Through Silent Skies

Chapter Thirteen

I had to stop. It all caught up with me in an ambush of emotion. Sat on the cramped little toilet I'm having a nervous breakdown. I feel like puking but I can't bring anything up when I wretch. Attempting to empty my bowels is equally as fruitless; no matter how much I strain, there is no relief to be found there either. Then all of the accumulated stress bursts out of me in a flood of tears as well as an outbreak of uncontrollable shaking so severe it make my upper and lower teeth clack together. There's no way of stopping it, I just have to let it run its course.

I realise then - as my uncooperative body judders - what I've done. I'd very nearly killed everyone aboard with my recklessly impetuous plan. The fact we are still here was due more to blind luck than any skill on my part. I was supposed to have ensured the safety of those in my care, but instead I very nearly screwed up. It should all be there on the flight recorders; indelible, irrefutable proof that a Board Of Inquiry will have no hesitation in using to ban me from piloting for life; and of course the inevitable criminal charges are bound to follow... Yes, my - and Janice's future if she stays with me through my disgrace - is likely to be a bleak one. More tears stream down my face, and a leaden, almost suicidal despair grips me.

I don't know how long I spend in there; it seems forever but in reality can't be more than fifteen minutes. Eventually the shakes subside and the tears stop. I begin to get a grip on myself. This won't do at all. People are relying on me; this is no time for self-pity. Quickly splashing my face clean I pull my trousers up and get myself together. The professional instincts reassert themselves; Captain Noah Drake is ready to resume command of his dridge.

"How do you feel?" asks Bryan with corncern on my return.

"Better than I did!" I tell him while making for my seat.

"Skipper; I think it's probably a good idea for you to rest for a while." Bryan says with a calm authority. "You've had a rough time of it these last few hours - we all have - but you've had the worst of it. That was one hell of a job you did in getting us airborne; frankly I don't think I could've, or would've have pulled it off, but you did! You need to de-stress, even sleep if you can, because you'll have to be at your best when it comes to our next landing. Go on, get your head down! We'll take care of things for a couple of hours, then see how you are then." Bryan is being his usual, irritatingly logical, persuasive self, and as always I find myself being swayed by his arguments.

"OK, I'll give it a go!"

"Good man! Oh, and just to set your mind at ease, both Gloria and I will back you up if it ever comes to an inquiry. Don't forget it was me who stunned that little turd Haradursson: It had to be done. He was going mad you know; having delusions of his own meglomaniac grandeur. When things got to that stage it was too dangerous for us to stay. You explained the dangers and gave everyone the choice of whether to fly or not. As far as we're concerned you did the right thing, and we'll say so to anyone who asks!"

"Thanks for your support!"

"Anyway, you go to bed for a while. We'll wake you if we need you."

"OK!"

Though it seems I remain concious all the time I'm lying in my cramped little cot, I must have had some sort of fractured not-quite sleep, because when I'm next aware of time, ninety minutes have passed. There's no sudden jolt of alarm this time though, only an unrefreshed wakefulness. Quickly I'm up to retake my position.

"Oh there you are? How are you feeling now?" asks Bryan.

"A bit better thanks. It's your turn to flop now!"

"That's fine by me! You don't need to order it! See you in a couple of hours." He unbuckles himself and vacates his seat.

"Sitrep, Gloria?" I ask, settling myself in and glancing across the displays.