Johnny O'Brien - Day of the Assassins

The sky was finally beginning to darken in the east as the midsummer sun set. Way below, the European canvas spread out from the English Channel to the Russian steppes. Far away, for the first time, the professor spotted that the horizon had an irregular, jagged outline and exuded a faint, pink glow.

He mumbled something — half to himself, half to Jack — who slept soundly on in the opposite corner. “The Alps.”

“Wake up!” The professor shook him hard. Jack woke shivering. He raised his head above the woollen blanket and unfolded himself from his foetal position in the corner of the basket. Every bone ached. Although it was light, the temperature had dropped dramatically. He peered gingerly over the edge of the balloon and was staggered by what he saw. Mountains. Everywhere. The balloon was scarcely clearing the peaks — vast rock outcrops, many snow tipped, interspersed with verdant pine-clad valleys. Wedged into the north-facing bowls, snowfields and glaciers still clung on, stubbornly resisting the summer warmth.

The professor seemed to be very excited. “The Alps! Mountains! Isn’t it beautiful? Austria. Incredible!”

“Are we going to land?”

“No doubt about it… out of gas… we’re going down. Fast! We may even crash. Isn’t it marvellous?”

Jack wasn’t so sure. Wasn’t there supposed to be some procedure for this kind of event?

“Don’t we need to fasten seatbelts, stop serving hot drinks… that sort of thing?”

The professor wasn’t listening. He was now staring out from the basket concentrating hard on the mountain terrain, “I think you should wrap yourself up in the blankets… and hold on tight. We are descending quickly… let’s hope we get lucky… some of those peaks look, well, they look high.”

“Why didn’t you put us down safely, before we ran out of gas?”

“What’s that my boy?” the professor shouted back over his shoulder.

“I said… why wait until now to land?”

“In the dark? Suicide! We reached the mountains faster than I anticipated. The wind speed was even greater than I expected. I have been looking for a safe spot since first light. No luck. We’ll have to take our chances.”

The professor had scarcely finished his sentence when there was a loud grating as the underside of the basket made contact with a craggy peak and scraped along it for nearly twenty metres. Then, the mountain dropped sharply away and they were again suspended above a green ‘U’-shaped valley with a kilometre drop to the valley floor.

The balloon swooped up the side of the next mountain as it caught a favourable updraught from the valley. It cleared the next ridge, but the basket suspended beneath was less fortunate. They hit a snow-covered arete between a double peak very hard and were both slammed face first into the inside of the basket. The professor groaned and blood started to stream from his nose. Then, a great slab of snow fell into them as the cornice on the opposite side of the arete collapsed onto the basket as it was dragged on by the balloon.

Breaking free from the cornice, they found themselves swinging high above the next valley. The weight of the snow in the basket forced the balloon downwards alarmingly. With only their bare hands, Jack and the professor desperately shovelled snow out of the basket to reduce weight. Ahead, they could see that they were now heading for a large expanse of snow and ice, spread wide on a plateau resting below the next ridge. A glacier. They made contact — hard. The basket bounced once and the snow, deep frozen from the night before, exploded into a sparkling cloud of icy vapour. Their journey wasn’t finished. The balloon still had momentum and it continued to drag them at speed across the rising plateau of the glacier. They were now lying on one side and Jack and the professor were pressed into the wicker floor by snow rapidly accumulating inside. They were helpless. But finally, the angle of the glacier pitched upwards and the balloon decelerated. The momentum of the balloon began to slow and they came to a gentle rest.

Jack was encased in snow. He couldn’t believe the weight of the stuff — he could hardly move. It was in his ears, his eyes, his mouth. He pressed his legs into the bottom of the basket, and with a momentous heave managed to wrench himself free. He tumbled out onto the glacier and lay on his back, panting heavily. A moment later, the professor managed to do the same and they both lay — prostrate and exhausted — staring up at the Alpine sky. They looked back at the tangled mess of the balloon and the trail of material their landing had sprayed onto the pristine ice shelf. The professor managed to lift his head a little further to inspect the damage.

“I hope the Royal Navy don’t want their balloon back,” he said, and promptly dropped his head back onto the snow. Jack was too bruised and drained to respond, but just for a second, he smiled.

Way above them on the same mountain, two men watched the spectacle of the balloon’s crash landing and its occupants’ fortunate escape. The men were well equipped and wore skis. Quietly, they slid from the shoulder of the mountain and started to carve regular turns in the slope of deep powder snow. The steep slopes at the top of the glacier, in the early morning, even at this time of year, made for outstanding powder skiing. They put in neat regular turns, to control their descent.

Towards the bottom of the initial descent the slope levelled out and gave way to the main glacier field. The men made their way to where the balloon and its contents were strewn over the glacier. In minutes they arrived where Jack and the professor still lay. The glare of the morning sun was intense and Jack was only able to open his eyes into a thin slit. But the two figures who now appeared in his narrow field of vision were unmistakeable — Tony and Gordon.

Tony stared down at them both, surrounded by the wreckage of the accident.

“Well you’ve made a bit of a mess of this little lot, haven’t you son?” Tony said. The moisture on his breath instantly condensed to vapour in the freezing air.

“Bit of a mess…” Gordon parroted.

Jack could only stare back at them defiantly.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Tony said.

The professor got to his feet, shakily, but still managed a smile. “Professor Pinckard-Schnell — delighted to meet you.” He thrust out a hand, “Are you here to rescue us? You’ve been very quick.”

Tony and Gordon looked at each other and laughed.

“You could say that, professor, you could say that,” Gordon replied.

Tony turned to Jack who still lay prostrate on the snow. He leaned down and Jack flinched.

Tony put up his palms defensively, and said, “Whoa lad — let me help you now.” For a moment, Jack was taken aback — his tone was almost… kind. He helped Jack into a sitting position, dusted down the snow and then started to examine him — looking into his eyes for symptoms of concussion and checking for other signs of injury.

Soon he pronounced himself satisfied, “A bit battered and bruised — but you’ll live.” He turned to the professor, “What about you my friend? Looks like you could do with something for that nose.”

The professor was holding his hand under both nostrils and they were still bleeding profusely. “Thank you.”

Gordon took some cotton wool from his rucksack and started to wipe the blood from the professor’s face. “Not as bad as it looks, Professor. It’s not broken anyway. A lucky escape.”

Tony shook his head, “Yep — it looked quite a heavy landing from up there. You had us worried for a moment…”

He turned his attention back to Jack, who was regaining some composure, “Now, son, first things first, we’ve got very disappointing news for you… It appears, under strict orders from VIGIL, that no harm is to come to you… and we are to take you back to base — safely.”