Flying the Storm Read Free Page B

Fredrick, “I only just caught a little trail against the sky.”
    “I reckon we should hug the surface, the quicker we disappear over the horizon, the better.”
    “It’ll waste fuel.”
    “I’d rather waste a little fuel than get shot down. God knows what range they have on that thing,” replied Aiden.
    “All right then.”
    Aiden pushed the Iolaire low, and as the Crimea faded into the distance behind him, no more shots came from the Gilgamesh .
    And when the little red radar notification light winked out on the control console, the Iolaire made a long banking turn to the east.

3.       Ashtarak
    The Armenian barman stared at them blankly with his one good eye: the other was milky white and half closed by the scar tissue on his brow. His face was a gnarled mess of scars, and the right side of his skull was hairless and mottled with a hideous old burn. His right ear was a just a fleshy stub protruding from the cauterised skin. ‘Ugly’ wouldn’t have quite done him justice.
    It didn’t get much easier to spot a veteran, Aiden was sure.
    “ Yes?” His voice was a hoarse, eastern growl.
    “Two beers, please,” said Fredrick, regain ing his composure first.
    “No beer,” said the barman , his eye not leaving Fredrick.
    “What do you have, then?”
    “I have aragh ,” he jabbed his thumb at a stack of bottles behind the bar. “Is all.”
    Aiden squinted at the stack . The bottles looked exactly like the ones they had just sold to the town merchants. In fact, Aiden was fairly sure it was just that: Crimean vodka. And, he realised that for possibly the first time since the pair had taken up the air-trade business, they had forgotten to cut a few bottles from the shipment.
    “Two please, ” said Fredrick. He slid a few copper coins across the bar. The barman used the usual water-and-scales method. His good eye glazed over for a moment as he consulted a pinned-up paper list on the wall. Then he grunted, satisfied that it was copper, and poured the drinks.
    “ Skaal ,”said Fredrick, raising his glass.
    “ Slàinte ,”responded Aiden, doing the same. He swallowed it in one.
    “Can’t believe we flogged them this crap,” he said, scraping his tongue with his teeth. “I thought it was quality stuff.”
    “It’s not bad ,” rasped Fredrick. “Really kicks the shit out of you.” He paused, considering the glass that the barkeeper was refilling. “I wonder if there’s work here for us,” he said.
    “You really want to hang about ?”
    Fredrick just shrugged.
    Aiden sighed. “Do you know of anyone who needs an aircraft?” he asked the barman. The barman looked at him strangely. At least, he assumed it was a strange look. It was hard to tell through the mangled features.
    Seeming to entirely ignore the question, the man wandered slowly off down the bar, resuming wiping a cup as he talked in a murmured voice to a couple of patrons at the far end. “Alright then,” said Aiden. “Guess that’s a no.”
    He bu rped, and his nostrils stung like a nosebleed. This Ashtarak town was not selling itself to him. Hell, Armenia really wasn’t selling itself to him.
    He supposed, at least, that they’d probably made enough gold to move on with. Though it had taken the entire day, they’d managed to empty the hold of the booze and cigarettes. Prices hadn’t been great though. The locals were sharp.
    Not only that, but Aiden could tell already that fuel was going to be an issue. Nobody seemed able to tell him where they could find some. And the Iolaire really needed fuel; it was running on fumes to get them this far to the east. Fredrick had said there wasn’t much more than a minute left in the tanks, so leaving was really not an option yet. This was irritating. Aiden was already itching to move.
    He knew prospects would be better to the east. They had to be. The Caspian Sea was supposed to be criss-crossed with trading routes. It was the gateway to Asia. Aiden reasoned it was a good bet that