Neaderthal Return

'We're under attack!' a soldier screamed in Arabic. Explosions and gunfire erupted all over the Base Camp. Ibrahim's troops formed a skirmish line. Some sortied out in their own Land Rovers, the battle was on.

Metrola screamed at me in Atlantean, 'Neil, to the Shuttle!'

'On my way!' I answered in English. I followed Metrola up the ramp into the Shuttle. The three physicians were already there. As we strapped ourselves into the seats, other civilians clambered on board. Chuck Carter. Mustafa Khedr.

Mohammed Abbas. 'Don't worry about Labna and my kids. They're in Illizi.' Praise Allah for that.

Science and Humanities Channel people ran into the Shuttle. Several were staying to report on the attack, but the others wanted out. 'Close the door!' Metrola screamed in Atlantean. 'We cannot take any more passengers!' It was crowded and we were probably overweight. With the door still open, we lifted off. Somebody got the ramp retracted and the door closed. As we passed 100 feet in altitude, we could see the battle over the camp buildings. The GIS attempted to flank the skirmish line by driving around it. Several vehicles were on fire, bodies littered the ground. 'Okay Neil,' said Metrola after a quick survey of the scene, 'we're going up, figure two, three gees, considering all this weight.'

A rocket flew past us. Bullets crashed into the ship. Holes in the window in front of me. 'Anybody hurt?!' I screamed in English.

'Fred Graf. Two bullets in his leg! Get him to a hospital, he should make it!'

'We have three physicians on board! Tend to him ladies!'

Metrola studied the bullet holes in the window. The Creation Neanderthal version of Plexiglas. 'We ain't leaving the atmosphere 'til that's fixed. Passenger needs hospital. Where to, Neil?'

She really did not have any idea. 'We don't want to go to Libya. Chad, Niger, Mali, forget it. Tunisia? Too close to Libya. Head for Morocco. They may be tolerable, if not, head across the Med for Spain or France.' I looked back at Mohammed, Mustafa, and Chuck. 'No offense, guys, but right now I have a preference for someplace modern, Christian, and European.'

'Understand.' 'No problem.' They had that same preference.

Metrola screamed 'Missile coming after us! What is it?'

One of the S&H men looked out the rear window. 'Stinger!'

'Oh shit!' I exclaimed.

'I don't like the sound of that 'Oh shit!', Neil.' complained Metrola. She jerked the ship all over the place to evade the missile. The wounded Fred Graf screamed involuntarily. Cuc, Meddi, Askelion, and the two former paramedics, Don Colburn and Ben Sumner, tried desperately to treat his wounds, his blood smearing the floorboards. Air whistled in through the bullet holes near him. Jagged aluminum bent inward, threatening to shred any skin that got near.

'Let the missile come close, and then jerk away.' I suggested.

Metrola was frightened and not entirely cool under fire. 'Let it CLOSE! Are you NUTS!'

'I read it somewhere.'

'Oh thank you, Mr. Expert in Air-to-Air Combat.' What is it about women? You get to know one of them, and she gets nasty and sarcastic with you about things like this.

''E's right! I was a chopper pilot in the Royal Marines.'

'The missile follows me as I juke back and forth.' observed Metrola.

''Eat seeker.' observed the former Royal Marine. 'You 'ave a 'eat source on this flying saucer?'

The missile ran out of fuel and fell to the desert floor. Everyone cheered in relief. 'Nice flying, Metrola!'

'Thank you.' Metrola turned to the British man who knows about Stinger missiles. 'What do you mean by 'heat source'?'

'The Stinger 'as an infrared detector that it 'omes in with. If you're in a jet fighter, it's difficult to evade a 'eat seeker, though with training, you usually can. They're rather effective against 'elicopters. Is your engine 'ot?'

'No, not much hotter than anything else. The energy is not heat. It's nothing like your combustion engines.'

'Another missile! Off to the right!'

'Another Stinger, all right!'

'What is it with these Algerians?' screamed Metrola. 'We come in peace! We're not concerned with your local disputes!'

'The GIS likes to kill foreigners.'

'Why?'

'To make it impossible for the government to govern the country.'

'That's very productive. This missile is also following my evasive movements. I'm going to duck behind that dune!' Metrola brought us down to the deck. The missile followed. She cleared the top of the dune by inches. She followed the contour of the backside of the dune. The Stinger flew into the sand and exploded.

Applause and cheering. 'WOW!' Sheer terror followed by relief. 'Cracking! Metrola, did you receive any kind of military training?' asked the former British Marine.

'Not THIS kind of military training.'

'Oh, pardon, where are me manners? My name is Ian Miller.' The S&H narrator drops the h's when he's not on microphone. Metrola reached back to shake his hand as she drove the ship higher and faster. 'Ma'am, this ship operates by creating a magnetic field that counters the Earth's magnetic field, does it not?'

'Yes. I wonder if the GIS knows this too?'

'Blimey! They could've modified their missiles to seek your magnetic field!'

Metrola sighed as she stared out the window at the desert passing below. 'A magnetic field that causes compasses to point at me is not exactly Stealth.'

As she thought hard on the concept, 'Another Stinger!' someone yelled.