Paranormal Journey complete

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TIME IS BACK ON COURSE (ACT V)


Come Tuesday, the morning and afternoon pass as now bring stable pleasure. We have an early supper, and the girls dress in their Regency wear. Jane and Elizabeth wear again their homemade cotton day dresses, the ones they wore 200 years ago and then a few days ago when they were brought forth into our time. Darcy and I merely wear jacket a shirt and slacks. We do not want to diminish the girls' presence, even if we could.

Vivien look great in her long gown, but the real authorities chide her for displaying so much bare ankle. I defend her for her fine ankles.

Uncle Dan suggest we use their Chevrolet Suburban. We are not going far enough to use much gasoline for the trip, and its more coach-like structure will be easier for the ladies to haul their skirts up to sit in the seat and then back to the ground when we arrive. Aunt Barbara endorse his suggestion, so we swap key sets.

No fair to leave them without transportation, just in case they should get wild about going someplace. "Myyyy Birrrrd" need some soot blown out of it, and Uncle Dan is the one best fit to do so, but I do not know where the Smokeys will not have a field day about that.

A short distance does not always make a short trip in Southern California, but this stay far enough east to keep us out of the long, narrow parking strips called Los Angeles freeways at rush hour. When we enter the meeting place, Trowbridge, also a member of this chapter, greet us.

And thus begin our society among a group who almost make the Bennet sisters believe that they can have some familiar elements of their lives. Many of the lady members and attendees are wild to examine the differences between their modern fabric and machine sewn gowns, from the Miss Bennets' original hand stitching. Both current time line and the Bennet sisters appreciate the value of this mutual experience.

However, all good things seem to come to an end at the most inconvenient moment. Now you see the ladies who represent England's Regency Era:

"EEEEK!" Scream the dear Bennet sisters in the flash of brilliant light.

Now they cannot be seen where they stood. They are gone in a blink as quick as when they came. Well, similar, anyway. The event was not a loss of light, and with massive systems' failures. The building's electrical systems do not seem affected. The inside lights are still on. The furnace system blow warm air from the registers. Other than two souls missing and massive confusion, everything else seem fine.

Darcy has his wits back so he observe; "I'm afraid that it had to happen, sooner or later."

"Did it have to be so soon? Willy boy." I sag, for becoming quite enraptured with Elizabeth's keen wit and subtle beauty. "I think I know a bit of what it will be like to be - `left behind.'" ([Left Behind was an interesting series about the world after the Real Christians get evacuated. [Daniel 9:24, 12:13; end of days (Dan.11:40), 1Cor.15:51-54]]_

"Yeah. I know. - That and the idea of loving a woman who has not been someone else's - before- Well. Never mind. This will make me least agreeable of a `suitable substitute.'"

"Yep."

Vivien look at us in a bit of shock, that we would also actually avoid using the too-truthful but ungentlemanly-like term, even in her presence, one which reflect almost adequately upon our total contempt for the sexual slavery of the 1960s. Her father, my brother-in-law, taught her well in spite of the "schools," and because thereof. True, the useful idiots at the time called it "free love," "sexual liberation," and many other terms that would make a pornographer giddy with satisfaction. In spite of the women at legal age of consent, they were too stupid to consent at the standard as would relieve the statutory rapists of their crimes.

Darcy, Vivien, and myself hover around with the others, hoping against hoplessness that they will come back. However, we must know that maybe they went back to their home, during their time, with little uproar. Even Trowbridge must alter some official paperwork now that he know that the facts have strangely been altered. We hover around the meeting until we feel we are about to overstay our welcome, and now that Jane and Elizabeth are no longer in our society, and less likely to be back, we go.

The trip home pass almost in a stupor. Only Darcy's well-trained situational awareness as he drive assure our safe return. We need say nothing to our Aunt and Uncle Carson, because our forlorn look and lack of the charming Bennet sisters, say more than a mouth that can hold a dozen pork chops.

***

Next day, William and I confer with Aunt Barbara and Uncle Dan Carson to spend a little time this afternoon with our most precious niece before her parents call her home. Meanwhile, the mailman deliver a large registered letter that come here marked in-care-of for William Darcy and myself. It came from Lloyd's of London with English postage. ([Although Lloyds' 325 year history is in the insurance business [Wikipedia], it could have "ensured the delivery of a letter to a place and at a time of the client's choosing" [fantasy].]_

I signed for the package, so I make myself first to read the letter:

"March 18th, 1855, Pemberley, Derbyshire, England,

"Our dearest friends William, Hiram, Vivien,
and Mrs. & Mrs. Carson,

"We decided it would be too cruel to have left you so suddenly and ungoverned, and leave you to wonder our fates. Since Jane and I returned to the very nick of time from before we were pulled forward into your time, into your world, we had our lifetimes before we need compose you a message. We agreed that we need to assure that our message can get to you, soon after our departure.

