleep.ping.bleep.bleep.bleep.bleep.bleep..
"Oh dear god - " Whispered the horrified Controller, as he stared at his
radar tracking screen - a screen from which AN-371 had vanished as if it'd
never existed..
Trying to keep his composure, he slapped his hand on the silent alarm that
would alert his senior-controller, who hurried up to him.
"Flight AN-371, Orlando Control - please respond." Whispered the
ashen-faced controller. "Flight AN-371.Orlando Control.please respond.."
At the senior controllers urgent orders, fellow controllers switched over
their own tracking screens - and began scanning the skies for the missing
flight..
Flight AN-371 had vanished..
*
For over two weeks, planes and boats from the Coast Guard, Navy and other
Search and Rescue vessels and planes swept the flight-path of the missing
flight AN-371.without results. It was as if the doomed flight had simply
vanished from
existence, and rumours and accusations flew back and forth, for it was
revealed the doomed jetliner had been over a hundred miles off course - and
had strayed into that ambiguous airspace.known as the Bermuda Triangle.
*
Forty-five years later..
*
The elderly Gazelle Doe stood at the stern rail of the research vessel, the
tears sliding down her cheeks as she watched two human males raise a large
floral wreath - then threw it overboard, down into the gentle wash from the
120,000 tonne research vessel. As her knees buckled, others rushed forwards
and caught her, before her frail; form could collapse to the deck. They
helped her back to her hooves, then she sobbed and clutched her hoof-paws to
her breast, before she bowed her head and slowly stretched out her right
hoof-paw, then overturned it - allowing the golden wings badge she had kept
for all these years, to fall from her nerveless fingers.and vanish amidst
the churning wash of the ships passage.
It was a final farewell - to not only her father - but to all the lives
lost, on flight AN-371.
END