Richard Mountbatten - Spell of the Beast

"That's the most unspeakably vulgar thing… I've ever heard!" Joan Wright said, blushing, as she turned her head in embarrassment, not daring to look up into the arrogant eyes of the man who stood relaxed and at ease beside the partly demolished fuselage of the wrecked plane.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Wright… haven't you ever been propositioned before?" he asked, his eyes, crinkling at the corners into deep crow's feet, his disarming smile revealing straight, white and even teeth contrasting with the deep tan of his lean, good-looking face.

"Under the circumstances… I-I hardly expected… something like this… Mr. Henson!" she faltered.

"Call me Buzz!"

"No, thank you, Mr. Henson… We're going to remain just as we were! There'll be no… personal relationships!"

"Think it over… Joan…" he began, but her flashing, angry eyes stopped him.

She snapped: "Mrs. Wright… to you!"

"Mrs. Wright…" he mocked. "You're not in a very good position to bargain!"

"Why should I have to bargain… with you?"

"Very simple… I've got something you want… and…" he leered, looking up and down her trim sensuous figure. "You've got something… I want!"

"The answer, Mr. Henson… is a definite no!"

His slow, confident smile was maddening to her; she turned away from him, her eyes misting with disappointment she would never allow him to see, and walked the ten yards or so across the small natural clearing to the rude shelter where her husband lay on his sleeping bag. She stopped in front of the lean-to and for the thousandth time scanned the bright, blue sky, shading her eyes against the glare, hoping and praying that this time a search plane would flit into view; likewise her ears strained for the sound of an airplane engine. There was nothing in the sky except dipping, caroling birds and flitting insects. The wind, sighing through the upper branches of the forest seemed extraordinarily loud in her ears as her now more than sensitive ears caught heretofore unnoticed sounds of the wilderness. The creaking of branches, the chatter of squirrels, the buzz of insect wings and the gurgling sounds of water over the rocks in the stream bed that clove through the small glade.

Under other circumstances, it would have been an idyllic paradise, far from the cares and pressures of everyday city life, and she would have been tempted to stay, make it her own retreat, a Shangri-La where a person could live a simple life of peace and contemplation. The circumstances, however, made it, for her less than a paradise, lower than a heaven on earth; actually, more like a hell on earth… ever since their plane had hurtled through the tree tops to crash in grinding, metal-tortured horror in this northern wilderness. With a conscious act of will she blotted out the details of the plane's terrifying descent and subsequent violent crunch to earth in this isolated and God-forsaken spot. The memory of those moments were too vivid, too laden with fear and terror for her.

OOOooooh! God! We're going to crash! We'll all be killed! Not now, God! Oh, please… not now…!

Joan looked down at her husband, his bandage-swathed head lying on the rough material of the sleeping bag a further reminder to her of those awful moments. Jim had been sitting in the copilot's seat when the plane had gone into the ground, flinging him forward, his head striking hard against the instrument panel, knocking him unconscious and opening a mean looking gash in his forehead. He had been unconscious for a day and a half; since then he had had periods of consciousness, during which he seemed to be lucid, lapsing after an hour or so into incoherent mouthings followed by another siege of total blackout. His moans of pain had prompted her to ask Buzz Henson, the pilot, whether there were some kind of pain relieving tablets in the medicine supplies. The innocent question had been distorted and turned back upon her. She had fled.

"Sure, there are some codeine tablets in there… why?"

He made no move to get them from the kit. Instead, he had lounged back, easily, his hands in his pockets and a lewd smile played over his face.

"My husband… is having quite a lot of pain… and I'd like to give him something… to ease it…"

"I'm sure you do… Mrs. Wright… What are they worth to you?" Buzz asked.

"Well… I didn't think I'd have to pay for them! Just a moment… I'll go get my purse… and I'd pay whatever they'd be worth in a regular drugstore…"

"I'm not talking about money… Joan!"

"Oh…?"

She was surprised at his use of her first name; it became a little too personal. He was a charter pilot, and, to her, it seemed he was assuming too much, too soon. True, he was a handsome man of trim, athletic build and proportions, standing almost six feet tall, with blond, sun-streaked hair and ice-blue eyes.

"Out here," he said, looking, pointedly, around at the crash site with an air of complete confidence, "out here… no amount of money could buy those pain pills! I'm the captain in charge and they might be needed for something more serious later."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Henson… I just don't… seem to follow you… at all…"

"Look, Joan… you're a big girl, now… a married woman… and you surely know all about the birds and bees…" he said, sarcasm dripping from his statement.

Joan's cheeks flamed with tardy understanding. She gasped: "You mean…?"

"I mean… if you want those codeine tablets bad enough… you'll be willing to pay for them with the only negotiable currency you've got…!"

"That's inhuman…! You'd be denying another person… something he needs…!" she argued.

"Correction! I'm being very human! I need something, too… and it's spelled S*E*X! In other words I want to fuck you!"

The word hung vibrant in the air between them, and Joan had broken off the conversation with the pilot to return to the shelter where her husband lay.

Buzz Henson watched her walk away from him, her haughty shoulders squared, indignantly, head held high. He noted how well her full, rounded buttocks filled the bright yellow shorts she wore, her thighs tapering, parabolically, down to dainty knees that linked to finely curved calves and trim ankles. The blouse had left nothing to the imagination, its sheer cloth revealing ample, up-thrusting breasts held up by a skimpy bra that threatened to release the burden of her full white fleshy bounty at the slightest provocation.

She'll be back! I'd bet on it! Damn! What a woman!

Joan sat down, tiredly, dejectedly, beside her husband. She refused to allow herself the luxury of tears; their present predicament was too desperate. They had crashed in rugged mountain country somewhere south and east of Havre, Montana. Buzz had guessed, after studying his maps carefully, that they had gone down in the Lion's Paw Mountains.

"It's probably called Lion's Paw because of the general shape… but we're one hell of a long ways from any civilization… for sure!" Buzz had said, impressing them with the seriousness of their position.

Andy Sloan had added, mildly: "We're fortunate it's late summer… instead of winter time…"

"Who in hell would want to come up here during the winter?" Buzz challenged.

The older man had looked away and mumbled vaguely: "I suppose… there are… some people…"

He had avoided the clash of will and of personality with the young, daredevil pilot; after a while, he had arisen and walked down across the little meadow to the stream.

Jim moaned and opened his eyes. He focused on Joan sitting beside him, his hand going out toward her. She turned toward him, happily, as his hand touched her back.

"Oh, Jim! You're awake… again! How do you feel, darling?"