"Jane married the man whom she come to love at the Meryton Assembly ball, the night before we come to your world. After great difficulty and sorrow, she come to happiness when she and Charles Bingley finally wed.

"It is a curious thing that I married the man, whom at that same ball, vexed me so much. As I come to know him better, from our common and some may say, thin connections, I learned his true nature and what was his cause to be so rude and disagreeable that night. Yes, my dear friends, I am long now Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"And as we learned that night when we were, by time, so rudely snatched away from you, we purposed to connect with Miss Jane Austen, who owned up to being the authoress of the favored Sense and Sensibility novel. (Good thing I remembered `Chawton' from my time with your dear niece, Vivien.) We were able to get Miss Austen to put to pen, Jane's and my stories for the year or so up to and following our return to Longbourn. Her well crafted novel tell of how Jane and I got settled into our own most excellent domestic situations.

"And dear William, I am now confident to assure you that your family come from our grandson! He has been wild to go into your country ever since he got a copy of Lewis and Clark's report on America's Louisiana Purchase. It seem he has been enchanted from some mountains in the Dakotas, then a strange mountain of basalt, the great flatlands, and then the great snow-capped mountains to the west. As I understand, they dwarf our mountains in the Peaks District. I confess, I would like to witness those wonders of your American continent in a direct manner.

"It is a strange thing, dear friends, that after the years since we come back, we have not been able to write a longer letter! Perhaps Miss Austen's Pride and Prejudice, originally titled First Impressions, will serve to tell you much and as well, and perhaps the world, of us as did her other stories for and about someone else.

"Now, Jane wants to write something, so I pass this letter to her:

"Dear Hiram and William,

"My Charles Bingley consider himself fortunate that he need not compete with you for my affection. I have shamefully sang my praises about you, your bravery, your humor, and how faithfully you were guardian to Lizzy and myself. I believe he would thank you personally, if we could be together. Will it happen? We have been fixed, back for decades, so we may see you in Heaven.

"With all the love from our two families and may you be blessed,

"Jane Bingley and family,

"and Elizabeth Darcy and family."

---

My eyes are wet with pleasure for their security and joy, so I pass the letter to William with; "read this, Willy boy. Jane and Lizzy found or made their happiness."

"Thanks." He accept the letter, begin reading, and a little later, his eyes wet. Then he muse; "oy! I danced with my great, great, great, great, great, great grandmother. - I think I got enough `great's for the generations."

"Or at least you intended to."

"Yeah."

Vivien come into the room and see us. She is young and pretty and not stupid, so she ask; "what's up? Uncles."

"Read this, Vivien." William coax and pass the letter to her.

She read their letter. Her eyes get wet, then she weep and sniffle. She ask; "is- are they our ancestors?"

I glance at William, he nod, so I assure our niece; "evidently so."

"Oh! Uncle Hiram." Vivien sob, and then clutch to me for comfort. It must be a regenerative feedback mechanism, because I am getting more comfort from her as I hold her close.

We pass the letter to Aunt Barbara who read it, and experience the same reaction. She pass it to Uncle Dan, and at the end of his reading, he understand why our eyes are wet. To learn that our relations are direct descendents of those who come to our time, need and justify a good bit of time to ponder.

Eventually, we will return to what pass for our normal lives, but I doubt if we can ever be the same. Early Monday morning, Darcy and I will gather the rest of our crew to depart on another mission over and into the South Pacific. How many missions must we fly before we can assume that no one from the past will be pulled into our cockpit?

Will our lives return to what it was last week? Or do we even want that familiar boredom? Me? This last week has been a real adventure that will, with each recollection, entertain me until my time has run its course.


THE END

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POSTSCRIPT


As Jane Austen had some "rest of the story" for some of her novels, it is only right that I tie up some loose ends. For example, Jane Austen had Catherine "Kitty" Bennet becoming quite civil after she was shed of Lydia's horrible influence. Sadly and in like manner, Jane Fairfax of Emma survived her elevation only by nine years. (IIRC)

Captain Darcy and myself, as Pilot-in-Command (PiC), are beginning to get back the notion that we have to flirt with the girls of the present before any is due a measurement for to be a wife. However, we no longer have a delusion that we can be choosey and successful. As of now, we have a mission, so we are reunited with the rest of the crew; Lt. `Tex' Martin our co-pilot, MSgt. Scott `Scotty' Montgomery our flight engineer, and TSgt. Harrison `Bugsy' Marlowe stuck as the loadmaster.

