In the Wrong Space and Time

XIV

8th February 2019, 5:28am

"MAKE WAY FOR THE-"

"OUT of the way, move, out of the way!"

"Cargo airlifter ready-"

The harshly-lit airfield is filled with a cacophony of voices, all trying to get ready for our trip to the Sahara desert. Due to my grogginess, I am barely able to register much of what is going on, but Field Marshal Primero and his soldiers seem to have everything under control.

Reyna, William and I had already wheeled a dolly to the airfield, stacked tall with three black powder projectiles, two TNT projectiles, a number of crates of propellant and a few barrels of ammonium perchlorate fuel brought by the chemists.

The projectiles and propellant are loaded into the back of a cargo airlifter, and they are all insulated individually, in some kind of fireproof material. I cannot make out what it actually is, because I am just so tired.

It's half-past five in the morning. Ungodly hour. Ugh, I silently complain after a quick look at my phone screen.

In the next moment, we are all chevied to the side to make way for the howitzer, being wheeled in by five of F. M. Primero's trusted soldiers - the ones who are coming on the missile-testing trip with us. The howitzer traverses smoothly over the impeccable surface of the airfield, a burnished behemoth on a wheeled cart. The cart in question looks fragile and delicate in comparison despite being sturdy in all actuality.

With a bellowed command from the Field Marshal, the five hulking men give a great heave, and carry the howitzer onto the cargo airlifter. They set the metal monster down with an almighty thud, some small, moonlit specks of dust on the airlifter's floor being displaced by the force.

Said thud wakes me up a little more, and I begin to move some extra containers of spare parts and other materials - namely tantalum carbide, hafnium carbide, aluminium and titanium - onto the airlifter. William and Reyna assist me, and in a few minutes, all our extra materials have found their way onto the cargo plane.

A Percival as sleepy as I am carries a white bag with a large red cross emblazoned on it towards the second cargo airlifter. Ever gentle, he treats his medical supplies with respect and places them neatly in a corner near the back of the plane. His assistant medic, the scrawny young woman from the day before, places a first aid kit next to his white bag.

As they turn back around, the harsh artificial lights on the airfield flash across Percival's face, highlighting the stark contrast of pale skin and purple eyebags after the momentary blinding reflection from his glasses.

The light illuminates something else concealed within the deepest recesses of the airlifter - my still-bleary eyes barely manage to make out what it is. A thick metal cylinder stoppered by a large screw-on lid made from the same gleaming material lies almost hidden from the light of the airfield.

As fleeting of a glimpse as I had gotten, my brain still manages to put together that it is Tyra's malignant chemical weapon inside the airlifter.

I almost chuckle out loud. Something of such immense capacity to kill situated right next to the tools Percival uses to save people's lives. The irony is astounding.

The five logistics personnel put a few crates of freeze-dried food into the other cargo airlifter. They load another crate, filled with what looks to be fifteen portions of pre-packaged, ready-to-eat food, onto the passenger airlifter.

Finally, it is time for us all to load our baggage onto the second airlifter. Percival moves to put a worn leather duffle bag into the plane, but Tyra, not looking where she is going, bumps into the blond man as she tries to place one of her suitcases into the airlifter.