Dolly

A Tale of an Alternate Spontoon Island

That Could Never Be

by Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Often I write what I call TossOffs. These are short pieces, a few pages long (sometimes quite a bit more) that I never intend to finish, or once finished I erase. A TossOff is simply meant to flush an idea out of my mind in order that I can do other things. Very rarely they end up being published. This is unfinished and has been on my hard drive nearly a year. So I will publish it for now. Artists call this scribbling.

It was not quite five in the evening of a very blustery day when a blue-green Arado Ar 196 came into the view of Spontoon’s air control personnel. Still at least two miles out they could only watch as the craft lined up for a landing well outside the normal traffic lanes, a thin plume of blue-grey smoke trailing behind like a dirty rats tail. Picking up his mike the on duty controller selected a channel, then keyed her mike.

“Spontoon Air Control to unknown single engine aircraft approaching from the South. Do you read honey? Over.” Her earthy voice usually had pilots lunging for the microphone. In this case though nothing of the sort occurred. “Radio trouble” she told her assistant. “Notify the on duty tug please.” While her young assistant spoke quietly on another channel she keyed her mike again. “Approaching floatplane. You are not on the glide path. Hon, your not even close. If you can hear me, wag your wings once then turn to starboard seventeen, that is one seven degrees. Your landing lane is between the crescent shaped island and the eastern most island. Maintain altitude until you see the bright orange buoys. Over.”

Almost immediately the approaching aircraft wagged its wings once, then turned to the new heading. “So, he can hear, he just cannot talk. Very well, it will be the hard way then. Paul, have emergency services fire two flares on the waterway please. Best our dear water taxis know a blind boy is coming to town.” She then keyed her mike again. “Unknown aircraft. Two flares will be fired from the harbor runway. That is the point you should try to touch down. You will see a waiting tug at the runs end. Over.”

Again the aircraft wings wagged, as she watched it began lowering onto the correct seaplane way. All that could be done now was to watch, and wait. Picking up a large battered pair of binoculars the Air Traffic Controller studied that strange aircraft as it passed closest to her. What she saw confused her. Though she had the latest recognition manuals she was certain that what she saw couldn’t possibly be what it appeared to be. For what she saw was a brand new German design, first flown just before her manual saw print. In fact that page was one of those inset after publication but before shipping. Yet this aircraft had to be many years old from the wear she could see. And that worn insignia itself was unknown. A simple golden flaming sun with a crossed sword and staff. Then the aircraft was past and she could see that the smoke was coming from the tail section. Odd place for a fire, but emergency services would easily take care of it. “Log it, what’s next on final” she ordered as she replaced her glasses back into their case.

Rescue craft pilot Carl Fishhunter watched as the smoking aircraft entered the active lane. Whatever was wrong with it didn’t seem to be affecting the pilots control of his aircraft, still the crash rescue boat was waiting as was SOP. Better to be safe than sorry was everyone’s motto around here. As Carl watched, the craft slipped sideways, corrected, slipped again then corrected just before the floats made contact. After that it was like any normal landing, with the exception of blue-grey smoke pouring out the back. ‘Naw, it couldn’t be a coal powered aircraft, could it’ Carl thought as his and the crash boat began approaching the odd blue-green aircraft. ‘How could the’ carry nought to get offa tha ground?’

What they found as they climbed aboard the main wing surprised them even more. Within the canopy were two bodies. One obviously dead, the other nearly so. Bullet holes covered the craft and canopy, with starring enough to prove that many of those deadly little missiles had been shrugged off. Whomever these two were, they had been through the mill. And it had been impossible for either to have been flying. So who had brought this aircraft down so professionally?

Following standard procedures both bodies were carefully removed from the craft, one to be sent to the morgue, the other to the Meeting Island hospital. Discovering the cause of that fire was even more amazing. A metal tube of some kind with odd movable fins was jammed into the tail section, as though it had been shoved there with great force. Even as the fire crew approached that odd smoke sputtered, then slowly vanished as though the fire that created it had gone out. What would be recovered from that craft later would also be amazing. Certain now that the craft wasn’t on fire or going to explode, but that it was starting to sink, it was towed over to impound. There it would be gone over by the police. The pilot as well. If she survived.