We are taking Starlifter number 66-7946 into a classified destination with a classified cargo. Our job is so secret, we do not know the cargo, and we will get our destination by opening our sealed orders only after we are at a particular coordinate. Not much better than having a job so secret we do not know what we are doing.

When we approach that fix, I tear open the seal on the envelope. I wish I was as nonchalant as Slim Pickens appeared as "Major `King' Kong" in Dr. Strangeglove ... when he, as PiC, opened the orders after that B-52 went beyond their certain point. I pass the orders to Darcy, because he will have to load the Flight Director computer and Bugsy will have to prepare the air cargo drop.

We have been uncomfortable on this heading ever since we air-to-air refueled over the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. Now only the stupid do not do risk calculations and feel bowel disturbances. We make preparations for the air drop, and check and recheck every step. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can be a good thing.

Finally, we are at point commitment. I fly on course to the flight profile for the setup. Making the successful drop is in Darcy's and Bugsy's care. All I need do is keep the bird on the required course and profile.

Easier said than done. We are flying into flak and some of it mess up our airplane. Bugsy open the pressure door, and then the petal doors.

"Three - two - one." Darcy give us the countdoun as Bugsy release the pallet locks and then a traction chute draw out the entire load. As the pallets string out, the drogue chutes slow the drop. We hope the eggs will not scramble.

"Load is clear!" Bugsy close the petal doors as quick as possible because now it is more important to have aerodynamic slip stream.

At his leisure, relatively, Bugsy close the pressure door. I pitch 66-7946 at best climb-out and throttle up to maximum. This airplane departed Saigon in May of 1975 and got away to fly again many times.

During the last forty years, surface-to-air missiles have got much more potent. We will not know for long.

{Bang!}

The port side flap get hit. The missiles' blast hurl shrapnel through the port side window, which fatally injure Bugsy. Force of the explosion cause the plane to pitch down, roll to starboard, and yaw to port.

"What the-" I sense from the contrary thrust at the yoke, but I have not yet calculated the needed adverse event control vectors.

"We're hit!" Darcy report from the Navigator's station, being closer to the damage.

{Whang!}

That first missile's explosion destroyed the Number Two engine. Titanium alloy turbine blades rotating about 10,000 RpM blast through whatever has not been damaged by the missile. Hot shrapnel rampage through the cargo bay and add more injury to Bugsy, but he is not dead yet. Enough scatter come through the cockpit door to shatter Scotty's right side for being at the Flight Engineer's station.

{Whaaahng!}

The Mumber Two engine's explosion fragments rip through and destroy the Number One engine. The Inverse-Distance-Squared law to the outboard port engine reduce the amount of hot turbine blade shrapnel, but as the third blast, it meet less hull resistance. So far, the overhead mechanical accessories keep the hot shrapnel out of the starboard wing fuel cells, but Bugsy's pain is over.

Darcy rise to render aid and then see from the doorway, that he cannot help Bugsy. He grapple along the upper bunk rail to wend over to the other side of the cockpit for Scotty.

{BANG!}

This explosion come from below the cockpit deck. This enemy missile hit the plane in the nose gear door. That door is weaker than the hull, so the missile penetrated more than usual, so it's explosion is more devastating. The blast force pitch up the airplane, because the last thing I know is the sudden yank backward before the burning pain and then darkness.

No doubt my crewmates who survived until now, succumbed to similar trauma. We are dead and our bird is going forward on some residual starboard engine thrust and momentum, sinking rapidly due to gravity, port wing flapping, and out of control.

What go up, must come down. The parts to 66-7946 rain down on the enemy's parade, and 35,000 pounds of jet fuel, JP-4, create quite a conflagration when ignited by the crash. In a way, we are like the Alamo defenders on the morning of 6 March 1836: We too, sold our lives dearly and were cremated for it.

The beneficiaries of the cargo drop? They saw us go down, the delapidation of the enemy, and vowed to fight on. And they did. Who know the rest of the story? Is it told? Or is that a work still in progress?

***

Do you have any delusion of our characters having happiness eternal? That is another tale yet to tell. However, it is quite certain that the dead will know nothing for a time yet to come.


THE ABSOLUTE END?

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"The avalanche has started. It is too late for the pebbles to vote." -Ambassador Kosh Naranek