Assumptions

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Major Jacob Farthing stopped his climb, turning back the way he’d just come he reached down to help his lady up another muddy hillside. Behind her, in the distance, their private timeship lay buried in a swamp. Several native denizens were still scampering over its hull, biting at what should be lunch, but wasn't.

"You know" his wife Elizabeth rasped, staggering to her feet while slapping drying muck away from her clothing. "That's the last time I invite those mercenaries to a party. It was dodging them got us stuck in this mess." She looked up, following vapor trails of ships in combat, knowing full well the most impossible track had to belong to those she spoke of. "I ever get my hands on them, I'm going to shove them into a swamp, with no option but to hike out like we are. Lets just see how they like it."

Jacob stretched his back, feeling his spine pop back into place. It wasn't that he was over weight mind you. It was just that the weight he carried tended to make him short of breath sometimes. "Don't worry honey. I called for help at our last rest stop remember? Base promised to gate over the first available ship and pilot. We'll be headed back to base and a nice hot soak soon.” He looked longingly at the silvery shape barely visible over a mile away, slowly disappearing under what had to be dozens of meters of peat swamp. "We'll dig her out, clean her up good as new."

Elizabeth looked around, running her comb through muck and bug encrusted fur. "What about those clothes you bought me last night?" She suddenly shook as something on her crawled where it had no business being, and some of the things were trying to dig past her guard hairs, that could be nasty. "I'll kill them" she muttered, feeling that something suddenly nibble her in a most private place. "Slowly, with butter. Turn around honey I got something I have to kill" she ordered, starting to undress. "And hand me your canteen will you? The one with your Brandy in it. And your comb, not that you ever need it"

Not for the first time Farthing realized the difficulties being married to an anthropomorph. Handing back the canteen he pulled out his radio. "Major Farthing to pickup" he called, scanning the sky. "Farthing to pickup, map coordinates Baker three seven, cross Papa one niner niner, copy?"

Static hissed in answer, so he shook the waterlogged transceiver.

"...you four by three" came a somehow familiar, female small town voice. "I'll be landing on the flat hilltop half a klick to your West, Copy?"

Farthing tried to ignore his wife’s unusual sound effects as he looked for the hilltop in question and started. It had to be one, maybe two klicks long. Just what was coming to pick them up that required that big a landing area. Gradually a low roar began coming from the North, digging out his glasses he scanned the sky.

"Whatever it is" said Elizabeth. "It better have a fresher, these things are driving me nuts. This is the last time I work with mercenaries tracking down time bandits."

"I'm sure it will honey" Farthing replied in a low voice, having just picked up something at extreme magnification. At that range it was at least twice the size of their lost ship. "I'm sure it will. WE better get moving dear."

Several hard minutes later his radio crackled again. "Farthing, this is Focke-Wulf Two Zero Zero on final approach, pop a smoke charge will you?" came the maddenly familiar voice over his radio, but skewed just enough to keep him guessing.

"Focke-Wulf 200?" asked Elizabeth. Now standing beside him she tugged her ruined blouse together, dropping the now empty canteen down the slope behind them. "What's a Focke-Wolf 200?"

Farthing shrugged his shoulders, "Damn if I can remember. Has to be Earther, something German. Probably 1930 to 1945 CE." The air vehicle approached close enough for him to get a better look. Absently he heard Elizabeth toss a bomb behind them, orange smoke began slowly drifting North-West.

"About a klik" she muttered, "We better get a move on, before she lands, or we'll probably find ourselves hiking out. It has to be over three hundred klicks of marsh between us an dry land. If we do, you'll be carrying me through."

Farthing grimaced. 'Carry?" he thought. Not bloody likely he decided, considering his backs delicate condition. Shoving his glasses away, he broke into a trot behind his wife.

As they ran one of the small ships that had started the row dove towards the lumbering craft. There was a sudden thundering chatter, smoke whiffed away from the pickup ship while the tiny attacker suddenly ceased to exist. Elizabeth stopped so suddenly Farthing ran into her, causing both to tumbe into the landing zone.

"What in the name of.." she stuttered. "That wasn't an energy weapon."

Farthing stood up, disbelieving what turned into the light wind on final, her four huge engines thundering loud enough the shake the ground under his feet. Memorys of another mission rapidly flowing through his mind. "A Focke-Wulf, Fw-200, has to be a C-1 model” he explained without really thinking. She had said she was going to keep one, he just hadn’t believed she’d do it. “With that 20mm cannon slung under the nose" he finished. Gear down, the craft landed lightly in the rough field, quickly taxing up to the waiting pair. Farthing watched as it turned back the way it had come, its bright new Luftwaffe insignia glistening in the sunlight. A small female mouses head popped out of the cockpit window, proving to be the mechanic they had befriended only a year before. Elizabeth sprinted for the opening hatch and waiting crewman near the tail, still loose clothing flapping heedlessly in the engines exhaust stream.

"Hey slow-poke" Kiko Nao Rhys called. "I'm double parked, my pillow is slipping, and I don't think we just made friends with those buggies up there. You got ten seconds and I'm out of here tubby. And I’ll have your wife to consol all by myself."

For a moment Farthing considered missing his ride. He had just remembered FW-200's never had a fresher, of any kind. A little 300 kilometer walk would just about give Elizabeth time to lose her anger about what happened. Then he broke into a run, sweating more that the exercise would warrant. An image of that aggressive little mechanic ‘consoling’ his wife had given him energy he didn’t know he had. No way he was giving her a chance with Elizabeth. Not that mouse.