Five figures stood about a table, a table cluttered with every document found on the battered aircraft. One reached out, picking up what appeared to be a set of identity papers. “Paul Thomas Bardeen. Age twenty nine. Occupation aircraft mechanic. Born in Rocky Bar Idaho, United States of America. Date of birth June eleventh, 1908. Listed address 621 Harbor Boulevard, Seattle Washington. United States of America.” Setting the document down the figure picked up a set next to it. “Dolly. No last name. Occupation pilot. Age thirty-three. Born in Miners Delight Wyoming, United States of America. Date of birth July fourth, 1904. Listed address 212-B Baker Street, Miners Delight Wyoming. United States of America. ” Returning that document to the table the ferret Albert Sapohatan looked around at his companions. “Both part of something called The One Hundred. If either of these sets of paper are counterfeit, they are the best counterfeit anyone has ever seen. Including those made by dear Millicent herself. Suggestions.”

Elizabeth Sapohatan picked up a set of forms, a cargo list of what should be, and apparently was on the aircraft. “We do get the strange ones here” she remarked. “Parts and plans for an experimental device, type unknown. One set of such devices are optical lenses of extremely high quality. Destination Superior Engineering, Kingdom of Spontoon Island. Final recipient, one Countess Alpha Rote. Shipper one Carl Zeiss Incorporated, Imperial Republic of Germany.” She sat those documents down, shaking her rather attractive head. “Superior, as we know, has never worked with optical devices. Nor is Germany an Imperial Republic anymore or have we ever been a Kingdom. I strongly suggest an Honored Mother be there when this one wakes up.”

“Which one Mam” the fox known as Phil Rousseau asked.

“Dia-Kura” said a tall, attractive feline. One wearing the marking of Spontoon’s Great Mother. She reached out, touching the table. “These things are true. Thus she is true. Thus her fallen comrade is true. We must delve into this. For though true it could be they have been duped.”

It would be weeks before the rabbit opened her eyes. Long long weeks. So long that certain requests for information were answered. Answers that simply caused even more questions. Yet the rabbit was healing, and healing meant that she would live. That she lived meant she would answer those thousands upon thousand of questions that had been compiled since her arrival.

“Wasser” Dolly asked even before opening her eyes. “Wasser, bitte.”

A waiting visitor stood, bringing a glass straw to the mouse. “Water” Dia-Kura explained softly in English as she touched the bandaged woman’s lip with the glass. There was no answer, only the closing of those still stitched lips over the tube, and a slowly lowering of the glasses water level. Finally those lips opened enough to allow the straws removal.

“Thank you” a cultured, if weak voice answered. “Where?”

“Spontoon” the Priestess answered. “More water?”

“Please.”

When the second glass was empty Dia-Kura took her time refilling it, then sitting it in easy reach before speaking again. “Your companion. I am sorry, he was not among the living when you arrived.”

“Damn. I promised Ezbeth Paul would be fine. She’ll kill me when I get back.” There was though, something in that voice. “If I get back. Have the Sharshar come here yet? They were not far behind us.”

“We know nothing of the Sharshar” a male voice answered her. This did finally get the mouse to open her one un-bandaged eye.

“Impossible” she whispered in dis-belief. “They invaded Earth in 1918, it’s impossible you have never heard of them.”

“Dolly” the dalmatian replied softly. “From what our people can determine, this is not the world you were born in.”

“Of course it isn’t” the mouse admitted with almost a laugh. “Merlin called me from my world in ‘21 when the Sharshar flattened Stonehenge. Myself, and ninety-nine others. Paul came with me. We are the Guardians.”

“Then you are no longer in world you were called too” Dia-Kura explained. “For Merlin is nothing but legend here.”

“Nor has there been any invasion from another world. Certainly nothing called Sharshar is known to me, and I am in military intelligence” the dalmatian explained.

“No” Dolly gasped. “We carried the weapon. Earths last hope against those creatures. Without it. Oh Gods, without it we are all lost. All lost...”