Metal Birds

Chapter 42: The Discomfort of Dust

Sidi Haneish, Egypt, October 16, 1940  

Imhotep didn't like it.

But he let them.

Seamus flew ahead, beating his wings slowly as they traveled about the slipstream. The two made their way like bullets over the beige and black of the desert that night. He recalled earlier that day, when the whole place had been bathed in an evident red and orange. Beautiful. Surely a sight to see from the roof of that tiny squashed apartment in Cairo, as Imhotep stood uncertainly and Seamus smoked again, having been almost finished with the whole pack.

Inwardly, Arthur felt bad for leaving Imhotep behind, alone; with Ludwig still circling. Though the idea wasn't literal, it was clear that Ludwig seemed to have a tie, or ties, exactly where he needed to know where Imhotep was. 

But it was worth it. Imhotep had been able to locate a small air field very early on in the war. When he had spotted it, it had been little more than a strip of packed sand and a few small tents, a stopping place within view of the Mediterranean. It was some 300, 400 kilometers away from Cairo, uncomfortably close enough for a raid.

It had been mentioned to Seamus earlier, and he had the approximate coordinates of it on hand. Upon Arthur convincing him that trying to get rid of Imhotep's worries was a good idea, he had agreed. But only after the convincing. And a lot of it.

Sidi Haneish. That was what it was called.

Imhotep had said that he wasn't sure if the place had grown since he'd seen it. If it had, the two had just the things. Grenades.

In a small satchel on his side, along with the canteen of water he had.

Arthur was familiar with the idea of pulling the pin on one of those little things, and letting it drop down on his target like a little missile. It had been an idea introduced by none other than Alistair, while they had been dining with their platoon one night during training. It had caused a bout of laughter and many comments on just how awesome the idea was, and Arthur wasn't going to deny it.

However, they had more to do than just rid of potential threats. They needed to get information. Any little snippet of when and where a raid might be launched in the near future, or perhaps, if they were lucky, the movements of the German tanks through the desert.

But that in itself would be a miracle.

Arthur found a small bout of adrenaline beginning to rush through him as he caught sight of something geometric in the distance. It wasn't a dune, but a small roof barely peeking over the sands.

Bingo.

Arthur found himself flying a bit faster, pulling upwards to avoid being noticed by any potential guards.

"Slow down." He heard Seamus grunt as he was passed, but Arthur didn't listen. Instead, he found himself circling over the place, staring down at it from above.

The airfield was barely different from Imhotep's vague description of the place. A packed down air strip made up one half of the place, lined on the eastern side by a few planes. Upon scrutinizing them for a moment, he could only make out one bomber. That was a relief. Further to the east, about a kilometer away was a sorry excuse for a tiny plane barn, and a small row of similarly sorry huts. The only evident building was a single story concrete bunker, which might have served as supplies storage or a place to bed down. Still, about a half a dozen tents stood, facing the dusty dirt road that appeared to only be used by two vehicles, which were parked just outside the concrete building.

And finally, a very, very, very sorry excuse for a communications tower just to the back of the barn.

He circled around once, twice, thrice, and then finally a fourth time before looping about to meet Seamus.